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Title: Memoirs of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, and of the Court of Queen Anne Vol. I (of 2)
Author: Thomson, A. T., Mrs.
Language: English
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MARLBOROUGH, AND OF THE COURT OF QUEEN ANNE VOL. I (OF 2) ***
MEMOIRS
OF
SARAH
DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH,
AND OF THE
COURT OF QUEEN ANNE.
BY MRS. A. T. THOMSON,
AUTHORESS OF “MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF HENRY THE EIGHTH,” “LIFE OF SIR
WALTER RALEIGH, &c.”
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
MDCCCXXXIX.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY IBOTSON AND PALMER,
SAVOY STREET, STRAND.
INTRODUCTION.
Had the subject of this Memoir lived in the present day, copious
accounts of the part which she performed in public life would have
instantly been given to the world. Her domestic habits, and her merits
and demerits of every description, would have been amply discussed. With
her personal qualities we should, from a thousand channels, have been
familiarised. Every peculiarity of her resolute and singular character
would have been unveiled to the inspection of an inquisitive and amused
public: nor would there have been wanting those who would have eagerly
grasped at such an opportunity of commenting upon the politics, manners,
and events of the day, as that which the biography of the Duchess of
Marlborough affords.
It is, nevertheless, a fact, that ninety-six years have elapsed since
the death of this celebrated woman, and, as yet, no complete account of
her singular career, no memoirs of her as a private individual, of any
length, or of any importance in other respects, have appeared; and it is
remarkable, that both the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, two persons
who acquired in their lifetime as great a share of celebrity as any
British subjects ever enjoyed, incurred a risk of not being
commemorated, after their decease, by any connected and adequate work.
The biography of John Duke of Marlborough, undertaken by three
individuals, was completed only by Lediard, who had served under the
hero of Blenheim, and who may be supposed to have felt a sort of
personal interest in his illustrious career. The coldness of those to
whom the task was deputed, recommended as it was to their zealous
attention by the promise of a considerable sum to forward its
completion, proves how feebly the public called for such a production.
It was not until the Duchess was on her deathbed that she began to
arrange the voluminous materials of the life of her husband. It was not
until two years before her death that she published her own Vindication,
which she entitled “An Account of the Conduct of the Dowager Duchess of
Marlborough, from her first coming to Court, to the year 1510.”
This book, published in 1742, after provoking several replies, fell into
a partial oblivion. The animadversions and discussions to which it gave
rise, and the contemptuous opinion pronounced upon it by Horace Walpole,
whose fiat in the fashionable world was decisive, have therefore
remained unanswered. Garbled as it was, it is yet a work replete with
ability, carrying a conviction of the sincerity of its authoress, and
unfolding the motives by which she was actuated, with force and
clearness. The following extract will afford the reader an opportunity
to form a judgment of the Vindication by the Preface to the Duchess’s
narrative. The just and noble sentiments which she expresses upon the
acquisition of a good name, and likewise upon posthumous reputation,
must prepossess the mind strongly in favour of that which is to follow
these sound and well-expressed motives of action.
“I have been often told that there is a sort of philosophy, by which
people have brought themselves to be indifferent, not only whether they
be at all remembered after death, but whether, in case their names
should survive them, they be mentioned with praise or infamy. If this be
really a point of wisdom, it is infinitely beyond my reach; and I shall
own further, that it seems to me too refined and sublimed to be attained
by anybody who has not first got rid of the prejudices of common sense
and common honesty. I will not pretend to say that the passion for fame
may not sometimes be excessive, and deservedly the subject of ridicule.
But surely, my lord, there never was a single instance of a person of
true honour, who was willing to be spoken of, either during life or
after it, as a betrayer of his country or his friend; and I am persuaded
that your lordship must have observed, that all those who, at this day,
declare themselves wholly careless about what the world, or the circle
of their acquaintance, will say of them when they are dead, are quite as
unconcerned to _deserve_ a good character while they live.
“For my own part, I frankly confess to you, and to the world, that
whatever vanity or weakness the ambition of a good name may be thought,
either by philosophers or by ministers of state, to imply, I have ever
felt some degree of that ambition from the moment I could distinguish
between good and evil. My chief aim (if I have any acquaintance with my
own heart) has been, both in public and private life, to deserve
approbation: but I have never been without an earnest desire to _have_
it, too, both living and dead, from the wise and virtuous.
“My lord, this passion has led me to take more pains than you would
easily imagine. It has sometimes carried me beyond the sphere to which
the men have thought proper, and, perhaps, generally speaking, with good
reason, to confine our sex. I have been a kind of author. About forty
years ago, having understood that the wife of the late Bishop Burnet, a
lady whom I greatly esteemed, had received unfavourable impressions of
me, on account of the unhappy differences between Queen Mary and her
sister, I wrote a faithful narrative of that affair purely to satisfy
that one person.
“And when, after my dismissal from Queen Anne’s service, I perceived how
industriously malice was employed in inventing calumnies to load me
with, I drew up an account of my conduct in the several offices I had
filled under her Majesty. This piece I intended to publish immediately,
but was dissuaded from it by a person (of great eminence at this day)
whom I thought my friend. I have since imagined that he had, by
instinct, an aversion to _accounting_. It was said, as a reason for
deferring the publication of my Account, that prejudice and passion were
grown too violent and stormy for the voice of reason to be heard, but
that those would, after some time, subside, and that the truth then
brought to light would unavoidably prevail. I followed the advice with
the less reluctance, as being conscious of the power of an easy
vindication, whenever my patience should be pushed to extremity.
“After this I set myself another task, to which I was partly urged by
the injustice, and I may say ingratitude, of the Whigs. It was to give
an account of my conduct with regard to parties, and of the successful
artifice of Mr. Harley and Mrs. Masham, in taking advantage of the
Queen’s passion for what she called _the church_, to undermine me in her
affections. In this undertaking I had the assistance of a friend to whom
I furnished materials. Some parts of the work were of my own
composition, being such passages as nobody but myself could relate with
exactness. This was not originally intended to be published until after
my death.
“But, my lord, as I am now drawing near my end, and very soon there will
remain nothing of me but a _name_, I am desirous, under the little
capacity which age and infirmities have left me for other enjoyments, to
have the satisfaction, before I die, of seeing that _name_ (which, from
the station I have held in the great world, must unavoidably survive
me,) in possession of what was only designed it for a legacy. From this
desire I have caused the several pieces above mentioned to be connected
together, and thrown into the form into which I now venture to address
them to your lordship. They may possibly be of some use towards
correcting the folly and injustice of those who, in order to judge of
the conduct of others, begin with forming to themselves characters of
them, upon slight and idle reports, and then make such characters the
rule by which they admit or reject whatever they afterwards hear
concerning them. If any such happy effect as this might reasonably be
hoped from the perusal of these papers, I should be far from making any
apology for offering them to your lordship; I would not call it
_troubling_ your lordship with them. No, my lord, you will not esteem it
a _trouble_ to read them, even though you should judge them useless for
the purpose I have mentioned. The friendship you favour me with will
make you find a particular satisfaction in this justification of my
injured character to the world. And I imagine that there is no honest
mind, how much soever it may chance to be prejudiced against me, but
will feel something of the same pleasure in being undeceived.
“The original letters, of which, either in whole or in part, the copies
will be here found, I have directed to be preserved in my family as
incontestable vouchers of the truth of what I am going to relate.”
The works which this “Account” very soon elicited, in reply to its able
strictures upon persons and things, are enumerated in those chapters of
this work which relate particularly to the scurrilous attacks from which
the Duke and Duchess perpetually suffered. The latter, indeed, lived too
short a period after her Account of her Conduct appeared, to refute the
misstatements which were circulated in various pamphlets, and by other
works of ephemeral celebrity. It was, perhaps, for the best, that an
opportunity of acrimonious retaliation was not afforded to one who was
apt, to use her own expression, to “tumble out her mind” in a manner not
always either very decorous, nor very gratifying to her hearers. Those
who recommended the Duchess to postpone her work were doubtless well
acquainted with her peculiarities, and dreaded the violence of that
explosion which must ensue. It was, probably, the wish of her friends
and relations, as it is said to have been their expectation, that the
Vindication should be posthumous.
The Duchess of Marlborough, in addition to her own powerful efforts, had
the good fortune also to be defended by the pen of the celebrated Henry
Fielding. It must, however, be acknowledged, that possibly the defence
of the great novelist was not disinterested. Fielding wrote, as it is
well known, many fugitive political tracts, for which he was accused of
venality, and it was generally understood that they were remunerated by
the party whom he espoused. It is extremely probable that a man disposed
to make his talents profitable may not have been ashamed to vindicate
the conduct of the wealthy and powerful Duchess, for a consideration;
and there were circumstances in the family of Fielding which confirm the
supposition. His father, Edward Fielding, served under the Duke of
Marlborough; and his sister Sarah, the accomplished friend of Bishop
Hoadly, had, through that medium, ample opportunities of introducing her
brother to the Duchess. The work which Fielding published in 1742, was
entitled “A Full Vindication of the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough, both
with regard to the Account lately published by her Grace, and to her
Character in general; against the base and malicious invectives
contained in a late scurrilous pamphlet, entitled ‘Remarks on the
Account,’ &c. In a Letter to the noble Author of those Remarks.”
The Duchess had been dead nearly two years, when an anonymous biography,
concise and meagre, entitled “The Life of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough,”
was published in 1745. This small volume, for into one small volume in
those days was the long life of the departed Duchess compressed, has
every appearance of being written by a person amicable to the Duchess,
although not in her confidence; no original letters are introduced, and
the anecdotes of the Duchess, which are given, though favourable, are
not so voluminous as those which one might glean in an hour, in the
present day, from newspapers. The Life was, in all probability,
according to the custom of the Duchess, ordered and paid for by her;
perhaps the task was remunerated whilst she was alive; but, from the
coldness with which it is written, it was probably completed after her
death.
This little book has hitherto constituted the sole biography of Sarah
Duchess of Marlborough. Her own Vindication commences and ends with her
court life, and its title-page distinctly states it to be “An Account of
the Conduct of the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough, from her first coming
to Court to the year 1710. In a letter from herself to my Lord ——.” The
name of this favoured nobleman, Earl Cholmondeley, has been supplied by
Sir John Dalrymple in his manuscript notes on the work entitled the
“Opinions of the Duchess of Marlborough.”
With such scanty materials for a foundation, those who are disposed to
read the work of which this Introduction forms a portion, might
naturally dread that many of its details must be gleaned from report,
supported by questionable authority. Fortunately, however, the Duchess,
among other precise and valuable habits, had a custom, not only of
preserving every letter that she had received, but of describing its
contents in her own peculiar terms on each epistle. During her residence
abroad with the Duke, after their reverse of favour, she composed, also,
an elaborate justification of herself, in the form of a letter to Mr.
Hutchinson; a narrative which supplies ample materials for compiling
that period of her life to which it relates. She likewise prepared other
statements, which, with her letter to Mr. Hutchinson, she was persuaded,
as she says, by her friends, not to publish, until a very long time
after the events to which they related were almost forgotten by the
world. These she framed afterwards into the Account of her Conduct,
leaving out, as Horace Walpole declared upon report, and as subsequent
investigations have manifested, the most pungent, and of course the most
interesting, portion of her communications.
A great portion of the Duchess’s narrative having been delivered in
conversation to Hooke, the historian whom she employed to make the book
intelligible, the most characteristic portion of the Account, which was
suppressed by the prudence of Hooke, is of course wholly lost. In the
materials which the Duchess collected to form the volume, many minute
particulars which were not deemed worthy of insertion in the Account,
are, however, preserved; and it has been the good fortune of the
authoress of these Memoirs to supply, in some instances, the garbled
passages from the Duchess’s papers, and to restore to the Vindication
the Duchess’s own language; those expressive and happy phrases which, as
the reader will perceive, described her own sentiments, and portrayed
the characters of others, in a manner that no dispassionate historian
could imitate.
Of such papers as were deemed fit for publication by the Marlborough and
Spencer families, Archdeacon Coxe, in compiling his elaborate “Life of
John Duke of Marlborough,” had the free use, with the privilege of
making copies. In the able work of this indefatigable historian he
availed himself, in some measure, of most of these valuable materials;
but in the progress of his heavy task, he never forgot that he was
compiling a biography of the Duke, not the Duchess, of Marlborough; that
he was dealing with the enterprises, the treaties, the opinions, and the
projects, of men, and not with the intrigues, the foibles, the feelings,
and the quarrels of women. He has, therefore, but rarely, and
incidentally, referred to the Duchess of Marlborough: hastening from the
subject, as if he indeed feared that her formidable spirit might be
recalled by the expressions of disapproval which he cautiously bestows
upon her, by the hints which he gives of her temper, and the conclusion
to which he fails not to lead the reader, that she was the source of all
the Duke’s disappointments and reverses. This determination on the part
of the Archdeacon, and the manifest prejudice which he had imbibed
against the Duchess of Marlborough, may readily be traced, by those who
are induced to examine the manuscripts which were placed in the Museum
by the executors of Dr. Coxe. These papers, which formed, in part, the
materials for the Life of the great General, and also for the Duchess’s
“Account,” are extremely interesting, and afford a satisfactory basis
for a memoir. They contain, amongst other documents, many private
letters, from which a selection has been already published, with great
success, under the title of “Private Correspondence of the Duchess of
Marlborough.” They comprise also, not only a mass of papers relating to
the Duke’s continental and political affairs, but a discussion upon the
reasons for the dismissal of Lord Godolphin, the mode in which it was
effected by Queen Anne, some curious correspondence relative to the
building of Blenheim, the letters of Lord Coningsby to the Duchess, and
her grace’s long and reiterated remonstrances with the Treasury upon
various topics, passages of which develope more of her character than
long pages of description could unfold.
These documents arrived at the manuscript office of the British Museum
in a state of the greatest confusion, rendering it almost surprising
that they had been preserved at all. By the industry and judgment of Mr.
Holmes, they have been carefully arranged, in a manner well adapted to
lighten the task of examining manuscripts, always, be the writing ever
so legible, more or less laborious. To them, many of the details, and
much of the interest, which the second volume of this work may perhaps
be found to possess, are to be attributed. An author may augur somewhat
confidently of interesting and pleasing a reading public, when he can
make his principal characters speak for themselves. Without the aid of
these manuscripts, the Memoirs of the Duchess would not have had the
character of originality to which, in some degree, it is presumed, they
may aspire. It is curious that in many instances the Authoress has found
it desirable to extract from these documents the very passages which Dr.
Coxe had most carefully rejected. In the few memorials of the Duchess to
which he has referred in his work, he has passed his pen across all
lively observations, as irrelevant, all detail, however illustrative of
her character, as unnecessary. Everything that could cheer the reader
during the recital of vexatious politics, and after the enumeration of
battles, was discarded, or discussed briefly.
Such are some of the sources from which information for these Memoirs
has been gleaned. The published works which have been consulted, were
selected without any reference to their political bias. The merits of
those famous questions which agitated this country in the reigns of
James the Second, William, and Anne, have been so fully and ably treated
in the histories of Dalrymple, Macpherson, Cunningham, Somerville,
Swift, and by many other writers, that it would be presumptuous,
inadequate to the task as the Authoress considers herself, to revive
such discussions. The aim of this work is chiefly to develope private
history, connecting it, by general remarks, with the leading events of
the day. From a sense of her own incompetency, the Authoress has,
therefore, abstained as much as possible from political discussions;
conceiving also, that to the generality of readers, it is a relief to
escape from subjects which provoke controversy, and to retire into the
private sphere of life, where the contemplation of character, and the
investigation of motives, become chiefly interesting.
These Memoirs, although they aspire not to the dignity of history, must,
however, necessarily embrace various themes, and comprise descriptions
of public men. The Authoress has endeavoured, in all that she has had to
perform, to regard justice and moderation as her guides; to draw her
portraits from the most approved sources, discarding all considerations
of party, until the outlines were traced, and the colours filled in. The
ferment of political strife which impeded important business, and
disgraced society in the reign of Anne, subsiding during the reign of
her successor and his son, is revived amongst us; and the similarity of
those great topics which then came before parliament, to those which
have, of late years, engaged our legislators, cannot but be obvious to
such persons as are conversant with our annals.
It is singular that a degree of uncertainty prevails both with respect
to the birthplace of the Duchess of Marlborough, and with regard to the
place of her grace’s decease. Neither is there any record in the
possession of her descendants which supplies us with an account of her
last moments. Regarding this important point, the Authoress applied both
to his Grace the Duke of Marlborough and to Earl Spencer for
information. To her inquiries, a prompt, but unsatisfactory reply was
returned by the Duke of Marlborough; namely, that he had, in compliance
with the Authoress’s request, examined such documents as he possessed,
relating to the Duchess of Marlborough; but that the search had been
fruitless, as far as any account whatsoever of her death was concerned.
His Grace expressed also uncertainty respecting the spot where his
celebrated ancestor breathed her last, but stated that he believed it to
have been at Holywell. To Earl Spencer a similar application was made.
His lordship answered, almost in the same terms as the Duke of
Marlborough, that every paper relative to the Duchess which was fit for
publication had been published, and that there was nothing in such as
were not deemed proper for publication, relating in any way to her last
hours.
It appears singular that there should have been no record preserved,
among her numerous grandchildren and relatives, of the decline and death
of one who had played so conspicuous a part in life as the Duchess of
Marlborough. Perhaps this deficiency may be accounted for by the
dissensions which divided the Duchess from her grandchildren, more
particularly Charles Duke of Marlborough, her grandson, and from his
Duchess, the daughter of her enemy, Lord Trevor. On the other hand, her
favourite and heir, the honourable John Spencer, was one of those
reckless beings who are not likely to dwell with much attention upon the
deathbed of an aged relative. With respect to the belief entertained by
the present Duke, though not, as his grace expresses it, with any
certainty, that the Duchess died at Holywell, the Authoress has only to
offer the opposing testimony of the work before alluded to, namely, the
Life of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, which states that she died at the
Friary, St. James’s, Marlborough-house. There is much presumptive
evidence in favour of this statement. Almost to her latest hour, as may
be seen in the Coxe Manuscripts, the Duchess was in correspondence with
Mr. Scrope, secretary to Mr. Pelham, who, in one of his letters, begs
the honour of an interview, and names an evening. This occurred about
four days before the Duchess’s demise. Now it is not probable that a man
in an official station could undertake a journey to St. Albans in those
days, when even the passengers by the mailcoach to Windsor rested at
Staines, and dined upon the road. It seems, therefore, probable that her
Grace’s earliest biographer was right, and that the worn-out frame and
restless spirit of this wonderful woman ceased to exist in the great
metropolis.
* * * * *
It is incumbent upon the Authoress to express to his Grace the present
Duke of Marlborough her thanks for his prompt and polite replies to the
inquiries with which she ventured to trouble his Grace. To the right
honourable Earl Spencer she has to make similar acknowledgments. To
several of her literary friends she also owes obligations.
It seems scarcely necessary, where anything curious is to be
elicited, or any kind action to be performed, to mention the name of
William Upcott. That name occurs many times in the course of this
work. To Mr. Upcott the Authoress owes, besides several valuable
suggestions, two interesting manuscript letters, now for the first
time published in the Appendix of the second volume. The first of
these completes the correspondence,—on the part of the Duchess,
angry and characteristic,—between her Grace and the Duke of
Newcastle; part of which is to be found in the “Private
Correspondence.”
The second letter, likewise in the Duchess’s handwriting, a copy of
which Mr. Upcott has allowed the Authoress to make from his valuable
collection of autographs, relates to an action with which the Duchess
was threatened in 1712. The Authoress is also indebted to Mr. Upcott for
a fac-simile of the Duchess’s handwriting, for various anecdotes
selected from the newspapers of the day, those perishable but important
records; and for a perusal of several scarce tracts and books, of which
ample use has been made in these volumes. She cannot, indeed, recal to
mind the urbanity, liberality, and intelligence of that gentleman,
without rejoicing that she has been favoured with his aid, in the
performance of a task of no inconsiderable difficulty.
It is with the greatest pleasure and gratitude that the Authoress
acknowledges her obligations to Mr. Holmes. Upon her application to him
at the Museum, he entered with a kind and lively interest into her
researches, and facilitated them in every way. To his aid, and to his
intimate knowledge of the manuscripts, she owes that selection of
materials which he pointed out as most remarkable.
The Authoress has expressed, in a note in the first volume of these
Memoirs, her acknowledgments to the Rev. Henry Nicholson, Rector of St.
Alban’s Abbey, for the important information which she derived from him,
regarding the birthplace of the Duchess. Had it not been for the
assistance of that gentleman, directed to the subject by the local
inquiries of friends, she must have followed Dr. Coxe in erroneously
stating that the Duchess was born at Sandridge.[1]
The Authoress has great pleasure in acknowledging her obligations to
another gentleman of great classical and literary attainments, the Rev.
I. S. Brewer, to whom she owes so many useful suggestions, that she only
regrets she had not the benefit of referring to his superior knowledge
at an earlier period of the work than that at which it was first
obtained.
The Authoress cannot close this introduction to the latest of four
historical and biographical works, without thus publicly expressing her
thanks to Mr. Keats, of the British Museum, for his indefatigable
attentions to her; and for the assistance which she has on many
occasions derived from his endeavours to aid her researches.
_Hinde Street, London,
April 27, 1839._
CONTENTS
OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
CHAPTER I.
State of the country previous to the birth of Sarah
Jennings—Her parentage—Account of her sister, La Belle
Jennings—James the Second—Characters of Anne Duchess of
York, and of her successor Maria d’Esté—The Princesses Mary
and Anne—Origin and character of John Churchill—His family
and circumstances _Page_ 1
CHAPTER II.
Marriage of the Princess Mary—Marriage of Colonel Churchill
and Miss Jennings—Characters of Anne and Mary—Friendship of
Anne for Lady Churchill—Appointment of the latter to be Lady
of the Bedchamber to the Princess—Death of Charles the
Second 37
CHAPTER III.
State of manners and morals—Of parties—Defence of
Churchill—His share in the Revolution—Progress of that event 71
CHAPTER IV.
Change of manner in James—Character of Queen Mary—Her
submission to her husband—Surrender of the crown to
William—The indecision and reluctance of Anne—Her
stipulation for a settlement—The part which Lady Churchill
is said to have taken in the affair—She asks advice from
Lady Russell and Archbishop Tillotson—The different
qualities of these two advisers 109
CHAPTER V.
State of the British Court—Character of William 136
CHAPTER VI.
Character of Godolphin—His advice respecting the pension to
the Duchess of Marlborough—Feuds of Mary and Anne—Deficiency
of respect towards Prince George—Attachment of Marlborough
to his wife—Her residence at Holywell House—Birth of her
children—Cloud lowering over the fortunes of Lord
Marlborough 161
CHAPTER VII.
State of Parties—Character of Lord Nottingham—of
Bentinck—Influence of the Villiers family—Of Lady
Orkney—Quarrel of the Queen and Princess—Marriage of Frances
Jennings to the Duke of Tyrconnel—Suspicions of the Earl and
Countess of Marlborough entertained at court—Disgrace of
Lord Marlborough 180
CHAPTER VIII.
Release of Marlborough from prison—Confession of
Young—Altercations between Anne and Mary—Illness of Anne—of
Mary—Death of the latter—Reconciliation of King William to
the Princess 234
CHAPTER IX.
Circumstances attending the Peace of Ryswick—Appointment of
Marlborough to the office of preceptor to the Duke of
Gloucester—Bishop Burnet—His appointment and character 265
CHAPTER X.
Death of the Duke of Gloucester—Its effects on the
Succession—Illness and Deathbed of William—His last actions 297
CHAPTER XI.
Accession of Anne to the throne—That event considered by the
Whigs as unpropitious—Coronation of the Queen—Dislike of
Anne to the Whigs—Efforts of Lady Marlborough—Dismissal of
Somers and Halifax 314
CHAPTER XII.
Dissatisfaction of the Countess of Marlborough—Formation of
the new Cabinet—Her efforts to convert the Queen—Quarrels
with Lord Rochester—Reports concerning the sale of
offices—The Duchess’s sentiments on the proper mode of such
appointments—Cabals within the court 357
CHAPTER XIII.
Dangers which beset Marlborough—Peculiar circumstances
attending his return to England—Order in Council forbidding
the sale of places—Lord Marlborough raised to a
Dukedom—Sentiments of the Duchess on that occasion 376
CHAPTER XIV.
Death of the Marquis of Blandford—His character 413
CHAPTER XV.
Remarks on costume and manners in the time of Anne—Literary
men, their habits and station in society—The system of
patronage—Its effects in degrading the moral character of
writers—producing not only flattery, but slander—Mrs. De la
Rivière Manley—Dr. Drake—Prior—Congreve 432
APPENDIX 455
[Illustration:
_Fac-Simile of a Letter of the Duchess of Marlborough._
_J. Netherdift Lithog._
]
MEMOIRS
OF THE
DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.
CHAPTER I.
FROM 1660 TO 1678.
State of the country previous to the birth of Sarah Jennings:—Her
parentage—Account of her sister, La Belle Jennings—James the
Second—Characters of Anne Duchess of York, and of her successor
Maria d’Esté—The Princesses Mary and Anne—Origin and character of
John Churchill—His family and circumstances.
The period which preceded the birth of the distinguished individual
whose singular course is traced out in these Memoirs, was one of
apparent luxury and security, but of actual and imminent peril to the
national welfare. Charles the Second, in the decline of what could
scarcely be deemed his days of prosperity, had not, indeed, experienced
the bitterness of grief, which, in the fatal events that succeeded the
rebellion of Monmouth, reduced the afflicted monarch to a state of
depression which hurried him to an unhonoured grave. That painful scene,
which in its effects upon the health and happiness of Charles recalled
to remembrance the anguish of the royal mourner for Absalom, had not
been as yet enacted: Monmouth was to appearance still loyal, at least,
still trusted; and the ascendancy of the Roman Catholic persuasion over
our Established worship was, at that time, problematical.
The opinions of reflective men, hushed by the wise determination not to
anticipate the effect of probable events, which might accomplish all
that they secretly desired, were resolving, nevertheless, into those
famous schools of politics, which it were wrong to denominate factions,
and which were afterwards divided into the three parties interwoven with
all modern history, denominated Jacobites, Tories, and Whigs.
It is true it was not until some years afterwards that these celebrated
appellations affixed to each combination certain characters, which have
ever since, with little variation, retained the stamp which each
originally bore; but the names only were wanting. Public opinion, in
those worthy to assert its importance, had actually arranged itself
under three different banners; although it required some signal
manifestations on the part of government, to draw forth the forces
marshalled under these, from the state of inaction in which for the
present they remained.
Amongst the middle, or moderate party,—who, not contending, like the
Jacobites, for the indefeasible and divine right inherent in one family
under every circumstance, asserted generally the principles of arbitrary
government,—a great portion of the gentry, landed proprietors, numbers
of whom had fought and bled for the Royal cause, and yet, who were, from
the same high spirit and loyal dispositions, equally ready to defend
their country from oppression should occasion require, might at this
period be enumerated. This respectable portion of the community were,
for the greater part, of the Protestant faith; and, therefore, whilst
dreading the notion of republicanism, they were attached to the reigning
monarchs, and averse to the succession of James, or to the Yorkist
Party, as it was called—a name which, by a singular coincidence, had
already proved fatal to the peace of England.
Upon the virtue and strength of the Tories, as they might then be
called,—though eventually they merged, as the abettors of the
Revolution, into the bolder faction, with whom from necessity they were
joined,—much of what has since been preserved to us, depended.
Notwithstanding the practice which obtained among those who had
sufficient influence, of sending their sons into the army, and their
daughters to court, it is from the royalist families that many of those
who promoted the Revolution, and who even suffered for their premature
exertions in the cause of liberty, have sprung. Individuals who would
have shuddered at the name of Revolution, whilst yet their restored
monarch ruled the country,—with a facility which, when we consider his
character and example, is incomprehensible,—became, in after times,
impatient to distinguish themselves in a resistance to the unsettled
mandates of a court, and in their eagerness to promote the dominion of
just and fixed laws. Amongst this class was the family of Churchill;
and, if we consider the Duchess as its chief representative, that of
Jennings. The origin, principles, and circumstances of the latter family
we are now about to discuss.
Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, the subject of this Memoir, a gentlewoman
by birth, and a favourite of fortune, affords, in the narrative of her
chequered life, an instance that integrity, unless accompanied by
moderation, cannot protect from the assaults of slander, nor personal
and hereditary advantages insure happiness.
This celebrated woman, the beautiful and intellectual offspring of
wealthy and well-descended parents; the wife of the most distinguished,
and also of the most domestic and affectionate of men; blessed as a
parent beyond the lot of most mothers; the favourite of her sovereign,
and endowed with superabundant temporal means; lived, nevertheless, in
turbulence and discontent, and died, unloved, unregretted, and
calumniated.
Her original condition in life was fixed by Providence in a station,
neither too high to enjoy the quiet privileges of domestic comfort, nor
too low to aspire to distinction; and it was rather her misfortune than
her privilege, that she was singled out, in early life, to receive the
favours of the great. She was the daughter of a country gentleman in
good circumstances. Her family had, for many generations, possessed an
estate at Sandridge in Hertfordshire, near St. Albans, at which place,
it has been stated, the father of the Duchess could muster a tenantry
sufficient to influence considerably the election of members for the
adjacent borough of St. Albans.[2]
The family of Jennings had been held in high estimation by the House of
Stuart, and were distinguished among the adherents to the Royal cause.
The Duchess, whatever might be her subsequent opinions of rulers and
princes, sprang from a race devoted to the hereditary monarchy. Her
grandfather, Sir John Jennings, received the order of the Bath, in
company with his unfortunate young patron, Charles the First, then
Prince of Wales; and the partiality of the Stuart family, when restored,
was successively manifested by proofs of favour to the owners of
Sandridge.[3]
These details refute the reports which prevailed, during the sunshine of
prosperity which the Duchess enjoyed, that her parents were of mean
origin. It was also stated, by the scandalous writers of the day, that
her mother was a woman of abandoned character, rejected from society,
and of the lowest extraction. Among the various proofs which might be
adduced in contradiction of this aspersion, the most convincing is the
correspondence which Mrs. Jennings maintained, with families of
respectability in her own neighbourhood. A letter is still extant,
between Sarah Duchess of Marlborough and the daughter-in-law of Sir John
Wittewronge of Rothamsted Park, near St. Albans, in which this
calumniated lady is referred to by Mrs. Wittewronge, addressing the
Duchess, as “your noble mother.”[4] This, and the still stronger
testimony which will be presently adduced, disprove the insinuations of
party writers, who required but a slender foundation of surmise upon
which to ground their injurious attacks.
Those who thus wrote were perhaps aware, that they could scarcely wound
a person of the Duchess’s disposition more deeply than by an aspersion
of this description. Yet, in her celebrated Vindication, written in old
age, the Duchess, with calmness, refutes in these terms those who sought
to defame her origin: “Though I am very little concerned about pedigree
or families, I know not why I should not tell you, that his (her
father’s) was reckoned a good one; and that he had in Somersetshire,
Kent, and St. Albans, about four thousand pounds a year.”[5]
The mother of the Duchess belonged, in fact, to a family in some degree
superior to that of her husband. She was Frances Thornhurst, daughter of
Sir Giffard Thornhurst of Agnes Court in Kent, and heiress to her
father’s property. Thus, on both sides, the Duchess might regard her
origin with complacency; and the expression of the antiquary Collins,
when he describes her relatives “as a considerable family,” is
justified.[6]
This point, of little importance had it not been obscured by malignity,
is readily ascertained: but of the dispositions, principles, and
attainments of the parents who nurtured one who played so conspicuous a
part, we have no authentic record. It is a singular fact, that until a
diligent inquiry was made, with a view to the compilation of these
Memoirs, a degree of obscurity existed, even with regard to the
birthplace of the Duchess. Archdeacon Coxe explicitly declares that she
was born at Sandridge; but, on examining the parish registers of that
place, no mention of that fact, nor indeed of the birth of any of the
Jennings family, is to be found in them; nor are there in the church, as
it now stands, any monuments inscribed with that name. Neither does
there appear to have been any house on the estate at Sandridge, of
nearly sufficient importance to have been the residence of the Jennings
family.[7] It appears, however, from indisputable testimony, that Sarah
Jennings was born on the twenty-ninth day of May,[8] in the year 1660,
at Holywell, a suburb of St. Albans, and in a small house, very near the
site of the spacious mansion afterwards erected there by her husband,
John Duke of Marlborough.
It is to be regretted that a reference to the registers of the Abbey of
St. Albans will not assist in establishing this point: in the fire which
broke out in that noble building in 1743, a portion of those valuable
memorials was burnt. But tradition, corroborated by probability, has
satisfied the minds of those most qualified to judge, that at Holywell,
the future “viceroy,” as she was sarcastically denominated, first saw
the light.[9]
This celebrated woman was one of five children, all of whom, excepting
Frances Duchess of Tyrconnel, she survived. Her brothers Ralph and John
died young; and one of her sisters, Barbara, who married a gentleman of
St. Albans, named Griffiths, died in London in 1678, in the
twenty-seventh year of her age.[10]
By the early demise of these relatives, the Duchess acquired that
hereditary property which became afterwards her home. At a very early
age, however, she must have left Holywell, to enter upon the duties of a
courtier. She was preceded in the service of Anne Hyde, Duchess of York,
by her eldest sister Frances, the celebrated _La Belle_ Jennings, who
graced the halls in which the dissolute Charles and James held carousal,
and who followed the destinies of the exiled James to a foreign land.
Resembling in some respects her sister, Frances Jennings was equally
celebrated for her talents and for her beauty. Her personal charms were,
however, of a softer and more alluring character than those of the
imperious Sarah. Her bright yet delicate complexion, her luxuriant
flaxen hair, and her attractive but not elevated features, might have
been liable to the charge of insipidity, but that a vivacity of manner
and play of countenance were combined with youthful loveliness, in
riveting the attention on a face not to be forgotten. Like her sister,
Frances possessed shrewdness, decision, penetration, and, their frequent
attendant in woman, a love of interfering. Proud rather than principled,
and a coquette, this lovely, aspiring woman had no sooner entered upon
her duties of a maid of honour, than her youth and innocence were
assailed by every art which could be devised, among men whose professed
occupation was what they termed gallantry. Frances united to her other
attractions remarkable powers of conversation; her raillery was
admirable, her imagination vivid. It was not long before her
fascinations attracted the notice of that devotee and reprobate, James
Duke of York, whose Duchess she served. But James, in directing his
attention to a Jennings, encountered all the secret contempt that a
woman could feel, and received all the avowed disdain which she dared to
show. To his compliments, the indignant and persecuted maid of honour
turned a deaf ear; and the written expressions of the Duke’s regard were
torn to pieces, and scattered to the winds. Nor was it long before
Frances Jennings found, in a sincere and honest attachment, an
additional safeguard against temptation.
Sarah, at twelve years of age, was introduced into the same dangerous
atmosphere. Fortunately for both sisters, in Anne Duchess of York they
found a mistress whom they could respect, and in whose protection they
felt security; for she possessed—the one great error in her career set
apart—a sensible and well-conditioned mind.
Her court was then the chief resort of the gay and the great. It was the
Duchess’s foible (in such circumstances one of injurious effect) to
pride herself upon the superior beauty of her court, and on its
consequent distinction in the world of fashion, in comparison with that
of the Queen, the homely Katharine of Braganza. But she had virtue and
delicacy sufficient to appreciate the prudence and good conduct of those
around her, and to set an example of propriety and dignity, in her own
demeanour, becoming her high station. United to a husband who, in the
midst of depravity, “had,” says Burnet, “a real sense of sin, and was
ashamed of it.”[11] Anne, had she lived, might have possessed, as a
Protestant, and as a woman of understanding, a salutary influence over
the mind of her husband;—an influence which prudent women are found to
retain, even when the affections of the heart are alienated on both
sides. But her death, which happened in 1671, deprived England of a
queen-consort who professed the national faith; and, in her, James lost
a faithful and sensible wife, and the court a guide and pattern which
might have checked the awful demoralization that prevailed.
Anne was succeeded by the unfortunate Maria Beatrix d’Esté, Princess of
Modena, called, from her early calamities, “the Queen of Tears.”[12]
Into the service of this lovely child, for such she then was, Sarah
Jennings, in consequence of the partiality entertained by the Stuarts
for her family, who had been always Royalists, was, shortly after the
death of her first patroness, preferred.
In the young Duchess of York Sarah found a kind mistress, an
affectionate and a liberal friend. Her subsequent desertion of this
unhappy Princess is, we are of opinion, one of the worst features of a
character abounding in faults; and proves that ambition, like the fabled
Upas tree, blights all the verdure of kindly affections which spring up
within the human heart.
Maria Beatrix, the beloved, adopted daughter of Louis XIV., encountered,
in her marriage with James, a fate still more calamitous than that which
the ungainly Katharine of Braganza, or the lofty but neglected Anne
Hyde, bore in unappreciated submission. Beautiful beyond the common
standard, and joyous as youth and innocence usually are, this unhappy
woman came, in all the unconsciousness of childhood, to incur the
miseries of suspicion and obloquy, and to experience subsequent reverse,
even poverty. She was hurried over to England, when little more than
fourteen years of age, to become the bride of James, then no longer
young, in whom bigotry was strangely united to looseness of morals,
which habitual and prompt repentance could not restrain. In his
phlegmatic deportment, in spite of the natural grace of all the Stuarts,
vice failed to attract, yet ceased not to disgust; nor can we be
surprised that repeated and fruitless negociations were necessary to
procure him a wife, after remaining a widower for more than two
years.[13]
In November, 1673, the ill-fated Princess of Modena landed at Dover. The
match, which had been accelerated by the promise of a portion to Maria,
his adopted daughter, from the King of France, was universally unpopular
in England. It had been, however, already concluded, the Earl of
Peterborough having, in September, married the Princess by proxy, in
Italy. He had conducted the bride to Paris, when Parliament met, and the
Commons voted an address to the King, to prevent the marriage of his
brother and the Princess, on the plea of her religion. The hopes of a
dowry prevailed, at a time when Charles was so impoverished as to
entertain an idea of recalling the ambassadors from foreign courts, from
the want of means to support them; and the Princess was married to the
Duke, at Dover, on the same evening that she landed, to prevent further
obstacles, the ceremony being performed according to the rites of the
Church of England.[14]
The Duke and the Duchess proceeded to Whitehall, where no very cordial
welcome awaited their arrival. The Duchess was refused the use of the
private chapel, which had been stipulated by the marriage articles, and
the Duke was advised by his friends to withdraw from the country.[15]
Such was the reception of Maria D’Esté, the mother of the Pretender,
and, as such, the innocent cause of many national disasters. In her
service, and favoured by her kindness, Sarah Jennings passed many years;
nor can the subsequent desertion of this lovely and unfortunate
Princess, which the then influential Countess of Marlborough justified
to herself, be viewed in any other light than as an act of the coldest
ingratitude. During the twelve years that Mary enjoyed a comparatively
private station as Duchess of York, she passed her time, and engaged
those around her, in innocent amusements and revels, which have been
always peculiarly agreeable in their rulers to the English people. Young
and light-hearted as she then was, Mary was herself the fairest flower
of the court, over which she presided with the gay grace of her country.
“She was,” says Macpherson, “of exquisite beauty. Her complexion was
very fair, her hair black, her eyes full of sweetness and fire. She was
tall in her person, and admirably shaped; dignified in her manner, and
graceful in her deportment.”[16]
By the sweetness and propriety of her conduct, she, in her hours of
sunshine, made herself universally beloved, notwithstanding her
religion; and amid the storms of her subsequent career she showed a
spirit and heroism which deserved a better cause, and a clinging
attachment to James which merited a worthier object.
There is no reason to conclude that at first Sarah Jennings lived
constantly in the household of the Duchess. “I was often at court,” is
an expression which occurs in a passage of her Vindication. She seems,
indeed, to have remained in the proximity of the Duchess, chiefly for
the purpose of being a sort of playmate, rather than attendant, of the
Princess Anne, the step-daughter of her royal mistress, whose favour she
ultimately succeeded in obtaining, and for whose dawning greatness she
relinquished her adherence to the falling fortunes of the Duchess. It is
probably to this intimacy with the juvenile branches of the court that
Sarah, in part, owed that correctness of conduct, which not even the
malice of her enemies could successfully impugn; and soon a sincere and
well-founded attachment, the great safeguard to wandering affections,
ended in an engagement which gave to the beautiful Miss Jennings an
efficient and devoted protector.
In the year 1673, John Churchill, afterwards Duke of Marlborough, was
appointed to be a gentleman of the bedchamber to the Duke of
York,—probably on occasion of the Duke’s marriage. Churchill was at this
time a colonel in the army, and already his fame stood high as an
officer of enterprise; whilst, at the court, there were few of the young
gallants of the day who could cope with this gifted man, in the dignity
and symmetry of his person, in the graces of his manner, or in the charm
which good-breeding, and a species of benevolence in small and every-day
matters, confer upon the deportment.
The illustrious name of Churchill requires, however, some comment,
before the disturbed course of his love-suit to his future wife, the
solace and torment of his later days, can be unfolded.
Roger de Courselle, or Courcil, one of the Barons of Poitou, who
followed William the Conqueror to England, and settled first in
Somersetshire, and afterwards in Devonshire, under the anglicised name
of Churchill, was the direct progenitor of Colonel Churchill. It is
worthy of remark, that at different periods the ancestors of our great
warrior have been noted for valour. In the reign of Stephen, Sir
Bartholomew Churchill lost his life defending Bristol Castle, in the
cause of the king; and in the disturbed times of Edward the Fourth,
William, a lineal descendant of Sir Bartholomew, fought under the
banners of the Courtenays in Devonshire, for his sovereign. Successive
proofs of loyalty were given by the Churchill family; and Sir Winston,
the father of the hero of Blenheim, left the University of Oxford,
whilst a youth, to enlist in the army of Charles the First, in which he
served with distinction, as a captain of horse, in several battles.[17]
It was the inevitable consequence of the political turmoils in which the
family of Colonel Churchill bore a part, that his patrimony should have
suffered. His youth was passed in privacy and restraint; and perhaps to
that circumstance may be traced that love of order in his affairs, and
that close regulation of his expenditure, which in his prosperous days
procured for him the opprobrium of penuriousness. During the civil wars,
his father had married a daughter of Sir John Drake, of Ashe in
Dorsetshire, where Sir Winston was thankful, after the execution of
Charles the First, to retire, his estates being sequestrated by
Parliament, and a fine of upwards of four thousand pounds imposed upon
him for his adherence to the Royal cause.
In the safe seclusion of Ashe, John Churchill was nurtured; and,
although upon the restoration of Charles the Second the family estate
was recovered, his father was honoured with knighthood, and employed by
government, his valiant son never derived any pecuniary advantage from
the paternal property.[18] Sir Winston ultimately was reduced to
circumstances of difficulty, in which he died, bequeathing his estate to
his widow, with a request that she would leave it to his third son,
Charles. To his family connexion, not solely to fortune or to his own
merits, was John indebted for his elevation to distinction. His
condition therefore, in some respects, resembled that of his early and
late affection, as far as worldly and external circumstances are
concerned.
The family of Churchill, like that of Jennings, was ancient; and young
Churchill possessed, in the power of referring to a long line of
ancestry, an incentive, to an ardent mind peculiarly attractive, to aim
at distinction, not only for self-gratification, but with the hope of
restoring to former honour those whose fortunes and fame had been
crushed, but not obliterated. Colonel Churchill, even from his
childhood, had been connected with a court, and destined to share a
courtier’s duties and rewards. From his boyhood he was honoured with the
notice of Royalty, the Duke of York being his first patron.
To the influence of James he owed his rapid promotion in the army; and,
as in all similar cases, several causes, such as were incidental to the
Stuart family, and probably from their known looseness of principle,
were assigned for his success. But to the good-nature and discernment of
James the Second, the first opportunity afforded to Marlborough of
becoming great must be attributed. Observing the enthusiasm of the
high-minded boy, then his page, during the reviews of the regiments of
Foot Guards, James inquired of the youth “what profession he would
prefer?” Churchill, neither overpowered nor abashed by this trait of
condescension, fell upon his knees, and owned a predilection for that of
arms, venturing to beg “for a pair of colours in one of those fine
regiments.” His petition was granted, and at sixteen years of age
Churchill entered the army.
This commencement of his fortune has been stated, but erroneously, to
have been the result of James’s passion for Arabella Churchill, the
sister of the young officer, and afterwards the acknowledged mistress of
the prince. But Arabella, who was younger than her brother, had not at
that time attracted the notice of her brother’s patron. In all
probability her transient influence over the Duke—that influence which
excited the sole pang of jealousy ever evinced by Anne Hyde—accelerated
the rise to eminence which Churchill gained with unusual rapidity, and
in consideration of which he appears, in compliance with the custom of
the day, to have witnessed, without the burning blushes of shame, his
sister’s disgrace. Arabella, indolent, easy, not beautiful,[19] and
unambitious, soon lost her royal lover’s regard. She bore him, however,
two sons, one, the celebrated James Fitz-James, Duke of Berwick; the
other, Henry, Grand Prior of France; and two daughters, Lady Waldegrave
and Mrs. Godfrey.
At the period of his appointment in the household of the Duke of York,
Colonel Churchill was in his twenty-fourth year. Already had he
distinguished himself at the siege of Tangier during his first campaign,
and had served afterwards under the Duke of Monmouth, and nominally
under Louis the Fourteenth; but, to the especial advantage of his
military character, he had fought under the banners of Marshal Turenne.
Already had he signalised himself in the attacks on Nimeguen, where his
courage attracted the discerning eye of Turenne, who gave him the name
of the “handsome Englishman;” and a station of importance having been
abandoned by one of Turenne’s officers, Captain Churchill was appointed
to maintain it, which he effected, expelling the enemy.[20]
At the siege of Maestricht Churchill still further advanced his fame,
and received the thanks of Louis the Fourteenth, and his fortunes seemed
to his youthful mind advancing to their climax, when he was presented to
Charles the Second by the Duke of Monmouth, with this warm-hearted
asseveration, characteristic of that gallant nobleman. “To the bravery
of this gallant officer,” said the Duke, addressing his royal father, “I
owe my life.” The last reward of Churchill’s valiant exertions had been
an appointment to the command of the English troops auxiliary to France;
a post which the Earl of Peterborough had resigned.[21] The fame of
these various services had been extolled by friends at court, and by
connexions, influential in various degrees, and for various reasons.
Recalled, at sundry times, to the duties of a court life, the hero who
surpassed the generals under whom he served, surpassed also the
courtiers with whom he came into frequent collision. He was endowed with
personal beauty, height of stature, (being above the middle size,)
activity, and sweetness of expression: in short, the perfection of the
species, high intellect combined with perfect grace, was exhibited in
this great, and, when chastened by the course of events, subsequently
good man. His countenance was mild, thoughtful, commanding; his brow
lofty, his features regular but flexible. His deportment was dignified,
and, at the same time, winning. “No one,” said one who knew him
personally, “ever said a pert thing to the Duke of Marlborough.”[22]
The same consummate judge even attributed the great success of the Duke
“to the Graces, who protected and promoted him.” “His manner,” Lord
Chesterfield declares, “was irresistible, either by man or woman.”
Like most young men destined to the profession of arms, the education of
Churchill was limited. Lord Chesterfield, indeed, declares that the
great Marlborough was “eminently illiterate, wrote bad English, and
spelt it worse;” and he goes so far as to assert, that “he had no share
of what is commonly called parts; he had no brightness, nothing shining
in his genius.”
But with this opinion, however backed by high authority, it is
impossible for those who trace the career of Marlborough to agree. That
he was not a man of extensive intellectual cultivation, as far as the
learning to be acquired from books was concerned—that he was not
calculated to harangue in the senate with peculiar distinction, nor
addicted deeply to the study of the closet—may readily be admitted. It
may even be allowed that he was deficient in the science of
orthography—in those days less carefully instilled in youth than in the
present time.[23] But that he was absolutely illiterate, or even of
mediocre parts moderately cultivated, his private letters sufficiently
disprove. They are all admirably expressed; clear, emphatic, and in
well-constructed sentences. His father was a man of letters, the author
of an historical work,[24] and by Sir Winston was the education of
Churchill superintended, until he was placed at St. Paul’s school,
London.[25]
To the “cool head and warm heart” of Marlborough, as King William the
Third expressed it, he owed his early and progressive success. He was at
once the object of affection and of confidence. His calmness, the
suavity of his temper, until disease, most cruel in its effects on
_that_, broke down his self-command; his forbearance—his consideration
for others—the gentleness with which he refused what he could not
grant—the grace with which he conferred favours—these qualities,
combined with indefatigable industry, hardihood, and a judgment never
prejudiced by passion, were the true sources of Churchill’s greatness,
the benignant spirits which made the gifts of fortune sweeter when they
came.
It is uncertain at what time or in what manner the first tokens of
ardent affection between Colonel Churchill and the youthful Sarah were
exchanged. The authoress of the “Life of Zarah” has given a romantic
description of their first meeting, in which, as in other ephemeral
works, we may suppose there may be some foundation of truth, but no
accuracy of detail. According to this account, the youthful fancy of
Sarah was first attracted by the grace of her valiant lover in the
dance—a recreation in which he particularly excelled. “Every step he
took carried death in it,”[26] and the applause and admiration which
Colonel Churchill obtained, sank deep into the heart of one whose
ambition was perhaps as easily stimulated as her love. Yet that her
affections were interested in the addresses of the brave Churchill, is
manifest from her rejection of another suitor of higher rank, the Earl
of Lindsay, afterwards Marquis of Ancaster, and of others, by whom she
was considered as “the star and ornament of the court.”[27]
The correspondence between these celebrated lovers during the anxious
days of courtship was preserved by the survivor, with a care that marked
the honour which she felt she had received in being beloved by such a
man as Marlborough. They are said, by Archdeacon Coxe, to have displayed
the most ardent tenderness on the part of Churchill, with alternations
of regard and petulance on that of the lady. Her haughtiness, and the
sensibility of her future husband, fully appear in these letters. Yet,
notwithstanding the defects of character which they betrayed in the one
party, the attachment on the side of the other increased in ardour, and
continued sufficiently strong to overcome all obstacles. Amongst these,
the scanty portion of Sarah, no less than the still greater deficiency
of means on the part of her lover, formed the principal impediment. In
order to show the different circumstances of each of the families with
which they were connected, it is necessary to give some account of their
various members, and of the fortunes which they had at this time begun
to share.
The adherence of the Churchill family to the royal House of Stuart, and
the adverse effect of that adherence upon the fortunes of Sir Winston
Churchill, have been already mentioned. Sir Winston, a man of
considerable learning and of approved bravery, had indeed so far
retrieved his circumstances, and relieved his estate of its heavy
burdens, as to be able, in 1661, to stand for the borough of Weymouth,
and to sit in the first parliament called by Charles the Second. He was
afterwards appointed a commissioner of the Court of Claims in Ireland,
and constituted, on his return from that country, one of the
comptrollers of the Board of Green Cloth,—an office from which he was
removed, but to which he was restored. But these appointments appear to
have been the sole compensation which he received for his active
services; and he seems to have devoted the latter portion of his days to
pursuits of literature rather than of ambition, being one of the first
fellows of the Royal Society, and the author of an able and elegant
historical work on the Kings of England, which composition he dedicated
to Charles the Second.[28]
Sir Winston’s means were encumbered, however, with seven sons and four
daughters; and although seven of this numerous family died in infancy,
yet still a sufficient number remained to entail anxiety upon the owner
of an impoverished estate. George Churchill, the third surviving son,
like his brother John, owed the first gleams of royal favour to family
interest, but insured its continuance by his merit. He distinguished
himself both by sea and land; was a faithful servant, for twenty years,
as a gentleman of the bedchamber to George of Denmark, and attained,
under King William, the post of one of the commissioners of the
Admiralty.
Charles, the fourth son, was also bred to arms, and, at an early age,
signalised himself at the time of the Revolution. To him the landed
property of Sir Winston descended, on account of some pecuniary
obligations which his father owed him, and which prove how circumscribed
were still the means of the brave and estimable Sir Winston. Like his
brothers, Charles held offices under the crown, and was appointed
governor of the Tower of London by Queen Anne.[29] Thus, whilst, by
merit and interest conjoined, the sons of Sir Winston Churchill attained
independence, and perhaps wealth, it was natural for him to desire that
his eldest surviving son should farther advance his fortunes by an
advantageous marriage; nor was it inconsistent with the notions of the
day, to look upon marriage solely as a negociation in which the
affections were not even consulted, or were at least regarded as of
secondary import.
That such were the sentiments of Sir Winston and Lady Churchill, appears
from the strenuous opposition which they made to their son’s union with
Miss Jennings: for at present her portion was inconsiderable, and her
family interest not to be compared with that of the Churchills. It is
true that the estate at Sandridge, to which the Duchess afterwards
became co-heiress, was more productive than those lands which Sir
Winston Churchill had saved from the grasp of the parliament; but still
it was encumbered by a provision for her grandfather’s numerous issue;
nor was it until the death of her brothers, without children, that Sarah
and her sister Frances shared the patrimonial property. Thus
circumstanced, and precluded on both sides from the expectation of
parental aid, the young soldier was obliged to depend upon his own
powers of exertion, to find means to form an establishment for the lady
to whom he made his ardent suit.
The young Duchess of York was, at this juncture, the counsellor and
confidante of Sarah, and she appears to have offered her and Colonel
Churchill some pecuniary assistance in this emergency.[30] Nor was her
bounty the only source from which a future provision for the lovers was
derived.
It is always an ungracious task to touch upon the errors of those who,
by a subsequent career of honour, have left, as the final testament to
posterity, an example of domestic virtue. The income which Colonel
Churchill possessed,[31] is said to have been derived from a
dishonourable source.[32] Amongst the causes of his rapid rise in the
army, as well as of his success at court, his relationship to the
celebrated Barbara Villiers, afterwards Duchess of Cleveland, has been
naturally regarded as one of the most powerful explanations of the
favours which he received. This infamous woman, described by Bishop
Burnet as “a woman of great beauty, but enormously vicious and ravenous,
foolish, but imperious,”[33] governed Charles the Second, as it is well
known, by the exhibition of the most tempestuous passions, which she
ascribed in his presence to jealousy of him, whilst her intrigues with
other men were notorious. She was second cousin to Churchill by his
mother’s side, being the daughter of Villiers Lord Grandison, who was
killed at the battle of Edge Hill. Whilst Churchill was a youth, she
imbibed for him too strong a partiality, in such a mind as hers, to
appear even innocent, if it really were so. Her passion for him was as
sudden as it was disgusting; and however it may have procured him some
temporary assistance, it drew upon him the displeasure of the King, who
at one time forbade him the court.[34] The advocates of Churchill have
endeavoured to attach little importance to this disgraceful connexion,
for which his youth and the temptations of the court alone furnish an
apology; yet they cannot, whilst they excuse, entirely deny a fact which
undoubtedly sullies the fair fame of Churchill.
Lord Chesterfield, in holding up the Duke of Marlborough as a model of
good breeding and irresistible elegance and suavity, thus touches upon
the fact of his being under pecuniary obligations to the imperious
Duchess of Cleveland. “He had,” says his lordship, “most undoubtedly an
excellent, good, plain understanding, with sound judgment. But these
alone would probably have raised him but something higher than they
found him, which was page to King James the Second’s queen. There the
graces protected and promoted him; for while he was an ensign in the
Guards, the Duchess of Cleveland, then favourite mistress of the King,
struck by those very graces, gave him five thousand pounds; with which
he immediately bought an annuity of five hundred pounds a year, of my
grandfather Halifax, which was the foundation of his subsequent
fortune.”[35]
Upon this slender annuity, thus disreputably obtained, the hopes of
Churchill and of the young object of his affections depended. Sarah
appears to have been capricious and undecided in her conduct during the
progress of their engagement, which lasted three years.[36] The cause of
these variations of feeling has been assigned to the opposition made by
Sir Winston and Lady Churchill to their son’s forming a union so far
below their expectations; but it may be referred to various other
sources. The high-minded Sarah must have been often offended and
wounded, in the nicest feelings, by the past irregularities of
Churchill’s life. Those irregularities were renounced, it is true, upon
his engagement with her, and his honourable and well-toned mind was
recalled to a sense of that beauty which attends purity of conduct, and
its power to dignify characters even of a common stamp. But the effects
of his past conduct were found in the bitterness and jealousy of those
by whom he had been hitherto flattered,[37] and by whom doubtless the
defects of his moral character may have been grossly exaggerated. Sarah
may have intended to prove the constancy of her accomplished lover,
when, hearing that his parents destined him to become the husband of a
young lady of superior fortune to her own, though of less beauty, she
petulantly entreated him “to renounce an attachment which militated
against his worldly prospects;” and adding many reproaches, pungent as
her pen could write,—and in the vituperative style she had few
equals,—she declared that she would accompany her sister Frances, then
Countess of Hamilton, to Paris, thus finally to end their engagement.
Her address to the honour, to the heart of Churchill, was not made in
vain; he answered her by an appeal to her affection, and by earnest
remonstrances against her cruelty, and a reconciliation was the
result.[38]
Whilst these sentiments secretly occupied the heart of Churchill, and of
her who loved him, perhaps, less for his excellencies than for the
effect which they produced upon others, several events took place at the
court of Charles, in which Colonel Churchill, during the intervals of
his military service, participated,—his office of master of the robes to
the Duke of York, an appointment granted him in 1673, retaining him near
the court; whilst Sarah, in the course of her attendance on the Princess
Anne, must have taken a considerable interest in the events which
immediately concerned the royal family.
CHAPTER II.
COURT OF CHARLES II.—1677 to 1681.
Marriage of the Princess Mary—Marriage of Colonel Churchill and Miss
Jennings—Characters of Anne and Mary—Friendship of Anne for Lady
Churchill—Appointment of the latter to be Lady of the Bedchamber to
the Princess—Death of Charles the Second.
It was fortunate for the subject of this Memoir that her introduction
into the great world took place under the auspices of a young and
virtuous Princess, almost of the same age with herself. It is true, that
to the charge of Katharine, the neglected wife of Charles the Second, no
graver crime could be alleged than her subserviency to the King’s
pleasures; for in her own conduct she was irreproachable. When first she
became Queen of England, she endeavoured, with such judgment as she
possessed, to reform the manners of her adopted country, and to
introduce propriety of demeanour into the court. Unhappily Katharine was
not endowed with those graces which are likely to recommend virtue. She
is described by a contemporary as “a little ungraceful woman, so
short-legged, that when she stood upon her feet you would have thought
she was on her knees, and yet so long-waisted, that when she sat down
she appeared like a well-sized woman.”[39]
Brought up in a monastery, the simple-minded Katharine vainly hoped to
reform her dissolute husband, whose inconstancy at first grieved and
shocked her virtuous notions. Unlike her rival, Anne Duchess of York, a
shrewd and worldly woman, who strove to fill her saloons with the young
and the fair, Katharine was surrounded by her countrywomen, old, stiff,
ungainly, repulsive Portuguese ladies, of birth and pride, who soon
became the subjects of infinite merriment to King Charles’s court. These
exemplary ladies came possessed with the notion that they should quickly
bring the English to conform to their new customs; but Charles speedily
undeceived them, and by his express order they were soon shipped off
again for Portugal.[40]
The injured Queen was, at the time that Sarah and Colonel Churchill
became acquainted, sinking fast into the obscurity which was alone
redeemed from oblivion, after Charles’s death, by her patronage of
musical science, and by the concerts which she gave at Somerset House,
whither she retired, to reside until she returned to Portugal.[41]
Charles, impoverished in circumstances, and governed at this time almost
wholly by the Duchess of Portsmouth, who was under the influence of
France, astonished both his subjects and the foreign courts, by the
alliance which he selected for his niece, the Princess Mary, at this
time in her fifteenth year. It was whilst Colonel Churchill and his
future wife were in all the uncertainties of suspense, that the nuptials
of William of Nassau with Mary were solemnised. This young Princess is
said to have owed the decision which gave her a husband to whom she was
entirely subservient, to a sudden prepossession of her royal uncle in
favour of the Prince. The King is reported to have said to Sir William
Temple these characteristic words:—“I never yet was deceived in judging
a man’s honesty by his looks; and if I am not deceived in the Prince’s
face, he is the honestest man in the world, and I will trust him, and he
shall have his wife; and you shall go immediately and tell my brother
so, and thus it is a thing resolved on.”[42]
This mode of deciding an union highly agreeable to the English, although
unwelcome to the Duke of York, was adopted and carried instantly into
effect, in order to avoid the importunities of the Duchess of
Portsmouth, who was entirely an instrument in the interests of France.
Louis the Fourteenth, when informed of the marriage being declared in
council, could not help marking his resentment towards the Duke of York,
through the English ambassador, Lord Darnley,—who justified James by
saying that “he did not know of the King’s decision until an hour before
it was proclaimed, nor did the King himself above two hours previously.”
Upon which Louis uttered these prophetic words: that “James had given
his daughter to his greatest enemy.”[43]
In the ensuing year, 1678, the marriage of Sarah Jennings and Colonel
Churchill is presumed to have taken place.[44] Secret their union
certainly was, for a letter addressed by Colonel Churchill to his wife,
from Brussels, April 12, 1678, is directed to Miss Jennings; but the
epistle was carefully preserved by his wife, who left, in her own
handwriting, these words on the back: “I believe I was married when this
was written, but it was not known to any but the Duchess” (of York.) In
the same year he writes to her, addressed to Mrs. Churchill, at Mintern,
his father’s seat, where probably the young bride had taken up her abode
in the intervals of her attendance at court; or perhaps that attendance
was discontinued, and not constantly resumed until a year or two
afterwards. The ceremony took place in the presence of Mary Duchess of
York, who bestowed presents of considerable value on the bride; and some
months afterwards the marriage was avowed.[45]
Little of domestic comfort for several years seems to have been the
portion of Colonel Churchill in his marriage. His first absence was on
occasion of the Duke’s retiring, first to Brussels, and afterwards to
the Hague, accompanied by the Duchess of York, and by the Princess Anne;
an event which took place in the beginning of the year 1678. But
although at this time attached to the service of the Duke of York, and
ignorant of the Duke’s designs upon the religion and the liberties of
England,[46] Colonel Churchill’s interests with Charles appear not to
have suffered; for he obtained in February a regiment of foot, and was
shortly afterwards sent on a mission of importance to the Prince of
Orange. The following letter from him to his wife breathes sincere
affection. It is dated Brussels, April 12th.
“I writ to you from Antwerp, which I hope you have received before now,
for I should be glad you should hear from me by every post. I met with
some difficulties in my business with the Prince of Orange, so that I
was forced to write to England, which will cause me to be two or three
days longer abroad than I should have been. But because I would lose no
time, I despatch all other things in the mean time, for I do, with all
my heart and soul, long to be with you, you being dearer to me than my
own life. On Sunday morning I shall leave this place, so that on Monday
night I shall be at Breda, where the Prince and Princess of Orange are;
and from hence you shall be sure to hear from me again; till then, my
soul’s soul, farewell.”[47]
Colonel Churchill had, however, the enjoyment of passing the summer of
this year with his wife at Mintern, where he had the happiness of
finding her reconciled to his parents; but this transient enjoyment of
domestic quiet was not of long duration. The Colonel was obliged to
repair to London, where he received instructions to join the allied
troops in hostilities against France, and received a commission from the
Duke of Monmouth, appointing him, as British commander-in-chief in the
Netherlands, to the command of a brigade in Flanders. But, happily,
being driven back by contrary winds to Margate, Colonel Churchill
learned, in time to prevent his proceeding to the Continent, that the
Prince of Orange had signed a treaty with the French, and that a general
peace was the result.[48]
The dissolute rule of Charles was now drawing to a close; but its last
years were disturbed by faction, and disgraced by acts of rigour, which
were with justice imputed to the influence of the heir apparent. Colonel
Churchill and his wife remained, however, attached to the service of the
Duke and Duchess of York, and accompanied their royal highnesses to the
Hague and to Brussels—a journey which was undertaken by James in
compliance with a request addressed to him from his brother, that he
would for a time absent himself from the British dominions.
This may probably be considered as the happiest epoch in the life of
Churchill, and of the partner of his bright fortunes. Although confided
in by James in all important points, notwithstanding the difference of
their religious faith, Churchill took no share in political intrigues,
and with a calm dignity retained his own opinions, unbiassed by example,
or by what might be deemed interest. “Though I have an aversion to
popery,” thus he explained his sentiments to a confidential friend, “yet
I am no less averse to persecution for conscience sake. I deem it the
highest act of injustice to set every one aside from his inheritance
upon bare suppositions of intentional evils, when nothing that is actual
appears to preclude him from the exercise of his just rights.”[49]
On the other hand, Mrs. Churchill had at present no important part in
life to act, no dreams of greatness to disturb her routine of duty and
service to a mistress who appears to have treated her with the utmost
kindness. The Princess Anne, indeed, accompanied her father to the
Continent, and shared with her stepmother the attentions and the society
which afterwards became so essential to the future Queen of England. But
Anne’s importance was at present overshadowed, and her chances of future
elevation were remote, even in her own anticipations.
During the course of the summer, James was recalled to England by the
illness of his brother; but finding that Charles was likely to recover,
he returned to Flanders, in order to bring over his family to the
British Isles,[50] although he was not permitted by the King to remain
in London. Colonel Churchill, meantime, was despatched to Paris upon
diplomatic business, with an especial recommendation from James, who
designated him in his letter “master of the wardrobe.”[51] It was not,
however, considered expedient by Charles or his advisers that the Duke
of York should continue in England, and accordingly it was given out, by
authority, that the Duke having represented to his Majesty that it would
be more proper that he should remain in his Majesty’s dominions than in
those of any other Prince, the King had consented to his Royal
Highness’s removal to Scotland.
The Duke and Duchess of York, therefore, with a numerous suite, composed
of many of the nobility and persons of distinction, departed for
Edinburgh, leaving the Princess Anne, and Isabella, her half-sister, at
St. James’s. In this tedious journey, which, performed with much parade,
lasted a month, Churchill and his wife accompanied the Duke and
Duchess,[52]—Colonel Churchill, from the desire of escaping those
contentions which then agitated public men, and occupied both Houses,
concerning the succession,[53] prudently avoiding a seat in parliament,
which he might readily have obtained.
It was for some years the occupation of Churchill, and of his wife, to
follow the footsteps, and in some measure to share the anxieties, of the
Duke and Duchess of York. During the present year, James returned to
London; but he was again driven to Scotland by the efforts of the
adverse party, and was again accompanied by Churchill.
After a year spent on the part of Churchill in many important missions,
he had the happiness of hearing, on his return to Scotland after one of
these embassies, that he had become a father. The infant Henrietta,
afterwards Duchess of Marlborough, was born in London, whither Mrs.
Churchill had accompanied the Duchess of York, July the tenth, 1681.[54]
The character of the Duchess of Marlborough as a mother remains yet to
be developed; but the letters of Colonel Churchill to her, at this
period, bespeak a sense of domestic happiness, and prove that she was
still, as indeed she ever was, ardently beloved by his, the most
affectionate, as it was the bravest heart.
“I writ to you,” he says in one of these unpremeditated epistles, “last
night by the express, and since that I have no good news to send you.
The yachts are not yet come, nor do we know when they will, for the wind
is directly against them, so that you may believe I am not in a very
good humour, since I desire nothing so much as being with you. The only
comfort I had here was hearing from you, and now, if we should be
stopped by contrary winds, and not hear from you, you may guess with
what satisfaction I shall then pass my time; therefore, as you love me,
you will pray for fair winds, that we may not stay here, nor be long at
sea.
“I hope all the red spots of our child will be gone against I see her,
and her nose strait; so that I may fancy it to be like the mother, for
she has your coloured hair. I would have her to be like you in all
things else. Till next post-day farewell. By that time I hope we shall
hear of the yachts, for till I do, I have no kind of patience.”[55]
The constant services of Churchill were at length rewarded with an
elevation to the peerage, an honour which he owed entirely to the
recommendation of James in his favour. He was created Baron Churchill of
Eyemouth in Scotland, and made also Colonel of the third troop of
Guards.[56]
Weary, probably, of a courtier’s life, it was now Lord Churchill’s
desire to withdraw Lady Churchill from the court, and to enjoy with her
the privacy which their mutual affection might have rendered delightful.
But so peaceful a lot was not to be the portion of this remarkable pair,
who were destined to act a conspicuous part in the great sphere of
public action.
It is not stated what were Lord Churchill’s particular motives for thus
wishing to withdraw from the greatness which was “thrust upon him,” at a
time when James, his patron, was restored to his royal brother’s favour,
and when his own influence was daily increasing. But we may look into
the history of those fearful times for a solution of this inquiry. The
feelings, upright and humane, of Churchill, and even of his less
sensitive wife, had doubtless been harrowed by the occurrences of the
preceding year. The Rye House Plot, and its melancholy termination, must
have saddened the heart even of the strictest adherent to James, and
probably opened the eyes of Churchill to the real dispositions of that
Prince, whose indifference to the value of human life gave the character
of retribution to his subsequent misfortunes. Russell sacrificed, and
the unhappy Essex, impelled by a fear of his impending fate, forced to
commit suicide, it is no wonder that Churchill was sickened by the
events of those calamitous days, and that he longed to withdraw her who
was dearest to him from a scene in which the events of tragedy were
mingled with the heartless merriment of a festive court.
Whilst Lord Churchill was advancing his fortunes, the influence of his
young wife over the pliant mind of the Princess Anne was equally
advancing, though unseen, and establishing for Lady Churchill an
ascendency which fixed her destiny in the public walks of life.
From childhood, Anne had been accustomed to the society of her future
favourite. A slight difference of age, Lady Churchill being the elder of
the two, aided, rather than impeded, the happy intimacy of girlhood.
Anne was accustomed to depend for amusement upon her new friend; and as
they grew up, and became severally absorbed in the cares of womanhood,
Anne, as well as Sarah, found that hopes and disappointments, on the
all-engrossing subject of wedlock, were the portion of the Princess as
well as of the subject.
Anne, like others of her high rank, was spared the perplexity of choice.
Already, at an early age, she had been addressed, in secret, with
professions of attachment by the young Earl of Mulgrave, afterwards
Marquis of Normanby, one of the most accomplished and amiable noblemen
of his time. But these proposals were checked as soon as they were
discovered, yet not before Anne had imbibed a partiality, or, in the
cold words of the historian of her reign, an “esteem,” for the young
man, which continued in the form of a kindly regard, until party and
politics broke the charm which the recollection of an early attachment
had created.[57]
George the First, at that time possessing very slender hopes of becoming
King of England, visited this country with the intention of marrying the
Princess Anne, but left the British shores somewhat dishonourably,
without justifying the hopes which he had excited.[58] At the period
when he married his cousin, the ill-fated Dorothea, there was indeed a
third daughter of James Duke of York living, the Princess Katharine, who
died in 1671. Anne, therefore, was by no means an object of so much
importance in the eyes of European princes as she became upon the
failure of issue to Mary, and after the abdication of her father. Her
uncle, Charles the Second, undertook, however, the disposal of her fate,
as he had already decided that of her elder sister.
In selecting the husbands of his nieces, the profligate, well-bred
monarch seems to have searched for qualities as opposite as possible to
those displayed in the Stuart line; consigning Mary, at sixteen, to the
sickly, reserved, grave, and even austere Prince of Orange; and choosing
for Anne a worthy, staid individual, ten years older than herself, and
exactly such a man as would have filled with propriety the situation of
a country gentleman, and enjoyed the not arduous, but yet not
unimportant duties which usually fall to the lot of that respectable
class. Prince George of Denmark, recommended to the favour of Charles
chiefly by his being of the Protestant faith,[59] had, four years
previous to his marriage, visited England; and at the command of his
brother, Christian the Fifth of Denmark, he returned to make an offer of
marriage to the Princess Anne.[60] It cannot for a moment be supposed
that, even with the advantage of these renewed opportunities, there was
any great attachment on either side. Never, however, in the annals of
royal wedlock, were two characters more completely assimilated than that
of Anne and her approved lover. The Prince was brave, good-natured, and
not _too_ wise; yet sufficiently sensible to be free from ambition, and
to remain contented, in after times, with being the first royal consort
that had not shared monarchical power. His patrimony was small, but
ample enough to render him comfortable until a settlement was made, and
consisted in the revenues of some small islands belonging to the crown
of Denmark, which yielded about ten thousand pounds a year.[61] He was
inclined to those principles which had recently acquired the name of
Toryism, but never took more than a subordinate part in politics; and
was so unoffending, that he made not a personal enemy. Neither was the
good Prince George without accomplishments. He had travelled much, was a
linguist, somewhat of an antiquary, and patronized the arts. Report
asserted that an asthmatic complaint, with which he was severely
affected during the course of his life, and of which he ultimately died,
had its origin in convivial habits, in which Anne, when Queen, has been
declared not loath to join.[62] But that propensity, when not carried to
excess, was never in England an unpopular quality; and Prince George was
eminently qualified to endear himself to the English nation.
The Princess to whom he was affianced possessed a temper almost as
replete with good-nature as his own. At the period of her marriage, the
qualities which eventually formed the subject of so much vituperation
and of so much praise, could not have been developed, even to the
scrutinizing observation of her young companion, Mrs. Churchill, who
afterwards portrayed her royal mistress with the distinctness of a
powerful and sarcastic mind. The education of the Princess had been
limited, and her capacity was inferior to that of her sister Mary; yet
the characters of both these Princesses, represented differently by
different parties, appear to have been possessed of considerable merit.
If we set apart, first, her conduct to her father, and afterwards the
undue jealousy evinced by Mary towards her sister, few individuals
appear in so amiable a point of view as that of the Princess of Orange.
Religious without bigotry, gentle yet firm, fond of domestic life, yet
coming forward, when occasion called her, into the sphere of public
duties with credit to herself and with benefit to the nation, Mary, as a
queen and a wife, was a pattern not only to persons of her own elevated
station, but to women of every sphere and in every age. This Princess
was, at the time of her sister’s marriage, in Holland, with her husband,
William of Nassau.
Anne was a personage altogether of an inferior stamp. In many points she
resembled strongly the other members of her family who have figured in
history. Like Charles the First, she was pious, generous, and
affectionate, but obstinate, and not devoid of duplicity when it suited
her purpose. Her religion had not, however, the sublimated character of
that which consoled the unhappy Charles in adversity; but became, like
all her other dispositions, a habit, an implicit faith, a formal
observance, rather than a sentiment. Her nature was a strange compound
of warm affections and of repelling coldness. As in all weak minds, her
friendships were called into being by the gratification of her selfish
inclinations; and hence, as the Duchess of Marlborough well describes
them, “they were flames of extravagant passion, ending in indifference
or aversion.”[63] With those defects which proceeded from deficient
cultivation, Anne, however, as a lady of elevated rank, and afterwards
as a ruler, possessed some admirable qualities. Her sense of duty
supplied the place of strong sensibility. She was a kind mistress; as a
wife, incomparable; though lavish to her favourites, (an hereditary
trait,) not to be led by them into what she disapproved; just and
economical, gracious in her manners, and desirous of popularity. Her
nature was placid, her temperament phlegmatic; great designs and lofty
sentiments were not to be expected from one of so gentle and easy a
temper; but in propriety she equalled, if she could not excel, her
reflective and discreet sister. In the early part of her life she was,
like the Stuarts generally, extremely well-bred, until unnecessary and
indecorous familiarity with her inferiors broke down the effects of
early habit.
In person Anne was comely, and of that ample conformation and stature
well adapted for royalty. Her love of etiquette, and her exactness in
trifles, were convenient and commendable qualities in the rules of a
court, in the days of the good old school; and an attention to those
forms which are much observed in the monarch of a people prone to free
discussion, rendered her a favourite with the public. Her figure, before
it became matronly, or in the words of the Duchess, (after their
quarrel,) “exceeding gross and corpulent,” was esteemed graceful; her
face was agreeable, though, from a weakness in her eyes, her countenance
had contracted somewhat of a scowl, described by the Duchess, whilst she
admits that “there was something of majesty” in the Queen’s look, “as
mixed with a sullen and constant frown, that plainly betrayed a
gloominess of soul and a cloudiness of disposition within.”[64] But this
may have been the effect of years and of care, when the complexion also
participated in the coarseness of the person, induced, as it was said,
by the use of cordials, to which the Prince her husband incessantly
invited his consort.[65]
To complete the portrait of Anne, the beauty of her hands, and the
sweetness of her voice in speaking and reading, must not be forgotten:
they were universally allowed; whilst her graceful delivery in
addressing the Houses of Parliament met with incessant applause.[66] It
is remarkable that with such respect was Anne treated by her subjects,
that the Peers, in her presence, waived the privilege of wearing hats in
parliament, to show that they are hereditary legislators.[67]
Such was the Princess Anne; and few contrasts could be more singular
than herself, and the friend whom she selected for her confidante, and
whom she made many sacrifices to conciliate.
The Duchess of Marlborough, according to Swift, was the victim of “three
furies which reigned in her breast, the most mortal of all softer
passions, which were—sordid avarice, disdainful pride, ungovernable
rage.”[68] The first of these demons may be the companion of middle age:
rage and pride may have haunted the young and lovely maid of honour; but
avarice is not the vice of youth. In all lesser points of disposition
and feeling, the Princess and her favourite were dissimilar. The
Princess was a lover of propriety and etiquette, even to an inspection
of the ruffles and periwigs of her servants. Her sense of decorum was so
nice, that, on her accession to the throne, she caused the bust of
herself on the gold coin to be clothed as it was, according to ancient
custom, on the silver. Nothing offended her, as Queen, so much as a
breach of the customary observances; and Lord Bolingbroke having visited
her one day in haste, in a Ramillie tie, she remarked “that she supposed
his lordship would soon come to court in his nightcap.”[69]
For the Duchess of Marlborough, in her old age, and probably still more
in the days of her youth, to dwell on trifles, was a burden too heavy
for one of so impetuous a nature. Though we are not authorised to
conclude from the assertion of her enemy, “that she delighted in
disputing the truth of the Christian religion, and held its doctrines to
be both impossible and absurd,”[70] yet it is certain, from her own
avowal, that she was a latitudinarian in matters of form, and detested
and set at defiance those who made “the church” a word of excuse for
intolerance and faction.
The occupations in which these young friends delighted were also totally
dissimilar. The Duchess, all her life, delighted in conversation, in
which the Princess not only did not excel, but in which she took little
pleasure.[71] Anne was an accomplished performer on the guitar; she
loved the chase, and rode with the hounds until disabled by the gout.
Her companion found the amusements of the court very tedious, and but
little suited to her restless and energetic mind. But habit on the one
hand, and interest on the other, soon reconcile differences. From
playing together as children, the Princess learned, first, to prefer her
companion to any other child; next to endure, then to love, the
plain-spoken, fearless girl, who, according to her own account, and to
that of her friend Dr. Burnet, never flattered any one; then soon grew
up a sentimental feeling, which they called friendship, and distinctions
of rank were laid aside, and names of familiarity adopted in place of
titles of honour.[72] When the Princess became the wife of George of
Denmark, she made it her earnest request to her father that her friend
should be appointed one of the ladies of the bedchamber—a wish with
which James, an affectionate parent, readily complied. The Duchess of
Marlborough, when arranging, in hours of sickness and in old age, the
materials for her Vindication, thus simply relates the steps preparatory
to her preferment.
“The beginning of the Princess’s favour for me,” says the Duchess, “had
a much earlier date than my entrance into her service. My promotion to
this honour was chiefly owing to impressions she had before received to
my advantage. We had used to play together when she was a child, and she
had even then expressed a particular fondness for me. This inclination
increased with our years. I was often at court, and the Princess always
distinguished me by the pleasure she took to honour me, preferably to
others, with her conversation and confidence. In all her parties for
amusement I was sure, by her choice, to be one; and so desirous she
became of having me near her, that upon her marriage with the Prince
George of Denmark, 1683, it was at her own request to her father I was
made one of the ladies of the bedchamber.”[73]
Assisted by the force of early associations, the stronger mind quickly
asserted an influence over the weaker intellect, an influence retained
so long as prudence directed its workings. But the Duchess, in what
appears to be an impartial statement of facts, declares that she owed
this influence partly to a dislike which the Princess had imbibed
against Lady Clarendon, her relation and first lady of the bedchamber,
who, according to the Duchess, “looked like a mad woman, and talked like
a scholar.” And, indeed, she adds, “her Highness’s court was so oddly
composed, that I think it would be making myself no great compliment if
I should say, her choosing to spend more of her time with me than with
any other of her servants did no discredit to her taste.”
The writer of the foregoing paragraph might, however, have carried away
the palm from women superior even to the Countess of Clarendon, whom she
has been accused of misrepresenting. Beautiful according to the opinion
of her contemporaries, her beauty indeed appears, in the portraits
painted in her bloom of youth, to have been commanding as well as
interesting. Her figure is asserted to have been peculiarly fine, and
her countenance was set off by a profusion of fair hair, which she is
said to have preserved, without its changing colour, even at an advanced
age, by the use of honey-water.[74] Several years after she had become a
grandmother, the freshness of her lovely complexion, and her unfaded
attractions, caused her, even in the midst of four daughters, each
distinguished for personal charms, to be deemed pre-eminent among those
celebrated and high-bred belles.[75]
But the secret of that extraordinary influence which Sarah Duchess of
Marlborough acquired over every being with whom she came into contact,
originated not in her attributes of beauty and of grace. Mrs. Jennings,
her mother, represented as she was by the infamous Mrs. Manley, the
wretched authoress of the “New Atalantis,” as a sorceress and a depraved
creature too vile to live, was also allowed by the same authority to
have cultivated in her daughter every art that could charm. That of
conversation, in particular, the Duchess of Marlborough is said to have
possessed. Shrewd, sarcastic, fearless, so beautiful that all she said
was sure to be approved by the one sex; so much in fashion and in
favour, that nothing she did could possibly be disapproved by the other;
Sarah might readily, without any extraordinary cultivation of intellect,
figure greatly in repartee, dogmatize with the security of a youthful
beauty, and gain, perhaps, in asserting her crude opinions, knowledge
and experience from the replies which one so lively would know well how
to elicit. It appears that at this time she had never even dreamed of
politics, nor thought of cultivating that vigorous intellect so much
applauded in after times by the great ones of the earth. Education had
contributed little to extend the sphere of her inquiring mind. She knew
no language but her own, and never had the industry nor the ambition to
learn even French.
Bishop Burnet, who knew her intimately, thus describes his own and his
wife’s friend.
“The Duchess of Marlborough was,” says he, “a woman of little knowledge,
but of a clear apprehension and a true judgment.”[76]
The account which the Duchess gives of the manner in which many hours of
her day, in the season when the improvement of reason ought to be
progressive, were dissipated, is, in few words, “that she never read nor
employed her time in anything but playing cards, nor had she any
ambition.”[77] Well might she declare herself to be weary of a court
life.
Such was the friend to whom the Princess was early bound by the ties of
habit, and afterwards by something almost more ardent than common
friendship; and exactly was she adapted, from independent,
uncompromising spirit, half magnanimous and half insolent, to attain a
complete dominion over every faculty of Anne’s shallow mind. The
Princess, inured to courts, and probably sickened by the mechanical
homage which she could remember from her infancy, might have distrusted
adulation in one not much older than herself, and who had been her
playmate before the cruel distinctions of rank were recollected or
regretted. “But a friend was what she most courted.”[78]
“Kings and princes, for the most part,” remarks the Duchess, “imagine
they have a dignity peculiar to their birth and station, which ought to
raise them above all connexions of friendship with an inferior. Their
passion is to be admired and feared, to have subjects awfully obedient,
and servants blindly obsequious to their pleasure. Friendship is an
offensive word; it imports a kind of equality between the parties; it
suggests nothing to the mind, of crowns or thrones; high titles, or
immense revenues, fountains of honour, or fountains of riches,
prerogatives which the possessors would always have uppermost in the
thoughts of those who approach them.”[79]
Such were the notions of royalty which the Duchess entertained, and
which Hook, the historian, whom she employed in her old age to write the
famous Vindication of her career from which this quotation is borrowed,
has well expressed in his own language. Yet the decided, dauntless way
in which this clause against monarchs is struck off, is strongly
characteristic of the Duchess, and must have met with her cordial
approbation, if not solely suggested by herself. “The Princess,” she,
however, proceeds to state, “had a different taste. A friend was what
she most coveted; and, for the sake of friendship, (a relation which she
did not disdain to have with _me_,) she was fond of that _equality_
which she thought belonged to it. She grew uneasy to be treated by me
with the form and ceremony due to her rank; nor could she bear from me
the sound of words which implied in them distance and superiority. It
was this turn of mind which made her one day propose to me, that
whenever I should happen to be absent from her, we might in our letters
write ourselves by feigned names, such as would import nothing of
distinction between us. MORLEY and FREEMAN were the names her fancy hit
upon, and she left me to choose by which of them I would be called. My
frank, open temper led me to pitch upon FREEMAN, and so the Princess
took the other; and from this time Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman began to
converse together as equals, made so by affection and friendship.”[80]
This well-meant but dangerous experiment shows at least that Anne
understood the nature of true friendship, which, like all other “perfect
love, casteth out fear;” whilst it is also obvious that the kind-hearted
Princess did not comprehend the character of the remarkable and highly
gifted being for whose sake she thus broke through the trammels of
etiquette.
The friendly compact, unequal as it was, grew under the pressure of
those trials which Anne had to encounter during the reign of her father
and sister. When she found that James had complied with her earnest
request that Lady Churchill might be placed in her service, she
communicated the intelligence to her favourite, in terms of joy and
affection.
“The Duke came in just as you were gone, and made no difficulties, but
has promised me that I shall have you, which I assure you is a great joy
to me. I should say a great deal for your kindness in offering it, but I
am not good at compliments. I will only say that I do take it extremely
kind, and shall be ready at any time to do you all the service that lies
in my power.”[81]
This graceful mode of making the person on whom the favour was
conferred, appear to give, not to receive, the benefit, was met by Lady
Churchill, according to her own account, with a sincerity which was the
surest test of regard, and the proof of real gratitude.
“I both obtained and held this place without the assistance of
flattery—a charm which, in truth, her (the Princess’s) inclination for
me, together with my unwearied application to serve and amuse her,
rendered needless; but which, had it been otherwise, my temper and turn
of mind would never have suffered me to employ. “Young as I was when I
first became this high favourite, I laid it down as a maxim, that
flattery was falsehood to my trust, and ingratitude to my dearest
friend.”[82]
“Well would it be for society if this maxim were universal!
“From this rule I never swerved; and though my temper and my notions in
most things were widely different from those of the Princess, yet,
during a long course of years, she was so far from being displeased with
me for openly speaking my sentiments, that she sometimes professed a
desire, and even added her command, that it should be always continued,
promising never to be offended at it, but to love me the better for my
frankness.”[83]
Consistently with this injunction, we find the Princess thus
affectionately addressing her future “viceroy.”
“If you will not let me have the satisfaction of hearing from you again
before I see you, let me beg of you not to call me your highness at
every word, but to be as free with me as one friend ought to be with
another; and you can never give me a greater proof of your friendship,
than in telling me your mind freely in all things, which I do beg you to
do; and if ever it were in my power to serve you, nobody would be more
ready than myself. I am all impatience for Wednesday, till when,
farewell.”[84]
The marriage of Anne was followed immediately by the execution of Lord
Russell, which, with the trial and condemnation of Algernon Sidney, took
place during the same month, and within five days of each other; and the
populace, who had viewed with smothered indignation the sufferings of
these patriots, were ready to cheer their future Princess, the Defender
of their Faith. Subsequent events brought all thinking and disinterested
observers to regard with hope the consistent though quiet adherence of
the Princess to those principles in which her uncle Charles had from
policy caused her to be nurtured; his firmness in this respect showing
both the laxity of his own faith, and the paramount influence which
worldly considerations had over his wavering and probably sceptical
mind.
The banishment of the Duke of Monmouth from court, the execution of
Sidney, the sentence of fine upon Hampden, the surrender of their
charters by the corporations, and lastly, the death of Charles the
Second, succeeded each other in rapid and fearful array; and a critical
period to all those connected with public affairs was now drawing near.
But the thoughtless life and pernicious example of the monarch who had
so grossly betrayed his trust, now drew to its close; and the
retribution of what are called “the pleasant vices” became more painful
to the beholder from the force of contrast.
In the midst of a plan for subverting the liberties of his people, by
forming a military power, to be governed solely by Roman Catholic
officers, and devoted to the crown, Charles fell into despondency. His
usual vivacity forsook him; and, with it, his gaiety of spirits, his
politeness, in him the result of innate good-nature, deserted him. The
best bred man in Europe became rude and morose. He saw indeed that the
popularity which he had in the early part of his reign enjoyed, was now
no longer his; he reflected that he had no son to succeed him; that he
was, as far as the crown was concerned, childless. Monmouth, the child
of shame, whom he had recklessly raised to honour and importance, had
caballed against his father; yet that father loved him still. Monmouth
had outraged the filial duties, but Charles could not eradicate from his
own heart the parental affections. The unhappy King pined at the absence
of his son. He perceived and dreaded the designs and principles of
James, and was mortified at the court already paid to his successor.
Upon some altercation between the brothers, Charles was one day heard to
say, “Brother, I am too old to go to my travels a second time; perhaps
you will.”[85]
Broken-spirited, but not reclaimed, Charles sought to console himself in
the dissolute conversation of those wretched women whose society had
been the chief object of his life. But even the worst of men have an
intuitive sense of what is due to domestic ties; and the mind is so
constituted, that transient pleasure only, and not daily comfort, is to
be found in those connexions which have the troubles, without the
sanctity of marriage. The Duchess of Portsmouth, who is said really to
have loved Charles, was unable to console him without sending for his
son. Monmouth came, and was admitted to an interview with his father;
but whilst measures were being concerted for sending James again into
Scotland, Charles was struck with apoplexy. He died in two days
afterwards, by his last act reconciling himself to the Church of Rome,
and belying all his previous professions. “He was regretted,” says
Dalrymple, “more on account of the hatred which many bore to his
successor, than of the love entertained to himself.”[86]
CHAPTER III.
1684 TO 1687.
State of manners and morals—Of parties—Defence of Churchill—His share
in the Revolution—Progress of that event.
The new reign brought with it early demonstrations of royal confidence
towards Lord Churchill, and consequently to his wife. Almost the first
act of James was to despatch Churchill to Paris to notify his accession,
and to establish more firmly the good faith which already subsisted
between James and the French monarch.
Lady Churchill, meantime, continued to hold the same post near the
person of Anne, who resided at her palace in the Cockpit, Westminster.
The Duchess, in her “Conduct,” has given no insight into this period of
her life. We may suppose it to have been passed in the quiescent round
of duties more insipid than fatiguing, and in the still more irksome
society of the domestic, good-natured, but uninteresting Princess.
The court amusements in those days were of a description perfectly in
unison with the tastes and habits of the higher classes, to whom the
satire of St. Evremond, upon a similar order of persons in France, might
have been, without even a shadow of sarcasm, applied. “You live in a
country,” says St. Evremond, writing to Mademoiselle de l’Enclos, “where
people have wonderful opportunities of saving their souls: there, vice
is almost as opposite to the mode as virtue; sinning passes for
ill-breeding, and shocks decency and good manners, almost as _much_ as
religion.”[87] The sarcasm was just,—that not what is good or what is
bad, but what was considered fashionable, or agreeable, was the rule for
those who lived in the great world to observe. Gambling was the passion,
intrigue the amusement, of those days of fearful iniquity. The female
sex, in all ages responsible for the tone given to morals and manners,
were in a state of general depravity during the whole period of Lady
Churchill’s youth; and even those who were reputed most virtuous, and
held up as patterns to their sex, overlooked, if they did not
countenance, the open exhibition of vice within their very homes. The
Duchess of Buckingham, “a most virtuous and pious lady in a vicious age
and court,”—“lived lovingly and decently with” her husband, the
arch-profligate of the time; and though she knew his delinquencies,
never noticed them, and had complaisance enough even to entertain his
mistresses, and to lodge them in her own house.[88] Queen Katharine, the
neglected and insulted wife of Charles the Second, deemed it her
conjugal duty to fall down on her knees at his deathbed, and to entreat
pardon for her offences. Whereupon the King vouchsafed to answer her,
“that she had offended in nothing.”[89] So humbled, so degraded, were
the few virtuous female members of the debased English aristocracy; and
so slight was that virtue which could bear, in the closest tie, the
constant exhibition of vice! That a woman should forgive—that her best
interests, her only chance of happiness, consist in a dignified
endurance of the worst of evils, a vicious husband—no reasonable being
can doubt; but that as a Christian, as a female, she cannot be excused
in remaining within the contamination of vice, is not to be disputed.
Continental alliances, the exile of the restored Princes during the
greater portion of their youth, and the consequent introduction of
foreign amusements and foreign manners, to which we must add a yet
tottering and unsettled national faith, may account, in a great measure,
for this universal corruption. Nor can we suppose the lofty Lady
Churchill to have escaped wholly from the pernicious influence of what
she must have seen and heard. Masquerading was the rage; and not only in
private, or in gay halls or banquet-rooms, but in the streets and
alleys, the theatre, and other places of public resort, it was adopted
as a diversion, to pass away hours tedious to uneducated minds.
In the reign of Charles, Frances Jennings, the eider sister of the
Duchess, was flattered, rather than ashamed, at the publicity of her
adventure in the theatre, disguised as an orange-girl, in the sight of
the Duchess of York, her patroness, and of the whole court.[90] The
frolic was, indeed, fully borne out in its extravagance and assurance by
precedent. “At this time,” says Bishop Burnet, “the court fell into much
extravagance in masquerading; both the King and the Queen and all the
court went about masked, and came into houses unknown, and danced there
with wild frolic. In all this, people were so disguised, that, without
being in the secret, none could know them. They were carried about in
hackney chairs. Once the Queen’s chairmen, not knowing who she was, went
from her. So she was quite alone, and was much disturbed, and came to
Whitehall in a hackney coach, some say in a cart.”[91]
On another occasion, Queen Katharine thought it not unseemly to resort
to a fair at Audley, in company with the Duchesses of Buckingham and
Richmond, disguised like country lasses, all in red petticoats,
waistcoats, et cetera; Sir Bernard Gascoigne riding before the Queen on
“a cart jade,” and the two Duchesses also on double horses, one with a
stranger before her, the other with Mr. Roper. These ladies happened so
to have overdressed their parts, as to excite the attention of the
crowd; looking, as it is related, “more like antiques than country
volk.” The Queen, however, who made her way up to a booth, to buy “a
pair of yellow stockings for her sweethart,” was discovered, as well as
her attendant, Sir Bernard, “by their giberish,” to be strangers. The
result may easily be supposed; the assembled country people mounted
their horses, and, all amazement and curiosity, pursued the royal party
to the court gate.[92]
This adventure was, however, less remarkable in those days, from the
practice which Charles the Second maintained, of pursuing his diversions
almost continually in the midst of his people, walking about the town
without guards, and with a single friend. Hyde Park, described by a
contemporary as “a field near the town,” and used as a course, was
beginning to be fashionable, and was preferred to other places of resort
by Charles, on account of its fine air, and extent of prospect. It was
at this time the private property of a publican, and the entrance was
guarded by porters with staves, by whom a sum of money was levied upon
every horseman, coach, or cart that entered.[93] Here, to give a
specimen of the manners of the day, Charles exhibited one of the first
coaches made with glass windows, presented to him by the accomplished
Grammont, and the source of a bitter contention between Lady
Castlemaine, and Miss Stewart, afterwards Duchess of Richmond, as to
which of them should succeed the Queen, and the Duchess of York, in the
distinction of driving in the new-fashioned vehicle.
Spring Gardens, the resort of the fashionable world after driving in
Hyde Park, and the scene in which many of the plots of our old comedies
are laid, were also much in vogue at this period. “Here” says an old
writer, “were groves and warbling birds, alleys and thickets,” and in
the centre a place for selling refreshments, similar to the _cafés_ in
the Parc at Brussels, or in the Bois de Boulogne at Paris. And here, the
enclosure opening into the broad walks of St. James’s Park, were many
idle hours wiled away by both sexes. These recreations, with water
parties on the Thames, were the amusements in which the soberminded
Anne, and her high-bred and haughty attendant, Lady Churchill, might
indulge without loss of dignity, or danger to reputation.
The Princess regulated her household concerns with the utmost order, and
maintained a decree of economy which could not have been carried on had
she mixed generally in the amusements of the court, or dipped into the
dangerous diversions of games of chance.[94] According to the Duchess of
Marlborough, she had a much less allowance for her privy purse than any
previous sovereign had before received;[95] but she managed with so much
prudence, as to pay out of that, and from the civil list, many pensions
and other matters, which had never previously been discharged from the
same source.
“She bought no jewels,” says her friend, “nor made any foolish buildings
during the whole of her reign;”—“and in the article of robes,” continues
the Duchess, “she was saving; for it will appear by all the records in
the Exchequer, where the accounts were passed, that in nine years she
spent only 32,050_l._, including the Coronation expenses.”[96]
In the service of this staid Princess, Lady Churchill continued an
inactive, but not an inattentive observer of all that was passing in the
busy world, in which her turn to govern, and to shine with unrivalled
splendour, had not yet arrived. Anne, meantime, was occupied with
maternal cares. Her first living child, a daughter, died when a year
old, in 1686;—another similar loss, nearly at the same age, succeeded.
Some years afterwards, the birth of William, declared at his baptism to
be Duke of Gloucester, an event which took place at Hampton Court in
1689, was regarded by the country, as well as by the royal parents of
this cherished and promising child, as a boon which might completely
establish the Protestant succession.
During the short but eventful reign of James, little is mentioned of
Lord Churchill, or of his lady. Whatever were their sentiments, they
engaged in no public discussion on the occurrences which agitated all
men’s minds, until the revolution was ripe for execution. From the
King’s first public attendance at mass, to his secret and hurried
departure from his kingdom, all was confusion and mournful anticipation,
and, by a succession of tragical events, the public mind was prepared
for the last great result.
At length Queen Mary became the mother of a living son, and in the
disputes to which the birth of the Prince of Wales gave rise, we find
Lady Churchill’s name mentioned in some correspondence relative to that
affair. Party differences ran high upon this subject, and Lord
Chesterfield is of opinion that the shameful fable of the Prince’s
supposititious birth effected more to secure the Protestant succession
than any other event whatsoever. The concurring testimony of successive
writers has now assigned to the unfortunate Pretender the legitimacy
which, by the singular and audacious attempts of a faction, and the
fabrication of a servant, was disputed. Happy would it have been for
that individual if the calumnies of his enemies had had foundation, and
the secure contentment of a private station had been his lot!
Lady Churchill appears, from some expressions of the Princess Anne, to
have been a witness of the singular intrigues which, in behalf of Anne’s
interests, as well as to further those of the Protestant cause, were
carried on, to throw discredit on the birth of the Prince. Various were
the accounts of the part taken by Anne on this occasion. It is said,
that upon some quarrel on the subject between her Highness and the
Queen, touching the approaching confinement of the latter, her Majesty,
sitting at her toilet, threw her glove at the face of the Princess; upon
which Anne, indignant, withdrew from court; and upon the pretext of her
health, or perhaps in consequence of the command of the King, she
repaired to Bath, in order to drink the waters at that fashionable place
of resort.[97] From this circumstance, the Princess was absent at the
time of the birth of the infant Prince; but her letters upon the
subject, and the inferences which she draws from details gathered from
hearsay, afford a curious specimen of the coarseness of court gossip,
and the peculiar vulgarity and common-place character of Anne’s
mind.[98]
It is a proof of the consistent firmness of Lord Churchill in adhering
to the mode of faith which he venerated, that no employment, nor any
distinction but a colonelcy of a troop of horse-guards upon the quelling
of Monmouth’s insurrection, was assigned to him during the short reign
of James, for he was not of that material which James wanted to turn to
active purposes.
Whilst the King’s designs were not developed, and the liberties of his
country were not openly threatened, Lord Churchill remained inactive, if
not neutral: but, after the declaration of Indulgences in 1686, he was
roused into exertion by apprehensions from past events, perfectly
justifiable. That he had also private intelligence of James’s endeavours
to gain the Princess over to his religious persuasion, appears from the
statement given by the Duchess, in her concise account of affairs at
this period.
“What were the designs of that unhappy Prince (James) everybody knows.
They came soon to show themselves undisguised, and attempts were made to
draw his daughter into them. The King, indeed, used no harshness with
her; he only discovered his wishes, by putting into her hands some books
and papers, which he hoped might induce her to a change of religion; and
had she had any inclination that way, the chaplains were such divines as
could have said but little in defence of their own religion, or to
secure her against the pretences of popery, recommended to her by a
father, and a King.”[99]
Anne had been the object, since her father’s accession, of the jealousy
of the court, on account of her having borne children. In her heart a
true Protestant, she had expressed herself to Lady Churchill, two years
previously, in a manner which showed evidently that she was not disposed
to be a convert, and which proved also her dependence upon her
strong-minded friend. Her expressions relate to the introduction of four
peers of the Roman Catholic persuasion into the privy council.
“I was very much surprised,” she writes, “when I heard of the four new
privy counsellors, and am very sorry for it; for it will give great
countenance to those sort of people, and methinks it has a very dismal
prospect. Whatever changes there are in the world, I hope you will never
forsake me, and I shall be happy.”[100]
These sentiments, consistent with the character of a Princess who is
said, by one who knew her best, “to have had no ambition,”[101] were
participated by the Prince of Denmark, who, although a privy counsellor
during the reign of his father-in-law, had always been treated with
coldness by that sovereign. Upon the declaration of Indulgences by James
in his own person, without the consent of parliament, Lord Churchill
began overtures to the Prince of Orange, through Dykefelt his agent, and
Russell and Sidney, the great instruments of the revolution. The
resolution of the Princess Anne to “suffer all extremities, even to
death itself, rather than be brought to change her religion,” was
transmitted through the same channel. The terms in which these
assurances were conveyed, were worthy of the great mind from which they
proceeded.
“In all things but this,” writes Lord Churchill to the Prince of Orange,
“the King may command me; and I call God to witness that, even with joy
I should expose my life for his service, so sensible am I of his
favours. I know the troubling you, sir, with this much of myself, I
being of so little use, is very impertinent; but I think it may be a
great ease to your Highness and the Princess to be satisfied that the
Princess of Denmark is safe in the trusting of me; I being resolved,
though I cannot live the life of a saint, if there be ever occasion for
it, to show the resolution of a martyr.”[102]
Happily, however, there proved to be no necessity for the performance of
this brave determination; “the projects of that reign,” as the Duchess
well observes, “being effectually disappointed as soon as they were
openly avowed.”[103]
The birth of a son, and the ceremony which declared him to be Prince of
Wales, accelerated, in a marked manner, the course of the infatuated
King’s destruction. Nonconformists, and the High Church party, Whigs and
Tories, now plainly foresaw a total subversion of government in Church
and State, all hopes of a Protestant succession to the throne being
annihilated. Those who had upheld the doctrine of passive obedience,
perceived that they were authorised, by the measures which James
adopted, to form schemes for the prevention of his further designs:
otherwise there would be no difference between the constitution of Great
Britain and that of an absolute monarchy. The doctrines of passive
obedience had, it was well understood, been so industriously spread
throughout the laity, as well as among the clergy, from a dread of those
excesses which the Presbyterians and Conformists had permitted and
extenuated in the last revolution, that many conscientious persons for
some time doubted whether they ought to refuse an unlimited obedience to
the sovereign. But the dangers of a sinking state, and of a tottering
church, opened the eyes even of the most scrupulous, and convinced them
that much ought to be sacrificed, in order to restrain the royal
prerogative, and to save their best interests, and the objects of their
veneration, from destruction.[104]
Under these threatening clouds, an union of all parties began to be
considered as the only safe, the only practicable, the only honourable
project to guard the country from anarchy, by protecting the laws. Nor
can those be censured, who from considerations of such importance, and
from general views, divest themselves, in such an extremity, of private
interests, even of private obligations, for the sake of ensuring peace,
by obtaining justice, and with it, the protection of a moderate and
constitutional ruler. It requires infinite moral courage to give up the
long-maintained and often-repeated dogmas of a party; and we are bound
to hope, and to believe, that when great evils require so great a
sacrifice, the motive which impels the change must proceed from some
source higher than mere personal advancement. But unhappily, the world
generally judges otherwise.
Lord Churchill, and the gifted woman who probably in a great degree
participated his irresolution, and influenced his counsels, have shared
largely in the condemnation bestowed upon others who adopted the same
course which they, on this great occasion, thought it wise and right to
pursue. Those who accuse them of ingratitude, must, however, recollect
that there is a higher degree of gratitude than any which can be due to
an earthly power; and that there are duties which no obligations can
annul; a disregard of which becomes treachery in its most extended
sense.
The conduct of Lord Churchill, throughout the reign of James the Second,
was a consistent endeavour to withdraw from all participation in honours
which he could not receive from the King without degradation, and from
schemes which he must have viewed with disgust. Even when James sent to
require his presence at the birth of the Prince of Wales, he declined to
attend, assigning some slight reason. His desertion of James, as it was
called, was the work of some years, not the sudden impulse of a day; it
was wrung from Churchill unwillingly, and by painful degrees, and not
till after his reflective mind had been saddened by an unparalleled
succession of injuries inflicted upon his unhappy country, until
mournful presage knew not where to stop. Brought up in notions of
devoted loyalty to the Stuarts, his own family, that of his wife, his
intimate friends, and his brothers, being all wedded to the same
opinions and devoted to the same cause, the conduct of Churchill on this
occasion astounded the King more, it is said, than that of any of the
other men of character and influence of the time. It was easy for the
enemies of Churchill, or of his party—for personal enemies he could
scarcely have—to account for the measures taken with caution, but
pursued with vigour and firmness, by this great man. Dean Swift, whose
aspersions, unlike most ephemeral writings, ate into the heart of his
victims like caustic, and when once engrafted on the memory even of the
indifferent, can scarcely be erased, has thus in his own charitable way
explained the matter.
In describing the character of Churchill he says:—“He was bred up in the
height of what is called the Tory principle, and continued with a strong
bias that way till the other party had bid higher for him than his
friends could afford to give.”[105] In another singular production of
the day, entitled “Oliver’s Pocket Looking Glass,” he was compared to
Judas, and even reproached for ingratitude towards James, on the score
of his lavish generosity to the degraded Arabella Churchill, the sister
of the Duke.[106] But Churchill adopted not the measures which he
prudently but resolutely adhered to, without a respectful but manly
remonstrance with James, which proved his real attachment to the royal
person, and his desire to warn him, if possible, from continuing his
infatuated course.[107]
The recapitulation of those events by which the liberties of the people,
and the stability of the Church of England, were secured, belong to
history. The fatal blow given to the King’s power was struck by the
union of the Tories and the Whigs. Whilst the majority of the laity and
clergy laboured in conjunction to effect the important end in question,
some there were who deemed that determined but calm resistance
rebellion, and who formed the new party under the name of Jacobites.
After this explanation, it is obvious what path the subject of this
Memoir was henceforth called to pursue; although in a secure and
peaceful course, even in that popular career, she and Lord Churchill
were not, from the difficulties of the times, enabled to continue.
1688. At length, after a delay of a month within his own territories,
the Prince of Orange hastened to the sea-coast, in order to set sail for
England. But he was prevented from embarking by continued south-west
winds, which lasted for nearly three weeks, during which time the
anxiety of the English, and of the inhabitants of London in particular,
could only be equalled by the panic of James, and the miserable
uncertainties of all who were connected with the royal family.
Meantime all ordinary occupations in the city of London were suspended;
the usually busy citizens were employed in inquiring the news, and in
looking at the steeples and weathercocks to ascertain which way the wind
blew. The general eagerness for the arrival of William was only exceeded
by the general apathy respecting James. Even prayers were offered for
that usually unwelcome visitant, an east wind, or, as it was now
christened, “the Protestant wind.”[108] Many individuals were known to
rise in the night, to gratify their curiosity on this point.
But this intense expectation pervaded the metropolis only. In the
country there was an indifference more fatal to James than the utmost
turbulence could have proved: “A state of apathy,” says Dalrymple,
“which to the wise appeared more dangerous to the King than all the zeal
of those in London against him; for opposition leads to opposition of
sentiment; but that Prince approaches to his ruin whose subjects are
unconcerned about his fate.” Meantime James, blinded by his danger, gave
orders for the host to be elevated forty days for his protection: thus
rashly offending the opinions of that people whom he vainly attempted to
enslave.[109]
At length the Prince of Orange, after many interruptions and dangers,
landed at Torbay, whilst the King, still confiding in the protection of
those spiritual weapons upon which he placed reliance, remained inert.
When a report that the armament of the Prince of Orange was shipwrecked
was brought to him one day at dinner, he was heard with great devotion
to say, “It is not to be wondered at, for the host has been exposed
these several days.” Even his adversary was not without some
superstitious feelings; his great desire being to land on the fourth of
November, because it was his birthday and his marriage-day, and it might
therefore prove fortunate. But his English adherents were rejoiced that
the landing could not be made effectual until the day after, which was
the anniversary of the discovery of the gunpowder plot.
Notwithstanding a conditional promise from James, “upon the faith of a
King,” to call a free Parliament, disaffection to his cause grew
rapidly, spreading among those upon whom the unhappy monarch had most
fondly relied. He placed himself, however, at the head of his assembled
troops, consisting of twenty-four thousand men, at Salisbury, resolving,
as he declared, to show himself King of England.[110] He entrusted the
command of a brigade to Lord Churchill, whom he appointed
lieutenant-general. The memorable letter addressed by Churchill to his
sovereign, relinquishing the command, did not guard him from certain
strictures upon this passage of his life; with what measure of justice,
it has been left to the biographers of that illustrious general to
declare.[111]
Meantime the Princess Anne and Prince George were acting in concert with
the popular party, whom they had long secretly favoured, although the
exact mode and time of their proceedings appears not to have been fixed.
During the six days that James remained at Salisbury, the unhappy
monarch’s mind was every hour fretted and depressed by the news of some
fresh defection. The first sea-officer that went over to the Prince of
Orange was the brother of Lord Churchill, Captain Churchill, who joined
the Dutch fleet with his ship. Humbled and alarmed lest he should be
delivered up even by his own troops, James retreated towards London. The
night before he commenced his march, Prince George of Denmark and the
young Duke of Ormond, who had lately received the order of the garter,
supped with him. The King was in deep dejection; the Prince and the Duke
were also lost in thought, meditating their own private schemes. On the
following morning intelligence was brought to James, that his two guests
of the preceding evening had gone over in the night to the Prince of
Orange. Prince George thought it his duty to leave a letter of excuses.
This royal personage, long a cipher in the court, which he could be said
neither to disturb nor to adorn, had been accustomed to say, when he
heard of the desertion of any of James’s friends, “_Est-il possible?_”
an ingenious mode of avoiding any expected opinion on so awkward a
subject. On being acquainted with the Prince’s flight, James recalled to
his attendants the notable phrase, by the sarcastic observation, “So
_est-il possible_ is gone too!” And with this sole exclamation he
allowed his relative to pass from his remembrance.
Having left his troops quartered at different places, deserted indeed as
he went along by most of his officers, but retaining the common
soldiers, whose simple reasoning taught them to follow their sovereign,
James re-entered his capital.
But here a severer blow than any which he had hitherto experienced, fell
upon him: the Princess Anne had fled. At first, to aggravate the
distress of James, a mystery was made of her flight, and it was
insinuated that the King, by encouraging the Papists, had been
instrumental in the death of his child. The Earl of Clarendon, her
maternal uncle, and her nurse, ran up and down like distracted persons,
declaring that the Papists had murdered the Princess. James, who had
fondly loved his daughter, and who had always shown her the utmost
tenderness,[112] burst into tears, and in the agonies of parental
feeling exclaimed—“God help me, my own children have forsaken me!”
He had trusted, as it seemed, to the kindly and womanly nature of Anne;
but her affection was considerably less than her prudence. Yet public
opinion, adjudging to the Princess those softer qualities which become a
wife and a daughter, were willing to exculpate her, at the expense of
her advisers, for a feature in her character and conduct which offended
the natural feelings. It was soon perceived that an ill-timed caution,
not excusable fear, dictated her flight. By all good minds Anne has
been, and she remains, condemned for this act.
It was doubtless the duty of the Princess to remain, to have received
and consoled her father. However others might judge or counsel, she was
still his child; and the heart which could be cold towards a parent in
such an extremity as that in which the degraded and unhappy monarch now
found himself, must have been deficient in all that is high and
generous, even if it could boast some amiable dispositions in the
sunshine of life.
It was soon ascertained with whom, and where, Anne had fled; and the
public, commonly right in matters of feeling, could not readily forgive
her whom they fixed upon as the prime adviser of the Princess.
Upon learning that the Prince of Denmark had deserted the King, and that
James was returning to London, the Princess, as Lady Churchill in her
own Vindication declared, was “put into a great fright. She sent for
me,” continues the same writer, “told me her distress, and declared that
rather than see her father she would jump out of the window. This was
her very expression.”[113]
Such was Anne’s first outbreak of emotion, not for her father, but for
herself; it was probable she was more afraid of her quick-tempered
stepmother than of her subdued and unhappy father. A rumour had indeed
prevailed that the Queen had treated the Princess ill, and had even gone
so far as to strike her.[114] Be that as it might, Anne addressed a
letter to her stepmother, announcing that having heard of her husband’s
desertion of James, she felt too much afraid of the King’s displeasure
to remain, and to risk an interview. She stated her intention not to
remove far away, in order that she might return in case of a happy
reconciliation. She declared herself in a distressing condition, divided
between duty to a husband, and affection to a father; and, after
commenting upon the state of public affairs, she ended her epistle in
these terms:—“God grant a happy end to all these troubles, that the
King’s reign may be prosperous, and that I may shortly meet you again in
peace and safety. Till then, let me beg of you to continue the same
favourable opinion that you hitherto had of
“Yours, &c.
“ANNE.”
The following account of the caution with which Anne concerted her
flight, and the mode in which she put it into execution, is given by her
who acted so conspicuous a part in the tragicomic transaction.
“A little before,[115] a note had been left with me, to tell me where I
might find the Bishop of London, (who in that critical time absconded,)
if her Royal Highness should have occasion for a friend. The Princess,
on this alarm, sent me immediately for the Bishop. I acquainted him with
her resolution to leave the court, and to put herself under his care. It
was hereupon agreed that, when he had advised with his friends in the
city, he should come about midnight in a hackney coach to the
neighbourhood of the Cockpit, in order to convey the Princess to some
place where she might be private and safe.
“The Princess went to bed at the usual time, to avoid suspicion. I came
to her soon after; and by the back-stairs which went down from her
closet, her Royal Highness, my Lady Fitzharding, and I, with one
servant, walked to the coach, where we found the Bishop and the Earl of
Dorset. They conducted us that night to the Bishop’s house in the city,
and the next day to my Lord Dorset’s, at Copt Hall. From thence we went
to the Earl of Northampton’s, and from thence to Nottingham, where the
country gathered round the Princess; nor did she think herself safe
until she saw herself surrounded by the Prince of Orange’s
friends.”[116]
Inoffensive, and even popular from her strict adherence to
Protestantism, Anne immediately met with defenders. A small body of
volunteers mustered round her, and formed a guard, commanded by no less
a person than Dr. Compton, Bishop of London, the resolute prelate who
had opposed the court on various occasions, and especially in his
refusal to suspend a Protestant clergyman for exposing papistical
errors.[117] This zealous man, who had been a cornet of dragoons in his
youth, now rode before the Princess and her suite, including Lady
Churchill, carrying a drawn sword in his hand, and pistols on his
saddle-bow.[118] In this chivalric guise the fugitive party reached
Northampton, and travelled on to Nottingham; where the gallant Earl of
Devonshire, the friend of Russell, had raised a band of volunteers to
assist the cause of the revolution.
It happened that the famous Caius Gabriel Cibber, the sculptor, or, as
it was called in those days, statuary, was at this time at Chatsworth,
engaged by Lord Devonshire in the embellishment of that sumptuous place,
and, in the words of Colley Cibber, in altering “from a Gothic to a
Grecian magnificence.” Colley Cibber himself was visiting at Chatsworth,
in order to be under the restraint of his father’s eye, until the period
of his going to college should arrive; no unnecessary precaution, as it
appeared by his after life. Colley Cibber, in pursuance of his father’s
commands, travelled from London to Nottingham, and found the country in
a state, if it may be so expressed, of peaceful commotion. When he
arrived at Nottingham, he found his father in arms there, among the
Earl’s volunteer company. Caius, the sculptor, whose undying fame is
preserved in the exquisite figures on Bethlehem Hospital, was aged, and
averse to the thoughts of a winter campaign; and he persuaded his patron
to allow him to retire to Chatsworth to finish his works, and to
substitute his young son, more fit for the business of war, into his
honours and regimentals.
The Earl consented, and Colley Cibber “jumped,” as he expressed it,
“into his father’s saddle.”
He had not been many days at Nottingham, before news of the Princess
Anne’s flight reached that city, accompanied by the report that two
thousand of the king’s dragoons were in pursuit to bring her back to
London. On this alarm, the volunteers scrambled to arms, and advanced
some miles on the London road, in order to meet the Princess and her
cavalcade, Anne being attended only by the Lady Churchill and by the
Lady Fitzharding. The party, thus guarded, entered Nottingham in safety,
and were lodged and provided for by the care and at the charge of the
Earl of Devonshire; and the same night all the noblemen and other
persons of distinction in arms had the honour to sup at her Highness’s
table. There being more guests in number than attendants out of liveries
to be found, Cibber, being well known in the Earl of Devonshire’s
family, was desired by the _maître d’hotel_ to assist at the table. It
fell to the lot of the young officer of volunteers to attend upon Lady
Churchill, and he has left the following interesting memorandum of that
occasion.
“Being so near the table, you may naturally ask me what I might have
heard to have passed in conversation at it, which I certainly should
tell you, had I attended to above two words that were uttered there, and
those were, ‘_some wine and water_.’ These, as I remember, came
distinguished to my ear, because they came from the fair guest whom I
took such pleasure to wait on. Except at that single sound, all my
senses were collected into my eyes, which, during the whole
entertainment, wanted no better amusement than that of stealing now and
then the delight of gazing on the fair object so near me. If so clear an
emanation of beauty, such a commanding grace of aspect, struck me into a
regard that had something softer than the most profound respect in it, I
cannot see why I may not, without offence, remember it, since beauty,
like the sun, must sometimes lose its power to choose, and shine into
equal warmth the peasant and the courtier.”[119]
Such was the impression which Lady Churchill, most likely unconsciously,
produced upon the imaginative Cibber, who, fifty years after this
memorable scene, describes it in the foregoing glowing terms.
The Duchess, in more homely phrase, thus describes the share which she
took in this event, in the narrative which her enemies feared would be
posthumous;[120] so late in life was it before she could resolve to
enter upon a review of those events of her youth, in which sweet and
bitter recollections were mingled.
“As the flight of the Princess to Nottingham has been by some
ignorantly, not to say maliciously, imputed to my policy and
premeditated contrivance, I thought it necessary to give this short but
exact relation of it. It was a thing sudden and unconcerted; nor had I
any share in it, further than obeying my mistress’s orders in the
particulars I have mentioned, though indeed I had reason enough on my
own account to get out of the way, Lord Churchill having likewise, at
that time, left the King, and gone over to the other party.”[121]
The assistance which Lady Churchill afforded the Princess on this
occasion, was the first action of her life in which she directly took a
share in public affairs, and evinced the effects of that influence upon
her gracious patroness, which afterwards became so conspicuous and
remarkable. Her conduct was severely criticised, and “a deluge of
scurrility, falsehood, and defamation,”[122] was drawn down upon her by
this first manifestation of her importance in the political world.
In analysing her conduct in this transaction, we have first to consider
the truth of her statements, and afterwards the cogency of those reasons
which swayed her actions at so critical a period.
It is scarcely possible, in the first place, to suppose that no plan had
been concerted by the Princess and her friends, for her security in a
storm which they must have beheld lowering for some considerable period
of time. Lord Churchill had chalked out his own course, and with that
decision and prudence which characterized his whole career, had avowed
his intentions, and carried them promptly into effect. Prince George, a
weaker vessel, had coqueted with the winds, and hovered about the shore,
before putting out his barque of small resolution to sea, trusting to
the only gale that ever blew him any importance in the course of his
royal existence. These two, for the time, influential men, the one
borrowing all his small lustre from the Princess his wife, the other
passionately attached to a woman of rising influence and of strong
discernment, could never have desired to conceal their projects, nor
even the slightest particulars of their daily movements, from those on
whose affections they placed dependence, and whose sentiments were in
unison with their own. There can be but little doubt that the plans for
the demeanour of the Princess were fully matured before it was necessary
to have recourse to action; with the Bishop of London, an avowed enemy
to court measures, for her spiritual adviser, Lady Churchill for her
friend, and Cavendish, the friend of Russell, for her host. Whether on
this, and on all other occasions of minor politics, Lord Churchill
controlled his wife, or his wife controlled him, it is of little purpose
to inquire. On this occasion they doubtless were wholly agreed; nor can
we view the actions of the Princess Anne from this period until the
memorable year 1710, otherwise than with a reference to the opinions and
wishes of her presiding genius.
To these observations may be added the rumours, stated by Lediard as
facts, that six weeks before she left Whitehall, Anne had ordered a
private staircase to be made, under pretext of a more convenient access
to Lady Churchill’s apartments, but, in fact, to secure a mode of escape
whenever her person or her liberty were in danger. The night before her
Royal Highness withdrew, the Lord Chamberlain had orders to arrest the
Ladies Churchill and Berkley, but, on the request of the Princess that
he would defer executing those orders until after she had spoken to the
Queen, he complied with her wishes. The Princess’s women, on entering
her chamber the morning after her flight, were surprised to find their
mistress fled; and the excitement of the people, on the suspicion of
outrage to her, was so great, that they threatened to pull down
Whitehall, unless the place of her retirement was instantly
discovered.[123]
It cannot be disputed but that the Princess acted with a degree of
pusillanimity which was a feature in her character, and throughout her
subsequent life made her the victim of daring minds, of whose intrigues
she was the slave, and at the same time, from her exalted station, the
active principle. Anne knew her father too well to suppose, that whilst
he retained the power to defend his daughter, he would suffer her to be
treated with indignity, or allow violence to be done to her feelings as
a wife, or to her opinions as a Protestant. The pretext that it was
unsafe for her to remain, on account of the schemes which might be
formed against her by the priests, was a needless alarm, and an
ungenerous insinuation. If we are to conclude that Princes may discard
natural feeling, and ties of duty, from their consideration, in times of
difficulty, we may commend the prudence of Anne in absenting herself
from a scene of distress wherein her father was the chief actor; we may
excuse her from remaining to receive the deserted and degraded king,
justly expiating grave offences by the bitterest mortifications, but
stung most by the utter alienation of one daughter, and the heartless
discretion of the other. But had Anne continued in London, had she
waited to receive the dishonoured King, and, by kindly sympathy and
filial affection which is of no party, endeavoured to soothe the pangs
of his return to his gloomy capital—had she thus solaced the most
painful hours of a father whom she was to see no more, she would have
compromised no party, nor entailed upon herself any responsibility. She
was a passive neutral being; unambitious, and, in those days, whilst her
brother and sister lived, comparatively unimportant: any breach of what
is called consistency, that fatal word which seems, in a public sense,
to be invented to banish sincerity and to smother nature, would, in her,
have been attributed to the most amiable source; except, perhaps, by her
stern formal brother-in-law, or by her virtuous, wise sister,—a pattern
of wives, but an undutiful and heartless daughter, and a cold and
ungracious sister.
Anne wanted soul—wanted resolution and character more than heart; and at
a critical period, when she might have acted so as to avoid subsequent
self-reproach, and might have reaped the satisfaction to her own mind
that she had not added to the sharpness of the “serpent’s tooth,” she
absconded—for the flight had much of that character—under the auspices
of Lady Churchill, and guarded by the Bishop of London. It is natural to
suppose that the yearnings which in her latter days she felt towards her
brother, the Pretender, and her manifest distaste to the Hanoverian
succession, proceeded, in a degree, from a too late regret for the part
which on this occasion she had been induced to take, and which was
quickly followed by her surrender of her right to William the Third.
There is something in the very style of Lady Churchill’s exposition of
the whole matter, that marks a sense of shame and regret, as she slides
rapidly over the particulars of the event.
Fearless herself, one may almost picture to the mind her contempt, when
the Princess expressed, in childish terms, her fear of her father. Upon
that point, the alleged excuse of her nocturnal flight, Lady Churchill
endeavours guardedly to excuse her royal mistress. She dwells with far
less minuteness and distinctness on her own motives than on the
subsequent explanations of other matters, in which she avows and defends
her unequivocal counsels to the Princess, and brings conviction that she
acted a sincere and upright part on those occasions.
Her known character for resolutely maintaining her own will, in
opposition even to that of Anne, fixed upon her all the ephemeral
obloquy with which the Jacobite party assailed the proceeding. It was
supposed, and not without reason, that the Princess was even at this
time much more under her control, than was the first lady of the
bedchamber under that of her mistress, whom she scorned to cajole, but
contrived to command.
“Flattery, madam,” says her bitterest assailant, “is what you never
happened to be accused of, nor of temporising with the humours of your
royal patroness. The peccadillos you have been supposed answerable for,
are of a quite contrary class—of playing the tyrant with your sovereign,
of insisting on your own will in opposition to hers, and of carrying
your own points with a high hand, almost whether she would or not.”[124]
Yet, with the inconsistency which often accompanies invective, this foe
of the Duchess adds: “Flattery does not always imply fulsome praises and
slavish compliances; none but the grossest appetites can swallow such
coarse food. There is a species, of a much more refined and dangerous
nature, which never appears in its own shape, but makes its approaches
in so happy a disguise, as to be mistaken for truth, simplicity, and
plain dealing. Your Grace had discernment enough to find that the
Princess had an aversion to the first; so you, very adroitly, made use
of the last; and, as you confess yourself, found your account in
it.”[125]
CHAPTER IV.
Change of manner in James—Character of Queen Mary—Her submission to
her husband—Surrender of the crown to William—The indecision and
reluctance of Anne—Her stipulation for a settlement—The part which
Lady Churchill is said to have taken in the affair—She asks advice
from Lady Russell and Archbishop Tillotson—The different qualities
of these two advisers—1688.
The Protestant Lords assembled at the Privy Council held by James the
Second imagined that the King was altered, and that his powers of mind
had forsaken him. They asked each other “where were the looks, and where
was the spirit, which had made three nations tremble?” “They perceived
not,” says Dalrymple, “that the change was not in the King, but in
themselves.”[126] In their consciousness of the monarch’s feebleness,
contrasted with former power, consisted the change.
The Princess Anne was not, it is to be presumed, enabled to conquer her
fears of encountering her humbled parent, since no mention is found of
her return to the metropolis until after all storms were hushed and
Mary, “possessing neither the authority of a queen, nor the influence of
a wife,”[127] became the presiding power of the concerns of a remodelled
court.
The personal character of Mary may be said to have had a considerable
influence upon the conduct of Lady Churchill, and upon her position in
that purified region, the British court; since, during the whole period
of her short reign, the two royal sisters were scarcely ever on
affectionate or even friendly terms; and it has been deemed necessary by
Lady Churchill to justify herself as the supposed cause of these
continual differences, not to say complete though disguised alienation,
between those Princesses.
Bishop Burnet has described, in his character of Queen Mary, a perfect
model of feminine excellence. “The queen,” he says, “gave an example to
the nation, which shined in all the parts of it.”[128] Tall and
majestic, of a form exquisitely proportioned, her countenance expressive
and agreeable, notwithstanding a constitutional weakness in her eyes,
Mary moved with dignity and grace, spoke with equal propriety and
spirit, and acted, when occasion required, with masculine resolution. In
all that duty and station exacted, she was admirable. She possessed, in
its perfection, that quality, “not a science,” as Pope expresses it,
“but worth all the seven, prudence.” Her intentions for the benefit of
her subjects were excellent.[129] Her first and continual care was to
promote reform in every department which she superintended. She began by
attacking those habits of idleness which had tended to demoralise the
court, and exposed its fair ornaments to many temptations. She set the
fashion of industry, by employing herself in needlework, working many
hours a day herself, with her ladies and her maids of honour similarly
engaged around her, whilst one of the party read to the rest. She freed
her court from all doubtful or censurable characters, so that there was
not a colour of suspicion of any improprieties, such as had been the
source of just censure in the preceding reigns. She expressed a deep
sense of religion, and formed a standard of principle and duty in her
mind, upon the sense of her obligations as a Christian. Industrious and
pious, she was consequently cheerful and unconstrained. Every moment had
its proper employment; her time being so apportioned out to business and
diversion, to the devout exercises of the closet, and to the polite
customs of the court, that the most scrupulous observer could not
pronounce her to be too serious or too merry, too retiring or too busy,
nor could find out the slightest cause of censure in her well-considered
actions, nor in her prudent yet engaging deportment. Her capacity was
great; her memory, and the clearness of her comprehension, were
particularly remarkable; her attention to everything laid before her was
that of a superior and reflective mind. Yet she was humility itself; her
distrust of her own judgment was accompanied by an absolute reverence
for the King’s opinions; and her perfections were crowned, in the sight
of the English people, by her firm though unobtrusive adherence to the
Protestant faith, of which she was regarded as the chief stay and
support, after her merits and her opinions had been fully disclosed.
Such were the qualities assigned to Mary by her zealous panegyrist; but
with all these attributes,—admirable in a private sphere, excellent in a
queen,—like many persons of regular habits, patterns of virtue in a
quiet way,—perfect when not put out of their habitual course,—prudent,
submissive, and placid, Mary had one grand defect. She wanted heart.
Gentle in her nature, whilst free from the passions of pride and anger,
she was devoid also of the generosity which sometimes accompanies those
defects in character. She rarely gave cause of offence, but she could
not forgive. Too good a wife, she sacrificed filial to conjugal duty;
forgetting that the Saviour, whose precepts she honoured, throughout all
his high vocation, knew no obligation which could obliterate the duty to
parents. But Mary may be held up to the degenerate wives of the present
day, as one who would have been at once their model and their reproof,
had she been placed under different circumstances. In anything less than
the cruel alternative of ceasing to revere and to protect a parent at
the command of a husband, or, for the sake of her consort’s political
views, Mary would have risen pre-eminent in esteem, both immediate and
posthumous.
Transplanted early to a foreign soil, she devoted herself with ready
submission to the wishes, the pursuits, the very prejudices of a husband
whom she could not have loved, had she not possessed feelings different
from those of her sex in general. At his command she became sedate and
obedient; her naturally good spirits were subdued into the tone which
her reserved but not unimpassioned husband deemed becoming in woman, and
essential in her who had the honour of sharing his damp climate and cold
heart.
This, indeed, became her second nature; yet, at the king’s command, the
staid, domestic Mary roused herself from her simple habits and matronly
reserve, and was converted into a patroness of mirth and folly; for she
was enjoined to use every art to entertain, and charm the fascinating
Duke of Monmouth, in order to annoy and endanger her father and his
throne. William, jealous to a degree, and concealing under his dry
exterior a temper of a furious violence,[130] ordered his exemplary wife
to attract and to be attractive, and she obeyed. She received visits in
private from the Duke; she danced, she skated, because Monmouth loved
those amusements. “It was diverting,” says a contemporary writer, “to
behold a princess of Mary’s decency and virtue, with her petticoats
tucked half-way to her waist, with iron pattens on her feet, sometimes
on one foot, sometimes on the other.” No less extraordinary was it to
hear that Mary was permitted to receive the Duke alone every day after
dinner, to teach her country dances in her own apartment.[131] So
accommodating was this pattern of conjugal obedience, that she could not
only lay aside natural feelings, but, what is perhaps more difficult,
dispense with long-cherished habits, and reassume the part of girlhood,
after a long period of matronly dignity, which somewhat resembled the
precision, without the liberty, of a single life.
In matters of weightier import than learning country dances, or skating
on Dutch canals, Mary was equally subservient. The flight of James from
London; the arrival of the Prince of Orange at St. James’s; the
subsequent withdrawal of James entirely from the British dominions; the
acknowledgment of the convention summoned by William, that the
tranquillity of the country was owing to his administration, and the
petition of that body that he would continue to exercise regal
power,—were events which would have been regarded by an ambitious woman
with the utmost intensity of interest.
The declaration of the Houses of Parliament, five days afterwards, that
the crown had become vacant by the desertion or abdication of James
disclosed fully to Mary the realization of those dreams of greatness,
which an aspiring or even busy female would have cherished in her heart,
in the absence of those natural feelings with which Mary was but little
troubled. But the gentle Queen was here again all duty and obedience;
her mind was but a reflection of her husband’s will and pleasure.
Instead of hurrying to occupy the throne to which she might with
scarcely an effort have been raised, she remained, at the desire of her
consort, patiently in Holland, in order to prevent any intrigues which
might be formed in favour of her ruling alone,—a proposal[132] which
gnawed into the very heart of the proud, reserved William.[133] Upon her
being detained still longer in Holland by contrary winds, or perhaps by
a secret gale in the form of a conjugal command, the Earl of Danby was
despatched for the purpose of detailing to her the debate in Parliament
respecting the successor to the vacant throne; and at the same time to
intimate that if she desired to reign alone, he doubted not but that he
should be able to insure the accomplishment of her wishes. The Princess,
with a firmness which had something of magnanimity in it, replied, “that
she was the wife of William Prince of Orange, and would never be any
other thing than what she could share in conjunction with him;” adding,
“that she should take it very ill if, under pretext of a concern for
her, any faction should set up a divided interest between her and her
husband.” To confirm this answer, and to prevent misunderstanding, she
sent the letter brought to her by Lord Danby, and her answer, to the
Prince; and thus prevented any jealousy, on the score of her hereditary
right from interfering with her domestic comfort and the confidence of
her husband.[134]
Such was Mary, unlike the rest of her imprudent race;—unlike them,
perhaps, from the early tuition[135] of her stern husband, a very
Utilitarian of the seventeenth century. That she will be fully proved
deficient in tenderness—that her feelings were even too much under
control—(for we may control our feelings until they cease to
exist—extinguished by the constant pressure of a dense and foggy mental
atmosphere)—that the good principle within her displayed itself rather
in the absence of wrong than in active zeal—that she was amiable without
being beloved, and commendable without attaining popularity, was fully
shown during her short possession of regal power.
Whilst the debates concerning the monarchy were carried on, the Princess
Anne began to manifest some traits of character for which the world had
not hitherto given her credit. Unlike her sister, she was not an
unconcerned observer of the startling schemes which were bruited, nor of
the great changes to which the absence of her father had already given
birth. Even her placid temper appears to have been ruffled at the
reported desire of William, through the intrigues of his favourite
Bentinck, to rule alone; and to exclude her family from the possession
of a crown which they were little likely to regain when lost. But
William, checked by the demonstration of English spirit in one of his
English adherents, contented himself with a declaration, first, that in
case of a regency being proposed, he should decline that office: he
would accept of no dignity dependent on the life of another. Secondly,
that if it were the design of the people to settle the Princess alone on
the throne, and to admit him to a participation of power only through
her courtesy, he should decline that proposal also. “Her rights he would
not oppose. Her virtue he respected. No one knew them better than he
did. But he thought it proper to let them know that he would hold no
power dependent on the will of a woman.” And he concluded with an
intimation that if either of these schemes were adopted, “he should give
them no assistance in the settlement of the nation, but return to his
own country, happy in the consciousness of the services which he had,
though in vain, endeavoured to do theirs.”[136]
This declaration on the part of William had the intended effect. There
appeared to men of all parties no alternative between making the Prince
of Orange king, or recalling the exiled monarch. The first of these
plans was, after much procrastination, adopted.
One obstacle alone was opposed to the decision of the leading partisans
of William;—the consent of the Princess Anne to waive her right to the
crown was necessary before the accession of William could be
accomplished.
The Jacobite party, on the pretext of regard to Anne, but actually for
their own factious purposes, supported her in the indecision, not to
term it opposition, which the Princess at first evinced, in respect to
the proposal to relinquish her right in favour of William.
Anne, after wavering long, after contradicting herself at various times,
and keeping all around her and connected with her in suspense, at last
consented to postpone her claim in favour of the Prince of Orange;
stipulating at the same time for an ample revenue, to support her
dignity as next heir to the throne.[137] This step, which was, under all
circumstances, the wisest for herself, and the most considerate for the
good of the nation, that Anne’s counsellors could have advised, was
attributed to Lady Churchill,—“one,” says Dalrymple, “of the most
interested of women, who possessed at that time the dominion of her
spirit, and who hoped to serve her own interest and her husband’s by
betraying those of her mistress.”[138]
It will here be necessary, and we think not uninteresting to the reader,
to insert Lady Churchill’s account of the share which she had in the
transaction.
“Quickly after this,” (speaking of the Princess Anne’s flight to
Nottingham,) “the King fled into France. The throne was hereupon
declared vacant, and presently filled with the Prince and Princess of
Orange. The Parliament thought proper to settle the crown on King
William for life, and the Princess of Denmark gave her consent to it.
This was another event which furnished simple people with a pretence to
censure me. It was intimated that, to make my court to the King and
Queen, I had influenced the Princess to forego her undoubted rights. The
truth is, I did persuade her to the project of that settlement, and to
be easy under it after it was made. But no regard to the King nor the
Queen, nor any view of ambition, had the least share in moving me to
this conduct, any more than to what inconsiderable part I acted in the
business of the Revolution.”[139]
Lady Churchill proceeds to say, that, with respect to the Revolution,
“it was evident to all the world, that as things were carried on by King
James, everybody sooner or later must be ruined who would not become a
Roman Catholic. This consideration made me very well pleased at the
Prince of Orange’s undertaking to rescue us from such slavery. But I do
solemnly protest, that if there be truth in any mortal, I was so very
simple a creature, that I never once dreamt of his being King. Having
never _read_, nor employed my time in anything but playing at cards, and
having no ambition myself, I imagined that the Prince of Orange’s sole
design was to provide for the safety of his own country, by obliging
King James to keep the laws of ours, and that he would go back as soon
as he had made us all happy; that there was no sort of difficulty in the
execution of this design, and that to do so much good would be a greater
pleasure to him than to be king of any country upon earth. I was soon
taught to know the world better. However, as I was perfectly convinced
that a Roman Catholic was not to be trusted with the liberties of
England, I never once repined at the change of the government; no, not
in all the time of that persecution I went through. I might, perhaps,
wish it had been compassed by some other man, who had more honour and
justice than he who could depose his father-in-law and uncle to maintain
liberty and the laws, and then act the tyrant himself in many instances;
but I never once wished that the change had not been made.
“And as to giving King William the crown for life, it was the same
principle of regard for the public welfare that carried me to advise the
Princess to acquiesce in it. It is true, that when the thing was first
started, I did not see any necessity for such a measure; and I thought
it so unreasonable, that I took a great deal of pains (which I believe
the King and Queen never forgot) to promote my mistress’s pretensions.
But I quickly found that all endeavours of that kind would be
ineffectual; that all the principals, except the Jacobites, were for the
King, and that the settlement would be carried in Parliament, whether
the Princess consented to it or not. So that in reality there was
nothing advisable but to yield with a good grace. I confess that, had I
been in her place, I should have thought it more for my honour to be
easy in this matter, than to show an impatience to get possession of a
crown that had been wrested from my father. And as it ought to have been
a great trouble to the children of King James to be forced to act the
part they did against him, even for the security of liberty and
religion, (which was truly the case,) so it seems to me, that she who
discovered the less ambition would have the more amiable character.
However, as I was fearful about everything the Princess did, while she
was thought to be advised by me, I could not satisfy my mind till I had
consulted with several persons of undisputed wisdom and integrity, and
particularly with Lady Russell of Southampton House, and Dr. Tillotson,
afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. I found them all unanimous in the
opinion of the _expediency of the settlement proposed, as things were
situated_. In conclusion, therefore, I carried Dr. Tillotson to the
Princess, and, upon what he said to her, she took care that no
disturbance should be made by the pretended friends, the Jacobites, who
had pressed her earnestly to form an opposition.”[140]
Having thus explained to Anne the reasons which, in her opinion,
rendered it compatible with the honour of the Princess to surrender her
right to the crown for the time being, Lady Churchill, aware of the
responsibility in which she involved herself, and acknowledging that she
was fearful about everything the Princess did, whilst she was thought to
be advised by her, adopted the wise precaution of consulting persons of
“undisputed wisdom and integrity,” before she permitted the Princess to
send in her decision upon this momentous point.
The individuals to whom Lady Churchill applied for counsel were such as
a woman of discernment, and of right intentions, would desire to
consult. The female friend to whom she addressed herself was the
illustrious Rachel Lady Russell, the beloved wife, counsellor, friend,
the high-minded support and solace, of one of the most noble of men.
The tragedy in which Lord Russell terminated his life, was fresh in the
remembrance of the public. Five years before the Revolution, he had been
brought before his Peers on his trial, and being told that he might
avail himself of the assistance of one of his servants to take notes of
the proceedings in short-hand,—“I ask none,” was his reply, “but that of
the lady who sits by me.” And when the assembly beheld the daughter of
the virtuous Lord Southampton rising to assist her lord at this
extremity, a thrill of anguish moved the spectators.[141]
But very recently, the loyalty, the good faith, the bravery of the
Russells, had been recalled to public remembrance, even by the unhappy
cause of their heartfelt calamity. When James, in his utmost need, had
summoned a council of the Peers to ask their advice, in passing to the
council chamber he met the Earl of Bedford, father of Lord Russell, who
had offered a hundred thousand pounds for his son’s life—a sum which
James, then Duke of York, had persuaded his brother to refuse. James,
reflecting upon the probity and influence of the Russells, and catching,
in his hopeless state, at any straw which could arrest his ruin, said to
the Earl, “My lord, you are a good man; you have much interest with the
Peers; you can do me service with them to-day.” “I once had a son,” was
the heart-broken father’s reply, “who could have served your Majesty on
this occasion;” and with a deep sigh he passed on.
To the widowed daughter-in-law of this venerable man Lady Churchill
addressed herself. Nor would Lady Russell have permitted any step to be
entertained, that was derogatory to the honour of her who sought such
aid in her judgment; for in this noble woman, faithful in her grief to
the memory of him whom she constantly prayed to rejoin, the gentlest
qualities were united to the loftiest heroism. Her husband’s death was
preferable in her eyes to his dishonour. In one long fixed look, in
which the tenderness of the fondest affection was controlled on the part
of her husband by great and lofty resolves, on hers by a fortitude which
sprang from the deepest feelings, had the Lady Russell parted from her
lord.
From the time of his death, Lady Russell, from a sort of common tribute,
had taken a high place in society. She bore her sorrows with the
patience of an humble believer in a future state of peace and of
re-union with the lost and the beloved; but not all the too late
tributes to the motives and excellence of him whom she had lost—neither
the reversal of the attainder by parliament, nor the ducal honours
conferred upon the family, nor even the universal respect and national
sympathy—could recal her to the busy world, bereaved, to her, of all
that was valuable. She lived in a dignified and devout seclusion at
Bedford House, formerly Southampton House, in Bloomsbury Square, that
beloved abode, at the sight of which the eyes of her noble husband had
been filled with tears, as he passed to the place of his execution in
Lincoln’s-inn-fields. Here, consoled by the society of the pious and the
learned, cheered by the hopes of an hereafter, and honoured in her dark
old age, Lady Russell resided, until death, in 1723, released her from
an existence rendered still more mournful by blindness, brought on by
continual weeping.[142]
One of the brightest ornaments of the age in which she lived, Lady
Russell was as accomplished as she was high-minded. To her counsels the
celebrated Dr. Tillotson often recurred. By him, as by all who knew her,
she was regarded as the first of women;[143] nor could that woman
continue her friend, whose motives were not pure, and whose conduct was
not irreproachable.
The other counsellor to whom Lady Churchill put forth her case, was the
good, the learned, but calumniated Archbishop Tillotson.
In this selection, also, she showed great prudence. Tillotson was the
common friend of both the Princesses, and the spiritual adviser of Mary,
who entrusted to him the chief charge of the concerns of the church,
with which William the Third did not consider himself justified to
interfere.
Tillotson was of a different temperament from the heroic Lady Russell,
and it was perhaps for this very reason that Lady Churchill consulted
him. With the soundest judgment and the kindest temper, this revered
prelate had a sensitiveness of disposition which tended to render him
cautious, perhaps timid, in his measures. “He was,” says his dearest
friend, “a faithful and zealous friend, but a gentle and soon conquered
enemy.”[144] But he was truly and seriously religious, without
affectation, bigotry, or superstition; and it may be supposed that the
dauntless thinker, Lady Churchill, whose original mind detested these
prevalent defects, delighted in conversing with one of so enlightened a
spirit. “His notions of morality were fine and sublime;”[145] and she
might well feel that she could not go wrong, with one so scrupulously
virtuous to guide her. The influence of Dr. Tillotson as a preacher, his
sermons being then accounted the patterns for all such compositions,
might also sway her in requesting his counsels; whilst “the perpetual
slanders, and other ill usage,” with which, according to his friend, he
had been followed, and which gave him “too much trouble, and too great a
concern,”[146] might, she may well have thought, have taught him to feel
for others, and induced him to double caution in pointing out the right
path, to one beginning the weary road of public life, in which she, too,
found that vanity and vexation of spirit went along with her on her
journey.
It is not to persons such as these that we address ourselves, when we
intend to follow a crooked line of policy. We may judge favourably of
the purity of our motives, when we determine to question the wise and
the good, upon the mode and spirit of our actions; and Lady Churchill,
when she hastened to disclose her perplexities, and to unfold her
intentions, to two persons of undoubted probity and of known piety, may
have felt satisfied that she need not blush to confess them to a higher
power.
The result of her deliberations was a determination to influence the
Princess to surrender what she could scarcely deem her rights, in favour
of William and Mary, during their separate lives; but with precedence to
her, and to her children, to any issue which William might have by a
second marriage, in case of the death of his Queen. And it might have
been inferred that, for this important decision, the gratitude of the
King and Queen would have been effectually secured to Lord and Lady
Churchill, who had both shared in the good office. But such was not the
result.
This obstacle to the settlement of the crown being removed, the Prince
and Princess of Orange were declared King and Queen, in accordance with
the votes severally of both Houses of Parliament, upon a motion of Lord
Danby. The populace, who remembered how the crown had tottered on
James’s head at the coronation, and who recalled the pleasantry of Henry
Sidney, keeper of the robes, who kept it from falling off, remarking, as
he replaced it, “This is not the first time that our family has
supported the crown,”[147] were now startled by the circumstance, that
the day of the proclamation of William and Mary was also that of the
accession of the unfortunate James; and the assembled crowds pointed at
the statue of the unhappy monarch, with its face turned to the river,
and its back to the palace, in bitter and sarcastic allusion.[148]
This event, which took place on the 6th of February, 1689, was, in six
days afterwards, succeeded by the arrival of Queen Mary in London. Her
singular, and, to a sensitive mind, truly painful situation, raised many
conjectures with respect to her probable conduct. But whether, as it is
asserted by some, she was warned by William to control her emotions, for
his sake, upon her first appearance as a sovereign, the deposer and
successor of her father; or whether her extraordinary levity proceeded
from the heartlessness of a common-place character, it is difficult to
decide. Political feuds may, indeed, sufficiently, though not
satisfactorily, account for hardness of heart, and an oblivion of the
dearest ties; and Mary’s pliant mind, and warped, but not unaffectionate
temper, had been long worked upon, during a series of intrigues, of
which her father was the object, and her husband the first agitator.
Whatever was the nature of her feelings, the cold and light deportment
which she manifested on her entrance into her palace at Whitehall, the
last refuge of her deposed and deserted father, gave considerable
offence. Mary, it was thought, might have remembered, with compassion,
the unfortunate, and, as far as grave offences were concerned, the
innocent Queen, her stepmother, Mary of Modena, who had last inhabited
the very apartments into which she was now herself conducted. She might
have bestowed one passing serious thought upon that unhappy fugitive,
who only two months previously, had left that house privately, with her
infant son, the Prince of Wales, then five months old, carried by his
nurse; one faithful friend, the Count de Lauzun, the sole companion of
her flight. From this palace she had crossed the Thames, in the darkness
of night, unsheltered, in an open boat, the wind, and rain, and swell of
the river, conspiring to detain and terrify her, and to add to the gloom
of her situation. On this palace, standing for shelter under the walls
of an old church in Lambeth, had the wretched Queen fixed her eyes,
streaming with tears, and searching, with fruitless tenderness, for the
flitting shadow of her husband across the lighted window; whilst,
starting at every sound which came from that direction, the desolate
mother sometimes suspended her anxious gaze, to look upon her sleeping
infant,[149] unconscious of her miseries, unconscious of the hope
deferred, the disappointment, the perplexities which awaited him in his
future career, as the penalty to be paid for royal birth.
But if Mary, disliking her stepmother, of whom, indeed, she knew but
little, and regarding her as a bigot whose pernicious influence drove
James, in the opinion of the Princess Anne, into greater outrages upon
justice than he would otherwise have inflicted; if Mary, thus
prejudiced, gave not one reflection to her stepmother, nor doubted the
reality of her imputed brother’s relationship, she might yet have
bestowed some few natural tears upon the fate of her father. Many there
were who could have told her, had her heart yearned for such or for any
intelligence, how James, when his Queen and his son were gone, shuddered
at the solitude of his palace; how, in every look from others, he read
danger and dark design; how he dreaded alike kindness or distance; and
when informed by Lord Halifax (who, to induce him to leave England,
deceived him) that William meditated his death, he broke out into the
bitter exclamation, “that small was the distance between the prisons of
princes and their graves”: a saying which he quoted of his father, and
which now appeared to his affrighted mind prophetic of his own destiny.
The indecision, the confusion of mind, the helplessness of her father,
might rise to Mary’s mind, as she entered the hall whence he had been
accustomed to issue. The feebleness of majesty without power might occur
to her; the hapless King ordering out guards, no longer his, to fight
the Prince, and affecting to summon a council which would no longer meet
at his command, might have induced some reflections on her own account.
But Mary, unmoved, entered the palace, passed through those rooms which
scarcely two months before had been opened, the day after James’s
flight, to receive his expected levee, and walked unconcerned towards
her bedchamber, and into the suite of apartments prepared for her. It
was, on this occasion, the duty of Lady Churchill to attend her Majesty,
and her account of the Queen’s conduct is too lively, has too much an
air of truth, to be omitted.
“I was one of those,” says the Duchess, “who had the honour to wait upon
her (the Queen) to her own apartment. She ran about, looking into every
closet and conveniency, and turning up the quilts upon the bed, as
people do when they come into an inn, and with no other sort of concern
in her appearance but such as they express; a behaviour which, though at
that time I was extremely caressed by her, I thought very strange and
unbecoming. For whatever necessity there was for deposing King James, he
was still her father, who had been so lately driven from that chamber,
and from that bed; and if she felt no tenderness, I thought she should
at least have looked grave, or even pensively sad, at so melancholy a
reverse of his fortune. But I kept these thoughts in my own breast, not
imparting them even to my mistress, to whom I could say anything with
all the freedom imaginable.”[150]
Two days after the arrival of Mary, both Houses of Parliament went in
state to bestow the crown upon her husband and on her. The King, having
accepted the gift for himself, and for his consort, was proclaimed with
Mary, King and Queen, “in the very hall of that palace,” says Dalrymple,
“from which the father had been driven; and at the gate of which her
grandfather had, by some of those who now placed the crown on her head,
and by the fathers of others, been brought to the block.”[151] On the
following day Lord Churchill was sworn a member of the privy council,
and a lord of the bedchamber; and two days before the coronation he was
created Earl of Marlborough,—a title which he was supposed to have taken
in consequence of a connexion on his mother’s side with the family of
Ley, Earls of Marlborough, extinct ten years previously. But this famous
designation did neither augur unbroken prosperity to the receiver, nor
insure to the donor, King William, the devoted fidelity of Marlborough;
and the reign upon which we are now entering may be considered to have
been, in most respects, a season of anxiety to the spirits, and of
depression to the affairs, of Lord Marlborough, and of her who
participated in every emotion of his heart.
CHAPTER V.
State of the British Court—Character of William.
The English court now presented a strange and gloomy contrast to those
seasons of reckless dissipation which had characterised it in the two
preceding reigns.
The personal character of the monarch, his weak health and retired
habits, had considerable influence in producing this change. William
appeared, indeed, almost of a different species to the well-bred and
easy-tempered Charles the Second, and to the affable though stately
James. Both these monarchs were remarkable for the happy grace with
which they bestowed favours;[152] William, as even his warmest
panegyrist allows, generally “with a disgusting dryness, which was his
character at all times, except in a day of battle, for then he was all
fire, though without passion; he was then everywhere, and looked to
everything.”[153] His “Roman eagle nose,” and sparkling eyes, ill
corresponding with a weak and emaciated body, gave expression to a
countenance otherwise disfigured by small-pox, the effects of which,
added to a constitutional asthma, produced in him a deep and constant
cough, the surest obstacle to conversation.
Without considering this impediment as having a continual influence over
his deportment, King William was one of those cynical personages who
adhere to silence as a type of wisdom, and despise the talkative; and
who, having seen some mischiefs arise from too great fluency of speech,
take refuge from indiscretion in cautious taciturnity. Like most of
those who defeat the purpose of society, in thus fencing themselves from
animadversion, the King was extremely prone to make severe remarks and
hypercritical comments upon others. His very senses, according to
Burnet, were provokingly “critical and exquisite.” Devoid of
imagination, which would have stood in the way of his unnatural
philosophy, he was an exact observer of men and manners. Nothing escaped
his piercing eye, nor was forgotten by a mind endowed with a most
extraordinary memory, which never failed him.[154] Like most reserved,
phlegmatic men, he imbibed strong and lasting prejudices; and whilst he
did not stoop to revenge, he was unable to shake off unfavourable
impressions of others, whether founded or unfounded. When to these
qualities we add the facts that he could not bear contradiction, his
temper being so peevish to a degree, that he could not bring himself to
love the English, and that he preferred the retirement of the closet to
the brilliancy of the ball-room or banquet, it might be easily foretold,
that with good intentions, possessed of sincerity, of religious belief,
and of valour, William and his court would become eminently distasteful
to the English people.
The Queen endeavoured to the utmost of her power to dissipate the
disgust which she could not but perceive to exist in the public mind,
since the court was, in great measure, deserted. But as she interfered
not in public concerns, and as there was, on that account, little to be
gained from her influence, her vivacity, and the redundancy of her
conversation, (in which she delighted,) did not attract the gay and the
interested, and her efforts were fruitless.
A few days after his accession, William, notwithstanding the advice of
his friends, took refuge from that society which he so much despised and
disliked, in the retirement of Hampton Court, which he left only to
attend the Privy council on stated days; and the people soon found, to
their infinite discontent, that it was the design of the sovereign to
add to this old and irregular building new tenements, upon an expensive
and magnificent scale, for his own and for the Queen’s apartments. Thus
retired from the gaze of his metropolitan subjects, the King did little
to conciliate their affections, as far as the cultivation of those arts
extended, which his predecessors had patronised. For his introduction of
the Dutch style of gardening into England, the nation has little cause
to be grateful. Yet gardening was the only art which seemed to afford
him any satisfaction.
In this stately edifice, the proud monument of a subject’s wealth, and
of a monarch’s munificent taste, Lady Marlborough, in her attendance
upon the Princess Anne, must have passed a considerable portion of her
time.
It was not long before misunderstandings began to disturb the serenity
of that constant intercourse which at first subsisted between the two
sisters. On the first arrival of Queen Mary, the Princess, as Lady
Marlborough relates, “went to see her, and there was great appearance of
kindness between them. But this,” adds the Duchess, “quickly wore off,
and a visible coldness ensued; which I believe was partly occasioned by
the persuasion the King had, that the Prince and Princess had been of
more use to him than they were ever likely to be again, and partly by
the different characters and different humours of the two sisters. It
was, indeed, impossible they should be very agreeable companions to each
other; for Queen Mary grew weary of any body who would not talk a great
deal, and the Princess was so silent that she rarely spoke more than was
necessary to answer a question.”[155] It was, however, apparent that the
subsequent alienation of the sisters had a deeper foundation than mere
difference of taste, or discrepancy of habits, which might naturally be
looked for between two sisters separated so early, and passing the
season of their youth in scenes widely different, and with characters
totally dissimilar. That Mary had received some impressions prejudicial
to the friend and counsellor of her sister, previous to her accession,
is manifest from the following justification of her favourite, which the
Princess had thought necessary, in the preceding year, to write to her
sister.
“_Cockpit, Dec. 29, 1687._
“... Sorry people have taken such pains to give so ill a character of
Lady Churchill.... I believe there is nobody in the world has better
notions of religion than she has. It is true, she is not so strict as
some are, nor does not keep such a bustle with religion; which I confess
I think is never the worse; for one sees so many saints mere devils,
that if one be a good Christian, the less show one makes, it is the
better, in my opinion. Then, as for moral principles, it is impossible
to have better; and, without that, all the lifting up of hands and eyes,
and going often to church, will prove but a very lame devotion. One
thing more I must say for her, which is, that she has a true sense of
the doctrine of our church, and abhors all the principles of the church
of Rome; so that, as to this particular, I assure you she will never
change. The same thing I will venture, now I am on this subject, to say
for her lord; for though he is a very faithful servant to the King, and
that King is very kind to him, and I believe he will always obey the
King in all things that are consistent with religion; yet, rather than
change that, I dare say he will lose all his places, and all that he
has.”[156]
This prepossession against the Countess of Marlborough may have
originated only in her known and determined spirit; but it was doubtless
aggravated by the relationship and correspondence of the Countess with
her sister, now Lady Tyrconnel, the warm and busy partisan of the exiled
monarch, of whom her husband, Lord Tyrconnel, was an active and
influential adherent. The Queen seems to have adroitly thrown her
objections to Lady Marlborough into the form of scruples concerning her
religious opinions, hoping that Anne’s strict notions upon those points
might be offended by her favourite’s carelessness upon matters of form,
then of absolute importance in the tottering state of our national
church, and at all times aids and props to devotional exercises, of the
greatest assistance to habitual piety. But the insinuations of Mary, in
whatever terms they may have been couched, only served to strengthen
friendship which a species of adversity still rendered essential to the
Princess Anne.
The Countess, however, was retained in her post about the Princess, “a
situation seemingly of little consequence,” observes Dalrymple, “but
which, for that very reason, her pride and spirit of intrigue determined
her to convert into a great one.”[157]
Like all busy, violent women, especially if their ardent dispositions
have a bias to politics, Lady Marlborough seems to have been peculiarly
obnoxious to the other sex. There is not an historian who praises her
without some reservation; and the majority of those who touch upon the
notorious influence which she exercised, mingle admiration for her
talents with marked dislike to her personal qualities. Yet, amid the
conflicting interests by which even the placid Anne was harassed, Lady
Marlborough proved a firm, zealous, and judicious friend, regardless of
her own advancement in court favour, and of her husband’s military
aggrandisement, for which a weaker mind would have trembled, ere it had
boldly ventured upon interference in political intrigues.
The first cause of discord between the Queen and the Princess of Denmark
was upon a subject of domestic convenience. Upon such themes the spirit
of Lady Churchill was peculiarly excitable. In order to understand
precisely the nature and merits of a quarrel and a dispute which would
have been summarily, and perhaps peaceably settled, had men, instead of
women, been immediately concerned in adjusting it, it is necessary to
explain the sort of residence which Anne, in common with other brandies
of the royal family, was obliged at that time to adopt.
It has already been stated that the Princess Anne resided at the
Cockpit, Westminster, in apartments which were allowed to her at the
time of her marriage, by her uncle, Charles the Second. Concerning these
well-situated accommodations, a perpetual irritation, a continual
negociating, intriguing, and consequent ill-will, seems to have been
excited. Some description of the localities, and of the advantages which
Anne derived from the appropriation of the Cockpit to her use—advantages
which sorely vexed her royal sister—may not, therefore, be deemed
impertinent.
The ancient Palace of Whitehall, situated beyond Scotland Yard, and on
the same side of the street, was obtained by Henry the Eighth, from
Wolsey, in 1529, and, until consumed by fire in 1697, was the residence
of several of our monarchs, who found their account in thus living in
the centre of the metropolitan world, and at the same time in a healthy
and airy situation.
In very few years after Henry the Eighth had obtained possession of
Whitehall, he procured, in addition to its immediate precincts, the
inclosure of the St. James’s Park, which he received from the Abbot and
Convent of Westminster in exchange for other property, and appropriated
to the improvement of the noble structure of Whitehall Palace. One
portion of the inclosure he converted into a park, another into a
tennis-court, a third into a bowling-alley, and a fourth into a cockpit.
The Cockpit was situated near to what is now called Downing-street; and
was the only access from Charing Cross to St. James’s Park, and the
buildings beyond. Henry, for the accommodation of passengers, erected
two gates, one of which opened from the Cockpit into King-street,
Westminster, on the north, and the other into Charing Cross. The former
of these was known by the name of Westminster Gate, and the other by the
name of Cockpit Gate. Both were eminently beautiful; and before the year
1708, that of the Cockpit was still remaining, and added considerable
dignity to the entrance into Anne’s courtyard, being adorned with four
lofty towers, battlements, portcullises, and richly decorated.[158]
Westminster Gate had no less a reputation than its neighbour, and is
said to have been erected upon a design of Hans Holbein.
Successive innovations in different reigns had, however, long before the
Princess of Denmark honoured the Cockpit with her residence, annihilated
its uses and original splendour. Apartments had been built over the
space, where Henry, with his coarse taste, delighted, in the truly
national and disgraceful sport. The Palace of Whitehall, including the
Cockpit, was one vast range of apartments and offices, extending to the
river. There was even a gallery for statues, accessible to young
artists, and rooms to the number of seventy were remaining until
lately.[159] The rooms were lent, or given, or let, to different persons
who rejoiced in royal favour; and the same tenement, if one so vast and
of such a character could be so considered, contained Charles the
Second, his court, his queen, the haughty Castlemaine, and the
beautiful, dangerous, and devoted Louise de la Querouaille.
The rooms at the Cockpit appear, however, to have been in some respects
inconvenient to the Princess of Denmark. Their situation, when all
between them and the village of Charyng was an open space, when
Westminster Abbey rose uninterrupted to the view, and when St. James’s
Park, peopled with birds, was daily the scene of all that London could
boast of aristocratic splendour, must indeed have been at once gay and
commanding. Yet, notwithstanding these advantages, the Princess desired,
for certain reasons, to exchange her apartments for others; and she
encountered, in that desire, an unkind, and, as it appears, an
unnecessary opposition from Mary.
The Duchess of Marlborough thus explains the affair; and as other
historians have not thought it worth their notice, we must consider her
account of it to be conclusive.
“The Princess, soon after the King’s coming to Whitehall, had a mind to
leave her lodgings, (the way from which to the Queen’s apartment was
very inconvenient,) and to go to those that had been the Duchess of
Portsmouth’s, which the King on her request told her she should have.
But the Princess requesting also (for the conveniency of her servants)
some other lodgings that lay nearest to those of the Duchess, this
matter met with difficulty, though her Highness, in exchange for all she
asked, was to give the whole Cockpit (which was more than an equivalent)
to be disposed of for the King’s use. For the Duke of Devonshire took it
into his head, that could he have the Duchess of Portsmouth’s lodgings,
where there was a fine room for _balls_, it would give him a very
magnificent air. And it was very plain that while this matter was in
debate between the King, the Queen, and Princess, my Lord Devonshire’s
chief business was to raise so many difficulties in making the Princess
easy in those lodgings, as at last to gain his point. After many
conversations upon the affair, the Queen told the Princess ‘that she
could not let her have the lodgings she desired for her servants, till
my Lord Devonshire had resolved whether he would have them, or a part of
the Cockpit.’ Upon which the Princess answered, ‘she would then stay
where she was, for she would not have my Lord Devonshire’s leavings.’ So
she took the Duchess of Portsmouth’s apartment, granted her at first,
and used it for her children, remaining herself at the Cockpit. Much
about the same time, the Princess, who had a fondness for the house at
Richmond, (where she had lived when a child,) and who, besides, thought
the air good for the children, desired that house of the Queen; but that
likewise was refused her, though for many years no use had been made of
it, but for Madame Possaire, a sister of my Lady Orkney’s and Mr.
Hill.”[160]
Notwithstanding these manifestations of a petty and somewhat tyrannical
ill-nature on the part of Mary, the Princess, who was propriety itself,
“continued,” says the Duchess, “to pay all imaginable respect to the
King and Queen.” But no humble endeavours on the part of Anne could
avail to soothe the irritations of her sister and brother-in law, whilst
they perceived that, bred up amongst the people, she was dear to their
subjects, and that on important occasions her interests became their
cause; and a jealousy, aggravated in its bitterness by the well-known
disposition of Anne to befriend her brother, and by her equally certain
repentance for her conduct to her father, became a permanent sentiment
in the mind of Mary.
It was reasonable in the Princess to expect that having given up her
right in the succession, the King and Queen should study to promote her
comfort in all essential respects. Her father, at her marriage, had
settled upon her a suitable annuity of thirty thousand pounds; and now
that a fresh arrangement was to be made, Anne expected that a permanent
and independent revenue would be secured to her.
This was in the King’s power, the civil list amounting to no less a sum
than six hundred thousand pounds a year. But William had no intention of
making the Princess independent, if he could possibly avoid such a step;
his policy was to keep her in subjection to himself and to her sister,
in order, if possible, to insure her fidelity in times when no one
around him was exactly to be trusted, and when he was obliged to pardon
insincerity, and to be blind even to treachery.[161] The King even
expressed some reluctance to continue to Anne the allowance which she
had received,—a line of conduct which was viewed with just indignation
by his sister-in-law, who had facilitated his Majesty’s accession to the
throne by her compliance with his wishes, at the time of that revolution
which had banished those whom she most loved from the crown.
Stimulated by a sense of this injustice, and prompted by the Countess of
Marlborough, Anne resolved to appeal to Parliament, knowing that in that
assembly the Tories and the disaffected would warmly support her claims,
as the ready means of producing dissension at court, and of rendering
William unpopular.[162]
Upon the report of Anne’s intentions being conveyed to the Queen, a
scene truly singular, as occurring between two royal personages, both
celebrated by historians for their moderation and discretion, took place
in the heated atmosphere of that scene of faction, Kensington Palace.
The Queen sought an interview with her sister, for the purpose, and to
use the Duchess of Marlborough’s expression, “one night taking her
sister to task about it;” commencing her attack by asking her what was
the meaning of those proceedings. To which the Princess, somewhat
evasively, replied, “she heard that her friends had a mind to make her
some settlement.”
The Queen, upon this reply, lost that command of herself for which she
had hitherto been remarkable.
“And pray, madam,” she thus addressed the Princess, “what friends have
you but the King and me?”
Anne felt the taunt deeply; and resented it with as much warmth as her
nature could muster. The intimation of her dependence, conveyed in this
speech, appears from the following remarks, penned by her friend and
confidante, to have stung her severely. How characteristic of that
sharp-sighted person is the sarcastic tone of the concluding remark!
“I had not the honour to attend the Princess that night, but when she
came back, she repeated this to me. And, indeed, I never saw her express
so much resentment as she did at this usage; and I think it must be
allowed she had great reason, for it was unjust in her sister not to
allow her a decent provision, without an entire dependence on the King.
And, besides, the Princess had in a short time learnt that she must be
very miserable, if she was to have no support but the friendship of the
two persons her Majesty had mentioned.”[163]
In justification of the narrow principle adopted by William and his
Queen on this occasion, Mr. Hampden, junior, spoke in the House of
Commons, representing the impolicy of settling a revenue on a Princess
who had so near a claim to the crown, and who might be supported by a
number of malcontents. He adduced in favour of his argument the
withdrawal of a motion for settling a separate allowance of a hundred
thousand pounds a year upon the Queen;[164] but his arguments did not
prevail, and the debate was adjourned to the next day. Some of the
Princess’s friends, encouraged by the general feeling in her favour,
even proposed to allow her seventy thousand pounds yearly;—and the King,
annoyed at the course which the debate took, and fearful of its issue,
prorogued parliament.
Whilst the subject was thus warmly discussed, the Queen, although
conversing every day with her sister, observed a cautious silence on the
subject of her settlement: and the most strenuous exertions were made,
to prevail on the Countess of Marlborough to persuade the Princess to
give up the point in dispute. The most intimate friend of the dauntless
Sarah was the Viscountess Fitzharding, third sister of Edward Villiers,
who was successively created, by William, Baron Villiers and Earl of
Jersey.
The family of Lady Fitzharding, though of Jacobite tendencies, exercised
over William a prodigious ascendency, through the influence of two of
its members; the Earl of Jersey, who was himself in high favour with the
King; and the Countess of Jersey, though a Catholic, was much esteemed
by the Queen: whilst Elizabeth Villiers, sister of the Earl, was the
acknowledged mistress of the monarch.[165] Partialities so unaccountable
and incongruous are not surprising to the reader who has gone through
the private history of courts and kings.
Through this channel Mary now sought to influence Lady Marlborough, the
oracle to whom her sister Anne implicitly deferred. Every art was used,
either “through flattery or fear,”[166] to dissuade the Princess from
the pursuit of a settlement. The Duchess thus describes these
ineffectual efforts:—
“My Lady Fitzharding, who was more than anybody in the Queen’s favour,
and for whom it was well known I had a singular affection, was the
person chiefly employed in this undertaking. Sometimes she attacked me
on the side of my own interest, telling me, ‘that if I would not put an
end to measures so disagreeable to the King and Queen, it would
certainly be the ruin of my lord, and consequently of all our family.’
When she found that this had no effect, she endeavoured to alarm my
fears for the Princess by saying, ‘that those measures would in all
probability ruin her; for nobody, but such as flattered me, believed the
Princess would carry her point, and in case she did not, the King would
not think himself obliged to do anything for her. That it was perfect
madness in me to persist, and I had better ten thousand times to let the
thing fall, and to make all easy to the King and Queen.’”
Little could Lady Fitzharding understand the character of her gifted
friend, when she attempted to dissuade her from any undertaking in which
she had resolutely engaged. On the contrary, the Duchess, persisting the
more strenuously in her determination the more it was opposed, with a
true feminine spirit writes:
“All this, and a great deal more that was said, was so far from
inclining me to do what was desired of me, that it only made me more
anxious about the success of the Princess’s affair, and more earnest, if
possible, in the prosecuting of it.” For, as she further declares, she
would rather have died than have sacrificed the interests of the
Princess, or have had it thought that she had herself been bribed or
intimidated into compliance with the wishes of the court.
Lady Marlborough, therefore, employed all the powers which she
possessed, to forward the settlement. She justly reflected, as the
Princess’s friend, that anything was better than dependence upon
William’s generosity, of which she had no opinion. For Lord Godolphin
told her that the King, speaking of the civil list, “wondered very much
how the Princess could spend thirty thousand pounds a year, although it
was less,” adds the shrewd Duchess, “than some of his majesty’s
favourites had.”[167]
Meantime King William and his Queen were perfectly aware, as it appears,
with whom the resistance to their plans originated, and they took
measures, accordingly, to appease and to satisfy her who already held
“that good sort of woman,”[168] their royal sister, in a kind of
subjection to her will and opinion. Accordingly, a few days before the
question was put to the vote, a message was despatched to Lady
Marlborough, offering, on the part of the King, to give the Princess
fifty thousand pounds a year, if she would not appeal to parliament.
The person employed on this delicate embassy was Charles Talbot, Duke of
Shrewsbury, whom the King had taken into his favour, although once a
Catholic, and the godson of Charles the Second. This nobleman, according
to William, “the only man of whom both Whigs and Tories spoke well,” was
an enemy to those party distinctions by which even great and good men
were betrayed into the violence of faction. Easy, graceful in his
deportment, and accomplished, he was peculiarly adapted, from his charms
of manner, and even of countenance, notwithstanding the loss of an
eye,[169] to act the part of mediator between the irritating and the
irritated, especially when of the gentler sex.
Empowered by William to use his own discretion in the mode of persuasion
to be adopted, the Duke obtained an interview with Lady Marlborough. He
unfolded the object of his mission, which he sought to strengthen.
The result of these negociations was favourable to Anne. She gained her
point, and an income of fifty thousand pounds was settled on her by
parliament. Some of the members persisted in proposing an allowance of
seventy thousand pounds, but the Princess was advised by her friends to
accept of the smaller sum, and not to combat the point any longer
against the influence of the crown.
Notwithstanding this arrangement, the Countess thought it incumbent upon
her not to allow the Princess to accept of the settlement without
further advice. She sent, therefore, to ask the opinion of the Earl of
Rochester, who was then “just creeping into court favour,”[170] by means
of the interposition of Bishop Burnet, who recommended him to the
Queen’s regard and forgiveness. For Rochester was one of those who had
wished for a regency instead of a king, and who endeavoured to instil
into his own party those notions of arbitrary government which he had
imbibed in the reign of Charles the Second, under whom he had held
several high ministerial appointments.
Lord Rochester, like all party men in his time, had his admirers and his
censurers. Although considered a man of abilities, and although his
private character was highly respectable, there were some points in his
conduct of which an adversary might take advantage, to question this
nobleman’s integrity.[171]
Having refused to turn Catholic, in King James’s time, the earl had
received an annuity of four thousand a year, on his life and on that of
his son, settled upon him as a compensation of the Lord Treasurer’s
staff, which had been taken from him on that occasion. Lady
Marlborough’s observation upon the opinion which this nobleman now
delivered to her is therefore peculiarly pungent.
“Nevertheless,” she says, “I was so fearful lest the Princess should
suffer for want of good advice, that after I had heard of the Commons
voting 50,000_l._ a year, I sent to speak with my Lord Rochester, and
asked his opinion whether the Princess ought to be satisfied, or whether
it was reasonable she should try to get more. (I did not then know how
much his heart was bent on making his court to the Queen.) His answer to
me was, that he thought not only that the Princess ought to be satisfied
with 50,000_l._, but that she ought to have taken it in any way the King
pleased; which made me reflect that he would not have liked that advice
in the case of his own 4000_l._ a year from the Post-Office, settled on
him and his son.[172] But I was not,” she adds, “so uncivil as to speak
my thought, nor so foolish as to struggle any longer. For most of those
who had been prevailed with to promote the settlement were Tories, among
whom my Lord Rochester was a very great man. Their zeal on the present
occasion was doubtless to thwart King William, for I never observed that
on any other they discovered much regard for the Princess of
Denmark.”[173]
The success of the affair was justly attributable, as she affirms, not
to any faction making the passive Princess the plea for a vexatious
opposition to the court, but, as she forcibly expresses it, “to the
steadiness and diligence of my Lord Marlborough and me; and to this it
was imputed, both by those to whom the result was so exceedingly
disagreeable, and by her to whose happiness it was then so
necessary.”[174]
Anne was at this time deeply sensible of all that she owed to the
firmness and zeal of these devoted servants. “She expressed her
gratitude in a manner generous to a very high degree;” and from this
time, until many years afterwards, the interests and the happiness of
the Churchill family were the objects of her solicitude, and of a
munificence certainly conferred with delicacy, and often rejected on
their part with a spirit of independence and disinterestedness.
CHAPTER VI.
Character of Godolphin—His advice respecting the pension to the
Duchess of Marlborough—Feuds of Mary and Anne—Deficiency of respect
towards Prince George—Attachment of Marlborough to his wife—Her
residence at Holywell House—Birth of her children—Cloud lowering
over the fortunes of Lord Marlborough.—1789.
Whilst encountering many enemies, both male and female, whose hostility
the Countess of Marlborough might set down to the score of envy, she
possessed one friend who, through life, influenced all her actions, and
who has been supposed to have gained her affections.
It would be a libel upon human nature to imagine, that the cherished
wife of John Duke of Marlborough could be fascinated by the lesser
constellation of talents and of virtues, displayed in the character of
the minister Godolphin. The impure and consequently illiberal judges of
conduct, who pride themselves on what is called knowledge of the world,
may decree that a cordial and confidential friendship, in the simple
acceptation of the word, cannot exist between the two sexes, where
similarity of age is joined to congeniality of temper and taste. But,
happily for society, some men are honourable, some women high-minded;
reliance may gratify one party, and approbation and esteem secure the
kindly feelings of the other. A friendship firm, generous, and delicate,
may exist between persons of different sexes; and where it has this pure
source, it will ever be found beneficial, permanent, and delightful.
Resembling, in one respect, his distinguished friends, Godolphin had
early in life been attached to the service of the Stuart family. The
first situation that he held was that of page to Charles the Second; the
last appointment that he retained under the Stuarts was the painful and
precarious office of lord chamberlain to the blameless and unhappy Mary
of Modena, for whose beauty, misfortunes, and interests, he ever
expressed admiration, compassion, and regard.[175]
Queen Anne, it is said,[176] had been touched by the merits of one whom
it required merit to appreciate, and had loved Godolphin when young, but
was prevented by state necessity from marrying a subject.[177] After the
revolution, in the progress of which Lord Godolphin acted the part of an
honest statesman, yet forgot not the duty of a grateful subject, he was
approved and retained in the Treasury by William, who appointed him also
one of the Lords Justices of the kingdom in his absence. Godolphin,
indifferent to the blandishments of rank, absolutely declined the honour
of the garter; and raised, unwillingly, to the Peerage, was as
disinterested in respect to the gains, as in regard to the honours of
successful ambition. In this particular he displayed a character totally
unlike that of the gifted woman for whom he has been said, by Tory
writers, to have cherished a passion which influenced his political
bias.[178] His disposition, in other respects, little resembled hers. He
was of a reflective, inquisitive turn of mind; slow but unerring in his
conclusions; possessed of exquisite judgment in all the affairs of life;
yet of a temper so peculiarly amiable, possessed of sentiments so
unusually lofty, that he might have lived in the most innocent
retirement, from the purity of his motives and the elevation of his
general character. Superior to the low practices by which weaker spirits
toiled for ascendency, Godolphin never condescended to a courtier’s
arts. His promise was inviolate; he detested not only falsehood, but,
what in his situation was most difficult, he never permitted himself to
have recourse to the more prevailing, and as it is believed safer, form
of that vice, dissimulation. Like Marlborough, Godolphin, when asked to
confer favours, softened his refusals with a kindness and frankness
which propitiated even the disappointed.
The notions of economy, which this great minister adopted, not grounded
on a passion for wealth which sullied the brightness of the great
Churchill’s virtues, were applied with the same rigid care to the public
means, as to the expenditure of his own private fortune. Grave even to
sternness, he won universal esteem from his inflexible justice, and in
society was the object of affection, no less than of respect. Disfigured
in countenance by the small-pox, and severe in expression, there was yet
something bright and penetrating in his eye, something engaging in his
smile, which procured him the favour of the female sex,—to whom, with
all his profound experience of men and manners, with all his
infallibility of judgment, and his gravity of deportment, Lord Godolphin
was, during the whole of his life, passionately devoted.[179]
The name of Godolphin (signifying a white eagle) was of ancient origin.
His immediate progenitors, country gentlemen of the county of Cornwall,
were distinguished for their loyalty to the Stuarts during the civil
war.[180] According to Dean Swift, who mentions the circumstance in that
casual, careless way which answers the intentions of malice without
wearing its aspect, Godolphin was intended for some trade, until his
friends procured him the office of a page at the court of Charles the
Second.[181] From this humble station he rose rapidly into political
consequence; for he sat in the first Parliament after the Restoration,
as member for Helston in Cornwall, and was shortly afterwards employed
in various high offices, until appointed to the commissionership of the
Treasury, at the same time that he was called to the House of Peers.
During the reign of James the Second, Godolphin enjoyed the favour of
Queen Mary, to whom he was chamberlain, and of James, who reappointed
him one of the Lords of the Treasury. Educated in high church tenets,
Godolphin, like his friend Lord Marlborough, became a Whig when the
Protestant succession was in danger. Yet, whilst he managed, with
consummate prudence, to act as one of the commissioners appointed by
James to treat with William at his landing, and was so skilful and so
fortunate as to retain his situation of Treasury Lord upon the accession
of William,—Godolphin, courageous, and, like most courageous men,
tender-hearted, was among the few of the deposed monarch’s courtiers who
gave him the solace of their attendance and sympathy. He accompanied the
abdicated King to the sea-side when he quitted England, and maintained a
correspondence with him until his death.
It is not always possible to calumniate noble and popular characters,
but it is generally easy to ridicule the greatest and the best. Lord
Godolphin’s weakness, according to one whose inimitable strokes of
satire sink into the memory, were love of play and vanity.
“Physiognomists would hardly discover,” says Dean Swift,[182] “by
consulting the aspect of this lord, that his predominant passions were
love and play—that he could sometimes scratch out a song in praise of
his mistress with a pencil and a card—or that he hath tears at his
command, like a woman, to be used either in an intrigue of gallantry or
politics.” Conformably to this devotion to dames and damosels was his
lordship’s romantic admiration of the beautiful exiled Queen, Mary of
Modena, whom he used to address in letters, in which love was
ambiguously mingled with respect; “whilst little presents of such things
as ladies like”[183] accompanied these epistles,—such tokens of regard
to one so unfortunate and so interesting being always first shown to
King William, though with the knowledge of James’s Queen. But in these
minor traits, mentioned as inconsistencies and follies, there is a touch
of generous sentiment, at the disclosure of which Lord Godolphin, amidst
all his vast concerns and political pursuits, need not have blushed.
It was to this valued friend, both her own and her husband’s best
counsellor, that the Countess of Marlborough applied for advice, about a
year after the settlement on the Princess had been made, in a matter of
some delicacy. The Princess, from gratitude for her friend’s exertions,
wrote to offer her a pension of a thousand pounds. The manner in which
this proof of a generous friendship was offered, speaks honourably for
Anne’s goodness of heart and propriety of feeling.[184]
“I have had something to say to you a great while, and I did not know
how to go about it. I have designed, ever since my revenue was settled,
to desire you would accept of a thousand pounds a year. I beg you will
only look upon it as an earnest of my good-will, but never mention
anything of it to me; for I shall be ashamed to have any notice taken of
such a thing from one that deserves more than I shall be ever able to
return.”
Some delay having taken place in the payment of this annuity, the
Princess wrote a letter, couched in terms of the most sincere affection,
to her “dear Mrs. Freeman,” begging her not to think meanly of her
faithful Morley for the negligence of her treasurer.
Upon this the Countess began to take seriously into consideration the
propriety of accepting her Highness’s kindness. The circumstances of her
family were not, as she alleged, great; yet she was far from catching at
“so free and large an offer,” until she had sent the first letter from
the Princess to Lord Godolphin, and consulted him upon the matter.
Lord Godolphin’s opinion was favourable to the wishes of the Princess.
He replied, that there was no reason in the world for Lady Marlborough
to refuse the pension, knowing, as he did, that it was entirely through
her activity, and the indefatigable industry of Lord Marlborough, that
the Princess had obtained her settlement;[185] and the proffered income
was gratefully accepted.
The good understanding which had subsisted between the two royal sisters
had never been based upon sincere affection, and the slightest accident
served to discompose, and even to annihilate, their apparent friendship.
Anne, who had repented, with tears, of her conduct to her father,[186]
and was not consoled for filial disobedience by her husband’s expected
aggrandisement, was doubtless scandalised by the manifest determination
of her sister to encourage every demonstration of public opinion which
her father had discountenanced. An occasion soon offered. The only
dramatic exhibition which the retiring Queen witnessed was the play of
the “Spanish Friar,” which had been forbidden by the late King. But Mary
was duly punished for this want of good taste, to say the least of it,
or deficiency in filial feeling. The repartees in the drama happened to
be such as the spectators, hearing them with preoccupied minds, could
readily appropriate to the Queen. Mary was abashed, and forced to hold
up her fan, and, to hide her confusion, turned round to ask for her
palatine, her hood, or any article of dress she could recollect; whilst
the audience, not yet softened towards her by those respectable
qualities which afterwards gained their esteem, directed their looks
towards her, whenever their fancy led them to make any application of
what was said, to the undutiful and unpopular daughter of James; and the
Queen, upon another diversion of this kind being proposed, excused
herself upon the plea of some other engagement, whilst the affair
furnished the town with discourse for a month.[187]
It was evidently the policy or pleasure of Mary to retain the different
members of her family, as much as circumstances permitted, in
subjection. In particular she insulted her sister by a marked
indifference to Prince George, her brother-in-law, who, though
remembered by posterity as the “_Est-il possible_” of King James, was a
man of respectable conduct, of valour, humanity, and justice.[188]
William, however, held his brother-in-law in utter contempt; and the
manner in which he repaid the Prince’s desertion of his father-in-law,
would have been peculiarly galling to a gentleman of a warmer temper
than, fortunately, the Prince appears to have been. When William was
obliged to go to Ireland, and to enter upon that memorable campaign
which finally decided the peace of the United Kingdom, Prince George
involved himself in a great expense to attend his Majesty, with a zeal
returned only by ungracious and unbecoming conduct,—William not even
suffering the Prince to go in the same coach with him; an affront never
before offered to any person of the same rank.[189]
Prince George, a pattern of patience, one of those characters who have
not, and who cannot have, a personal enemy, submitted not only to this
indignity, but to every possible species of irreverence, during the
whole campaign. He distinguished himself at the battle of the Boyne, and
was yet treated by the King, says the Duchess in her “Conduct,” “with no
more respect than if he had been a page of the back-stairs.”[190]
These slights and disappointments came to a crisis, when the ill-used
Prince, determined not again to be exposed to such contumely, requested
permission of the King to serve him at sea as a volunteer, without any
command. The King, who was going to Flanders, embraced him by way of
adieu, but said nothing; and silence being generally taken for consent,
the Prince made preparations, and sent his baggage, arms, &c., on board.
But the Queen, according to the Duchess, had “her instructions neither
to suffer the Prince to go to sea, nor to forbid him to go, if she could
so contrive matters as to make his staying at home appear his own
choice.”
Mary, in conformity with her invariable practice, followed to the very
letter the wishes of her royal husband, and endeavoured to make the
Countess of Marlborough her agent upon this occasion. But her Majesty
had yet to learn the fiery temper of her with whom she attempted to
deal. “She sent a great lord to me,” says the Duchess, “to desire I
would persuade the Princess to keep the Prince from going to sea, and
this I was to compass without letting the Princess know that it was the
Queen’s desire.” The Countess’s reply was, that she had all the duty
imaginable for the Queen, but that no consideration could make her so
treacherous to her mistress as she should consider herself, if she
attempted to influence her in that matter, without telling her the
reason; and she intimated that she “would say what her Majesty pleased
to the Princess, if she were allowed to make use of the Queen’s name.”
The affair ended in Prince George’s submission to a peremptory message,
forbidding him to go to sea, and conveyed through the Earl of
Nottingham. He justly felt himself rendered ridiculous to the public, by
being obliged to recal his preparations, to obey like a school-boy, and
to remain at home.
Whilst these minor events were disturbing the peace of the royal
household, the first campaign in Ireland called Marlborough away from
the home and the wife whom he loved so well. Every letter to the
Countess which he penned during his absence, breathes a devotion which
time and distance seem only to have heightened. In the hurry of military
movements, in the excitement of unparalleled triumphs, his heart was
ever with her. “I am heart and soul yours,” was his constant expression.
“I can have no happiness till I am quiet with you.” “I cannot live away
from you.”[191] Again, he beautifully concludes one letter: “Put your
trust in God as I do, and be assured that I think I can’t be unhappy as
long as you are kind.” So true and elevated was the attachment of that
affectionate heart. “Pray believe me,” he says, writing in 1705,
immediately after the battle of Ramilies, “when I assure you that I love
you more than I can express.”[192] These and other innumerable fond
asseverations, even when his wife had passed the bloom of youth, and, it
appears, no longer possessed (if she ever did) equanimity of temper,
speak an attachment not based upon evanescent advantages. With a candour
inseparable from a great mind, he generously took upon himself the blame
of those contentions by which the busy and harassing middle period of
married life, that period in which love often dies a natural death, is,
in all stations, apt to be embittered. On one occasion, after thanking
her, as for a boon, for “very many kind expressions” to him in a letter,
he says, “in short, my dear soul, if I could begin life over again, I
would endeavour every hour of it to oblige you. But as we can’t recal
what is past, forget my imperfections, and as God has been pleased to
bless me, I do not doubt but he will reward me with some years to end my
days with you; and if that be with quietness and kindness, I shall be
much happier than I have ever yet been.”
This longing for home, and for the undisturbed enjoyment of all that
home gives, appears in every effusion of that warm heart, the natural
feelings of which neither the dissipations of a court, nor the
possession of power, nor the incense of nations, could alienate from the
fondest objects which life presents to a mind not vitiated by
selfishness. Marlborough, amidst all his troubles, was happiest in his
nursery. There the guilelessness, the freshness of the infant mind
appeared to him in beautiful contrast with the measured phrase, and the
mask of prudence, adopted insensibly in the world; the petty cares and
wants of children, so easily solaced—their unconsciousness of all that
is painful, all that is anxious—operate as a charm on the sickened heart
and harassed mind, and bring to the wearied passenger through life some
sense of happiness, some trust and hope that all is not disappointment
and deception in this probationary state. Those parents who turn with
disgust and indifference from children, as merely sources of care, may
picture to themselves the great Marlborough the playfellow of his little
girls.
“You cannot imagine,” he writes from Tunbridge to Lady Marlborough, “how
I am pleased with the children; for they, having nobody but their maid,
are so fond of me, that when I am at home they will always be with me,
kissing and hugging me. Their heats are quite gone, so that against you
come home they will be in beauty.
“If there be room I will come on Monday, so that you need not write on
Sunday.
“Miss is pulling me by the arm, that she may write to her dear mamma; so
that I shall say no more, only beg that you will love me always as well
as I love you, and then we cannot but be happy.”
To this charming and natural letter the fond father added, in his own
handwriting, the following little postscript from his daughter:—
“I kiss your hands, my dear mamma.—HARRIET.”[193]
Happy and amiable Marlborough! and blessed the parents, to whom still
the affectionate though unconscious dependence of their children brings
a thousand minute and indescribable enjoyments!
With the affections of such a man, Lady Marlborough might have been the
happiest, as well as one of the most distinguished of women, had she
risen superior to the temptation of intrigue, and discarded the workings
of tea-table politics with the scorn which they deserved. But her
unquiet spirit allowed her no real happiness. External circumstances,
which were peculiarly in her favour, contributed to ruin her peace, by
fostering her domineering and busy temper. Indulged by her husband in
living at her birthplace, he gratified her inclination still further, by
purchasing the respective shares of her sisters, Frances and Barbara,
joint co-heiresses with herself, and built a mansion on the spot, called
Holywell House. At this place Lord and Lady Marlborough resided, the
house being described as one of great magnificence, and they left it
only to enter upon the yet more majestic pile of Blenheim House, when
repeated success had raised them to the climax of their greatness. The
birth of six[194] children successively—of two sons and four
daughters—added to their domestic felicity, whilst yet those children
were spared to them, and continued amenable to the domestic control.
Some troubles, incident to human nature generally, were allotted to the
distinguished parents, but mitigated by advantages so abundant, that the
early portion of their married life must be considered as peculiarly
blessed.
During the first two years after the accession of William, Lord
Marlborough only enjoyed his home and country at brief intervals, that
were tantalising even to one who felt himself destined to high offices,
and framed for glorious enterprises. On his return from the Netherlands,
the King, though secretly nettled at his interference in the affair of
the settlement, was obliged to acknowledge that it was to Marlborough
that the success of his troops at the siege of Walcourt, a small town in
the Low Countries, was to be chiefly attributed.[195] In the close of
the year 1690, Marlborough was entrusted with the command of troops sent
to Ireland, in which country he had refused to act whilst James the
Second, his former benefactor, remained in that island. But when James
retired to France, Marlborough prepared to use his utmost exertions, in
conjunction with others, to reduce the remainder of that kingdom to
obedience. The success of his endeavours enabled him to return to
England on the 28th of October, and to experience a favourable reception
from King William; but he was obliged almost immediately to resume his
command in Ireland, where he remained during the winter. The following
year found him still active in military affairs, serving under William
himself in Flanders, with a distinction and success that wrung praises
from his enemies. Even William was forced to acknowledge that “he knew
no man so fit for a general who had seen so few campaigns;”[196] and to
the praises of the Prince de Vaudemont, who prophesied of Marlborough
that he would attain a higher point of military glory than any subject
William possessed, the phlegmatic monarch relaxed so far from his usual
taciturnity as to reply with a smile, “he believed that Marlborough
would do his part to make his words good.” But all these services were
obliterated shortly afterwards from the royal mind; and a cloud of
adversity, though not of disgrace—for nothing can disgrace the
virtuous—lowered over the fortunes of Marlborough.
CHAPTER VII.
State of Parties—Character of Lord Nottingham—of Bentinck—Influence of
the Villiers family—Of Lady Orkney—Quarrel of the Queen and
Princess—Marriage of Frances Jennings to the Duke of
Tyrconnel—Suspicions of the Earl and Countess of Marlborough
entertained at court—Disgrace of Lord Marlborough. 1689.
In order to understand the vicissitudes of favour which Lord and Lady
Marlborough experienced, some insight into the state of parties, and
some acquaintance with the characters of public men, are essential;
although a lengthened discussion upon the subject, in a work of this
nature, would be wearisome and inconvenient.
Scarcely had William the Third ascended the throne, than he found that
“his crown was encircled with thorns.”[197] In the hurry and stir of
events, carried away by the strong current of sympathy, the Tories had
promoted his elevation; but when dangers were past, they remembered, too
late to retrieve, what they considered to be their error—that in so
doing they had departed from all their established maxims; they
recollected, not only that they had dethroned James, but that they had
preferred his daughters and the Prince of Orange in the succession, to
the infant Prince of Wales; and, to excuse their inconsistency, they
were forced to pretend a mere submission to events which they had
actively promoted. This faction, reluctantly styled by Burnet, in the
portion of his history[198] relating to this period, “Tories,” were
therefore avowedly hostile to the court, and yet not to be considered as
its sole, nor indeed as its most dangerous enemies.
The clergy, the majority of whom had inveighed from the pulpit against
the right of infringing upon the order of succession, were, from motives
of the same description, inimical also to the Calvinistic King, whose
known attachment to Dissenters inspired a jealousy of him, and towards
his numerous adherents of the same tenets with himself, which was
quickly manifested by the Bishops. Among the seven prelates who had been
persecuted by the late King, only one, the Bishop of St. Asaph, did
homage to the new monarch, and took the oaths. And when Mary sent to ask
Sancroft’s blessing, the cutting reply of the Archbishop was, “that she
must seek her father’s first, otherwise his would not be heard in
heaven.”[199]
Thus repelled, William looked in vain for a servile compliance from the
Whigs; they had the plea of consistency to shackle the support which
they might be expected to give the royal minion of their power; and,
having always opposed the crown, they were unwilling to relinquish that
jealousy of its prerogative for which their party had hitherto been
distinguished.
After the happy termination of the war in Ireland, factious spirits,
like gnats after rain coming forth in the sunbeam, began to show
themselves, and to congregate for action. Whilst some complained of the
great standing army kept up after the contest with James and his
adherents was finally and triumphantly concluded—whilst some murmured at
one grievance, some at another—Englishmen of all parties were disgusted
with the preference given to the Dutch, on whom alone the confidence of
the sovereign was bestowed. Nor did William take any means to ingratiate
himself in the affections of his adopted country. He shut himself up all
day, attended chiefly by Bentinck, whom he had created Earl of Portland,
and who shared his favour with Henry Sidney, the only Englishman whom
the King really liked. By degrees, a new feature in the character of the
chosen successor of James, alienated from him that party who had placed
him on the throne, and who began to think that there was something
contagious around that unenviable position. Naturally cautious, and
ignorant of our constitution, William took offence at the warmth of
those who professed liberal opinions, mingled with notions of
republicanism, from which he recoiled with as much dread as his
prerogative-loving predecessors. The name of liberty became intolerable
to him; and it was soon found that his love of monarchy, and his sense
of its high privileges, were far greater than could possibly have been
expected, in a prince whose pretensions rested upon the suffrage of the
great body of the nation.[200]
These opinions were supposed to be cherished in William by the Earl of
Nottingham, who was chosen Secretary of State with the Earl of
Shrewsbury. Lord Nottingham had opposed the settlement of the crown with
vehemence, and in copious orations; declaring, however, when the party
opposed to him had prevailed, that “though he could not make a king,
yet, upon his principles, he could obey one better than those who were
so much set on making one.”[201] It was this minister’s successful
endeavour to infuse distrust and dislike of the Whigs into the mind of
his sovereign—to gain every species of information which could assist
his efforts, from the lowest sources and by the lowest means—every angry
speech in political meetings being reported to his Majesty’s ears, and
making a deep impression on the mind of William.[202] Yet Nottingham has
been said, even whilst holding his office of secretary, to have always
kept “a reserve of allegiance to his exiled master;”[203] whilst the
necessities of a numerous family induced him to take an employment in
the existing government.
The great ambition of this nobleman was to be at the head of the church
party. Regular in his religious duties, strict in morals, and of a
formal, unbending character of virtue, the zeal of Nottingham, affected
or real, aided by a solemn deportment, and by a countenance the
inflexible gravity of which accorded with his disposition,—it was not
until years afterwards that his actual insincerity was discovered, and
that it was found that the principles which he professed had been all
along at variance with those which he actually entertained.[204]
Amongst sundry Tories and Jacobites who, by the influence of Nottingham,
were preferred, Lawrence Hyde, Earl of Rochester, contrary to all
expectation, was made a privy counsellor. His near relationship to the
Queen, his niece, had not hitherto secured royal favour. He was
accounted a man of abilities, although immeasurably inferior in that
respect to his celebrated father; he wrote well, but was an ungraceful
speaker. Devoted to the exiled monarch, Rochester, whilst he perceived
the errors of his royal brother-in-law, opposed the act of settlement,
and voted for a regency—a step which Queen Mary found it difficult to
forgive; nor was it until after Bishop Burnet had wrought upon her mind,
that she consented to receive her uncle, or to forget his opposition to
her reign. By degrees, however, he rose in her regard, and attained a
degree of influence which was exerted against Lady Marlborough in
particular, and of which she felt the effects. Lord Rochester, with many
excellent and respectable qualities, united a spirit somewhat too
zealous to be productive of benefit in the state affairs at that time;
he was considered as the leader of the high church party; and, refusing
the oaths of allegiance to William and Mary, remained a non-juror until
his death.[205]
The more placid, but more steady opposition of Bentinck, Earl of
Portland, to all that Lady Marlborough proposed and desired, was
supposed by her to be even more effective than the turbulent temper of
Lord Rochester. Brave, faithful, disinterested, charitable, a favourite
without presumption, a consummate statesman without forgetting the
higher duties, Bentinck would have been a valuable and a devoted friend,
had Lady Marlborough been so fortunate as to possess his esteem; nor is
there any reason to suppose that he was at any time her implacable
enemy, although his interests, and even his affections, were centered in
the monarch whom Lady Marlborough has treated, in her “Conduct,” with so
little respect.
Descended from an ancient family in the province of Guelderland,
Bentinck was first page to William Prince of Orange, and afterwards
gentleman of the bedchamber. When William was made stadtholder, Bentinck
continued near him, and was with him when the Prince was attacked with
the small-pox, a disease which had been peculiarly fatal to the
stadtholder’s family. On this occasion, and during the progress of a
disorder then shunned with as much alarm and horror as the plague and
cholera have since been, and the first symptoms of which were regarded
almost as the signal of death, Bentinck never deserted the sick room of
the Prince. He administered medicines to his master, and was the only
person who lifted him in and out of bed.[206] The first day of the
Prince’s convalescence was the commencement of Bentinck’s illness. He
begged of William to allow him to return home, as he could no longer
combat against the symptoms of disease. Happily, William had not to
grieve that the life of his devoted servant had been sacrificed by his
tender care. From that time Bentinck was peculiarly favoured by the
reserved but not ungrateful Prince; yet so little dependence is there to
be placed on human affections, so constantly are we to be admonished
that nothing is stable, nothing wholly satisfactory, in this life of
chances and changes, that the generous Bentinck afterwards found himself
supplanted in his sovereign’s regard by Keppel Earl of Albemarle; and,
whilst he still retained the confidence of William, perceiving that his
personal influence with the King was gone, in 1698 he retired from
court, leaving those offices which he had so long held in the household
to be performed by deputy.
During the first six or eight years of the reign of William and Mary,
Lord Portland, however, enjoyed all that favour and those distinctions
which his prudence, and the courage which he had displayed both in
military and civil affairs, so well justified. The avowed favourite of
the King, and deriving considerable grants from the crown, he spent the
sums for which he was indebted to the Treasury and to British lands, in
promoting the welfare of the English peasantry. Besides daily extensive
charity among his poor neighbours, Lord Portland built and endowed a
charity school on his estate in Buckinghamshire; and passed his days in
the domestic, and dignified, and useful retirement of an English
nobleman of the old school; visiting Holland every summer, but living
mostly in England. It was before going as ambassador to negociate the
peace of Ryswick, that he endeared himself to the English nation by
being actively instrumental in saving the noble edifice of Whitehall, in
which a fire had broken out, which was chiefly checked by the zeal and
liberal aid of this noble foreigner graft upon our English
nobility.[207]
The Earl of Portland became eventually one of the richest subjects in
England. But, as there is a dark spot on all human brightness, he
rendered himself unpopular to many, notwithstanding his extensive
charities—notwithstanding his profusion “in gardening, birds, and
household furniture,”—qualities truly English,—by a frugality which, in
the continental nations, is carefully instilled into youth by education
and practice, but which is uncongenial to the habits of the English
nation. The resentment of Queen Anne and of the Duchess of Marlborough
was shown in a manner not displeasing to the public, when, on her
accession, the Queen deprived Portland of “the post of Keeper of Windsor
Great Park.”[208]
Whilst we accord to Bentinck every merit due to one so estimable, it
must be allowed that his relationship to the Villiers family contributed
greatly to the support of that rank which he held in the King’s esteem,
whilst it was at the same time the cause of the hostilities afterwards
declared between his lordship and the vehement lady whom he had the
fortune mortally to offend. By his first marriage with Mrs. Villiers,
fourth sister of the Earl of Jersey, Lord Portland strengthened his
interests doubly. Lady Jersey was the confidante of Mary; Lord Jersey
was in high favour with William; whilst Elizabeth Villiers, afterwards
Lady Orkney, was the mistress of the gloomy and grave, but, as it seems,
not altogether faithful husband of the subservient and devoted Mary
Stuart.
There was, however, an intermediate person, a third sister of Lord
Jersey, the Viscountess Fitzharding, one of the favoured few who were
prized by the Countess of Marlborough, but, as it seems, a spy upon her
friend, and a betrayer of her secrets. This lady held a confidential
situation in the household of the Princess of Denmark, and was also one
for whom Lady Marlborough entertained what she truly calls “a very
singular affection”—a possession of which she shamefully availed
herself, by repeating all that she heard, and perhaps more than what she
heard, in the Princess’s family. The pernicious effect of such
repetitions, even between relatives affectionately attached, may readily
be conceived; but in the dissensions of two sisters, whose earliest
instructions, when they referred to conduct to each other, had in all
probability been those of distrust—whose interests clashed, whose
relative position was every way awkward, whose husbands were on
indifferent terms, and who resembled each other only in one respect,
that of displaying filial ingratitude to a misled and culpable monarch,
but an affectionate father—it was certain that a spark would kindle a
flame between spirits so ready for combustion.
At length the smothered discords between Mary and her sister broke out,
and once blazing, they were never entirely extinguished. The imprudence,
vulgarity of taste, or rather deficiency in feeling, of the Princess and
of her favourite, in their ordinary conversation and correspondence,
cannot be justified. It is often from errors apparently trivial, though
originating from coarseness of mind and violence of temper, that the
most serious inconveniences, sometimes the greatest misfortunes,
originate. The Princess and her favourite considered it high diversion
to vent their dislike to the King, in applying to him opprobrious terms,
the most decorous of which was “Caliban,” whilst others will not bear
repetition.[209] These offensive expressions, though, after the death of
Queen Anne, carefully expunged by the Duchess even from her original
letters, as well as in her “Conduct,” were, however, acknowledged by
Lady Marlborough, in the indorsements of letters from Lady Orkney to her
ladyship; and they were carefully collected and repeated by Lady
Fitzharding, whom the malcontents supposed to be in their confidence.
The hour of disgrace was, however, at hand—disgrace inflicted in the
tenderest point, and calculated to humble, if any thing could humble,
the lofty spirit of Lady Marlborough. That, however, which would have
crushed a gentler spirit, scarcely pressed upon hers; as appears by her
subsequent effrontery, which even her own skilful defence could not
extenuate.
But even if the comparative grossness of the times, and the aggravations
received from the court, cannot justify the Princess and her “dear Mrs.
Freeman,” neither can the petulance, meanness, and love of power which
Queen Mary displayed, be excused.
There is always something in feminine altercations that is ludicrous as
well as painful. Few women know how and where to stay the course of
anger; when it once begins to flow, every charm, every grace so fondly
prized by the sex, is obliterated, when retort follows retort, and
retaliation grows vigorous; and dignity, to assert which the fair sex is
oftentimes so valiant, takes its departure immediately we become
vociferous in its defence.
One evening, in the interregnum between the quarrel concerning the
settlement and their final feuds, the Queen, who had lived outwardly on
tolerable terms with her sister for some time, “began,” as the Princess
Anne expressed it, “to pick quarrels,” upon the sore subject of the
annuity, and to intimate that supposing some twenty or thirty thousand
pounds were to be taken off the fifty thousand allowed, the Princess,
she presumed, could live upon it “as she had done before;” upon which an
indecorous altercation ensued.[210] On the following day, Lord
Marlborough, after performing his usual duties as lord of the
bedchamber, received, through Lord Nottingham, the humiliating
intimation that he was dismissed from all his employments, both civil
and military, and forbidden the court. This blow is said to have been
totally unexpected by the Earl, from whom the King had parted on that
very morning in the usual manner.[211]
Lord Marlborough received the intelligence communicated by Lord
Nottingham with the composure of a superior mind. “He retired,” says one
of his biographers, “with the calmness of the old Roman dictator,
wishing to be succeeded by a better servant, and by one more concerned
for his Highness’s honour.”[212]
Of course, innumerable causes for this unlooked for occurrence were
started by the public, always curious on such occasions. By some it was
said that a letter had been intercepted, which gave rise to suspicions
unfavourable to the Earl. By others the disgrace of Marlborough was
ascribed to the resentment of Lord Portland, whom Marlborough was in the
habit of designating “un homme de bois;”[213] by many, the interference
of Marlborough and the Countess in the matter of the settlement was
referred to as the cause of his loss of favour and office, without
taking into account that it was then two years since that affair, and
that Marlborough had been in the mean time so employed and distinguished
by the King as to have obtained from the Marquis of Carmarthen the
invidious appellation of the “General of favour.” But, whilst it has
been allowed that these various causes, severally and conjointly, might
have, in some degree, effected the result so painful to the Earl and so
aggravating to the Countess, the recent boldness of Marlborough, in
representing to his Majesty the detrimental effects of his undue
partiality to the Dutch, was the immediate source of the King’s marked
displeasure.
“It was said,” relates Lediard, “that all the resentment was, for the
liberty he had taken to tell the King, that though himself had no reason
to complain, yet many of his good subjects were sorry to see his royal
munificence confined to one or two foreign lords.” French historians
make no scruple to name the Earl of Portland and Rochford, both
Dutchmen, to be the lords here hinted at; and add that the King turned
his back upon the Earl without making any answer, and soon afterwards
sent him a dismissal from his employments, and forbade him the court.
Those who considered the jealousy or envy of foreign officers a reason
for his lordship’s disgrace, assert it to be a confirmation of their
opinion that the Earl was not employed again, nor recalled to council,
until this motive ceased, and an end was put to the war by the peace of
Ryswick.[214]
The Countess of Marlborough, however, makes no allusion to this
ungrateful and petulant behaviour of the King.[215] “This event may be
accounted for,” she says, speaking of the dismissal of his lordship, “by
saying that Lord Portland had ever a great prejudice to my Lord
Marlborough, and that my Lady Orkney, (then Mrs. Villiers,) though I had
never done her any injury, except not making my court to her, was my
implacable enemy. But I think it is not to be doubted that the principal
cause of the King’s message was the court’s dislike that anybody should
have so much interest with the Princess as I had, who would not obey
implicitly every command of the King and Queen. The disgrace of my Lord
Marlborough, therefore, was designed as a step towards removing me from
about her.”[216]
Lord Rochester, the Countess proceeds to say, was also her foe, having
warmly opposed her coming into the Princess’s family in the first
instance, and wishing at that time greatly for her removal; believing
that if he could compass it, he should infallibly have the government of
both the sisters, his nieces, although he had never done anything to
merit the confidence of the Princess.
There was, however, still another reason assigned for the event which
caused so much speculation. The beautiful Frances Jennings, the “glass
and model” of her fair countrywomen in the days of Charles the Second,
had twice changed her condition since she had officiated, in the bloom
of youth, at the court of the Duchess of York. The first affections of
Frances were bestowed on the noted Jermyn, for whose unworthy sake she
rejected the brave Talbot, marrying, in a temper of mind betwixt pique
and ambition, Sir George Hamilton, a maréchal-de-camp in the French
service, and grandson of the Earl of Aberdeen.
In 1667, Lady Hamilton becoming a widow, and the attachment of Talbot
being unchanged by time, she became his wife; a marriage unfortunate, as
far as ambitious views were concerned, as the high rank which Talbot
afterwards obtained as Duke of Tyrconnel was not acknowledged at the
court of William.
Between the Duchess of Tyrconnel and her sister Lady Marlborough, there
never subsisted any very cordial intercourse,[217] nor was the connexion
likely to prove anything but a source of suspicion towards the Earl and
Countess. The Duchess of Tyrconnel, on the part of William, exercising
the ingenuity with which nature had endowed her, in tormenting those
admirers who were too importunate, or, when she ceased to attract those
who were too cold, turned her lively talents to political intrigue, in
which she played a deep game: but her cabals were often detrimental to
the cause which she espoused, and terminated finally in her becoming one
of those needy Jacobites about the court of St. Germains, whom the beset
and unfortunate exiled monarch—as unfortunate in his friends as in his
enemies—was obliged to satisfy with some portion of his own
pension.[218]
The Duke of Tyrconnel, united as he was to this busy spirit, had
qualities which would have adorned a better cause than that for which,
with zeal and address, he long combated in the sister country. “He was,”
says Clarendon, “a very handsome man, wore good clothes, and was,
without doubt, of a clear, ready courage, which was virtue enough to
recommend a man to the Duke’s good opinion; which, with more expedition
than could be expected, he got, to that degree, that he was made of his
bedchamber.”
To this qualified praise must be added the undoubted stigma attached to
the conduct of Tyrconnel, having in his youth been one of those “men of
honour,” so termed by Grammont, who acted as counsel to James the
Second, when Duke of York, in order to facilitate his nullifying the
marriage contract between his Highness and Miss Hyde. If such were the
arts by which he recommended himself to James, and obtained, added to
various other means, a fortune, as we are told, of forty thousand a
year, they are not much to his credit.
The first object of Tyrconnel’s admiration was Miss Hamilton, to whom he
offered his hand and fortune; and further proffered as many sacrifices
as she could desire of the letters, hair, and pictures of a former
flame, the Countess of Shrewsbury; and although these articles had no
intrinsic value, they testify strongly—such, at least, is the opinion of
that competent judge, Count Grammont, of a lover’s “sincerity and
merit.”
Refused by Miss Hamilton, whose affections were engaged to the gay, the
captivating, the admired, the profligate Grammont, Lord Tyrconnel had
next wooed, and nearly won, the capricious Frances Jennings. In both
these instances he had the good sense and good taste (only to be
mentioned as remarkable in such days as those) to select women of
reputation—with our modern ideas, we can scarcely say of virtue—for the
objects of his adoration. But whilst he laid at Miss Jennings’ feet the
honours, in prospect, of a peerage, and the present respectability of an
ancient name, though represented by an impoverished family—though his
wealth tempted her, and the elegance of his person and manners, in a
court where the art of good-breeding was the only art studied, were
acknowledged, he had been again, as it has been seen, unsuccessful. In
this mortification the vanity of the rejected suitor was solaced by the
languishing attachment of the automaton, Miss Boynton, one of those
young ladies who enjoyed the reputation of performing fainting-fits upon
the slightest occasion, and who had formerly won his regard by swooning
away upon his account at their first interview. To this languid lady, a
contrast to the lively Frances Jennings, Lord Tyrconnel had been
eventually united. Affected in manners, weak in mind, and uninteresting
in person, she proved perhaps a better helpmate to this determined
Jacobite than his equally resolute and more intriguing second wife, to
whom, after the death of her first husband, he was united.
Such is the account of that historical romance by Grammont, to which we
owe the very questionable advantage of an intimate acquaintance with the
court of the second Charles.
To those personal gifts which appeared so dangerous in the eyes of Miss
Boynton,[219] the Duke of Tyrconnel added the still more important
acquisition, derived from the habit of frequenting the best company, of
knowing how to recommend himself to others by that knowledge, which
seems in a man of the world a sort of instinct, of the dispositions, the
weaknesses, and wishes of those with whom he converses. With prodigious
vanity, much cunning, and little principle, Tyrconnel displayed some
noble qualities. By James the Second he had been appointed to the
command of the army in Ireland; by James raised to the Peerage—first to
an earldom, then a dukedom; by James he was appointed Viceroy of
Ireland. Upon the invasion of Ireland by the Prince of Orange he bravely
defended it, nor could the offers which were held out to induce him to
submit, make any impression upon his integrity.[220]
Tyrconnel sank into insignificance after the battle of the Boyne in
1690, but the English court still jealously watched his movements; and
his close connexion with the Earl and Countess of Marlborough was not
forgotten by those who envied the high qualities of the one, and
disliked the proud spirit of the other, and aggravated, doubtless, the
secret dislike which Queen Mary indulged towards the Countess of
Marlborough. Since the origin of most mischief is attributed to women,
an imputed act of indiscretion, on the part of that lady, was alleged,
at any rate, to have been made an excuse for the sudden disgrace of her
husband.[221] The Earl, it was reported, had mentioned to his wife, in
confidence, a scheme which had been confided to him, to surprise
Dunkirk—a project which had been concerted by William, and had proved
abortive. Lady Marlborough, as it was also rumoured, had spoken of this
plan to the lady of Sir Theophilus Oglethorp;[222] and it had been
carried, in some manner, of course, to Lady Tyrconnel, and from her to
the French court.
The author of “The Other Side of the Question,” in confirmation of this
report, has stated, but on no assigned authority, that four persons only
in England were privy to the design on Dunkirk; namely, “the King, Lord
Marlborough, and two more; that one”[223] of these four communicated the
secret to his wife, who, as it was said, sold it to Lady —— for what she
could get: that in consequence, the said design miscarried, and those
concerned in it abroad were hanged: that upon this, the King sent for
his three confidants, and having with some trouble found out the leak,
expressed himself, on the occasion, in his dry way, as follows—“My lord,
you have put a greater confidence in your wife than I did in mine.”
This conjecture, or tradition, however,—for though a prevalent report at
the time, it is nothing more,—is refuted by the fact that the design
against Dunkirk was not projected until the month of August, 1692,
whereas the Earl had been dismissed from his employments in the previous
January;[224] and although every possible obloquy that could be cast
upon the Countess of Marlborough was likely to be propagated in the
court, where she was known to be out of favour, yet it is certain that
no misconduct of hers, nor indiscretion on the part of her husband, on
the score of the projected siege of Dunkirk, could have occasioned the
harsh usage which his lordship had experienced.
Lord Marlborough, although disgraced, was not without advocates, as the
King soon perceived. Admiral Russell, one of a family noted for
magnanimous courage in the cause of justice, “put himself on ill terms
with the King,” as Lediard relates, by pressing to know the grounds of
the Earl’s disgrace; and almost reproached William with his oblivion of
the Earl’s services, who had, as he said, “set the crown on the King’s
head.”[225]
This generous interference, and the regret for the occasion of it which
the Princess of Denmark evinced, only irritated the King and Queen more
and more against their oppressed sister-in-law and her favourite. On the
twenty-ninth of January, the Princess received an anonymous letter,
informing her that a dangerous cabal was formed among the Portland and
Villiers family against the Earl and Countess of Marlborough, and
apprising her that their misfortunes would not end with the Earl’s
dismissal, but that he would be imprisoned as soon as the prorogation of
Parliament had taken place. The unknown friend who wrote this letter,
added, that the interview which Marlborough had held with his friends
Godolphin and Russell, on the day of his disgrace, had excited the
jealousy of the court; whilst the tears which the Princess had herself
been seen to shed since that event, had added to the irritation of her
sister and brother.[226]
Perhaps the Princess Anne might, in the midst of her tears, remember
with a pang the indulgent conduct of the father whom she had deserted,
and who, according to a writer contemporary with her favourite, had
twice paid debts which the mercenary spirit of that favourite, according
to the same account, which must be taken with some reservation, had led
the Princess to incur.[227]
Whatever were Anne’s feelings, those expressed by Lady Marlborough were
quite in accordance with her high spirit, which, with a hardihood which
certainly has the effect of disguising our faults far more than the
varnish of dissimulation, she avows in her own peculiar way.[228]
“But to come to the sequel of the King’s message: I solemnly protest
that the loss of my Lord Marlborough’s employments would never have
broke my rest one single night upon account of interest; but I confess,
_the being turned out_ is something very disagreeable to my temper; and
I believe it was three weeks before my best friends could persuade me
that it was fit for me to go to a court which (as I thought) had used my
Lord Marlborough very ill. However, at last they prevailed, and I
remember the chief argument was urged by my Lord Godolphin, who said
that it could not be thought that I made any mean court to the King and
Queen, since to attend the Princess was only to pay my duty where it was
owing.”
The consequence of this advice, upon which Lady Marlborough so much
relied, was, that “she waited on her mistress to Kensington.”
Particulars of the interview may readily be conceived. The offended
dignity of Mary, the suppressed vexation of the tearful Anne, the flush
of anger on the brow of the haughty lady in waiting, that subdued but
not intimidated favourite, nature struggling with etiquette, as she bent
before the Queen whom she hated, and followed the Princess whom she
governed and despised;—all these circumstances combined must have formed
a fine scene for the pen or the pencil.
Unfortunately, no details of the meeting are permitted us, but the
effect which it had upon the temper even of the mild and prudent Mary,
may be inferred from a letter which the Queen wrote to her sister on the
ensuing day.
After premising that she had something to say which she thought would
not be very pleasing to the Princess, the Queen reminded her sister that
nobody was ever “suffered to live at court in my Lord Marlborough’s
circumstances.” It was therefore incumbent on her Majesty, as she
thought, though much against her will, to tell her sister how very unfit
it was that Lady Marlborough should stay with the Princess either;
“since that,” added the Queen, “gives the husband so just a pretence of
being where he ought not.”
“Taking everything into consideration,” the Queen, therefore, plainly
intimated to her sister, that, since she had allowed Lady Marlborough to
accompany her to Kensington on the foregoing night, her Majesty was
reduced to the necessity of plainly telling her, that her lady of the
bedchamber “must not stay,” and “that she had all the reason imaginable”
to look upon Anne’s bringing her as “the strangest thing that ever was
done; nor,” added the Queen, “could all my kindness for you, (which is
ever ready to turn all you do the best way at any other time,) have
hindered me from showing you that at the moment; but I considered your
condition, and that made me master myself so far as not to take notice
of it then.”
“But now,” adds the Queen, “I must tell you, it was very unkind in a
sister, would have been very uncivil in an equal, and I need not say I
have more to claim, which, though my kindness would make me never
extort, yet when I see the use you would make of it, I must tell you I
know what is due to me, and expect to have it from you. ’Tis upon that
account, I tell you plainly, Lady Marlborough must not continue with you
in the circumstances her lord is.”
This assumption of the Queen towards her offending sister, Mary softened
by kinder terms. “I have all the real kindness imaginable for you,” she
added, “and as I ever have, so will always do, my part to live with you
as sisters ought;” and neither the King nor she were willing, as she
said, to have recourse to harsher means.
But, notwithstanding the resolution expressed in the foregoing
paragraph,—“the sight of Lady Marlborough,” the Princess proceeds to
say, “having changed her style, does naturally change her
thoughts.”[229] “She could pass over most things,” and “live with her
sister as became her,” but she complained of the want of common civility
exhibited by that sister, in not comprehending her wishes, and avoiding
the contact with which she had placed her with Lady Marlborough.
This reproof was felt severely by Anne, and gave dire offence to her who
had courted the rebuke, and it afforded Mary the desired opportunity of
putting a direct affront upon her. Nor could numbers of affectionate
expressions, nor what the Duchess of Marlborough calls, in the
conclusion of the epistle, “useless repetitions,” intended “to remind
her sister of the distance between them,” heal the wounds thus made, nor
reconcile Anne to a sister who had incurred the displeasure of one whom
she loved better than all the world besides.
From this time the firebrand of discord, thrown between the two royal
sisters, was never extinguished except by death. The mortification
inflicted upon Lady Marlborough was bitterly commented upon by her,
years after she had outlived the effects of other changes in those whom
she served, and those whom she endeavoured to serve. This first
humiliation was, perhaps, her bitterest pang of the sort; and she, to
“whose temper the being turned out was not very agreeable,”[230] must
have writhed under the banishment from that court, in whose atmosphere
she had been accustomed from her early youth to consider herself as a
privileged individual.
Queen Mary, having struck the first blow, was resolved not to relax in
her displeasure. The Duchess, in recalling this period of her life,
endeavours to show the inconsistency of the Queen, in expelling from her
sister’s service one whom she had formerly designated as a “kind, dear
friend, from whom she hoped that her sister would never part.”[231] But
Mary then knew the Countess only by letter, and by report, as the
beloved wife of an influential man disposed to liberal measures, and
devoted to Protestantism,—as a Whig in principle herself, and having
influence enough to make her husband turn round to her opinions; as a
woman to be feared, encouraged, courted. Even after her arrival in
England, Mary behaved towards her subsequent foe with a consideration
which would, says the Duchess of Marlborough, have engaged “some people
to fix the foundation of their future fortunes in her favour;” nor could
any one, she asserts, have had a greater chance to rise in it than
herself, “if she could have broken the inviolable laws of friendship;”
but this transient sunshine was now overclouded, and events succeeded
each other, which added to the darkness of the storm.
The Princess Anne returned an answer to the Queen’s letter the day after
she had received it, having first consulted her uncle, Lord Rochester,
requesting him, with the greatest earnestness, to assist her in this
affair, and to convey her letter to the Queen; an office which his
lordship declined, promising, however, that he would speak to the Queen
upon the subject. The epistle, in consequence of his lordship’s refusal
to act as a mediator, was therefore sent to Mary by one of the
Princess’s own servants.
The reply, probably penned only by Anne, and composed either by her who
was termed her “Dictatress,”[232] or by Godolphin, is couched in calm
but resolute terms.
No apology is tendered for the act which had offended the Queen; no
possible reason for the dismissal of Lady Marlborough is allowed: she is
justified throughout; whilst a reference to Lord Marlborough’s conduct,
which might have called down an answer, is prudently avoided. It is to
the unkindness of her sister to herself personally, that the Princess
principally objects. The whole letter bespeaks a stronger mind to have
been employed in its careful construction than the Princess of Denmark
possessed; doubtless, he who gave the advice to go to court, and she who
followed her there, were its authors.[233] Lord Rochester, who had only
recently crept into royal favour, was wise enough not to convey the
offensive document. No other answer was returned to it than a message by
the Lord Chamberlain to the Countess of Marlborough, to forbid her
remaining any longer at the Cockpit.
The residence designated by this undignified name has been already
described, and its appropriation to the Princess Anne, at the time of
her marriage, specified. It appears to have been only sufficient for the
Prince and Princess of Denmark and their household, their children being
established in the Duchess of Portsmouth’s former apartments in the
palace, whither it had formerly been the wish of Anne to remove.[234]
The Cockpit being, however, within the precincts of Whitehall, the
command issued by Queen Mary for the removal of the Countess of
Marlborough was certainly an undue exertion of authority, since it was
disputed by several people whether the King had power to remove any
individual from the Cockpit. At the time of the Princess Anne’s
marriage, Charles the Second had bought this house from the Duke of
Leeds, and settled it on his niece, and on her heirs. It was, therefore,
clearly her own property, and the attendants whom she chose to retain
under its roof were separately and especially her servants. But Anne,
though she might, says the Duchess, have insisted on her right “of being
mistress in her own house,” was resolved to avoid all risk of irritating
the King and Queen; and she determined, consequently, upon retiring from
the Cockpit, instead of continuing to brave the displeasure of these
royal personages by retaining her favourite in that abode. She wrote,
therefore, respectfully, but not submissively, to her sister, declaring
that since all that she had said, and all that Lord Rochester had urged,
could not prevent the Queen from exacting a mortifying sacrifice from
her, she was resolved to retire, and to deprive herself of the
opportunity of assuring her of that duty and respect which she had
always been, and which she should always be, desirous of showing her
Majesty.[235]
The Princess took prompt measures for her departure. She sent to desire
an interview with the Duchess of Somerset,[236] from whom she requested
the temporary loan of Sion house; and the Duchess, with many professions
of service, after retiring to consult with the Duke her husband, waited
on her highness, to acquaint her, in a very respectful manner, that Sion
house was at her service.
As soon as this arrangement was known, the King, according to the
Duchess of Marlborough, sent for the Duke of Somerset,[237] and did all
he could to persuade his grace to retract his promise to the Princess;
“but in vain; so,” as the Duchess contemptuously remarks, “there was an
end of that matter.”[238]
Previous to Anne’s removal from the Cockpit, however, she deemed it
incumbent on her to wait upon the Queen at Kensington, and to make “all
the professions that could be imagined;” but Mary met all these advances
with a cold disdain; or, in the words of the Duchess, “was as insensible
as a statue;” and when she did answer her sister, it was in the same
imperative and offended style as that in which her letter had been
dictated.
This alienation of the royal sisters was, however, fully explained by
events which reflect no honour either upon Lord or Lady Marlborough.
Even the panegyrists of the great Churchill have not attempted to
extenuate, whilst they were unable to deny, his political intrigues at
this epoch.
No individual in the British dominions was more fully aware of the fact,
that King James still lived in the hearts of the English, than he who
held the unenviable post of his successor. The progress of the French
arms abroad contributed greatly to the unpopularity of William, whilst
at the universities, and amongst churchmen of all ranks, the divine and
indefeasible nature of hereditary right was still strenuously, and by
the Archbishop of Canterbury, with eight bishops in his train, publicly
maintained.
The retired habits of the King, his cold exterior, his uniform
preference of his Dutch followers in all appointments about the court,
the vast expense and indifferent management of the war in Ireland, the
presence of foreign troops, and the neglect of the navy, all grievous
and tender points with the English nation, produced a secret but
universal discontent. The Marquis of Halifax was heard to declare, that
if James could be prevailed on to make advances to the Protestants, it
would be impossible to keep him four months longer out of the
kingdom.[239]
Under these circumstances, there were, even in the British cabinet, not
a few who regretted, and even repented, the part which had been so
recently enacted in the late settlement of the crown. The dissolution of
the Parliament, or Convention as it was called, irritated these
discontents; a secret correspondence was held, even from the very centre
of the court, with the monarch at St. Germains; the Duke of Bolton, the
Marquis of Winchester, the Earls of Devonshire and Montagu, the Marquis
of Carmarthen, one of the principal abettors of the Revolution, were all
more or less implicated in the conspiracy.
At this critical period, the fidelity, the honour, and the prudence of
Marlborough, sank beneath the powerful temptation of avenging upon
William the slights which he had suffered, and of raising his own
fortunes by restoring the Stuart dynasty. Historians have been at a loss
to comprehend the motives of one who had so recently sacrificed all
private considerations to what he justly deemed imperative
necessity.[240] Ambition, and, in the mind of Marlborough its too
frequent attendant, the love of gain, sufficiently account for his
defection from William, who, prejudiced, as the Duchess asserts,[241] by
Bentinck, availed himself of the services of Marlborough in war, but was
little disposed to recompense his toils by appointment to lucrative
civil offices.
Whatever might be the motives of Marlborough’s culpable correspondence
with the exiled King, the fact itself was not long concealed from
William, who was cruelly compelled to employ many to whose dissimulation
he was not a stranger; whilst James was equally unable to rely on the
assurances of those whose perfidy to another did not augur the most
perfect fidelity to his own cause.[242] All classes in society were now,
however, more or less infected with Jacobitism. Those who were
dissatisfied with the treatment of the British court were secretly
addressed by the agents of James, whilst the lower classes were
stimulated by means of the press, which formerly had published many
libels against the Duke of York, but which were now loud in his
favour.[243] It was not long before this conspiracy, the first of the
many ineffectual attempts which were made to restore James, began to
assume the distinct and fearful form of a threatened invasion.
In the latter end of the year 1690, James despatched into England
Colonel Bulkley, whose daughter was afterwards married to the Duke of
Berwick,[244] and Colonel Sackville, with instructions to probe the
sentiments of the people, and to attach to him the disaffected. Bulkley
first addressed himself to Lord Godolphin[245] by allurements and
promises. At their interview he inquired, in a tone of despondency, but
kindly, respecting the court of St. Germains; but, on being asked by
Bulkley what he would sacrifice in order to serve the cause of the
deposed monarch, Godolphin started from his chair, and exclaimed that he
would leave the office in which he had lately been replaced, that of
first lord of the Treasury,[246] in order that he might be free to
promote the restoration of James.
Lord Halifax was the next of William’s ministers who received Bulkley
with open arms; and his ready profession of loyalty to James encouraged
the more wary measures of Godolphin and Marlborough. Bulkley, however,
meeting these two noblemen in the park, solicited them to return with
him home to dine at his lodgings: the invitation was accepted, and
Colonel Sackville was summoned to join the conference, and to receive
the declaration of Marlborough’s penitence. The Earl could neither eat,
nor drink, nor sleep, as he assured Colonel Sackville, from the pangs of
conscience; and he protested that he would risk the ruin of all his
fortunes to redeem his apostasy. But, in fact, Marlborough, although
employed by William in situations of high trust, had never entirely
broken off all correspondence with James’s adherents. When he, in
conjunction with other great men, had invited William Prince of Orange
to England, he had, perhaps, in common with many others, no expectation
that William would become king. His connexion with the Duke of Berwick,
his nephew, and with Earl Tyrconnel, had enabled him to maintain a
secret but continued correspondence with those active agents of the
exiled King. Marlborough had long since made his peace with James. He
had been the first to give intelligence to the Jacobite party of
William’s intention to visit Ireland, and was the chief person to
despatch timely notice to any of that faction who were threatened with
warrants of the privy council, of which he was a member. Yet the
services which he had performed in the taking of Cork and Kingsale
somewhat abated those hopes of his defection from William, which James
had never entirely abandoned.
The conference with Bulkley was not the first step of Marlborough’s
treason;—for such, in fact, after the settlement of the crown by the
voice of Parliament, oaths of allegiance taken, and offices of military
trust exercised, it must be deemed.
In January, 1689, the year preceding the visit of Bulkley, Marlborough
had addressed James by letter. He had petitioned for the forgiveness of
the exiled King, and for that of the Queen. He had promised that the
influence of Lady Marlborough to bring back the Princess Anne to her
duty should be exerted. Upon this assurance pardon had been
granted;[247] and in consequence of this reconciliation further measures
were resorted to by Marlborough.
The Duke of Shrewsbury was next brought into the plot; yet both the Duke
and Godolphin were urged by Marlborough, the one to continue in office,
the other to endeavour to regain it, that they might more effectually
serve their liege lord and sovereign. Lord Carmarthen also was willing
to be reconciled, though cautiously neither giving nor refusing
promises; whilst Marlborough went so far as to proffer his exertions to
induce a revolt of the army in England, and to urge an invasion of
twenty thousand men from France with James at their head, acknowledging
that all schemes for his restoration must be visionary, unless they were
seconded by the King of France.[248]
At length an arrangement for striking this decisive blow was completed.
The two admirals, Russell and Carter, were drawn into the scheme, and
Louis the Fourteenth was assured that the army would be conducted by
Marlborough, the fleet by Russell,[249] and informed that the management
of the church was to be left to the judgment and responsibility of the
Princess Anne. That Princess, instigated by her friends, had already
sought a reconciliation with her father; her motives, it is to be
feared, being of a very mixed nature, resentment towards William and
Mary actuating her far more than a late return of filial duty.
The admirable energy and sound judgment of Queen Mary, it is well known,
saved the country from the threatened invasion, and defeated the designs
of the conspirators. In the absence of William, whilst her mind was
saddened with anxiety for the King’s safety, not knowing whom to trust,
she summoned the Parliament by proclamation; she issued warrants against
the disaffected, amongst whom were many persons of high rank; and,
collecting the militia of Westminster, and the trained bands of London,
in Hyde Park, she appeared amongst them at two days’ review, and
commended their readiness and loyalty. By a master-stroke of policy she
prevented the defection of the navy, and is acknowledged to have
contributed greatly to strengthen the tottering adherence of her naval
commanders. Being apprised, in the absence of the King, that several of
the English officers were disaffected, she desired Lord Nottingham to
write to Admiral Russell, informing him that she would change none of
the officers, and that she imputed the reports which had been raised
against them to the contrivance of his enemies and of theirs. The
officers returned an assurance, that they were ready to die in her cause
and that of their country; and her generous and wise confidence was
justified in the event.
The battle of La Hogue, in which Russell retrieved the credit of the
navy, and proved his valour and his restored sense of loyalty, saved our
country.[250]
The same high policy adopted by Mary, magnanimous, it must be
acknowledged, as well as prudent, was pursued by William. Upon his
return from Holland, after the battle of La Hogue, he reproached
Godolphin with the correspondence he had carried on. The minister denied
the fact; but William, placing a letter in his hand, which had been
stolen from the cabinet of the exiled Prince, desired him “to reflect on
the treachery of those whom he was trusting, and the mercy that was
shown him.” The generous mind of Godolphin was touched, and he remained
ever after a faithful servant to William.[251] The Duke of Shrewsbury
was won over by a similar line of conduct. With the Earl of Marlborough
a more severe policy was adopted.
1692. On the 5th of May, a fortnight before the engagement of La Hogue,
Marlborough was suddenly arrested, along with two other noblemen, and
Dr. Spratt, Bishop of Rochester, on a charge of high treason. The
Duchess thus scornfully mentions the occurrence:—
“Soon after the Princess’s going to Sion, a dreadful plot broke out,
which was said to be hid somewhere, I don’t know where, in a flowerpot,
and my Lord Marlborough was sent to the Tower.”[252]
“To commit a peer of the realm to prison, it was necessary there should
be an affidavit of the treason. My Lord Romney, therefore, Secretary of
State, had sent to one Young, who was then in gaol for perjury and
forgery, and paid his fine, in order to make him what they call a legal
evidence; for, as the court lawyers said, Young, not having lost his
ears, was an irreproachable witness. I shall not dwell on the story of
this fellow’s villany, the Bishop of Rochester having given a full
account of it in print.”[253]
The miscreant named Young, whose negative virtue Lady Marlborough thus
describes, was at that time imprisoned in Newgate for the nonpayment of
a fine. This man, being an adept at counterfeiting hands, drew up an
association in favour of James the Second, annexing to it the signatures
of Marlborough, the Bishop of Rochester, and others. He also forged
several letters from Marlborough; and, after secreting the pretended
document of association in the palace of the Bishop of Rochester, at
Bromley in Kent, he gave information of its being lodged there. Measures
were instantly taken to secure the supposed delinquents.
In this season of adversity, new to Marlborough, some tried and faithful
friends proved their respect for his honour, by rejecting the infamous
accusation with contempt. Lady Marlborough thus describes the conduct of
friends and of relatives. Her testimony adds one to the many bitter
convictions which the narrative of life presents, that the ties of blood
are sometimes found inferior in strength to the close bonds of
friendship, in those on whom we have no other claim.[254]
“And though these considerations had no weight with the King, they had
so much with my Lord Devonshire, my Lord Bradford, and the late Duke of
Montagu, that they thought it infamous to send my Lord Marlborough to
prison on such evidence; and therefore, when the warrant for his
commitment came to be signed at the council table, they refused to put
their hands to it, though at that time they had no particular friendship
for him. My Lord Bradford’s behaviour was very remarkable, for he made
my Lord Marlborough a visit in the Tower; while some of our friends, who
had lived in our family like near relations for many years, were so
fearful of doing themselves hurt at court, that in the whole time of his
confinement they never made him or me a visit, nor sent to inquire how
we did, for fear it should be known.”
The affectionate heart of the Princess of Denmark produced a prompt
letter of condolence upon the arrest of the Earl; an event, which it
appears, from one passage, was to be succeeded by a less abrupt, though
equally strict, mode of imprisonment of Anne and her husband. But
William was probably fearful of the consequences of such a step as that
to which Anne alludes; and the degradation of the Princess into a
private station, with the loss of all public honours usually paid to one
of her rank, seems to have been the only penalty imposed upon his
sister-in-law.
“I am just told by pretty good hands,”[255] the Princess writes, “that
as soon as the wind turns westerly, there will be a guard set upon the
Prince and me. If you hear there is any such thing designed, and that
’tis easy to you, pray let me see you before the wind changes; for
afterwards one does not know whether they will let one have
opportunities of speaking to one another. But let them do what they
please, nothing shall ever vex me, so long as I can have the
satisfaction of seeing dear Mrs. Freeman; and I swear I would live on
bread and water, between four walls, with her, without repining: for as
long as you continue kind, nothing can ever be a real mortification to
your faithful Mrs. Morley, who wishes she may never enjoy a moment’s
happiness in this world, or in the next, if ever she proves false to
you.”
These expressions of affection are reiterated in various forms, in
several other letters which the Countess of Marlborough at this time
received from her royal mistress.[256] These epistles speak well for the
generosity of feeling and good-breeding of Anne. The utmost delicacy
towards the inferior, the warmest sentiments for the friend, prevail;
and those obstacles, which gave the character of heroism to their mutual
regard, were doubtless highly favourable to the Countess’s influence. A
little love of opposition reigns in all female bosoms; to oppose their
wishes, is to strengthen those wishes until they become ardent passions.
This, indeed, seems to have been exemplified in the warm intercourse of
Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman, and in the midst of state intrigues,
dangers, invasions, and treasons, to have thrown a character of romance
over their difficulties and their separations, which must have proved
consolatory at least to the disinterested party in a friendly alliance
which has met with undeserved ridicule.
The anxieties of the Countess probably produced an indisposition to
which her friend, in one of these letters, refers. After telling her
friend, “for God’s sake, to have a care of her dear self, and give way
as little to melancholy thoughts as she can,” she suggests a trial of
ass’s milk, and regrets the necessity of her dear Mrs. Freeman’s being
“let blood.”[257]
The proud, imperious Countess writhed under the disgrace of her lord;
and the world might also assign another reason for her distress, and for
the passionate expression of her dislike towards his enemies, and
towards those of the Lord Treasurer, which even in her latter days
dictated the pages of her personal narrative. Amongst the political
enemies of Lady Marlborough, the most celebrated, and the least
scrupulous, was the celebrated Dean of St. Patrick. Swift, who
patronised the authoress of the “Atalantis,” the infamous Mrs. Manley,
and who procured that most abandoned woman remuneration from the Tories,
for the imprisonment which she sustained for some of her lampoons,[258]
has adopted one of her falsehoods gravely, and as a matter of
acknowledged fact, into his “Remarks upon the four last years of Queen
Anne’s reign.” In his character of Lord Godolphin, he says: “His
alliance with the Marlborough family, and his passion for the Duchess,
were the cords which dragged him into a party which he naturally
disliked, whose leaders he personally hated, as they did him.”
This assertion, in which the reputations of two persons are sacrificed
by a side-blow, alludes to a report prevalent during the prosperous
years of Lady Marlborough’s life, and called into being by that very
prosperity. It originated with Swift’s tool, Mrs. Manley, or, as she
chose to call herself, Rivella, who was subsequently employed by the
Tory party in their periodical, “The Examiner,” after Swift had
relinquished his part in it: but he has not blushed to acknowledge that
he supplied this disgrace to her sex with much of the venom poured out
upon the Whigs, in that noted publication.[259]
By the agency of Mrs. Manley, a rumour was spread abroad reflecting on
the nature of that friendly connexion between the Marlborough family and
Godolphin, which a closer tie afterwards cemented. An intrigue of the
grossest character was described, by the pen of that wretched woman, as
having taken place between the Lord Treasurer and the Countess of
Marlborough; whilst even her devoted husband was alleged to have been
acquainted with it, and to have connived at it for purposes of his own
interest, and from party motives.[260]
These calumnies, which, says the anonymous author of the Duchess’s Life,
“however improbable it seems, we remember the time when many people
believed more firmly than they did their creed,”[261] originated in the
intimacy, both personally and in correspondence, not only between the
Earl of Marlborough and the Lord Treasurer, but between Godolphin and
the able and influential woman whose intellectual sway asserted an
enduring power over both these good and distinguished men. In all the
difficulties and anxieties of the Earl and Countess, Godolphin
participated. Their opinions, their feelings, were in unison with those
of the Lord Treasurer. Like him, nurtured in high church and Tory
principles, they had abandoned with reluctance those doctrines when the
spirit of the age no longer went with them. Like him, their early
prepossessions, their maturer affections, leaned to the Jacobite cause.
The Countess, indeed, being younger when the mischievous tendencies of
those bygone notions of prerogative and divine right were disclosed to
her, had more thoroughly imbibed sentiments of the Whig party than Lord
Marlborough and Godolphin; but in essential points this celebrated
triumvirate accorded.
It was easy for the opposite faction to raise conjectures, and to
disseminate calumnies, upon the basis of a friendship so closely
cemented, that neither the Earl nor the Countess ever acted without
first consulting him whom they regarded as their best friend. It is easy
to demolish, by the blast of malignity, every fair fabric which the best
affections of our nature raise up; it is easy to put the worst
construction upon intimacies, the sources of which the innocent mind
would gladly lay bare to the whole world. Endowed with beauty, with wit,
fearless in her temper, unbending in her opinions, Lady Marlborough was
not, nevertheless, one of those individuals whom the infections of
slander could eventually taint. She was of too independent a nature to
be readily susceptible of the tender passions. Her domestic character,
as a mother, acknowledged to be exemplary even by those who commended
her not,[262] afforded the best refutation to the corrupt passions of
which she was accused. The neglect of daily duties is generally the
first signal of a woman’s ruin—the first indication that her mind is
unsettled, her inclinations gone astray, her peace and composure
destroyed. The virtuous, blameless character of the Princess, who gave
the Countess of Marlborough her favour and countenance, was, in a minor
degree, a refutation of the malignant charge, raised doubtless in the
hope of rending asunder the unanimity of three powerful persons, by
awakening the gnawing pangs of suspicion, and the dread of an endangered
reputation, to disturb their repose.
The uniform confidence of the most devoted, if not the best beloved of
husbands; the pride, the virtuous pride, which he felt in her great
qualities; the undying love which he bore her through the toils of
campaigns and the turmoil of politics, triumphantly assert the innocence
of that woman, of whose misdeeds there would have been abundant willing
witnesses, eager to offer their testimony to the absent and injured
husband. But the Earl left her, as it appears, without a misgiving with
respect to her moral conduct; and trusted her to the honour, as he often
commended her to the advice, of that friend whom he loved to his dying
hour, and whom he bitterly regretted after his death.[263]
It is impossible to unveil the secrets of the human heart; but to those
who believe in the existence of virtue, honour, friendship, all the
probabilities are in favour of Lady Marlborough’s innocence of this
hideous charge. From this period of her life, however, when Godolphin
became her acknowledged ally, must be dated the influence which that
firm and notable friendship began to exercise over her opinions and
conduct, as well as the ascendency of her own political influence.
Godolphin, who, according to the Duchess herself, “conducted the Queen,
with the care and tenderness of a father or a guardian, through a state
of helpless ignorance, and who faithfully served her in all her
difficulties,”[264] now shared the counsels, as he had participated in
the scheme of Marlborough to restore James. According to his female
friend, he was admirably calculated for an adviser; being, as she
describes him, “a man of few words, but of a remarkable thoughtfulness
and sedateness of temper; of great application to business, and of such
despatch in it, as to give pleasure to those who attended him in any
affair.”[265] Thus provided with an able and efficient counsellor, less
bigoted, perhaps, to her virtues than her still enamoured husband, and,
by the equability of his temper, well adapted to calm what Dr. Burnet
terms her “impetuous speech,”[266] Lady Marlborough succeeded in
steering through the rest of this reign in far more tranquillity than
could possibly have been anticipated from its commencement.
CHAPTER VIII.
Release of Marlborough from prison—Confession of Young—Altercations
between Anne and Mary—Illness of Anne—of Mary—Death of the
latter—Reconciliation of King William to the Princess. 1694.
The pretended association and audacious forgery of Young were discovered
immediately upon his being confronted with the Bishop of Rochester. The
Earl of Marlborough was consequently released, but not until the 15th of
June, that being the last day of Term. He was then admitted to bail, the
Marquis of Halifax and the Duke of Shrewsbury being his sureties; an act
of kindness for which they were, however, erased shortly afterwards from
the list of privy counsellors.[267]
Some time afterwards, when Young was on the point of suffering the
penalty of death for another offence, he confessed, with pretended
contrition, that he had obtained the Earl of Marlborough’s seal and
signature by addressing him under the character of a country gentleman,
inquiring the character of a domestic. This avowal completely exonerated
Marlborough, who had been himself startled at the similarity of the
signature, subscribed to the association, to his own handwriting.
Conscious, perhaps, of deserving disgrace, Lord Marlborough remained
during the latter years of Williams reign chiefly at Sandridge,
sometimes exchanging his residence for apartments at Berkeley-House,
which Lady Marlborough, in virtue of her office about Queen Anne,
inhabited on the removal of the Princess thither from Sion House. The
Countess of Marlborough meantime devoted herself to the care of the
Princess, who was confined, at Sion House, of a lifeless infant, whilst
yet altercations between her and her sister were rife. Anne, however,
sent due intelligence of her confinement to Queen Mary, first by Sir
Benjamin Bathurst, and then by Lady Charlotte Beverwart, who waited
until the Queen should have held a conference with the Earl of
Rochester, before she could see her Majesty. The delivery of her message
produced a visit to Sion House, of which the Duchess gives the following
account.[268]
“She (the Queen) came attended by the Ladies Derby and Scarborough. I am
sure it will be necessary to have a good voucher to persuade your
Lordship[269] of the truth of what I am going to relate. The Princess
herself told me, that the Queen never asked her how she did, nor so much
as took her by the hand. The salutation was this: ‘I have made the first
step, by coming to you, and now I expect you will make the next, by
removing my Lady Marlborough.’ The Princess answered, that she had never
in all her life disobeyed her, except in that one particular, which she
hoped would some time or other appear as unreasonable to her Majesty as
it did to her. Upon which the Queen rose up and went away, repeating to
the Prince, as he led her to the coach, the same thing that she had said
to the Princess.”
Lady Derby, one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting, took up the cue from
her royal mistress, and never even went up to the bedside to inquire how
the Princess was. The Queen, indeed, upon her return, was heard to say,
“she was sorry for having spoken to the Princess,” whose agitation she
had observed was so great, that “she trembled, and looked as white as
the sheets.”[270] Nevertheless, soon after this visit, all company was
forbidden to wait upon the Princess, and her guards were taken from her.
The King was not in England when these indignities were offered to the
Princess, and Mary and her constant adviser, Lord Rochester, were alone
responsible for the harshness with which an only sister was treated. But
Anne, as the presumptive heir apparent, was dear to a people who dreaded
the horrors of civil war, and of a disputed succession. In coming from
Sion House to London, without guards, her coach was attacked by
highwaymen, a circumstance which produced many severe animadversions on
the danger to which the heir of the throne was exposed, without an
escort, at a period when such adventures were not unknown even in
Piccadilly.[271]
Lady Marlborough, distressed at being the manifest cause of the
indignities offered to her gracious mistress, entreated Anne to allow
her to leave her, and used every argument her thoughts could suggest to
persuade the Princess to that effect. These well-meant endeavours were
unavailing; for “when I said anything that looked that way,” the Duchess
relates, “she fell into the greatest passion of tenderness and weeping
that is possible to imagine;[272] and though my situation at that time
was so disagreeable to my temper, that could I have known how long it
was to last, I could have chosen to have gone to the Indies sooner than
to endure it, yet, had I been to suffer a thousand deaths, I think I
ought to have submitted rather than have gone from her against her
will.”
The result of the Princess’s vexations was a fever, after her
confinement, on recovering from which she sent to Dr. Stillingfleet,
Bishop of Worcester, hoping through his mediation to convey to Mary her
sense of the honour which the Queen, in her last heartless visit, had
conferred upon her. Dr. Stillingfleet, whom the Princess found, in her
conversation with him, to have become very partial to the Queen,
undertook to be the bearer of a letter, in which Anne requested
permission to pay her duty to her sister. The Queen’s reply evinced a
determined, and, if not an unkind, almost persecuting spirit. She began
by telling her sister that since she had herself never used compliments,
“so now they will not serve.” She declared that “words would not make
them live together as they ought;” there was but one thing she had
required, “and no other mark would satisfy her.”[273] But she must have
been ignorant of the tenacity of her sister’s disposition, and only
partially aware of the influence which the Duchess exercised over the
easily moulded Anne, if she could have expected such a sacrifice.
Meantime Lord and Lady Marlborough had the misfortune to lose their
infant son, Lord Brackley,—an event to which Anne alludes in the
following terms.
“I am very sensibly touched with the misfortune that my dear Mrs.
Freeman has had of losing her son, knowing very well what it is to lose
a child; but she knowing my heart so well, and how great a share I bear
in all her concerns, I will not say any more on this subject, for fear
of renewing her passion too much. Being now at liberty to go where I
please, by the Queen’s refusing to see me, I am mightily inclined to go
to-morrow, after dinner, to the Cockpit, and from thence privately in a
chair to see you some time next week. I believe it will be time for me
to go to London, to make an end of that business of Berkeley-house.”
This letter of condolence contained a copy of the cold and arbitrary
reply of the Queen to the Princess; the original, Anne specifies, being
kept by her, in case it should be necessary to show it for her own
justification. At the same time she observes, that having extorted an
admission from Dr. Stillingfleet that she had made “all the advances
that were reasonable,” she thought that the more “it was noised about
that she would have waited on the Queen, but that she refused to see
her, the better; and therefore that she should not scruple saying so to
anybody, when it came in the way.”[274]
Not, however, satisfied with the perpetual assurances of the Princess,
that “only death should part her from her dear Mrs. Freeman”—that if her
dear friend should ever leave her, “it would break her faithful Mrs.
Morley’s heart”—and other repeated declarations of the same nature, the
Countess sought to ascertain the sentiments of the Prince George, upon
the subject of her quitting the Princess’s service. The reply of the
warm-hearted, and certainly at this period of her life, the generous
Anne, was equally distinct upon this point as upon the other bearings of
the question.
“In obedience to dear Mrs. Freeman, I have told the Prince all she
desired me, and he is so far from being of another opinion, that, if
there had been any occasion, he would have strengthened me in my
resolutions, and we both beg you would never mention so cruel a thing
any more.”
“Can you think either of us so wretched,” she continues, “as for the
sake of twenty thousand pounds, and to be tormented from morning to
night with flattering knaves and fools, we should forsake those we have
such objections to, and that we are so certain are the occasion of all
their misfortunes?”
“No, my dear Mrs. Freeman,” she thus addressed her in another part of
her letter, “never believe your faithful Morley will ever submit. She
can wait with patience for a sunshiny day, and if she does not see it,
yet she hopes England will flourish again. Once more give me leave to
beg you would be so kind never to speak of parting more, for, let what
will happen, that is the only thing that can make me miserable.”[275]
It is curious, but to the experienced observer of all that passes among
the social relations of life, whether of friendship, love, or kindred,
not surprising, to find these letters so full of tenderness, and of
disinterested attachment, and so acceptable at one time to Lady
Marlborough, thus characterized, when she dipped her pen in gall to
write the character of her former patroness.
“Her letters,” says the plain-spoken Duchess in her private memoranda,
“were very indifferent, both in sense and spelling, unless they were
generally enlivened with a few passionate expressions, sometimes pretty
enough, but repeated over and over again, without the mixture of
anything either of diversion or instruction.”[276]
Thus firmly fixed in the affections of the Princess, none of the
numerous efforts which were made by different members of the household,
many of whom had been promoted to their situations by the Countess,
availed to induce Anne to allow her favourite to be removed—Lord
Rochester, her uncle, in vain working to effect that end. The result was
a direct and unhappily prolonged hostility between the Queen and the
Princess, and it was made a point of duty with regard to the one sister,
that no courtier should visit the other. Lady Grace Pierrepoint was one
of the few ladies, with the exception of some female members of Jacobite
families, who determined to make her election between the two courts in
favour of Anne; other ladies of high rank made their visits very rare,
paying their respects only on certain occasions. A more decided mark of
royal spleen was testified, through the agency of Lord Rochester, when
the Princess visited Bath. This nobleman, who loved pageants and
addresses, “wrote to the Mayor of Bath, a tallow-chandler, forbidding
him, or any of his brethren of the corporation, to show any respect to
the Princess Anne, without leave from the court.”
“But it must be owned,” says the Duchess in her contemptuous way, “that
this lord had a singular taste for trifling ceremonies. I remember, when
he was treasurer, he made his white staff be carried by his chair-side,
by a servant bare-headed; in this, among other things, so very unlike
his successor, my Lord Godolphin, who cut his white staff shorter than
ordinary, that he might hide it, by taking it into the chair with
him.”[277]
“My Lord Rochester,” however, must, the Duchess imagines, “have been
disappointed, if he expected that the Princess regarded this petty
exertion of power with anything but contempt.” Anne was, in fact,
infinitely more vexed to observe a frown on the brow of her favourite,
than to be precluded from the honours usually paid her.
“Dear Mrs. Freeman must give me leave to ask her,” writes the submissive
Queen, on one occasion, “if anything has happened to make her uneasy. I
thought she looked to-night as if she had the spleen. And I can’t help
being in pain whenever I see her so.”[278]
With respect to the mayor’s omission of the wonted respect of going to
church with her, Anne thought it was a thing to be laughed at; nor was
she probably disturbed in her general placidity by “another foolish
thing,” as the Duchess calls it, a trifling, but characteristic proof of
Mary’s unsisterly vengeance. When the Princess resided at
Berkeley-House, it was her habit to attend St. James’s church; and the
preacher, in compliance with custom, ordered a copy of his text to be
laid upon her cushion. But Mary, carrying her resentments into that
sacred edifice without whose porch worldly passions should be left,
ordered that this observance also should be abandoned: the minister,
however, refusing to comply, unless an order were given in writing,
which the Queen and her advisers “did not care to do,” “that noble
design,” as the Duchess terms the Queen’s prohibition, “was dropt.”[279]
Berkeley-house, to which the Princess about this time removed, was the
scene of all those cabals, those fears and resentments, those
heart-burnings and bickerings, by which a minor court, in open hostility
with the more powerful, but less popular head of the family, is
tolerably sure to be infested. Berkeley-house, standing on the site of
Devonshire-house, and giving the name to Berkeley-square, was at this
time the last house in Piccadilly, a distinction which Devonshire-house
also possessed until long after the year 1700.[280]
The Princess lived here with her favourite and other friends in a very
quiet manner, never seeing the Queen, who still, through Lady
Fitzharding and other mediators, insisted upon the dismissal of Lady
Marlborough as the condition of reconciliation between herself and Anne;
whilst Anne, with her native obstinacy, adhered to her friend in
preference to her kindred.
The unkindness of the Queen, however, could only injure the Princess in
one way, that of stopping her revenues; but Lord Godolphin was
Treasurer, a man too useful to the court to be offended, and who, as the
King knew, would quit his office in preference to refuse paying an
annuity which had been voted by act of Parliament. Between these
discordant sisters, one stay, one common subject of interest and source
of affection, there still however was, to mitigate the anger of Mary,
and to preserve the semblance of a bond of union between the family. The
hopes of the nation, the pride of his family and his preceptors, and the
promising representative of weak parents, the infant Duke of Gloucester
was now the sole object of mutual interest, for to their common parent
the royal sisters could not look conjointly for comfort. Anne had,
indeed, already reconciled herself to that culpable monarch, though
injured parent, whom she had deserted in the hour of trial; and, upon
the threatened invasion of James, had written to assure him that she
should fly to him the instant she heard of his landing, saying, “She
could ask for his forgiveness, being his daughter, but how could she ask
him to present her duty to the Queen?”[281] But Mary, at variance to her
dying day with her father, could not join with her sister in those
expressions of duty and sentiments of affection, which might have proved
a bond between her and Anne, but which were all turned to bitterness in
the mind of one who loved her husband, to use her own habitual
expression, “more than she loved her life.”[282]
William Duke of Gloucester, a child, at this time, of three years old,
was now, therefore, the only bond between these disunited sisters. This
Prince, subsequently the favoured charge of the great Marlborough, and
of the celebrated Bishop Burnet, was the only surviving offspring of the
Prince and Princess of Denmark, of six children, most of whom had died
as soon as they were born, and only one of whom, a daughter, had
attained the age of a twelvemonth. Both William and Mary appear to have
regarded this promising but premature scion of their house as their own
peculiar possession; and William, especially after the death of his
Queen, manifested the tenderest solicitude for the health and welfare of
the young Prince; a circumstance which seemed to imply that the Duke had
been dear to his deceased and lamented wife.[283]
The Duchess of Marlborough, indeed, intimates that whenever her Majesty
made the young Prince any present of “rattles” or other playthings, “she
took especial care to have her attention inserted in the Gazette.
Whenever the Duke was ill, she sent a bedchamber woman to Camden-house,
to inquire how he did. But this compliment was made in so offensive a
manner to the Princess, that I have often wondered how any mortal could
hear it with patience. For whoever was sent, used to come without any
ceremony into the room where the Princess was, and passing by her, as
she stood or sat, without taking more notice of her than if she had been
a rocker, go directly up to the Duke, and make their speech to him, or
to the nurse, as he lay in her lap.”[284]
The Princess, however, happy in her favourite circle, seems to have
received these indignities with her wonted apathy, whilst she testified
her affection for Lord and Lady Marlborough by the offer of a pension of
a thousand pounds a year, creating a new place in her household as an
excuse for that granted annuity to one whom she considered as a victim
in her cause. But Marlborough, though his income was materially reduced
by the loss of his lucrative employments, respectfully declined the
generosity of his kind patroness.[285]
These bickerings between the Queen and the Princess were soon, however,
painfully and effectually terminated. The small-pox at that time raged
fearfully in London. Thousands died of the disease, and apprehensions
were entertained for the safety of the Queen, who had never had the
cruel distemper. Mary had a short time previously been much concerned at
the sudden decease of Archbishop Tillotson, who was struck with palsy
whilst performing service in Whitehall Chapel. She had spoken of this
revered prelate with tears, and her mind had been considerably disturbed
at the loss of so valuable a friend. Whilst still grieving for this
event, she fell ill; but her natural spirits sustained her. The disease
seemed to subside; and to Bishop Burnet, who was with her for an hour on
the day of the attack, she complained of nothing. On the following
morning she went out; but returned oppressed with the cruel malady to
her closet. There she shut herself up, burnt many of her papers, and put
the rest in order. Nevertheless, thinking it might be only a transient
indisposition, she used some slight remedies: these were ineffectual to
relieve her, and in two days the small-pox appeared in its most
malignant form.[286]
The Princess Anne was at this time indisposed, and remaining, by her
physician’s advice, upon one floor, lying constantly on a couch. Yet,
upon hearing of the Queen’s illness, she sent a lady of the bedchamber
with a message of kindness and respect, begging that her Majesty would
allow her the happiness of waiting on her, and declaring that she would
run any risk in her present situation to have that satisfaction. To this
message, which was delivered to the Queen herself, a reply was returned,
in the King’s name, that the Queen would send an answer on the following
day. Accordingly a letter arrived, announcing that, since the Queen was
ordered to be kept as quiet as possible, the writer, Lady Derby,[287]
was ordered by the King to request that the Princess would defer her
visit.
The construction which Lady Marlborough put upon this “civil answer was,
that poor Queen Mary’s disease was mortal, more than even if the
physicians had told her that it was;” yet she added also the
uncharitable interpretation, “that the deferring the Princess’s coming
was only to leave room for continuing the quarrel, in case the Queen
should chance to recover, or for reconciliation with the King (if that
should be thought convenient) in case of the Queen’s death.”[288]
Be that as it may, the two sisters never met again. The King,
overwhelmed by a knowledge of the Queen’s danger, seems to have been
occupied with far different thoughts than those imputed to him by the
Duchess, and probably consulted only the Queen’s well-doing, when he
prohibited a harassing interview between her and the Princess, which
might have hastened the approaching event. On the third day of Mary’s
illness, the stern, reserved monarch was completely bowed down by the
intelligence that the medical advice called to supersede the erroneous
treatment of Dr. Ratcliffe, was resorted to too late. He called Dr.
Burnet into his closet, and with a burst of anguish exclaimed, that
there was “No hope of the Queen; that, from being the happiest, he was
now going to be the most miserable creature upon earth.” The Queen bore
the awful consciousness of approaching death with far more composure
than he, for whom she had sacrificed every other tie, could assume. When
apprised by Archbishop Tenison that all hope of her recovery was at an
end, she quickly comprehended the reverend prelate’s intention, for
which he sought to prepare her by degrees. She evinced no agitation. She
said, she thanked God that she had always resolved that nothing should
be left to the last hour; she had then nothing to do, but to look up to
God, and submit to his will. Indeed, as one who loved this virtuous
Princess observes, “her piety went farther than submission, for she
seemed to desire death rather than life.”[289]
Whilst this solemn scene was passing at Kensington, the Princess sent
every day to inquire after the state of the Queen, but received no
encouragement to urge her desire of an interview. On one occasion, the
Lady Fitzharding, who had the charge of the Duke of Gloucester, broke
into the room where the dying Mary lay, and declaring the Princess’s
message to her, endeavoured to impress her Majesty with a sense of her
sister’s distress. The Queen, according to the Duchess of Marlborough,
returned no answer but “a cold thanks.”[290] Nor did she ever, in the
course of her illness, send any message whatsoever to the sister from
whom she was estranged. In extenuation of this seeming inconsistency in
one so devout, it must be stated, that she had so far adopted the
stoical notions of her husband, as to preclude him and herself from the
trial of a last farewell. After causing to be delivered to him a small
casket, in which she had formerly written her sentiments, she devoted
her time to prayer. The Archbishop of Canterbury administering, and all
the bishops standing round, Mary received the Holy Communion—that solemn
service, in which, even in the fulness of health, we cannot participate
without an awful consciousness of the immediate presence of our Maker.
Faint but calm, the dying Queen followed the whole office; and, when
that was concluded, she composed herself to meet her God. She slumbered
sometimes, but she was not refreshed; for, “like others who labour and
are heavy laden,” nothing refreshed her but prayer. At last her strong
reason began to be obscured, her speech to falter; she tried in vain to
say something to the King; she endeavoured to join in the holy offices
of the archbishops. Cordials were given her; but all was ineffectual;
and she sank about one o’clock in the morning of the twenty-eighth of
December, her disorder having first displayed fatal symptoms on
Christmas Day.[291]
In this beautiful picture of an exemplary deathbed, but two objects are
wanting: a father reconciled, a sister restored to affection. But the
father, who regretted more that his daughter died unforgiven by him, and
undutiful, than her death itself, was at a distance; his pardon and his
blessing could not have been obtained. The sister prayed for admission,
and was refused. Such is the effect of party violence, which ruled even
in the breast of the pious, affectionate, and strong-minded Mary! If it
be said, “how hardly shall a rich man enter the kingdom of heaven,” it
may also be a matter of consideration how difficult it must prove for
the soul, torn by the strong contending passions which darken a
political career, to enter into that blessed rest, where selfishness and
ambition can find no mansion!
The Princess Anne, unchecked by indifference to her amiable advances, by
the advice of Lord Sunderland and others, wrote to the King, shortly
after the Queen’s death, a letter expressive of her “sincere and hearty
sorrow for his affliction,” and declaring herself “as sensibly touched
by his misfortune,” as if she had not been so unhappy as to fall under
her sister’s displeasure. Her letter found the King too dejected, and
too much humbled by his calamity, to think of refusing her petition.
During the Queen’s illness, his anguish had broken out into violent
lamentations; after her death his spirits sank so low, that many persons
feared that he was following her. In this depression of spirits and
strength, he betook himself to those aids of religion which, with a due
seriousness, and a respect for sacred subjects, he had never, during his
busy intercourse with the great world, resorted to with heartfelt
earnestness, as the only solace, the only cure for bereavements which
leave us heart-broken, dependent, and wretched beings.
Whilst William was in this state of mind, the great and good Lord
Somers, who had long lamented the feuds which disturbed the royal
family, visited him at Kensington, for the purpose of interceding with a
view to reconciling these differences. He found the King sitting at the
end of his closet in an agony of grief, little to be expected from one
who rarely betrayed the passions by which his spirits were now
overwhelmed. The King, lost in his own bitter reflections, paid no
attention to the entrance of Lord Somers, until that nobleman,
remarkable for his courtesy and prudence,[292] broke the silence by
expressing a hope that now all disunion between his Majesty and the
Princess Anne might cease. “My lord, do what you will; I can think of no
business,” was the agonised reply of the King; and to all the
observations which Somers made, he returned no other answer.[293] The
Duchess of Marlborough, however, imputes the reconciliation to Lord
Sunderland, who had, on all occasions, as she says, shown himself to be
a man of sense and breeding, and had used his utmost endeavours, before
the Queen’s death, to make up the breach between the two sisters,
though, she thinks, he never could have succeeded during the lifetime of
Mary. Although the reconciliation was opposed by the Earl of Portland,
yet the quarrel was at last adjusted; and Anne visited the King, who
received her with cordiality, and promised her that St. James’s palace
should in future be her residence.[294]
“And now,” says the Duchess, “it being publicly known that the quarrel
was made up, nothing was to be seen but crowds of people of all sorts
flocking to Berkeley-house, to pay their respects to the _Prince_ and
_Princess_: a sudden alteration which, I remember, occasioned the
half-witted Lord Carmarthen to say one night to the Princess, as he
stood close by her in the circle, ‘_I hope your highness will remember
that I came to wait upon you when none of this company did_;’ which
caused a great deal of mirth.”
But although matters were thus publicly made up, the King, at least in
the opinion of the Duchess, never cared to testify the slightest public
respect for Anne, nor to conciliate her regard. From the beginning of
his reign, when he committed the heinous offence on which much stress
was laid, that of disappointing the Princess of a plate of peas on which
she had set her mind,[295] to the last hour, he was still mightily
indifferent to the placid, but, it must be acknowledged, somewhat
uninteresting Anne. But all his affronts were borne with imperturbable
patience by the Princess. When she waited upon his Majesty at
Kensington, no more respect was shown her than to any other lady, “till
the thing caused some discourse in town, after which Lord Jersey waited
upon her once or twice down stairs, but not oftener. And if any one came
to meet her,” continues the Duchess, “it was a page of the back-stairs,
or some person whose face was not known. And the Princess, upon these
occasions, waited an hour and a half, just upon the same foot as the
rest of the company, and not the least excuse was made for it.”[296]
All this submission was very galling to the proud, high-spirited
favourite, who would have braved William in presence of his whole court,
had she been the Princess, rather than have paid one tribute of respect
to the careless and contemptuous monarch. Lady Marlborough looked on
indignant, and was of opinion that the Princess conciliated a great deal
too much. She could not endure that her royal mistress should move a
single step that she would not have taken in her place; nor was there a
single advance on Anne’s part of which she approved, except her last
letter to the Queen, and her offer of visiting her dying sister.[297]
This candid acknowledgment she makes with an almost indecent boldness,
not to be wondered at in one who, in her later days, defended herself,
in a court of justice, a suit against her grandson.[298]
It must, indeed, be allowed, that the list of petty grievances with
which the Duchess swells the indignities offered to the Princess Anne,
appears, at this distance of time, puerile and vexatious. Her complaints
are detailed with a solemnity which seems ridiculous, now that all the
stirring passions which gave importance to those incidents are at rest.
Her narrative, sarcastic as it is, was unfortunately polished by the
hired assistance of Hook, the historian, and, after repeated revisions,
which must have shorn many pungent and characteristic passages, was
given to the disappointed public, respectably moderate. Still these
“annals of a wardrobe,” as Horace Walpole designates them, this “history
of the back stairs,” possess—as even he who speaks of “old Marlborough”
with bitter contempt is fain to allow—some “curious anecdotes, some
sallies of wit, which fourscore years of arrogance could not fail to
produce in so fantastic an understanding.”[299]
With the account of the death of Queen Mary, much of the Duchess’s
caustic satire subsides. Still she has a few touches reserved for
William. Even the sorrow which the monarch experienced, and his desolate
situation in a foreign country, where he reigned unloved, did not soften
the unceasing aversion and contempt with which the Duchess regarded the
royal widower.
His first grave offence, after Mary’s decease, was his silence in regard
to a letter written by the dutiful and subservient Anne, congratulating
his Majesty upon the honour done to his name and adopted country, by the
taking of Namûr. Probably the King would have received congratulations
with a better grace, from any one than from her, who might regard
herself as having a sort of partnership interest in the glory of
England. Good wishes from Anne were somewhat like the next heir to an
estate setting forth a strain of rejoicing, on the growth of timber, or
on the improvement of lands, to him who was actually in possession. The
King took no notice of the humble epistle, or, in the Duchess’s words,
“showed his brutal disregard for the writer,” by never returning “any
answer to it, nor so much as a civil message.”[300]
The next offence, and it certainly was one which spoke ill of William’s
good breeding, was his compelling Prince George to wear coloured clothes
on the royal birthday, almost immediately after the death of his
brother, the King of Denmark. The Prince, knowing that deep mourning was
sometimes allowed in certain instances, requested, through Lord
Albemarle, permission to keep on his mourning when he paid his respects
to his Majesty.[301] William’s ungracious reply was, that he should not
see his brother-in-law unless he came in colours; and the subservient
Prince was forced to comply.
“I believe,” says the Duchess, after relating this instance of William’s
contemptuous conduct, “I could fill as many sheets as I have already
written, with relating the brutalities that were done to the Prince and
Princess in this reign. The King was, indeed, so ill-natured, and so
little polished by education, that neither in great things nor in small
had he the manners of a gentleman.”[302]
The Duchess makes no allowance for his Majesty’s habits and character.
Precise as he seems to have been in the article of Prince George’s
attire, William hated formalities, and especially those public addresses
which must be so peculiarly tedious to a sovereign. Respecting this very
siege of Namûr, touching which he gave so much offence to the Duchess,
he committed an act of ill-breeding towards no less an individual than
the mayor of a borough. This worshipful person having come to court to
present an address, combining the two dissimilar topics of condolence
for the death of the Queen, and congratulation for the success at Namûr,
introduced himself by saying that “he came with joy in one hand and
grief in the other.” “Pray put them both into one hand, good Mr. Mayor,”
was the King’s laconic remark, heedless of the impression which he made
upon formal courtiers and ladies in waiting, who, like the Duchess of
Marlborough, could sooner pardon a defect in morals, than a solecism in
manners.[303] It was probable, from his Majesty’s known aversion to
compliments, public and private, that he intended no offence to the
Princess Anne, when he committed the “brutality” of not answering her
letter.
Notwithstanding the spirit manifested in these animadversions by the
Countess of Marlborough, the Earl sought every opportunity of
maintaining the good understanding between the Princess and the
court.[304] This he justly thought of importance, possibly for the
reason avowed by Dalrymple, that an apparent reconciliation between the
royal family had all the good effects of a real one, “because it obliged
inferior figures to suspend their passions by the example of their
superiors.”[305] But Marlborough, although taking an active part in the
House of Lords, was not at present allowed to enter the royal presence,
though having a “fair and very great reversion” of favour.[306]
The only adverse event during the remaining portion of William’s reign,
which particularly affected Lord and Lady Marlborough, was the
conspiracy of Sir John Fenwick, one of the most active Jacobites of the
day. With this party, though not personally with Fenwick, Marlborough,
it cannot be denied, had been deeply and culpably implicated. No
considerations can excuse the dishonourable intercourse which
Marlborough, in conjunction with Godolphin and others, had carried on
with the exiled monarch. It resulted from a temporising and mean policy,
which sought to secure an indemnity from James in case of his
restoration, or of the accession of the Prince of Wales. If the reasons
which engaged Marlborough to aid the accession of William were valid,
and sprang from a pure source, those reasons were still in force to
promote the peaceable rule of the reigning monarch, and to support him
on his throne.
The rash encouragement which Godolphin and Marlborough had given to
James’s emissaries, now involved them in a serious dilemma. Fenwick,
convicted, upon the evidence of an intercepted letter to his wife, of
being concerned in the plot formed at this time to assassinate William,
sought to avert the justly merited sentence from which he afterwards
suffered, by a disclosure of the names of those whom he declared to have
been concerned in the conspiracy. He was instructed in the details of
his pretended confessions, by Lord Monmouth, afterwards the noted and
eccentric Earl of Peterborough. He accused the Duke of Shrewsbury, the
Earl of Marlborough, Godolphin, and Russell, of treasonable practices;
and of having, in particular, accepted pardons from the late King.
These noblemen were, however, fully cleared of the charges made against
them by Fenwick; and Marlborough, standing up in his place in the House
of Lords, solemnly denied ever having had any conversation whatsoever
with Sir John Fenwick during the reign of the present King. Lord
Godolphin vindicated himself in the same manner. Fenwick was executed,
and Monmouth stripped of all his offices, and sent to the Tower; but was
saved from further punishment by the mediation of Bishop Burnet.[307]
Cleared, therefore, from this atrocious accusation, Marlborough, who,
with his wife, had suffered much uneasiness whilst the proceedings
against Fenwick were pending, experienced, in the end, the security
which a subject derives from the dominion of a rightly thinking and
high-minded prince, and the superior strength and wisdom of such a
government to the uncertain rule of passion and despotism. It was
William’s policy to make large allowance for the transient defection of
his subjects; to endeavour to bring them back to duty by mildness and
forgiveness; and to show no petty spleen, nor undue displeasure at the
lingering fondness which they might cherish for their absent and
justly-deposed monarch. Some time, however, elapsed before Marlborough
received any outward proof of his sovereign’s restored confidence.
William, indeed, openly regretted that he could not employ a nobleman
who was great both in military affairs and as a cabinet minister, and
“one who never made a difficulty.”[308] But, at length, either the
King’s scruples were overcome: or, as he allowed, in any enterprise,
choosing to act upon the principle of converting an enemy into a friend,
he appointed Marlborough to a situation of the highest trust.
CHAPTER IX.
1697, 1698.
Circumstances attending the Peace of Ryswick—Appointment of
Marlborough to the office of preceptor to the Duke of
Gloucester—Bishop Burnet—His appointment and character.
The peace of Ryswick, in 1697, was accompanied by two acts, intended, on
the part of William the Third, to relieve and indemnify his predecessor
for some of his disappointments and afflictions. On the one hand, the
King bound himself to pay fifty thousand pounds a year to Mary of
Modena, the wife of James; a sum which would have been her jointure had
she continued Queen of England. By another act William consented that
the son of James the Second, afterwards known as the Pretender, should
be educated in England in the Protestant faith, and should inherit the
crown after his own death.[309] Such were his just intentions; but, in
consequence of the distinct refusal of James on both these points, the
Pretender lost his crown, and his mother her jointure; and the hopes of
the country, and the kindly feelings of the King, were henceforth
centered in William, the young Duke of Gloucester, the only surviving
child of the Prince and Princess of Denmark.
The Duke was now entering his tenth year; and it was thought advisable
to withdraw him from the care of female instructresses, and to place
him under the guidance of the learned and the valiant. He was a child
of singular promise, and of a precocious capacity, foreboding weakness
of body and premature decay. The King long hesitated before he could
resolve to comply with the wishes of the Princess Anne, who earnestly
desired that Marlborough might be appointed her son’s governor. The
situation was first offered to the Duke of Shrewsbury, but was
declined by that nobleman, whose infirm health rendered him, at that
time, desirous of retiring from public life. There was a considerable
struggle in the mind of William before he could decide to place, in so
responsible an office as that of governor, the man upon whom all the
most enlightened of his advisers had fixed, as the proper tutor for
the Prince. At length, the persuasions of the Earl of Sunderland, and
of Lord Albemarle, who had succeeded Lord Portland in the royal
favour, induced the monarch to bestow the honour upon Marlborough. It
was conferred with these remarkable words: “Teach the Duke of
Gloucester, my lord, to be like yourself, and my nephew cannot want
accomplishments.”[310] On the evening of this appointment, June 19th,
1698, Lord Marlborough was sworn one of the privy council.
This sudden restoration to good fortune and to the King’s confidence
acted doubtless beneficially upon the disposition of Lord Marlborough,
who, like all superior natures, received benefits with the kindly spirit
with which they were proffered. But no conciliation could mollify the
implacable spirit of Lady Marlborough, nor reconcile her to the monarch
who had once consented to the indignity offered to her, of forbidding
her the court. Instead, therefore, of softening her tone when she
discusses the events of this period, or of acknowledging the distinction
conferred on Lord Marlborough, she refers to the arrangements respecting
the household of the young Duke, as plainly proving that the Princess
judged rightly, when she refused, on a former occasion, to leave her
settlement to the generosity of the King.
William, as the Duchess affirms, obtained from Parliament a grant of
fifty thousand pounds a year for the settlement of the young Duke, but
allowed the young Prince five thousand pounds only of that sum, refusing
even to advance one quarter for plate and furniture, which the Princess
Anne was therefore obliged to supply out of her own funds.[311] The
Princess received, also, a promise from his Majesty that she should have
the appointment of all the household, excepting to the offices of the
deputy-governor and gentlemen of the bedchamber. The message which
brought Anne this assurance was, what the Duchess calls, “so humane,”
and had so different an air from anything the Princess had been used to,
that it gave her “extreme pleasure;” and she instantly set about to fill
up the appointments, making various promises to her own, and undoubtedly
to her favourite’s, friends. What then were the consternation of the
Princess, and the fury of the Countess of Marlborough, when, after a
long delay in confirming these appointments, they were apprised that the
King, who was going abroad, would send a list of those persons whom he
had selected for the Duke’s household.
The cogitations of two ladies, on such an occasion, may be imagined. The
disappointment of various friends, the affronts sustained by others—the
loss of patronage—the sure gain of contempt and ridicule—all the
awkwardness of the affair must have ruffled even the placid Anne, who
was probably, however, not half sufficiently incensed to satisfy the far
more irritable and indignant Countess.
Anne, too, was in that condition which rendered any annoyance to her a
matter seriously to be dreaded. She had settled who were to be grooms of
the bedchamber, and who were to be pages of honour, and was not by any
means disposed to unsettle these appointments.
All this was duly represented to the King by Lord Marlborough, who
respectfully hoped that his Majesty “would not do anything to prejudice
the Queen in her present state;” but this intercession produced no other
effect than a violent fit of passion in the King, who declared that the
Princess “should not be Queen before her time,” and that he would make a
list of what servants the Duke should have.
At length, however, Keppel Earl of Albemarle, who had more influence
than any other courtier with the King, undertook to settle the affair.
He took the list of the household made out by the Princess, and, whilst
they were in Holland, showed it to the King. The list was, as it
happened, approved by William, with very few alterations. But that was
not, the Duchess declares, owing to the King’s goodness, but “to the
happy choice which the Princess had made of the servants.” Nay, she
further insinuates that the reason of William’s desiring to alter the
list was, that he might place in the household some of the servants of
the last Queen, and by that means save their pensions.[312]
At length, however, the arrangements were completed. It must be
acknowledged they were made somewhat too soon for the benefit of the
royal child. The young Prince, delicate in frame, would have been
happier perhaps, and, in the event of his living, stronger in mind as
well as in body, had nature, and not etiquette, been made the rule of
his youthful pursuits, and if state and ceremonials, too fatiguing for
his infancy, had been postponed until his childish powers could better
sustain their injurious effects upon his health. But the little victim,
who had struggled into boyhood, the only one of his family, and who was
doomed to be the national hope, and the sole object of the monarch’s
care, was to be rendered valiant, theological, wise—a hero, a wonder—in
short, that miserable being, a prodigy.
Marlborough was to teach him military tactics and the theory of war. The
boy delighted in all that boys of simpler habits, and in a happier
sphere, usually delight in. He learned with facility all the terms of
fortification and of navigation; knew all the different parts of a
strong ship, and of a man of war; and took pleasure in marshalling as
soldiers a company of boys who had voluntarily enlisted themselves to
form his troop.[313] All this the great Marlborough himself taught him.
In the departments of classical literature and theology, the Duke had
another preceptor, scarcely less celebrated.
Dr. Gilbert Burnet, whom William now appointed governor to the Duke of
Gloucester in conjunction with Marlborough, was at this time Bishop of
Salisbury, a see which he wished to resign on being appointed preceptor
to the young Prince; being conscientiously averse from holding any
preferment, the duties of which he could not in person superintend. Dr.
Burnet was the intimate friend of the Countess of Marlborough; and
probably he had had some share in forming her political opinions, and in
weaning her from the Tory party, in whose principles the Countess had
been reared.
It was scarcely possible for the Countess to possess a more valuable
friend, nor the Duke of Gloucester a more enlightened preceptor, than
this able, uncompromising advocate of civil and religious freedom—this
pious divine, this disinterested, scrupulous, and zealous man. Burnet
was of Scotch descent, and his character exhibited some of the noblest
features which distinguish the inhabitants of the north of the Tweed, in
all varieties of situation and circumstance. Like many great men, he
owed much of his eminence, and most of his religious impressions, to his
mother. She was a Presbyterian, a sister of the famous Sir Alexander
Johnston, Lord Warristoun, who headed the Presbyterians during the civil
wars, and whom no alliance nor kindred could bend to show any lenity to
those who refused the solemn league and covenant. Dr. Burnet’s father,
differing from these opinions, from the conviction that the
Presbyterians did not intend to reform abuses in the Episcopal church,
but to destroy that church itself, resolutely rejected the league and
covenant; and was, on that account, at three several times, obliged to
fly from his native county of Aberdeen; and, during one occasion, to
remain five years in exile. Such were some of the consequences of
fanatic zeal, in those disturbed and uncomfortable times.
By his father, himself a barrister, Burnet was educated, until he
attained ten years of age, when, being a master of the Latin tongue, he
was removed to Aberdeen College, and at fourteen began to study for the
bar; such was the precocity of his intellect; in some respects, the
effect of the custom of the day.
Fortunately for the Church of England, Burnet, after a year’s
application to the law, changed his course of studies, and applied
himself to divinity, for which his father had originally destined him.
When eighteen years of age, he was put upon his trial as a probationary
preacher, the first step in Scotland towards an admission into orders,
both in the Episcopal and in the Presbyterian church. From this epoch in
his career, he devoted his life to the service of the church. He
improved his notions upon many matters, in those times still unsettled,
relative to the rites and ceremonies of the church, by conversing with
the learned at the English universities. By foreign travelling, he
enlarged his ideas concerning the differences into which learned and
pious men fall, upon points of discipline and matters of doctrine.
Whilst residing in Holland, he became acquainted with the leading men of
the various persuasions tolerated in that country; the Arminians,
Papists, Unitarians, Brownists, and Lutherans, all passed under review
in his reflecting mind; and, from the observation of the pious
dispositions and high motives, of which he met with instances among all
professing Christians, he drew this satisfactory and benevolent
conclusion, that nothing but general charity could be acceptable to the
great Ruler of men; he learned to abhor severity, and to see the beauty
and wisdom of universal toleration.
Thus prepared for the eminent station which he afterwards filled, and
for the great part which he had to act, Burnet, during a protracted
intercourse with the kings and nobles of the land, held fast his
integrity. When chaplain to Charles the Second, he remonstrated with him
on his licentious course of life, fearless of the consequences to
himself. He laboured with as little success to convert James from the
doctrines of papacy. At a time when silence would have best aided his
preferment in the church, he published his History of the Reformation,
for which he received the thanks of both Houses of Parliament. Nor did
he lose any opportunity of publicly admonishing, and of privately
reclaiming, the abandoned members of the aristocracy; and of calling
sinners of all ranks and conditions to repentance. His preaching was
earnest, unstudied, emphatic, effective. He improved upon the Scottish
mode of giving premeditated discourses from memory, and by allotting
many hours of the day to meditation on any given subject, and then
accustoming himself to speak upon those aloud, he attained a remarkable
facility in that mode of religious instruction, which is, of all others,
when well acquired, the most effective.[314]
It was whilst this excellent and energetic man was chaplain to Charles
the Second, an unwilling witness of the corruptions of the court, that
he was requested to visit a female of abandoned character, who had been
treading the paths of destruction with the celebrated Wilmot Earl of
Rochester. Burnet, at this time without any parochial duty, never
refused his aid to those who sought it. He went to the sinner, and left
her penitent; but the good which he did ceased not here, but shed its
beams forth in a “naughty world.” The Earl of Rochester, hearing of the
manner in which the divine had reclaimed the unfortunate partner of his
guilt, sent for Burnet; and during a whole winter, once in every week,
went over with him all those topics by which infidelity attacks the
christian religion. The judgment of the sceptic, Rochester, was
convinced; his conviction of the importance of moral duty established;
his proud spirit laid prostrate; his opinions and his deportment
entirely changed. He died a sincere penitent; whilst Burnet, in
bequeathing to posterity the memorial of the sceptical difficulties, of
the true contrition, of this misled and sinful man, has left to the
infatuated and to the erring a legacy of inestimable price. In the words
of Dr. Johnson, speaking of the bishop’s account of these conferences,
entitled “Some Passages in the Life of John Earl of Rochester,” “the
critic ought to read it for its elegance, the philosopher for its
argument, the saint for its piety.”[315]
Burnet, both by his own account and that of his biographer, appears to
have been very unwilling to undertake the charge now offered to him by
the King, and pressed upon him by the Princess. “I used,” he says, “all
possible endeavours to decline the office.”
Having once, however, consented, he devoted himself with his usual
ardour to the important task of educating the Prince. His admirable
observations on education, in the conclusion of his History, show how
excellently qualified the bishop was for the task. He went beyond his
age, and was devoid of the narrow views and prejudices of his time. The
great design of instruction was, as he justly thought, to inculcate
great and noble sentiments, to give general information, to avoid
pedantry, and to represent virtue and religion in the true light, as the
only important, the only stable acquisitions in this sublunary state. He
looked with regret on the errors committed by parents of the highest
rank, who, lavish in other respects, were narrow in their notions of
expenditure on education; he regarded education as “the foundation of
all that could be proposed for bettering the next age.” He considered
that “it should be one of the chief cares of all government.”[316]
With such a preceptor, it may readily be supposed how exact, and how
earnest, would be those lessons guided by such high principles. “I
took,” says the bishop, “to my own province, the reading and explaining
the scriptures to him, the instructing him in the principles of religion
and the rules of virtue, and the giving him a view of history,
geography, politics, and government;” instructions which the peculiar
though simple eloquence of the bishop might have rendered invaluable in
any other case.
But such advantages as these were adapted to one of riper years, and of
a more hardy constitution than the feeble Prince. His progress was
indeed amazing. Under the guidance of the bishop he attained a religious
knowledge which was, says Burnet, “beyond imagination.” His inquiries,
his reflections, his pursuits, were those of a precocious and highly
endowed mind. The custom of the times authorised this hot-bed culture to
the infant mind. Our nobles and gentry were generally members of the
universities at a period of life when now they would be school-boys. But
the approved mode of rearing a vigorous plant cannot be pursued with a
tender and delicate shoot. Henry Prince of Wales, the wonder of the
court of James the First; and the Duke of Gloucester, the last remaining
object of the Princess Anne’s maternal affection, are instances of
excellence too prematurely developed to be permanent. The event of two
years showed, indeed, that the care and zeal bestowed upon the powers of
the Duke’s mind might with advantage have been postponed, however
admirable the intentions, and valuable the instructions, of his
distinguished preceptors.
Whilst Marlborough, with his eminent colleague, was training up the
young Prince to prove, as they hoped, an honour to his country, the
great general’s own family were growing up around him, displaying more
than the ordinary graces and promise of youth. At this time, five
children, one son and four daughters, formed the domestic circle of Lord
and Lady Marlborough. Yet they were not destined to derive unalloyed
felicity from these fondly prized objects of paternal affection. Their
eldest son, afterwards Marquis of Blandford, a youth of considerable
attainments, and of great moral excellence, was eventually consigned by
his disconsolate parents to an early grave. The beauty and talents of
their daughters were counterbalanced by defects which occasioned many
heart-burnings, and much “home-bred” infelicity, in the latter period of
Lady Marlborough’s life.
Henrietta, the eldest daughter of these distinguished parents, inherited
much of her mother’s spirit, with more than Lady Marlborough’s personal
charms, and with a great portion of that mother’s less enviable temper.
When old age and bitter humiliation had added to the Duchess of
Marlborough’s native moroseness, which they ought rather to have
subdued, their eldest daughter and she were long at variance, and never
reconciled. Yet, in a happier season, better expectations and brighter
hopes were formed in the prospect of an union between Lady Henrietta,
and the son of Lord and Lady Marlborough’s most intimate and valued
friend. At this time, in her eighteenth year, the Lady Henrietta had
already attracted many admirers. The intimacy of her parents with Lord
Godolphin directed, however, her inclination to one object, Francis,
Lord Rialton, the eldest son of the Earl. The attachment between these
two young persons began at a very early age, and was viewed with
approbation by the parents on both sides, although the advantages to be
derived from the projected marriage were chiefly, in worldly respects,
on the side of Lord Rialton; Godolphin having, two years previously,
resigned his situation as first lord of the Treasury, at the time of Sir
John Fenwick’s accusations, and, whilst he conducted the public
finances, he had rather impaired than improved his own property. But
similarity of political opinions, a close intimacy, mutual confidence
and respect, rendered the prospect of a near alliance with Godolphin not
only agreeable, but advantageous; and Marlborough, in his subsequent
campaigns, and after Godolphin was reinstated in his office, experienced
the benefit of possessing a friend at the head of that important
department, in which Lord Godolphin, as first lord of the Treasury,
aided all the great general’s designs, by a prompt attention to a supply
of those means without which the most skilful projects could not have
succeeded.
When Lady Henrietta had completed her eighteenth year, the marriage with
Lord Rialton took place. The fortune of Lord Marlborough did not, at
this time, authorise him to bestow a large portion on his daughter; yet
he prudently and honourably declined the ample settlement which the
Princess Anne, with kindness of intention, and delicacy of manner,
offered to make in favour of the lovely bride. The sum which her royal
highness proposed was ten thousand pounds; one half of which was
accepted by her favourites, who added five thousand pounds to the
liberal gift. And with an establishment ill suited to their rank, but
probably sufficient for happiness, the young couple were obliged to be
content.
Lady Anne Churchill, next in age to Lady Rialton, and according to
Horace Walpole, “the most beautiful of all Lady Churchill’s four
charming daughters,”[317] excelled her sister Henrietta in sweetness of
disposition, as well as in external advantages. Her amiable manners, and
the possession of mental qualities beyond her age, particularly endeared
this beautiful and affectionate daughter to her parents. She was the
object of admiration, as well as of affection. Lady Anne received,
before her marriage, the flattering tribute of complimentary verses from
Lord Godolphin, who delighted to relieve the duties of the great master
of finance by the fascinating attempts of the poetaster.[318] Lord
Halifax, of whose poetry, we must agree with Dr. Johnson, that “a short
time has withered the beauties,”[319] celebrated also the charms of Lady
Anne, in verses somewhat better, though not above mediocrity. Yet it was
not the fate of this admired young lady, at first, to inspire that
ardent attachment in the husband selected for her by her parents, which
her beauty and her goodness of disposition merited.
Amongst the most intimate of Lord Marlborough’s friends, Robert Spencer,
Earl of Sunderland, secretary of state and president of the council to
James the Second, had proved himself, at the time of Marlborough’s
disgrace at court, the most zealous of his advocates. Sunderland, who
had encountered a variety of accusations for countenancing popery to
please King James, and for betraying that monarch afterwards to William,
was now in high favour with the reigning sovereign, over whom he
exercised a remarkable ascendency. Although beloved neither by Whig nor
Tory, his ministry was more efficient than any which succeeded it in the
time of William. Of disputed integrity, but of acknowledged talents,
Lord Sunderland was, however, constrained to bend beneath the violence
of party. He withdrew about this time from public life, notwithstanding
the earnest entreaties of the King that he would remain near him; and,
fearing that in the attacks made upon him by the Tories he would not be
supported by the Whigs, Sunderland fled from the censures for which he
felt there was too real a foundation, in his conduct during the
preceding reign.[320]
Between the Countess of Sunderland and Lady Marlborough there existed a
friendship of an enthusiastic, almost a romantic character. This
affectionate intimacy was accounted for by mutual obligations and common
misfortunes, shared by the two great statesmen, the husbands of these
two ladies.
After the revolution, Marlborough had exerted his influence to assist
Sunderland in exile and distress. When Marlborough fell into disgrace,
Lord Sunderland had pleaded his cause, and adhered to him with a
grateful constancy; advocating with the King the expediency of placing
Marlborough in the office of preceptor to the young Duke of Gloucester.
The warm attachment between the two Countesses sometimes aroused even
the jealousy of the Princess Anne, who considered Lady Sunderland as her
rival in the affection of the spoiled and flattered Lady
Marlborough,[321] and envied the terms of equality which rendered the
friendship of the two Countesses a source of mutual happiness. Not
devoid of romance in her early years, though in her latter days she
degenerated into coarseness of mind and vulgarity of manners, Anne felt,
it seems, the insuperable barrier which her exalted rank had placed
between her and the delights of a true, disinterested friendship.
Charles Lord Spencer, the only son of the Earl and Countess of
Sunderland, reported to have been famed alike for “his skill in
negociations and his rapid equestrian movements,”[322] was the object to
whom the ambition of his parents now pointed, as a probable bond of
union between their family and the powerful houses of Marlborough and
Godolphin. The lovely Lady Anne was god-daughter to the Countess of
Sunderland. Her beauty, her accomplishments, and the favour which she
already enjoyed with the Princess Anne, were all cogent reasons for
promoting the match, in the eyes of the veteran courtier and statesman,
Sunderland. The first proposals in the affair seem to have originated on
his side. In one of the letters written on the subject he says:[323]
“If I see him so settled, I shall desire nothing more in this world but
to die in peace, if it please God. I must add this, that if he can be
thus happy, he will be governed in everything, public and private, by
Lord Marlborough. I have particularly talked to him of that, and he is
sensible how advantageous it will be to him to do so. I need not, I am
sure, desire that this may be a secret to every one but Lady
Marlborough.”
Notwithstanding their friendship for the family of the Earl, the
suggestion of a closer bond was not at first received by Lord and Lady
Marlborough with encouragement. Perhaps they might regard the betrothing
of their favourite daughter to Lord Spencer somewhat in the light of a
sacrifice. That young nobleman had displayed a character of mind both
uncommon and repulsive: grave, cold, and staid in his deportment, an
ardent, impetuous, and somewhat haughty spirit was concealed beneath
that icy exterior.[324] His political principles were those of
republicanism; his notions of filial duty were tinctured by the actions
of his school-boy studies. Already had he anathematised his father in
the House of Commons, with all the powers of a ready eloquence, and
declared against the crafty Earl for protecting traitors, and for
permitting his mother to harbour her own daughter, the wife of the
attainted Lord Clancarty. For this act of Roman heroism, Lord Spencer
had been extolled by the violent party, and his loyalty to the King
eulogised; since, to serve his Majesty, he would not scruple to expose
his father. But cautious observers had questioned this unnatural
display, which was supposed to be concerted between the young lord and
his father; and Lord Spencer had lost some friends from the
supposition.[325]
The detestation which Lord Spencer expressed for his father’s opinions,
and especially for those which he had adopted on his conversion to the
Church of Rome, was, however, sincere. On the death of Lord Sunderland,
he took care to manifest his unseemly disrespect, by casting out of the
library which his father had collected, all the works of the holy
fathers, or, as he called them, “dregs of antiquity,” which he
considered well replaced by the works of Machiavel.[326] This
self-opiniativeness characterised his whole career. Though professing
himself a devoted adherent of Lord Somers, Lord Spencer had neither the
moderation nor the true patriotism of that great and good man.[327] He
carried all his notions to extremes; mistook violence and recklessness
for zeal, and bluntness for sincerity; and his private deportment was
ill calculated to obliterate the unfavourable impression which his
public career had imparted.
To this dark picture we must add, however, before we consider the
portrait of Lord Sunderland to be complete, some, though few, enlivening
touches. Eager for distinction, or at least for notoriety, this nobleman
was, nevertheless, exempt from the mercenary motives by which many
public men were debased. His high spirit led him, though not rich for
his station, to reject a pension offered him by Queen Anne, when, during
her reign, he was left out of the administration. The same indifference
to his pecuniary interests caused him to reject, with indignation, the
attempts made by his mother-in-law to reinstate him in his employments,
in the reign of George the First.[328] And when it is stated that he
discarded the “holy fathers” from his library, after his father’s death,
it must be added that he replaced them by numerous works of great value,
forming a library of considerable extent, and selected with admirable
judgment.
To this ungenial partner the young and lovely Anne was eventually
consigned. At first, indeed, her parents made many objections to the
marriage. The coldness and indifference of Lord Spencer to their
daughter was the chief obstacle. He was now a widower, having recently
lost, in the Lady Arabella Cavendish, a wife whom he idolised, and for
whom he still mourned with all the depth of feeling, and tenacity of a
man of strong passions, and reserved nature. His political violence was
another impediment, in the opinion of the rightly-judging mind of the
great Marlborough, who saw in the times nothing to justify, but
everything to deprecate, temerity and factious heats. But the Countess
of Marlborough, more disposed to Whig opinions, viewed that objection to
Lord Spencer with far less anxiety than his coldness to her darling
child, and the increased gloom of the young nobleman’s deportment and
countenance. From those she augured little of happiness to a daughter
for whom she evinced true maternal apprehensions, and who lived not to
harass and aggravate her, when the once fascinating Countess,
degenerated into “Old Marlborough,” had become captious and vindictive.
High-minded, though faulty, Lady Marlborough dreaded that her daughter
should be sacrificed to a man who loved her not, and who might be
induced to marry whilst his affections were buried in the grave of
another. The eagerness of Lord and Lady Sunderland for the promotion of
the match—their remonstrances, the earnest solicitations, which they
addressed to their son—all added to her apprehensions, and occasioned
her to draw back somewhat from the first steps in her projected
alliance.
By degrees, however, the grief of the gloomy young widower yielded to
the loveliness and youthful graces of the Lady Anne. He began not only
to tolerate, but to cherish, the idea of a second marriage. The growing
attachment became ardent, as his other passions; and his mother, eagerly
communicating the change in his feelings to her friend, urged Lady
Marlborough to hasten an union now anxiously desired by her once
reluctant son.
Lady Marlborough found some scruples, some objections on the part of her
husband, still to overcome. But her influence was paramount. In spite of
many forebodings, induced by the headstrong nature of Lord Spencer, he
gave his consent; but his prognostications, that political differences
between him and his future son-in-law would ere long arise, were
unhappily justified.
The marriage, however, after a series of negociations which lasted
eighteen months, was solemnised at St. Albans in January 1699–1700, the
Princess Anne bestowing a dowry of five thousand pounds upon the bride,
and her father adding as much more.[329]
The young couple appear to have lived happily together, though not
without some alloys from the habits and circumstances of Charles Lord
Sunderland. Lady Sunderland became the centre of a political and
fashionable circle, and, as the “Little Whig,” (so called from the
smallness of her stature,) took the lead in that party in the great
world. Years afterwards, the solicitude which Swift evinced to
conciliate her ladyship’s favour, when, during the struggle for power
between the contending parties, the influence of the “Little Whig” might
avail his selfish pursuits, proves the estimation in which Lady
Sunderland’s fascinations were held.[330]
The Lady Elizabeth, Countess of Bridgwater, third daughter of the Earl
and Countess of Marlborough, is said to have eclipsed her three sisters
in beauty of countenance, eminently gifted as they were in personal
advantages, whilst she was inferior to none in excellence of
disposition. Her face is described to have been remarkable for symmetry:
and its sweet and intelligent expression lent that indescribable charm
to beauty which, in Lady Elizabeth, captivated some singular and
highly-gifted admirers. Pope ventured to admire, and admiring, first
depicted her face, and then her mind.
“Hence Beauty, waking, all her forms supplies,
An angel’s sweetness, or Bridgwater’s eyes.”[331]
Yet the poet threw all the drawings which he is said to have made of
this amiable lady into the fire. “She was,” says the monumental
inscription to her memory in Little Gaddesden church, Hertfordshire, “a
lady of exquisite fineness, both of mind and body; agreeably tall; of a
delicate shape and beautiful mien; of a most obliging, winning carriage;
sweetness, modesty, affability, were met together; whatsoever is
virtuous, decent, and praiseworthy, she made the rule of all her
actions; her discourse was cheerful, lively, and ingenuous; pleasing,
without ever saying too much or too little; so that her virtue appeared
with the greatest advantage and lustre; her address was as became her
quality, great, without pride; admired and unenvied by her equals; and
none condescended with greater grace and satisfaction to her
inferiors.”[332]
For this accomplished being a suitable settlement in life was provided;
and, at a very early age, she was united to Scrope, Earl, and afterwards
Duke, of Bridgwater.
If we may judge from the inscription on her monument, this union appears
to have been as replete with happiness as the fondest parents could have
wished. “Happy,” says the epitaph, “her lord in such a wife; happy her
children in such a mother; happy her servants that duly attended upon
her. Being arrived at the highest pitch of worldly felicity, in full
enjoyment of tenderest love and esteem of her entirely beloved husband,
universally admired and spoken of for every good quality.”[333]
Such were the terms employed in describing this beloved child of the
Marlborough family, whose early fate, like that of her sister, Lady
Sunderland, afterwards embittered their father’s old age, and hastened
his death by the effects of grief.
His youngest daughter, Lady Mary, Pope’s “Angel Duchess Montagu,”
married, in 1705, John Montagu, Duke of Montagu, Grand Master of the
Order of the Bath, and the trusted servant of successive
sovereigns.[334] The Duchess of Montagu became, eventually, one of the
bedchamber ladies to the Princess of Males, afterwards Queen Caroline,
towards whom her mother, the Duchess of Marlborough, imbibed a strong
aversion. “The Angel Duchess Montagu,” beautiful as her sisters, appears
not to have verified that name in her subsequent conduct to her mother,
with whom she was long at bitter variance. At this epoch of the Duchess
of Marlborough’s life, Lady Mary was, however, yet a child, and her
mother’s temper had not shone forth, as afterwards it became apparent,
in her conduct.
Thus, in the exalted stations which her children attained, the ambition
of Lady Marlborough, as a mother, may be supposed to have been fully
gratified. But whilst she accomplished for them, aided by their personal
advantages, connexions all advantageous, though not equally splendid,
she omitted to sow the good seed of filial subjection, which is ever
best secured by cultivating the affections. In her family she may be
said to have been peculiarly unhappy. Not many years elapsed after Lord
Marlborough was raised to a dukedom, before his son, the Marquis of
Blandford, the sole male representative of his father’s honours, was
summoned to an early grave. The title eventually descended in the female
line, and Lady Godolphin became Duchess of Marlborough. With this
daughter Lady Marlborough was many years embroiled in endless
contentions, and the latter period of the illustrious Marlborough’s life
was employed in the vain attempt to mediate between two fierce and
grasping combatants. Money, as usual, was the cause of the combustion,
and a total alienation the result.
Lady Sunderland died young, but her sons became at once the delight and
the torment of their grandmother in the decline of her long-lived
importance, and, as it almost appeared, of her judgment and sense of
decorum.
Lady Bridgwater also died too early for _her_ contentions with her
mother to be signalised; but she left a daughter, the Duchess of
Bedford, afterwards married to Lord Jersey, between whom and the Duchess
of Marlborough a running warfare was long maintained.
With her youngest daughter, the Duchess of Montagu, the irritable
Duchess was on terms equally unhappy. The Duke of Marlborough was heard
to observe, speaking to his wife of this daughter, “I wonder you cannot
agree, you are so alike!”—a speech which augurs ill for the Duchess of
Montagu’s temper. The lively and amiable Duchess of Manchester,
granddaughter of the aged and morose Sarah, and described by one who
knew her as “all spirit, justice, honour,” possessed that influence over
her grandmother which gay and open characters often seem to acquire, by
the unpremeditated frankness which charms whilst it half offends.
“Duchess of Manchester,” said her old grandmother to her one day, “you
are a good creature, but you _have_ a mother.”—“And _she_ has a mother,”
was the arch and fearless reply.[335]
Such were the anecdotes in circulation at a later period. In her own
youth Lady Marlborough rendered the beauty and accomplishments of her
daughters serviceable in her own elevation to power. She afterwards
obtained for so many of them posts about the Queen, that Anne was said
to have her court composed of one family.[336] Yet the Duchess lived to
prove, in the joyless isolation of her old age, how completely all our
wishes may be realised without producing happiness.
CHAPTER X.
Death of the Duke of Gloucester—Its effects on the Succession—Illness
and Deathbed of William—His last actions—1700.
The death of the Duke of Gloucester cast a gloom over the last year of
King William’s life, whilst it caused not only maternal grief, but
scruples of serious import, in the mind of the young Prince’s mother,
the conscientious but weak-minded Anne.
The Earl and Countess of Marlborough were at Althorp when they were
apprised of the dangerous illness which had attacked the young
Prince.[337] The Duke was of delicate frame, and for some years had been
languishing. It was not to be supposed that a child could live in health
or enjoyment whose premature intellect was, before the age of eleven,
stocked with “Greek and Roman histories,” “the gothick constitution, and
the beneficiary and feudal laws,” added to various other acquirements,
equally obnoxious to the natural tastes of children, and therefore to be
gradually and slowly introduced into their progressive capacities.
Neither could the visits of five cabinet ministers, once a quarter, to
inquire, by the King’s orders, into his progress, have been otherwise
than stimulating and fatiguing to the unhappy child.[338] On the 24th of
July, 1700, he attained his eleventh year. On the ensuing day he was
taken ill; “but that,” says his Episcopal tutor, “was imputed to the
fatigues of a birthday, so that he was too much neglected.” On the
following day he grew much worse, and at the end of the fourth day he
was carried off, his complaint proving to be a malignant fever. His
mother, the Princess, attended him throughout his illness “with great
tenderness,” according to Burnet, “but with a grave composedness that
amazed all who saw it: she bore his death with a resignation and piety
that were indeed very singular.”[339]
The Earl of Marlborough hastened to Windsor upon the first intelligence
of the fatal disease, but arrived only in time to receive the last sigh
of his young and interesting charge. Thus died the last of seventeen
children that the Princess Anne had borne, dead and living, and thus
William expressed his feelings on the event, in reply to the letter sent
him upon this occasion by the Earl of Marlborough.
“I do not think it necessary to employ many words in expressing my
surprise and grief at the death of the Duke of Gloucester. It is so
great a loss to me, as well as to England, that it pierces my heart with
affliction.”[340]
By this melancholy event the strength of the Jacobite party was
considerably augmented. The Princess, indeed, still leaned to that
faction. The part which she had acted in the Revolution had occasioned
her incessant regret. Zeal for the Protestant religion, the popular
outcry, and the persuasion that the Prince of Wales’s birth was an
imposture, had, at that eventful period, influenced her conduct. Upon
the death of her son, however, her feelings were awakened towards her
own family. She wrote to inform James the Second of her calamity. She
began to regard her brother’s legitimacy with different views from those
which, during the irritations between her and her mother-in-law, she had
been disposed to entertain.[341] She privately solicited her father’s
sanction for her acceptance of the crown in case of the King’s death;
and, far from being averse to the restoration of her own family, she
declared her resolution to make a restitution of the crown, whenever it
was in her power to perform what she considered an act of justice.[342]
The decline in William’s bodily health, and mental energy, rendered
these negociations by no means unimportant, for the King’s mind had been
harassed by a series of trying and aggravating events. His distress and
irritation upon the disbanding of his guards, and his exclamation, “If I
had a son, by God these guards should not leave me!” betrayed the
humiliation and the bitterness of spirit from which the unhappy monarch
suffered; and it is well known that he even meditated relinquishing that
crown which had cost him his peace of mind. Wasted with vexation,
asthmatic, dropsical, his Majesty had recourse to wine to recruit his
cheerfulness. Even in a state of partial inebriation, William was still
the politician. He wished to have it supposed that he intended to settle
the succession upon the reputed Prince of Wales, in order that his real
design, of entailing it upon the Electress of Hanover, might not
transpire prematurely. In one of those parties in which the King relaxed
himself, in company with the infamous Lord Wharton, whom he always
called “Tom,” he said to his lordship, “Tom, I know what you wish
for—you wish for a republic.” “And not a bad thing, sir, neither,” was
the reckless peer’s reply. “No, no,” returned the King, “I shall
disappoint you there. I shall bring over King James’s son upon you.”
Lord Wharton, with a low bow, and an affectation of deep reverence,
answered, sneeringly, “that is as your Majesty pleases.” William was not
displeased at the answer thus elicited.[343]
When the succession was, by act of parliament, entailed upon the
Princess Sophia of Hanover, a woman of rare endowments, of science,
knowledge of the world, and personal accomplishments, it was the office
of Lord and Lady Marlborough, by their endeavours, to prevent any
opposition on the part of Anne; and they are supposed to have employed
their influence, since, independent of their advice, she adopted no
measure.[344] The Prince of Denmark took little share in public affairs,
and was merely the affable, obliging cipher that nature had originally
intended him to appear.
Upon the death of James the Second, and the proclamation of his son, in
France, King of England, a storm was suddenly aroused in the British
dominions. Both Whigs and Tories at this time were averse to the
restoration of the Stuarts. It has been alleged, as a reason for this
indifference, that the Tories being in power, and having place, had
little more to desire. The Whigs were bound by the principles which
actuated them at the Revolution. All parties were indignant that the
King of France should presume to name a King of England, without
consulting the English people.
The summoning of a new parliament which entered into all William’s views
for war, and the conclusion of what is called by historians the Second
Alliance, were events which rapidly followed the indignity imposed at
St. Germains. Not satisfied with those proceedings, the House of Commons
attainted the young Pretender, a boy of twelve years old, and framed a
bill, which passed into a law, requiring all persons in public stations
to abjure him. A similar act, attainting the exiled Queen, Mary of
Modena, was also contemplated; but the peers, high-minded generally as a
body, refused to countenance the measure.
William, conscious of his decay, signed this treaty, the last to which
he put his name. He appointed the Earl of Marlborough general of the
troops in Flanders, and ambassador at the same time, knowing his great
abilities both as a general and as a diplomatist, and believing he could
best serve his country by placing such a trust in such a man. The final
actions of the sovereign were those of a benefactor to his country. The
last charter which he signed was the East India Charter, then esteemed,
as a political measure, of great importance. The last act of parliament
to which he gave his consent, was that fixing the succession in the
House of Hanover. The last message which he sent to Parliament was a
recommendation of an union between England and Scotland: this was five
days before his death.
Broken with premature decay, for he was now only in the fifty-second
year of his age, William, whilst planning a war which he calculated to
finish with glorious success in four years, received his death-stroke.
Some say that he was mounted on a charger once belonging to the
unfortunate Sir John Fenwick, whose death was imputed to William as an
act of injustice; others, that he was on a young and ill-trained horse,
when, by the stumbling of the animal, he was thrown, and dislocated his
collar-bone. The King was near Hampton Court at the time of the
accident. The bone was set, and might have united without difficulty;
but his Majesty had business at Kensington, whither, disregarding pain,
he went in his coach. The bandage of the setting was unloosed, but was
set again. Fever came on; a cough, fatal to so debilitated a frame,
succeeded. The King, retaining his composure to the last, gave his
consent, when on his deathbed, to the act of attainder against the
Pretender, in compliance, it is said, with the entreaties of the
Princess Anne,[345] who was terrified at the anticipated result of his
death without the act being completed.
And now William prepared to meet that Creator, whose precepts, as given
to us through his Son, he had in many respects studied to obey; though
the snares of a political career, and the peculiar situation in which
his elevation to the throne had raised him in this country, had
presented to him incessant temptations. Since the death of his Queen,
the King had been devoted to Lady Orkney, to whom he had made a grant of
some lands in Ireland, which, in common with those given to Lord
Portland, and other followers, had been revoked by parliament. Yet,
whilst unfaithful to Mary during her lifetime, and degrading the pure
memory of her character, and her enthusiastic attachment to himself, by
putting such a successor in her place in his affections, William
cherished the memory of his lost wife. Fastened to his arm was found a
ribbon attached to a gold ring, in which was some hair of Queen Mary.
Unknown to any of his attendants, the reserved monarch had carried this
relic about him, and it was discovered only when the last offices of
laying out the body were performed.[346]
On his deathbed, William’s affections seemed to be restored to their
wonted channel. Lord Portland, whose faithful services had been of late
superseded by the attractive qualities of Keppel Lord Albemarle, stood
near him. The dying King looked steadfastly at him, endeavoured to speak
to him, but was unable. He placed Portland’s hands upon his heart, and
in that position expired. His last words, uttered with composure, were
these, “Je tire vers ma fin.” It is remarkable, that upon the
post-mortem examination, when almost every important organ of the
suffering monarch’s emaciated frame was found to be diseased, his head
was alone exempted from any trace of disease.[347] Hence his eye, that
eagle eye, which his foe, the Duke of Berwick, could not regard at the
Battle of Landen without admiration, retained its brilliancy and its
searching keenness of expression to the last.[348]
The character of William the Third has been minutely expatiated upon by
historians. In comparison with the monarchs of the Stuart line, he rose
transcendent; but even without challenging such a parallel, his merits
appear of the highest order. His intellectual powers were by nature
capacious and sound. His acquirements were admirably adapted for the
station which he held. Courageous, prompt, discerning, war was his
favourite pursuit. Reserved and taciturn in private life, on public
occasions his eloquence was both effective and polished. The last speech
that he made in parliament, and which appears to have been impromptu,
was one of the ablest harangues ever addressed by a British monarch to
his subjects.
The outward deportment of William, like the unsightly binding of a
scarce book, concealed his merits from the vulgar eye, whilst, by the
reflective, the intrinsic value was more strongly exemplified by
contrast. More than irritable, passionate, or, as the language of the
times expresses it, “choleric” to his attendants of the bedchamber, his
benevolence, his ready forgiveness, his magnanimous appreciation of
merit even in those whom he personally disliked, were shown in
innumerable passages of his life. These qualities were conspicuously
displayed in the restoration of Lord Marlborough to royal confidence,
after a detected intercourse with the court of St. Germains. And whilst
Lady Marlborough casts aspersions on the noble-minded monarch, of petty
import, she is obliged, for consistency’s sake, to pass over those later
days of his life, when William generously placed a man whom he disliked
at the head of military affairs, for the simple, but unfashionable, and,
unhappily, not often regal reason, that he thought him best adapted to
fill that trust. The unreasonable jealousy which he evinced towards the
Princess Anne was, in fact, the great blemish of his social character.
Descended from a noble succession of heroes, the five great Princes of
Orange, William, proud of his own country, must, in spite of that
natural partiality, be regarded as one of the greatest benefactors that
these islands have ever possessed. To him we owe the secure
establishment of that faith for which he showed regard, not by forms,
for those he somewhat too much despised, but by maintaining that
toleration which is its essence. It is melancholy to reflect that
William, deceived, disappointed, and latterly disliked by his subjects,
was often so depressed as to long for his release. Yet, as his prospects
brightened, and when James’s death removed a continual source of
faction, he declared to his faithful Portland, that “he could have
wished to live a little longer.”[349]
By the King’s death, the weight of affairs in England fell upon
Marlborough, who immediately returned to this country. And now, to the
dawn of his fortunes, overclouded as they had sometimes been, succeeded
the brightness of day. In his fifty-third year, Marlborough was still
vigorous; his activity was unimpaired, his constitution unbroken, except
by occasional attacks of ague, when in campaign. His experience of men,
his insight into parties, his popular qualities, independent of his
public services, had been attained during a long course of vicissitudes;
circumstances sufficiently adverse to form a decided and well-poised
character. At this period, too, the manly comeliness of person which he
is said afterwards to have regretted, when gazing at an early picture of
himself he exclaimed, “That _was_ a man,” still remained, undiminished
by age and toil.
“From his birth,” says a contemporary writer, “the Graces were appointed
to attend and form him; polished in address, and refined in manners as
in the gifts of nature; fit to adorn a court, and shine with
princes.”[350]
The Countess of Marlborough, ten years younger than her distinguished
husband, though past the bloom, could scarcely have lost the attractions
of her surpassing, and what is more remarkable, unfading beauty of face
and form. Perhaps the “scornful and imperious” character of her
countenance, described by Horace Walpole, may have assumed its fixed
expression about this time, when she discovered the extent of her
influence, and was betrayed into a forgetfulness of what was due to her
own station, and to majesty. “Her features and her air,” says her
sarcastic censor, “announced nothing that her temper did not confirm;”
and he seems to consider it doubtful which of these two attributes had
the greatest influence in “enslaving her heroic lord.”[351]
Until an advanced age, Lady Marlborough possessed evident remains of
remarkable loveliness; her fair hair, so celebrated, was unchanged by
time; her most expressive eyes still lighted up her countenance; her
flashes of wit enlivened her natural turn for communicating those
reminiscences of former days, which could scarcely have appeared tedious
under any circumstances, but which the shrewdness and talent of this
extraordinary woman rendered exceedingly diverting.
There was one feature in the Duchess of Marlborough’s composition which
contributed to enhance the charms of her conversation, and which,
probably, strengthened the influence which she acquired over the minds
of others. This was her fearless plain-speaking. The style of her
Vindication shows her candour; the matter of that amusing work, with
certain exceptions,[352] establishes her character for truth. Even her
worst enemies appear in their replies to have been unable to disprove,
or even to deny, most of her statements, but were forced to content
themselves with abusive comments.[353] The same honesty and openness, we
are told, were manifested in the Duchess’s conversation as in her
writings. “This might proceed,” observes the editor of a recent
publication, “partly from never thinking herself in the wrong, or caring
what was thought of her by others.”[354] It might also proceed from that
knowledge and that tact, which, during “sixty years of arrogance,” as
Horace Walpole terms her career, she must have acquired; and which,
perhaps, taught her, that needless explanations are, in conversation, as
in print, the worst of policy. But, with all her faults, duplicity has
never been alleged against the lofty Duchess of Marlborough. It was
foreign to the generous warmth of her nature; it was foreign to the
audacity, for no milder term can be applied, of her temper. Evasion
would scarcely have suited her purpose with the placid, subservient, but
also somewhat manœuvring Anne, who was born not to rule, but to be
ruled, and who was daunted by the arrogance and fearless truth of her
groom of the stole. Disingenuousness would have destroyed her influence
over the just and honourable Marlborough,—an influence which even
coldness, conjugal despotism, nay, fiercer passions, could not destroy,
but which would have sunk directly, had the foundation of that faulty
but lofty character been found defective. It was not Lady Marlborough’s
beauty, it was not her native, though untutored ability, it was not her
wit, which prolonged her influence over her husband; but it was her
truth, her contempt of meanness, her abhorrence of flattery, and her
genuine fidelity to friends.
She was, as Doctor Johnson has expressed it, “a good hater;” and if that
signify “a hater” without the garb of dissimulation—a hater who eschews
false alliances, and hangs out true colours—one may be allowed to feel a
certain respect for the character, even whilst we condemn the principle
of hatred. No one ever accused the Duchess of Marlborough of smiling to
betray. She could have torn her foes to pieces, sooner than have
accorded to them one reverence which her heart conceded not. Her
insolence to the Queen, her contempt of Anne’s understanding, and her
presumption and arrogance, cannot, however, be defended. Nor can the
unfeminine qualities which she displayed, be viewed otherwise than with
dislike and disgust.
The Duchess of Marlborough’s dismissal from Anne’s favour may be said to
have commenced, in reality, when that Princess ascended the throne of
England. The favourite was now wholly devoted to Whig principles; Anne
was always, in her heart, a Tory. Lady Marlborough could ill brook
opposition from one whose actions she had for years guided, and who had
scarcely dared to move except at her bidding. The Queen had, as a
monarch, one great failing, which characterised the house of Stuart: she
allowed too great familiarities in those around her, and forbore to
rebuke insolence, or even to check presumption.[355] No one was so
likely to presume upon this want of dignity as the Countess of
Marlborough. Her haughtiness soon grew into downright contumacy. Even
whilst holding the Queen’s fan and gloves, or presenting them to her
Majesty, in the capacity of an attendant, she turned away her head with
contempt directly afterwards, as if the poor harmless Queen inspired her
with disgust.[356] How long Anne bore with such conduct, remains to be
seen. For the first ten years of her reign Lady Marlborough, however,
ruled paramount.
CHAPTER XI.
Accession of Anne to the throne—That event considered by the Whigs as
unpropitious—Coronation of the Queen—Dislike of Anne to the
Whigs—Efforts of Lady Marlborough—Dismissal of Somers and
Halifax—1702.
Queen Anne was not tantalised by suspense concerning the result of her
predecessor’s illness. Particulars were hourly sent by Lord and Lady
Jersey to Lady Marlborough, of the King’s state, as “his breath grew
shorter and shorter;” an attention which, instead of gratifying the
Countess, “filled her,” as she declares, “with horror.”[357] The
courtiers, who had been weeping at the bedside of the late monarch,
hastened to depart from Kensington, and to remove into the more genial
atmosphere of St. James’s palace, where they offered their
congratulations to the new sovereign in crowds.[358] The Queen was
proclaimed in the courtyard of St. James’s, on the day of the King’s
death, March the eighth, 1702, at five o’clock in the afternoon, both
Houses of Parliament attending the ceremony.[359] A solemn mourning was
ordered, and the members of the privy council were enjoined to hang
their coaches with mourning, and to put their servants in black
liveries; the Queen wearing purple—at that time royal mourning. Two days
after the King’s death, her Majesty went to the House of Lords, attended
by Lady Marlborough, and preceded by the Earl of Marlborough, carrying
before her the sword of state. She addressed both Houses in the usual
mode, and inspired admiration and confidence by the dignity,
self-possession, and graciousness of her manner. “Her speeches were
delivered,” says Bishop Burnet, “with great weight and authority, and
with a softness of voice, and sweetness in the pronunciation, that added
much life to all that she spoke.” Yet she offended the partisans of the
late King, by saying “that her heart was entirely English;”[360]—which
appeared to challenge an invidious comparison with one whose affections,
it was well known, had often reverted to the kingdom which he had
quitted.[361] The speculations which were set afloat concerning the fate
of parties, and the opinions which her Majesty’s political appointments
would display, may readily be imagined. By a proclamation issued,
however, immediately after her accession, the Queen signified that all
persons at present in authority should continue to hold their places,
until her Majesty’s further pleasure should be made known.[362]
Notwithstanding the known influence, and the avowed opinions, of Lady
Marlborough, the Whigs regarded the accession of Queen Anne as
unpropitious. The principles of the adverse party had been instilled
into her mind at a very early age, by Compton, Bishop of London. She
owed the Tories many obligations; in particular, the settlement of her
annuity, which they had secured, in opposition to the wishes of William
and Mary. Her mother’s family were devoted loyalists, or, rather, when
times changed and appellations were changed also, zealous Tories.
The capacity of Queen Anne was limited, her notions were contracted, her
prejudices consequently strong.[363] Any opinions imbibed could with
difficulty, therefore, be eradicated from a mind which could view only
one side of the question; and early prepossessions seldom lose their
hold over our feelings, even when our judgment strives to dispel their
influence. Easy, and regardless of forms in private, Anne, when seated
on her throne, was jealous of her prerogative, retaining that attribute
of the Stuarts, whether it were implanted by others, or the result of a
disposition naturally tenacious of certain rights. Her heart had never
been wholly weaned from her father during his lifetime, nor from those
sentiments which James had inculcated both by precept and example; and,
in the Whigs, she saw only a party who were anxious to curb the power,
and to abridge the independence of the crown, upon a plan equally
systematic and dangerous.[364]
Before any political changes were adopted, the funeral of King William
took place. After several deliberations in council, it had been agreed
to perform his obsequies privately. The royal corpse was carried from
Kensington in an open chariot, during the night of Sunday, the 12th of
April, to the chapel of Henry the Seventh at Westminster. The pall was
borne by six Dukes. Prince George was chief mourner, supported by two
Dukes, and followed by sixteen of the first Earls in England, as
assistants, among whom was the Earl of Marlborough. A long train of
carriages closed the procession. Amidst the solemn service, and the
swelling anthem, the body of William was interred in the same vault with
Charles the Second, and with his late consort, Queen Mary.[365]
On the twenty-third of April the coronation of Queen Anne took place.
Her Majesty was carried in a low open chair to Westminster Abbey, from
the Hall. The ceremonies were those anciently prescribed, and the Queen
made the responses with her usual clear articulation and accurate
pronunciation.[366] When the Holy Bible was opened, she vouchsafed to
kiss the bishops;[367] and the ceremonials of the day concluded with a
banquet, during which Prince George sat by her side. The Queen, who had
remained at the Duke of Gloucester’s apartments in St. James’s till her
own rooms were hung with black, now went to Kensington at night, and
remained at St. James’s during the day.[368] The Countess of Marlborough
was, on all occasions, her constant attendant.
The change from royal robes to suits of mourning; from festive halls,
and the shouts of the people, to the now deserted apartments of her son,
or her own sombre, though stately chambers, would have grated upon a
more sensitive disposition than that which Anne possessed. Perhaps the
coronation of her father, when the crown tottered upon his head; perhaps
the half rebuke of her sister, upon a similar occasion, occurred with
bitterness to one who was now nearly the last of her family, with the
exception of her maternal uncle, and of her attainted nephew. At the
coronation of Mary, Anne, observing the Queen to be heated with the
weight of the royal robes, and tired with the solemnity, said to her in
a low voice, “Madam, I pity your fatigue.” “A crown, sister,” returned
Mary, quickly, “is not so heavy as it seems to be, or as you think it;”
the words being eagerly caught by the curious attendants around.[369]
Whilst the public were amused with the pageantry of this imposing
ceremony, busy cabals occupied the private hours of the Queen, and
within her palace, a contemporary writer has not hesitated to affirm,
there was a very busy market of all the offices of government. “For,”
says Cunningham, “the Queen’s own relations being kept at a distance,
all things were managed by the sole authority of one woman, to whom
there was no access but by the golden road; and it was to no purpose for
the Earl of Rochester to set forth his own duty, affection, and the
rights of consanguinity.”[370]
This “woman,” it needs scarcely to be stated, was the Countess of
Marlborough, whose frank avowal of her exertions to form the Queen’s
household, at this period, in her Conduct, was not necessary to
establish that which all the world knew. With respect to the grave
charge preferred against her by Mr. Cunningham, the consideration of her
imputed corruption must be hereafter discussed.
The elevation of her royal mistress to the throne brought the Countess,
as she observes, “into a new scene of life, and into a sort of
consideration with all those whose attention, either from curiosity or
ambition, was turned to politics and the court.”[371] Hitherto, whilst
her personal influence over the Princess had furnished many a topic for
the gossip of the day, it had produced no apparent effect upon the
affairs of the nation, the Princess herself never having been allowed
any means of interference in politics, or power in public appointments.
But now the Countess began to be regarded as one who possessed a great
extent of patronage,—that curse and temptation, as it often proves; in
short, as one, “without whose approbation neither places, pensions, nor
honours were conferred by the crown.”[372] The intimate friendship with
which she was honoured by the Queen favoured this supposition.
Yet the Countess’s ascendency over her Majesty, great as it was, proved
not sufficiently strong to overcome those obstinate, though it must be
acknowledged, honest prejudices by which the Queen was governed. Queen
Anne had, as the Duchess observes, “been taught to look upon all Whigs,
not only as republicans who hated the very shadow of legal authority,
but as implacable enemies to the Church of England.” Prince George
carried this dislike of the popular party even to a greater length; and,
having received many indignities from a Whig ministry in the former
reign, he threw into the scale against them all his resentments. Even
Lord Marlborough and Lord Godolphin, though open to conviction, and
having (so says the Duchess) “the real interest of the nation at heart,”
were, from education and early associations, partially Tories, and of
“the persuasion that the high church party were the best friends to the
constitution, both of Church and State; nor were they perfectly
undeceived,” remarks the gifted instrument of the conversion of these
great men, “but by experience.”[373]
The Countess of Marlborough had, therefore, almost invincible obstacles
to encounter, before she could hope to compass that which she avowedly
had at heart, the establishment of the Whig party in the royal councils.
But to so determined a spirit as hers, impediments based upon the wills
and opinions of those whom she was wont to govern, only heightened her
ardour in the cause which she espoused. From natural disposition, an
enemy to all false pretensions, and to everything that resembled
hypocrisy or cant, the clamorous zeal for religion boasted by the Tories
was peculiarly disgusting to her frank temper. She detected, through the
outcry raised against the Whigs, the workings of self-interest, not the
fervour of attachment to the sacred Liturgy, and to the purified
ordinances which had been so lately rescued from impending destruction.
The plea set forth for “safety of the church” she regarded merely as a
plausible means of working upon weak minds, and blinding others to the
selfish motives of personal ambition. For many years a secure looker-on,
almost in a private station, Lady Marlborough had probably seen
sufficient of the leaders of both parties to be fully aware that men of
all political opinions are actuated by mixed motives, and that whilst we
witness many transactions which are of “good report,” we must not seek
for “whatsoever is honest, whatsoever is pure,” from the principal
actors in a political faction. It was Lady Marlborough’s lot chiefly to
observe the higher orders of society, whose immediate interests were
affected by the success of those opinions which they maintained, and she
could not, from experience, be aware that it is the middling classes who
really and earnestly cherish certain notions, in the importance of which
to the public good they firmly believe. Public opinion is composed of
more extended tributes than those which the Countess of Marlborough took
into account. There can be little doubt, from the manifestations which
popular feeling continually displayed during the reign of Queen Anne,
that the pervading sentiments of the people were in accordance with
those of the high church party, whose intolerance and perversion of
terms she justly reprobates. “The _word_ church,” observes the Duchess,
fearless of the calumnies which attached a want of religion to her other
failings, “had never a charm for _me_, in the mouths of those who made
the most noise with it; for I could not perceive that they gave any
other distinguishing proof of their regard for the _thing_, than a
frequent use of the _word_, like a spell to enchant weak minds; and a
persecuting zeal against Dissenters, and against more real friends of
the church, who would not admit that _persecution_ was agreeable to its
doctrine.” And after this strong passage she adds, “And as to state
affairs, many of these churchmen seemed to me to have no fixed
principles at all, having endeavoured, during the last reign, to
undermine that very government which they had contributed to
establish.”[374]
Such persons as those to whom the Duchess here alludes, have been well
described by a later writer, of sound discernment, as exhibiting “in
their conversation the idiom of a party;” and suspecting “the sincerity
of those whose higher breeding and more correct habits discover a better
taste.”[375]
Notwithstanding Lady Marlborough’s efforts, the Queen continued to be
extremely reluctant to show any favour to the party which her favourite
espoused. Lord Marlborough and Lord Godolphin, being thought to stand on
neutral ground, were, in a degree, claimed by both Whigs and Tories; but
it was owing to the zeal and perseverance of Lady Marlborough that any
professed Whigs were retained in office. The Earl of Marlborough was,
indeed, obliged to be absent for a fortnight, whilst all the cabals
called into play, on the forming of a new cabinet, were in
activity.[376] By the Queen’s command, in his capacity of commander of
the English forces, and plenipotentiary, he was sent to the Dutch
states, with a letter of condolence to them on the death of William.
Whilst at the Hague, the Earl was appointed by the States, general of
their forces, with a salary of ten thousand pounds a year;[377] and on
the fifth of April he returned to take the chief direction of affairs,
and to receive new honours from the hand of his gracious sovereign.
Although reported to have been “more ambitious of gain than of power,”
the Earl and Countess must have experienced considerable disappointment
when the formation of the new cabinet was completed. Lord Somers, who at
this time was a deferential votary of the powerful Countess, and Lord
Halifax, who came into public life under Lord Godolphin’s auspices, were
both dismissed the council. In order to comprehend the state of parties,
and to understand in which direction the weight of talent and influence
was likely to preponderate in those unsettled times, some reference must
here be made to the preceding reign; and a short account of the
principal actors in the scenes of those factious days may not prove
uninteresting.
Lord Somers, whom Horace Walpole describes as “one of those divine men,
who, like a chapel in a palace, remain unprofaned, whilst all the rest
is tyranny, corruption, and folly,” had possessed more influence in the
councils of William than any other minister. He was, therefore, on the
accession of Anne, one of the most conspicuous marks for the violence of
faction. Agreeably to custom, those who could discover little to blame
in the elevation of this distinguished statesman, deprecated his origin.
The race from which he rose to a pre-eminent sphere, have been described
“as the dregs of the people.”[378] To his honour, and not to his shame,
might the fact redound, supposing the statement to be true; but,
unhappily for those who exulted in such a source of humiliation, and
attributed the modest demeanour of the Lord High Chancellor to a
consciousness of this humble origin, Somers sprang from a family both
ancient and respectable.
His ancestors, though not distinguished by the honours of rank, were
neither “hewers of wood nor drawers of water.”[379] From the time of the
Tudors, one branch of the Somers family had owned and inhabited an
ancient house in the northern suburbs of the city of Worcester, which
edifice, hallowed by the appellation of the “White Ladies,” from its
site, that of an ancient monastery, had been spared by foes, and
honoured by friends, during all the convulsions of the civil wars. In
“Somers’s House,” as the respected tenement was called, Queen Elizabeth
had been received, and entertained in her progress through the county.
The extensive and richly cultured gardens of the old conventual
residence had furnished the famous pears which that Queen, in the
fulness of her approbation, had added to the city arms, as a testimony
both of her satisfaction in eating the fruit, and of her admiration at
the good order by which a tree, laden with it, and transplanted from the
garden of the “White Ladies” into the market-place, could be preserved
from injury.
In Somers’s house Charles the Second took refuge before the battle of
Worcester, and left there the sacred relics of his garters, waistcoats,
and other garments, when he fled to Boscobel. And in this time-honoured
mansion, where his mother was placed for security, was born the
celebrated John Somers, just at the eventful time of the battle of
Worcester, 1651. His birth occurring in this species of sanctuary, and
in those times of commotion, was not inserted in any register.
The father of Lord Somers, notwithstanding the protection which his roof
had afforded to Charles the Second, commanded a troop of horse in
Cromwell’s army; but quitted the profession of arms upon the
establishment of the Commonwealth; and, enjoying a patrimony not
exceeding three hundred pounds a year, took a house in the precincts of
the cathedral at Worcester, and commenced practising as an attorney. On
his father’s pursuit of this calling, honourable in proportion to the
principle with which it is exercised, the future greatness of the young
John Somers was founded.
The civil wars had thrown into confusion some of the finest estates in
the county; and the elder Mr. Somers, in his legal capacity, found ample
employment in settling disputed rights, and revising dilapidated
fortunes. Amongst other families, the Talbots, Earls of Shrewsbury,
placed their estates and finances in his hands. The Earl of Shrewsbury,
at that time young, gay, accomplished, the godson of Charles the Second,
and the pupil of Father Petre, was a Roman Catholic; and had been, from
his infancy, the object of the zealous care and attention of those
active missionaries, the Jesuits. His spiritual guides and his other
tutors had formed a brilliant, and perhaps what may be termed an amiable
character, but had not produced a sound statesman, or an irreproachable
moralist. From his infancy, the licentiousness of a court, and the
darker passions that lurk in the shadows of that bright scene, had been
familiar to this young nobleman.
Five years before his acquaintance with Somers commenced, Lord
Shrewsbury had lost his father in a duel with the Duke of Buckingham,
whose horse was held by the abandoned wife of the murdered nobleman, in
the disguise of a page. Lord Shrewsbury had attractive and popular
qualities, which rendered him afterwards the darling of a people in
whose cause he proffered his fortune and influence, to compass the
Revolution. At the period when his acquaintance with the Somers family
began, he was disgusted with the unsatisfactory life of a courtier,
notwithstanding the adulation paid to his rank and to his possessions,
through the medium of personal flattery, and by the incense offered to
his talents. Resolved, also, to rid himself of the numerous priests and
other dependents who thronged around him, he retired to his estate in
Worcestershire, where much of his property was situated; but his seat at
Grafton not being in a fit state to receive him, the young nobleman made
the house of his agent, at the White Ladies, his principal abode. And
here a strange contrast must have been presented to the scenes, and the
society which the young but satiated man of fashion had quitted.
“Somers’-house,” as the old mansion was irreverently called by the
vulgar, was large enough to contain many separate families; and numerous
Blurtons, Foleys, and Cookseys, with whom the family of Somers had
intermarried, had already taken up their abodes in the capacious
edifice. These simple, and, as it happened, united and industrious
relatives, lived in the most primitive manner that could be devised,
somewhat after the fashion, but without the peculiarities, of a Moravian
establishment. They spent the mornings in their respective occupations:
some attended to the farm on the Somers property, and in cultivating
teasels; others were engaged in the clothing trade, in manufacturing
woad and madder; others superintended the labours of the cottagers,
dependencies twenty in number, after the conventual fashion; and the
making of bricks, tiles, and other building materials, which the
dilapidated state of the city brought into great request. When the
labours of the day were ended, all the relatives, their children and
visitants, repaired to the great hall of the old nunnery, dined together
at one common table, the products of their farm and their fish-ponds
furnishing the viands, and passed the evening in conversation or
merriment, or in discussions more engrossing, on politics and family
interests. At Christmas, the board was spread after the ancient fashion;
and the collar of brawn, and the huge saltcellar were displayed in the
old conventual hall during the whole winter.
In this busy and happy scene, the friendship of Lord Shrewsbury with
young Somers took root. Often occasional visiters swelled the number of
the inmates; for the old dormitories of the nuns were used by the
hospitable father of Lord Somers to supply the deficiency of inns and
taverns. Nor is it of slight importance to trace those circumstances
which mark the early portion of a great man’s life. In the motley
society of the “White Ladies,” the future Chancellor of England probably
learned to know himself and others. His prudence, his pliability in
matters of little consequence, his firmness in matters of moment, may
all have had exercise in the various emergencies and temptations to
which a boy is exposed among a large assemblage of older persons, with
whose affairs, and in whose family politics, he must necessarily,
sometimes involuntarily, participate.
So ardent was the friendship contracted in these scenes between Lord
Shrewsbury and Somers, that the latter, although intended for the bar,
delayed his removal to the university until he was twenty-two years of
age, in order that he might not sooner be separated from his friend, and
from the society at the “White Ladies.” So strong was the attachment
formed by Lord Somers to the old house where these social days were
passed, that one of his first cares, in after times of prosperity, was
to repair the venerable edifice, together with the Priory of St. Oswald
adjoining.[380] Nor did the happy community of the “White Ladies” cease
to welcome their favourite member, young Somers, at each college
vacation, after his removal to Oxford. The Earl of Shrewsbury and his
friend made, upon such occasions, that happy home their place of
meeting. The foundation of Somers’s fortunes was laid by the
introduction which his friend afforded him to Lord Shaftesbury, Sir
William Temple, and other leaders of the opposition, to the court of
Charles the Second: but a far greater benefit was achieved for Lord
Shrewsbury himself, in his conversion to a pure faith.
The vacations of the “White Ladies” were not idly, though they might
sometimes be unprofitably, spent. The celebrated Richard Baxter acted as
the spiritual guide of several members of the Somers family, and at that
time resided at Worcester. By the arguments of this pious divine, aided
by the conversation of Mr. Somers, who was nine years older than his
friend, Lord Shrewsbury was prepared for that conversion to the
Protestant faith, which Tillotson afterwards confirmed and commemorated.
It might have been well for public morals, if the pursuits of the two
friends had not taken another direction. The famous “Tale of a Tub” is
supposed to have had its origin in the leisure of the White Ladies.
Shrewsbury and Somers are said to have sketched the characters, and
composed the plan of the poem; Lord Shaftesbury, and Sir William Temple
treasured up the imperfect outlines, and entrusted them to Swift; Swift
manufactured the materials into their well-known form, and gave them to
the world.[381]
Like all really popular works of fiction, life itself supplied the
characters. Blurton, the uncle of Lord Somers, was portrayed in Martin,
the good church-of-England man. The grandfather of Lord Somers was
exhibited in Jack the Calvinist, the devoted disciple of the
Presbyterian Baxter. Father Peter was drawn from the famous Father
Petre. For the publication of this noted satire, Swift, as it is well
known, lost the chance of a bishoprick, in consequence of Queen Anne’s
scruples.
The introduction to Russell and Sidney, which Lord Shrewsbury afforded
to his friend, confirmed those political principles which Somers in a
degree inherited. During the reign of Charles the Second, he was
employed in writing state papers, ascribed to Sidney, but certainly the
productions of Somers’s pen. He wrote the celebrated answer to King
Charles’s declaration on dissolving the last Parliament. The study of
the classics varied the severer toils of law and politics. It was not,
however, until he had entered his thirty-seventh year, that Somers drew
upon his merits as a lawyer, and a statesman, the distinguished
approbation which had hitherto been accorded to him by the learned few.
In 1688 he became counsel for the bishops imprisoned by James the
Second; and by the great display of ability on that memorable occasion,
his future station in his profession, and in the state, was determined.
From that epoch in our country’s annals, Somers held on a consistent and
a patriotic course, until his death. He rose, says his bitterest
foe[382] to “be the head and oracle” of the Whig party. “He hath raised
himself by the concurrence of many circumstances,” says the same writer,
“to the greatest employments of the state, without the least support
from birth or fortune; he hath constantly, and with great steadiness,
cultivated those principles under which he grew.”[383] Although
incorrupt in his high station, he was compared to Bacon, but only in the
intellectual features of his noble character. As a statesman he was true
to his principles, above the littleness of avarice, inflexible upon
points of conscience, benevolent, energetic, just. During his long life
he sought every adequate means of benefiting mankind, and he projected
schemes to benefit posterity.
The public career of Somers was irreproachable, but not happy. Often
deceived in those whom he thought his friends, or the friends of his
principles, Lord Somers had suffered the indignity and injustice of an
impeachment in the late reign. His glorious refutation of that factious
charge achieved for him a reputation which an untried man could scarcely
have attained.
It was these trials of fortitude that drew from the early friend of
Somers the following observation.
“I wonder,” thus wrote the Earl of Shrewsbury from Italy, “that a man
can be found in England, who has bread, that will be concerned in public
business. Had I a son, I would sooner breed him a cobbler than a
courtier, a hangman than a statesman.”[384]
Lord Somers had no opportunity of evincing how far his sentiments in
this respect agreed with those of the noble Earl. He never married, and
his moral character shared in the general contamination of the age.[385]
The Duchess of Marlborough, in her opinions of the Whigs, comments
severely on his conduct in this respect; even whilst he was seated on
the woolsack, he offended the laws of society, and injured his best
interests by his example.[386] But her insinuations against his
integrity as a chancellor were refuted, by the unblemished probity which
all historians have attributed to this eminent and upright, but, as it
must unhappily be allowed, not wholly irreproachable man.
Lord Halifax was the other Whig member of the council who was dismissed
at the same time with Somers. These noblemen were both, at that time,
the personal friends of the Earl and Countess of Marlborough; yet it was
impossible, the Countess declares, to introduce Lord Somers into the
administration until near the close of Marlborough and Godolphin’s
influence with the Queen.[387]
Lord Somers, bland and courteous, never offending in word or look,
humble, as if unconscious of his great abilities, and yielding to others
far inferior to himself in judgment and knowledge, was not enslaved by
the talents, the beauty, and the power of Lady Marlborough; and, even at
this time, he was secretly disgusted by her arrogance and love of
domination. He submitted to the will of the Queen, as manifested in his
dismissal, with a lofty calmness, which gave that act of her Majesty the
semblance of an indignity, disgraceful to her judgment, rather than of a
mortification imposed upon Somers. Nor did the slights of worldly
friends, and the taunting opposition of foes, weaken his resistance to
those measures of which he disapproved, or abate his ardour to promote
schemes of which he augured well, whether proposed by a party who had
deserted him, or by adversaries who rejoiced in his adversity.
Repressing the impulses of a temper naturally impetuous, he permitted
the extensive information which he possessed concerning all the
political interests of Europe, his profound knowledge as a lawyer, and
his manly eloquence, still to be useful in the service of his country;
and his great character stood unsullied by petulance; a mark for envy,
which could not sap its noble foundations, although it might by calumny
injure and deface its exterior. But whilst Lord Somers thus encountered
unmerited contumely, his companion in the loss of office, Lord Halifax,
was not so resigned to the loss of an importance on which his vanity
rendered him dependent for comfort.
“Mouse Montague,”[388] as Lady Marlborough, writing after their
estrangement, contemptuously calls Lord Halifax, was descended from the
house of Manchester, but, being a younger brother, his patrimony
amounted to fifty pounds a year only. With this, as the Duchess remarks,
he “could make no great figure.”[389] His name was given him for a
political work, which first brought him into notice; for it was the
fashion of the day to attach some appellation to the great men who most
attracted public attention. Even the pulpit was sometimes the origin of
such appropriations; and the great Godolphin is said to have been
mortified and enraged by the addition of “Volpone” to his other
designations, affixed to him by a sermon preached by Dr. Sacheverel.
Mr. Montague, endowed with his humble title, soon rose into fame. He
became a member of parliament, and attracted the notice of Godolphin. He
had abilities which recommended him to the notice of that able minister.
His knowledge of finance was accurate; and he displayed minor
qualifications which were serviceable, when conjoined with those of
others, though they might not have enabled him to stand alone. Montague
exercised the arts which please, and possessed the talents which dazzle.
It would be presumptuous to say of the man whom Addison extolled, and
whom Steele described, (in a dedication be it remembered,) as “the
greatest of living poets,”[390] that he had, as Swift said of Lord
Sunderland, but an “understanding of the middling size.” But he was, as
Pope observes, “fed with dedications,” though he does not appear, from
all accounts, to have been very willing to recompense his flatterers by
feeding them in return. As a politician, he was timid and uncertain,
because governed more by a desire for his own interest, than by a fixed
principle. His oratory was energetic as well as elegant; but his conduct
wanted the vigour which gave expression to his language only. His
patronage of literature and of literary men, however it may have been
ridiculed, was the most respectable feature in a character which cannot
stand the test of examination. His poems, with the exception of two,
were written upon public events, in which the views of a politician were
mingled with the gallantry of a man of the world. It is not to be
expected that a poem on the death of Charles the Second, or an ode on
the marriage of the Princess Anne, should display much inspiration. His
lordship’s verses on the Toasting Glasses of the Kit-Cat Club are
allowed by Horace Walpole, with contemptuous brevity, to be “the best of
the set.” His “knack of making pretty ballads,” which Lady Marlborough
graciously ascribed to him, elevated as it was by flattery into
excellence, was not the only social talent which Lord Halifax possessed.
He read aloud admirably; and Lord Godolphin, having a good deal of that
business to do, employed him frequently in this way. His manners,
notwithstanding that the Duchess of Marlborough compares him, for
ill-breeding, to Sir Robert Walpole, were acknowledged to be elegant.
His disposition was social; and, where circumstances did not tend to
draw money from his pocket, he was benevolent. He had the merit
(ascribed to him by Steele, who sullied the just praise by the
subsequent flattery) of having, “by his patronage, produced those arts
which before shunned the light, into the service of life.”[391] To his
exertions, as first commissioner of the Treasury, the stability of paper
credit and the improvement of the crown were due. He projected the
national library; and, to bring his merits to their climax, he had the
honour of sharing an impeachment with Somers, and of defending himself
against it with success.
Lady Marlborough encouraged the advances made by Lord Halifax to procure
her favour, and courted his regard in return. His predominant weakness
was a love of female admiration; and although, as the Duchess, in her
old age, and when there was no Lord Halifax to show himself, or to hear
her remarks, observed, “he was a frightful figure,” yet he “followed
several beauties who laughed at him for it.”[392] Such were her
expressions when parties and politics pleased no longer. In her younger
and busier days, the manœuvring Lady Marlborough humoured the politician
and the coxcomb, by “projecting marriages and other allurements.”[393]
“She came,” says Cunningham, “one evening to his lordship’s country
villa, as if by accident, bringing with her performers and instruments
to compose a concert, which lasted till late in the night.”[394] The
Italian music, then lately introduced, engrossed the fashionable world;
and so busied in the acquisition, and with the patronage of this
newly-imported taste, were even politicians, that the enemies of the
Duke of Marlborough gave out that men of no experience—men frequenting
the theatres, squandered the public money, as well as their own, and
mismanaged public affairs. Lady Marlborough attended the numerous
entertainments with which Halifax, combining profit with pleasure,
treated the citizens, with whom he possessed much interest. The ladies
all smiled upon the noble poet, who managed his costly galas with skill
and effect. But the thrifty politician (careful and covetous, as many
persons are in private who passionately love display) ate upon pewter
when alone, that his plate might not be injured by too much rubbing.
Indeed, according to Lady Marlborough, he did worse; for he sometimes
paid the authors whom he patronised, with presents given by others, the
merit of which he took to himself.[395]
Lord Halifax had not, at this period of his life, experienced how unsafe
it is to lay bare the weaknesses of the heart of man to that dangerous
being, a female wit. Self-interested, vain, restless, petulant, and even
almost absurd, as he was, we cannot suppose him devoid of some good
qualities, which secured him the confidence of Godolphin, and the esteem
of Somers; yet the well-known and, in their way, almost unequalled lines
of Pope will be called to recollection.
“Proud as Apollo on his forked hill,
Sat full-blown Buffo, puff’d by every quill;
Fed with soft dedication all day long,
Horace and he went hand in hand in song.”[396]
In strong contrast with Halifax, how must the social qualities of Somers
have risen in comparison; how refreshing must have been his good sense,
which set forth all his great qualifications in order and beauty; how
delightful that delicate sense of politeness which sprang in him from a
humanity of disposition; which appeared in the least important of his
actions; which manifested itself in the kindly expression of the
countenance, in the refined manners, in the very tone of his voice. How
admirable at once the solidity and the eloquence of a mind which
comprehended not only the most abstruse sciences, the most profound and
varied knowledge, but which displayed the graceful acquirements of an
accomplished gentleman. Whilst Halifax employed his hours of recreation
“to fetch and carry sing-song up and down,” Somers, by dividing his time
between the public scenes of life, and the retirement of a cheerful, not
an unemployed and gloomy and selfish retirement, attained a perfection
of taste, an elegance and purity of style, that few men of his
profession and station, engrossed as they must necessarily be with dry
and recondite researches, have been enabled to acquire. He had, says
Swift, “very little taste for conversation;”[397] and, unlike his
associate _Buffo_, who
“Received of wits an undistinguished race,”
consoled himself, in his hours of recreation, “with the company of an
illiterate chaplain or favourite servant.”—Yet the man who never
delivered an opinion of a piece of poetry, a statue, or a picture,
without exciting admiration from the just, and happy, and delicate turns
of expression which he adopted, must have loved to commune with higher
minds than the unsuitable companions whom Swift has assigned to his
leisure hours.[398]
Queen Anne retained in his office, as lord high steward, William Duke of
Devonshire. This nobleman, “a patriot among the men, a Corydon among the
ladies,”[399] had officiated at her Majesty’s coronation, as he had done
at that of William and Mary,—where his stately deportment and handsome
person, as in costly attire he bore the regal crown, eclipsed the sickly
monarch, lowly in stature, behind whom he walked, whilst his daughter
bore Queen Mary’s train. Whilst a boy, he had borne the royal train,
with three other noble youths, at a similar ceremonial, when Charles the
Second ascended the throne. Yet, though descending from a stock devoted
to the Stuarts, and though his grandmother, the celebrated Countess of
Devonshire, was instrumental in the Restoration, the high-minded peer
became, upon conviction, a strenuous supporter of that liberty and of
those rights upon which the second James so largely encroached. He voted
for the bill of exclusion, and spoke boldly, though always with
politeness and temper, upon that famous measure. At the trial of his
friend Lord Russell, when it was almost deemed criminal to be a witness
in behalf of the illustrious prisoner, Lord Cavendish, with the Earl of
Anglesea, Mr. Howard, Tillotson, and Burnet, gave his testimony to the
honour, the prudence, and good life of the distinguished sufferer. When
he found that the doom of Russell was inevitable, he sent him a message,
entreating to be allowed to change cloaks with him, and to remain in the
prison whilst Russell should make his escape. The noble refusal of the
generous offer is well known. It was Cavendish’s sad office to attend
his beloved, and more than ever honoured friend, to the last; to solace
the wretched Lady Russell, and bear the last message of affection from
the noblest of beings to one who merited all his love. In the court, and
in the senate, Lord Cavendish displayed the gallant qualities which had
been manifested in the prison of Lord Russell. Insulted in the precincts
of the court by Colonel Culpeper, a creature of King James’s, he
retaliated by dragging the offending party out of the presence-chamber,
and caning him on the head. For this act he was prosecuted and fined
5000_l._ But Cavendish, then Earl of Devonshire, chose rather to go to
the King’s Bench prison, than to pay a fine which he thought exorbitant.
He escaped to Chatsworth, where, in the midst of difficulties occasioned
by loans in the former earl’s time to the exiled family never repaid,
and aggravated by Lord Cavendish’s own rash castigation of Culpeper, his
energetic mind framed a plan for remodelling the venerable pile in which
he had sought security. The famous waterworks, the gardens, pictures,
statues, and a great portion of the modernised structure, were the
result of this nobleman’s magnificent taste and profuse
expenditure.[400] His splendour and liberality were guided by an economy
as essential to the peer who wishes to retain his independence, as to
the peasant. His attention to the meanest of his guests was such, that
when he gave an entertainment, he would send for the groom-porter to
inquire if he, and all of the same degree, had received due provision.
His love of liberty was shown in a favourite saying of his, “that the
deer in his park were happier than subjects under a tyrannical king:”
or, as he expressed the same sentiments in his own poetry—
“O despicable state of all that groan
Under a blind dependency on one!
How far inferior to the herds that range,
With native freedom, o’er the woods and plains!”[401]
But whilst the noble Cavendish detested that tyranny under the effects
of which Russell had perished, and the whole British nation had
suffered, in the properties and safety of its subjects, during the reign
of James the Second, his well-conditioned mind cherished the elevating
sentiments of loyalty, where loyalty was justly due. That bond of social
union he prized, as every rightly thinking man must prize it, as an
auxiliary to freedom, and a rallying point for the sincere, and the
well-intentioned of all political opinions, however opposed on other
points. The character of Lord Cavendish affords an illustration of the
truth, that it is perfectly consistent with the lover of liberty, and
the advocate of the subject’s right, to cherish the most ardent zeal for
the maintenance of regal authority, and to feel the strongest personal
attachment to the sovereign. Far from being one of those who, in the
unsettled state of the government, desired that its disarranged elements
might settle into a republic, the Earl of Devonshire, though he signed
the association to invite William the Third to England, was the first of
the nobility to step forward to protect the person of the Princess Anne,
whom he guarded with a loyal and chivalric zeal which has been already
described.
This model for English noblemen had received the honour of a dukedom in
1694, the preamble to his patent containing some of the highest
compliments from William and Mary ever offered from a monarch to a
subject. He was one of the few who was honoured with an equal respect
and confidence by their successor. Unhappily for the Whig party, to whom
his influence was consistently given, this peer did not enjoy his
restored fortunes, and high favour, many years after the accession of
Anne. His deathbed was instructive, as the last scene of a life which,
exhibiting the most generous and heroic qualities, had displayed,
nevertheless, sundry irregularities. The love of pleasure and the love
of virtue are sometimes strangely conjoined in the same character.
Courteous, though commanding; in person at once attractive and stately;
accomplished in the ornamental arts—poetry, painting, music; standing on
a high eminence, and living, from his youth upwards, in public life;—the
errors of the Duke of Devonshire were attributable to the pervading
spirit of the times. What we call virtue in private life was not then
recognised by the great and fashionable. The Duke, like most other men
of his class, had fallen into those received notions which exempt men
from the purity, and decorum, which are at once the restraint and the
safeguard of woman. On his deathbed the man of pleasure and of the world
felt that he had driven off his repentance too late. Happily, his senses
were spared to him. He sent for Dr. Kennet, and entreated that prelate
“to pray heartily with him to God that he would accept of his
repentance.” He declared himself ready to ask pardon of all whom he had
offended, and also to forgive others. At every successive visit from his
reverend adviser, he reiterated his repentance. His prayers for the
“peace of God” were earnest, and, as it seemed, effectual. After the
many agonising struggles of a wounded and chastened mind—after evincing
his real piety by acts of justice and of charity, (beautiful planets,
which should ever shine upon the deathbed,) peace was given to him.
Fortitude and patience were added to that inward conviction of pardon.
He fixed the probable hour of his departure, and asked what was the
easiest way of dying. His soul departed, as it seemed, in a peaceful
slumber. “And thus,” says his biographer, “he fell asleep, not merely
like an ancient Roman, but rather like a good Christian.”[402]
The death of Cavendish raised up a memorable controversy among the
clergy, upon the propriety of receiving deathbed repentance, and of
ratifying it with the administration of the sacraments. The question, as
was usually the case in those days, was raised by party clamour rather
than by religious zeal; and Dr. Kennet, who preached the funeral sermon
of the Duke, was branded with opprobrium by the whole body of the
clergy, for a contempt of discipline.[403]
Of a very different character was Thomas, created, in 1714, Marquis of
Wharton, whose white staff was given by the Queen, before his face, to
Sir Edward Seymour,—an affront so marked as to draw down the following
threat in private from the offended nobleman:—“That he would soon
provide himself with other rods to chastise the new ministers.”[404]
This able, but unprincipled man, received his dismissal in a manner very
different from the dignified demeanour of Somers, on incurring a similar
mortification. Wharton was a specimen of those unsound materials of
which parties are composed, and of which honest and great men are
forced, by political compact, to make use. It seems singular that a man
who scoffed at all religions, and outraged every right feeling, should
have been brought up in the most rigid puritanical principles. The
mother of Lord Wharton, more especially, was one of the zealous
adherents to the Presbyterian faith. But though he deviated from the
parental precept, and conformed to the national worship, Wharton had
imbibed in his early education a love of constitutional freedom, which
not all the seductions of royal favour could efface.[405] His morals he
owed to a different school. A favourite companion of Charles the Second,
he never, like Marlborough, and Somers, and Cavendish, retrieved the
errors of early youth by a sincere and effectual amendment. The
consciences of those individuals were wounded by a sense of their
transgressions; but his was hardened. His nature was debased by habitual
sin; they, “like sheep, were led astray,” but their hearts were not
corrupted. Purity, holiness, honour, had always charms for these great
men, and must always have charms for those who are really great; but, to
Lord Wharton, these lights were dim.[406]
In the opinion entertained of Lord Wharton by the world, William seems
to have coincided; for, in spite of Wharton’s activity as one of his
most powerful partisans, and of his Majesty’s endurance, not to say
enjoyment, of his coarse and fearless jokes,[407] he advanced Wharton to
no place of political importance. By William, Lord Wharton was made
comptroller of the household, an office far below his ambition, and, as
far as ability should be taken into account, his deserts.
Wharton was an associate, but not a friend, of Marlborough and
Godolphin. He was, in truth, a brier in their path; a dangerous friend,
more dreaded than a foe; a man whose elevation they feared even more
than his open enmity. He was an able debater, bold, and therefore likely
to be, to a certain extent, powerful; for irresolute characters are
governed by those of a decisive and fearless temper. His fluency,
however, was devoid of all grace, his manner was coarse, his wit
pungent, but always tainted with grossness. His attacks upon others were
unsparing and reckless.
The absence of all religion—not merely the sceptical turn of many of
those who aimed at being thought wits, but an avowed, and, as it is not
difficult, in such a case, to believe, an actual infidelity,—may
sufficiently account for the dereliction from all that is honourable and
estimable, which Thomas Lord Wharton’s political career presented. It
also accounts for the marked indignity offered to him by Queen Anne in
the mode of his dismissal. Sir Edward Seymour, the leader of the Tories,
and the promoter of the impeachment of Somers and Halifax in 1701, was
substituted in his place. The privy seal was given to the Marquis of
Normanby, a nobleman of great accomplishments and of personal beauty,
who was not the less agreeable to Anne from having been the first who
aspired to her hand, before Prince George was fixed upon as her destined
husband. Rich, young, attractive, Lord Normanby, then Lord Mulgrave,
might doubtless have succeeded in obtaining her consent; but though his
addresses were silenced, they were not forgotten by the Queen.[408] The
appointment of Lord Nottingham and Sir Charles Hedges to be principal
secretaries of state completed the manifestation of the Queen’s
inclination for the high church party.
CHAPTER XII.
Dissatisfaction of the Countess of Marlborough—Formation of the new
Cabinet—Her efforts to convert the Queen—Quarrels with Lord
Rochester—Reports concerning the sale of offices—The Duchess’s
sentiments on the proper mode of such appointments—Cabals within the
court.
1701–2. The Countess of Marlborough viewed all these changes with a very
dissatisfied mind. “The wrong-headed politicians,” as she designated
them, who succeeded those “who had been firm to the Revolution,” found,
in her, a determined, and, what was more to their injury, a persevering
enemy. The Countess did not, after the manner of her sex, break out into
loud invectives at these ministerial appointments, nor excite the Queen,
if that were possible, by violent arguments, to maintain a cause which
always becomes dearer to ladies in proportion to the frequency of the
attacks made upon it. Sagacious, though resolute, she resolved, from the
very beginning of the Queen’s reign, “to try whether she could not, by
degrees, make impressions on her, more favourable to the Whigs.” The
difficulties of her task would have deterred a less ardent character;
and the zeal with which she accomplished her purpose argues, in some
measure, for the reality and genuineness of her principles; for if, as
it was broadly stated, offices were avowedly sold by Lady Marlborough,
it could be of little importance to her, supposing that she were
governed solely by such base motives as were imputed to her, which party
had the ascendency, as long as she herself remained in favour.
“As to private interest,” remarks the Duchess, “the Whigs could have
done nothing for my advantage more than the Tories. I needed not the
assistance of either to ingratiate me with the Queen; she had, both
before and since her accession, given the most unquestionable proofs
that she considered me, not only as a most faithful servant, but as her
dear friend.[409]
“It is plain, therefore,” continues the Duchess, “that I could have no
motive of private interest to bias me in favour of the Whigs; everybody
must see that had I consulted that oracle about the choice of a party,
it would certainly have directed me to go with them to the stream of my
mistress’s inclination and prejudice. This would have been the surest
way to secure my favour with her.”[410]
She appears, nevertheless, from one of the Queen’s letters, never to
have abated in her zeal for the Whig principles, on account of the
Queen’s often avowed predilections for the Tories. “Your poor,
unfortunate, faithful Morley,” writes Anne, who, after the death of the
Duke of Gloucester, added the last epithet to those terms of affection
which she generally used, “would not have you differ in opinion with her
in the least thing. And upon my word, my dear Mrs. Freeman,” she adds,
“you are mightily mistaken in your notion of a Tory. For the character
you give of them does not belong to them, but to the church. But I will
say no more on this subject, but only beg, for my poor sake, that you
would not show more countenance to those you seem to have so much
inclination for than for the church party.”[411] Such was the style in
which the Queen of England addressed her subject, about a year after her
accession. But it is probable that even at this time Anne began to fear,
rather than to love this female keeper of her royal conscience.
The world, at least the court world, all contributed, of course, to
intoxicate, by interested adulation, the haughty, rather than vain mind
of the groom of the stole and keeper of the privy purse. The Whigs, whom
Lady Marlborough declared she regarded as her personal enemies, paid her
but little respect, but the Tories were ready to overwhelm her with
compliments, upon any little service, paid or unpaid, which she might
condescend to perform for one of their party. Lord Rochester, whom the
Countess never forgave for having recommended Queen Anne to send her to
St. Albans during the disputes between the two royal sisters,[412]
condescended to write her a “very fine piece,” when a vacancy occurred
in the Queen’s household, and when it was his desire that his
daughter,[413] Lady Dalkeith, first cousin to her Majesty, should be
made one of the ladies of the bedchamber. “I confess,” says the Duchess,
“indeed, I was not a little surprised at this application from his
lordship. I thank God, I have experience enough of my own temper to be
very sure I can forgive any injury, when the person from whom I have
received it shows anything like repentance. But could I ever be so
unfortunate as to persecute another without cause, as my Lord Rochester
did me, I am confident that even want of bread could not induce me to
ask a favour of that person; but surely his lordship had something very
uncommon in his temper.”[414]
The appointment was not given to Lady Dalkeith, on the pretext that the
number of ladies fixed by the Queen had been exceeded during the
lifetime of the deceased lady whom Lady Dalkeith had wished to succeed;
to which was added the declaration, that upon the first vacancy the list
was to be reduced to ten, which number the Queen considered sufficient.
This, probably, was merely an excuse. The Duchess, indeed, declares that
she could have forgiven his lordship’s ill-treatment of herself, if she
had thought that he sought to promote the Queen’s true interest. “But
the gibberish of that party,” as she calls it, “about non-resistance,
and passive obedience, and hereditary right, I could not think it
forebode any good to my mistress, whose title rested on a different
foundation.” She therefore naturally desired to keep Lord Rochester, a
high churchman from hereditary principles, and his family, as much from
the Queen’s presence as she possibly could; whilst she endeavoured by
all possible means to work upon the opinions of the well-disposed, but
shallow and obstinate Anne.
It is not such minds as those either of the Queen or the favourite, that
are open to conviction. “I did,” says the Duchess, “speak very freely
and very frequently to her Majesty upon the subject of Whig and Tory,
according to my conception of their different views and
principles.”[415] The Queen had, indeed, assured her that she could not
give her a greater proof of her friendship than in speaking plainly to
her on all things; and of this proof the Countess was ever disposed to
give her Majesty the full experience and benefit.
The Queen had not long ascended the throne, before an order in council
was issued, to “prohibit the selling of places within her Majesty’s
household.” But this, it was observed, was not done, until Lady
Marlborough had disposed of a considerable number.[416] Indeed, from the
testimony of various historians, this practice, on the Countess’s part,
appears to have been notorious; yet how can her noble professions be
made to agree with her alleged shameless corruption?
“If I had power to dispose of places,” she writes to Lord Godolphin,
“the first rule I would have would be, to have those that were proper
for the business; the next, those that deserved upon any occasion; and
whenever there was room, without hurting the public, I think one would
with pleasure give employments to those who were in so unhappy a
condition as to want them.”[417]
Upon the disinterestedness or the cupidity of Lady Marlborough’s
disposition, and respecting the sincerity of her professions, posterity
is far more likely to put a fair and just construction than were her
jealous and party-inflamed contemporaries.
The conduct of the Queen, in throwing her government chiefly into the
hands of the Tories, was attributed to the understanding between Lord
Marlborough and that party, that the war with France and the grand
alliance should be continued; a measure upon which he founded the basis
of his future fortunes.[418] By some writers it was insinuated, that a
difference of opinion upon political subjects existed between the Earl
and his Countess; and that the Queen’s first political changes were
promoted by Lord Marlborough in opposition to the Countess, and
accomplished for the purpose of being at the head of the grand
confederacy: and it was surmised that he fell into the Queen’s
inclinations to favour the Tories, contrary to the wishes of his Whig
consort.[419] By another partisan of the high church party it has been
declared, that when Queen Anne came to the throne, both the Earl and
Countess of Marlborough were the “staunchest Tories in the kingdom;” and
that the subsequent change of politics was accounted for by jealousy of
the Queen’s relations, Prince George and Lord Rochester, whose influence
was obnoxious to those who would not be contented with a divided rule.
“Hence,” says this writer, “these two noble personages now mentioned,
thought fit to put themselves at the head of the Whig interest, which
they knew they could manage without fears of a rival.”[420]
Meantime, the administration of the late King’s affairs led to much
discontent, and gave rise to shameless peculation. “This was an age,”
says a contemporary writer, “when such a spirit of rapacity prevailed,
that not only were bad men greedy of gain, but even those that were
reputed men of virtue endeavoured to bring all things into confusion, so
that they might acquire to themselves preferments, titles, and
honours.”[421] Godolphin, whose character for probity stood well with
all parties, descended so far as to advise the Queen not to pay the late
King’s debts, or, at least, only so much as he thought proper to allow.
He discharged the claims of those who could exercise the greatest
political interest; others he delayed; others disallowed; a proceeding
dishonourable to the Lord Treasurer, the more especially as the King had
left assets enough to satisfy all demands, independent of aid from the
Exchequer. And whilst this ill-advised frugality was disgraceful in the
extreme, it was likewise inconsistent with the laws of England, by which
every just claimant is entitled to protection.[422] The Prince of
Denmark presented the King’s equipages and horses to Lord Grantham, the
master of the horse. The Queen took the royal ensigns of the Order of
the Garter. When the rest of King William’s goods and furniture were to
be divided, Lord Montague threatened the Countess of Marlborough with a
prosecution for his share, which, it is presumed, he suspected her
ladyship of appropriating; but the favourite contrived to pacify the
angry nobleman, and to effect an union by marriage between her own and
Lord Montague’s family.[423]
Upon the return of Lord Marlborough from Holland, the Queen announced to
both Houses of Parliament her intention of declaring war against France,
and this measure being approved, war was proclaimed on the fourth of
May.
The succession was now settled, and the Electress Sophia of Hanover was
ordered to be prayed for by her christian name, indicating that her
title to the throne was by her own blood. Towards this Princess, eminent
for her accomplishments and personal character, Anne evinced throughout
her reign far more jealousy than she ever manifested towards the young
Pretender, lately proclaimed in France, King of Great Britain. It was
reported, immediately after the death of William the Third, that that
monarch had left among his papers a scheme for setting aside his
sister-in-law from the succession, for bringing in the House of Hanover,
and even for imprisoning Anne to effect this purpose. The Tories, in
order to influence the elections, talked loudly and confidently of the
truth of these reports. Five commissioners, namely, the Dukes of
Somerset and Devonshire, the Earls Marlborough, Jersey, and Albemarle,
were empowered to examine his late Majesty’s papers, in order to prove
the truth or falsehood of these rumours. Eventually they were declared
by a vote of the House of Commons to be false and scandalous.[424]
The oath of abjuration, notwithstanding a general expectation to the
contrary, was taken by both Houses of Parliament, with, however, a
mental reservation by many, that the right of the pretended Prince of
Wales, solemnly abjured by them, was a legal, and not a divine right, or
birthright; nor did they consider their abjuration binding in case of a
revolution or a conquest. “This,” says Burnet, “was too dark a thing to
be inquired after, or seen into, in the state matters were then in.” Yet
the lurking spirit of disaffection, like a blight, had its unseen but
perceptible influence upon all classes of society; more especially upon
that which, struggling to hold the reins of empire, was harassed by
party clamour. The well-known, and, it must be acknowledged, excusable
partiality of the Queen for her own family, kept alive the spirit of
Jacobitism in the country. Lady Marlborough fearlessly spoke her
sentiments to the Queen on this subject.
“When I saw,” she observes, “she had such a partiality to those that I
knew to be Jacobites, I asked her one day whether she had a mind to give
up her crown; for if it had been her conscience not to wear it, I do
solemnly protest I would not have disturbed her, or struggled as I did.
But she told me she was not sure the Prince of Wales was her brother,
and that it was not practicable for him to come here, without ruin to
the religion and country.”[425]
Whilst this struggle for power was carried on between parties at home,
Marlborough was negociating in Holland for a continuance of that
alliance which raised his prosperity to its height. The French monarch,
on the death of William, had in vain endeavoured to detach the Dutch
from the English interest. The personal influence of Marlborough, and
his talents as a negociator, completely frustrated this attempt on the
part of Louis; but some time elapsed before he could, with equal
success, arrange another matter of dispute. The Queen was extremely
desirous that her husband, the Prince of Denmark, should succeed to the
command of the united forces, and, in a great measure, supply the place
of the late King in Holland. The Dutch were by no means agreeable to
this proposition, which was, in the first instance, made an absolute
condition by the Queen. Prince George had the ambition to desire,
without the talent to acquire distinction; he was, moreover, a confirmed
invalid, and of a very moderate capacity for anything, especially for
military operations. The States, therefore, offered to Marlborough the
powers which he had negociated to obtain for Prince George, and that
great general deemed it expedient to accept their proposals, and to
return to England, to expound all that had passed between him and the
States, and to maintain the necessity of promoting a good understanding
between them and England.
Lord Rochester, in the council, with other Tories who were favourable to
the French interests, loudly opposed a war which they foresaw would
augment the power of Marlborough, and consequently of his lady and her
Whig friends. But, notwithstanding these clamours, war was proclaimed on
the fourth of May, in London, at the Hague, and Vienna; and Marlborough
once more set sail from the English shores, and repaired to Holland. But
whilst the measures which he advocated were thus carried into effect,
Lord Marlborough had the mortification to perceive a growing coolness
between himself and Lord Rochester, an impetuous and well-intentioned
man, between whom and Lord Marlborough there had been a friendship of
long standing, unshaken by Lady Marlborough’s dislikes and
bickerings.[426] In quitting the shores of England, the great general
experienced, in the midst of many sources of vexation, how invariably
the eminent, and the successful, pay a tax to the rest of mankind for
the possession of their envied advantages. Marlborough, hurried from one
kingdom to another—harassed by the loss of friends—fortunate, but not
happy—would, in certain seasons of depression, have gladly exchanged all
his bright prospects and high honours, for the leisure of Holywell, and
for the real affection of his idolized wife. Lady Marlborough
accompanied him to Margate, where her husband was detained for some days
by contrary winds. At last the wind changed; the vessel was ready to
sail; the signal to depart was given. Lord Marlborough, who had been
solicitous for war, ardent in the expectation of reaping honours on the
plains of Holland, eager to depart, saw the signal which summoned him,
with unwonted anguish. He contemplated, perhaps, years of separation
from her to whom, in absence, every fond thought was given; who, though
past the bloom of youth, was the object of an attachment almost
romantic—an attachment, enthusiastic as it was, which elevated the noble
and affectionate heart of the great Marlborough. Since the accession of
Anne, his domestic comfort had indeed been impaired by the altered
position of his spoiled and arbitrary wife. The event which called her
forth into public life, called forth also passions which embittered the
intercourse between her and the good, the moderate, the kind-hearted
Marlborough. It was in vain that he had endeavoured to control her
vehement enmities, or to subdue her eager desire of interference in
political affairs. Her busy spirit was not kept in subjection by any of
that useful fear which sometimes serves as a restraint, on important
occasions, to women who, in the minor concerns of life, can act the
tyrant with a resolution worthy of a reasonable cause.
Lady Marlborough was not restrained, by any respect for the
understanding of the Queen, from intruding her notions on politics, when
unbidden or unwelcome. Her high spirit had been wounded, unpardonably,
by the appointment of a Tory ministry, in direct opposition to her
wishes; and she chose not, even whilst obliged to submit, to permit the
Queen to enjoy her sovereign pleasure unmolested. Incessant bickerings,
in which Marlborough and Godolphin were obliged to interfere, and to
soothe the angry passions of “Queen Sarah,” as she was popularly called,
had already begun to weaken the ardent friendship of Mrs. Freeman and
Mrs. Morley, while they embittered the life of Lord Marlborough in
another way. Both Lord Godolphin and the Duke considered it their duty,
in such disputes, to take the Queen’s part. Doubtless, as far as
fluency, courage, and perseverance were concerned, it was obviously the
weaker side; but, in the adjustment of these differences, Lord
Marlborough and his wife were often opposed in opinions; and Godolphin
and Marlborough must infallibly have been disposed to agree with their
subsequent foe, Harley. “I see,” said that consummate courtier, “no
difference between a mad Whig and a mad Tory.”[427]
Matrimonial differences were the result of these rencontres; and the
temperate, benevolent Marlborough suffered keenly from the occasional
irritability of a wife, to purchase whose affections he would, as it
appears from his letters, have made any sacrifice but that of principle.
Notwithstanding all these painful remembrances, the bonds of domestic
life, which he was leaving, had abundant charms to rivet the noble heart
of the most humane, the most exemplary of heroes. Lord Marlborough, who
could face the enemies of his country undaunted, was overwhelmed with
grief when he bade his wife and family farewell. He hastened on board
the vessel, to conceal the agitation which he could not master. How
beautiful, how touching, is the following letter, written by him from on
board the vessel, shortly after this parting!
“It is impossible to express with what a heavy heart I parted with you
when I was at the waterside. I could have given my life to have come
back, though I knew my own weakness so much that I durst not, for I
should have exposed myself to the company. I did, for a great while,
with a perspective glass, look upon the cliffs, in hopes I might have
had one sight of you. We are now out of sight of Margate, and I have
neither soul nor spirits; but I do at this minute suffer so much, that
nothing but being with you can recompense it. If you will be sensible of
what I now feel, you will endeavour ever to be easy to me, and then I
shall be most happy, for it is only you that can give me true content. I
pray God to make you and yours happy, and if I could contribute anything
to it with the utmost hazard of my life, I should be glad to do
it.”[428]
What can we say to the woman who could undervalue such affection, and
fritter away the happiness, the glory of being Marlborough’s wife, in
petty intrigues and heart-burnings which marred their matrimonial
felicity. Some qualities there must have been, generous and attaching in
her character, which attracted, in spite of the vexations raised by her
provoking activity and interference—in spite even of temper, that word
of mighty import in the catalogue of human woes—the ever-returning
affection of her husband towards her. The most gentle, the most
irreproachable of wives could scarcely have deserved proofs of tender
consideration more touching than the foregoing and following letters;
and, probably, to speak seriously, would not have received them. It is a
remarkable fact, that the most arrogant women often inspire the greatest
devotion in those to whom fate has united them, especially if the
partner of that lot be of a gentle and clinging disposition.
“I do assure you,” writes the great Marlborough, on occasion of some
political broil, “I had much rather the whole world should go wrong than
you should be uneasy, for the quiet of my life depends only on your
kindness. I beg you to believe that you are dearer to me than all things
in the world. My temper may make you and myself sometimes uneasy; but
when I am alone, and I find you kind, if you knew the true quiet I have
in my mind, you would then be convinced of my being entirely yours, and
that it is in no other power in this world to make me happy but
yourself.”
On another occasion he adds, “’Tis impossible, my dearest soul, to
imagine the uneasy thoughts I have every day, in thinking that I have
the curse, at my age, of being in a foreign country from you, and, at
the same time, with very little prospect of being able to do any
considerable service for my country.”[429]
And again:—
“_July 17, 1702—from the Meuse._
“We have now very hot weather, which I hope will ripen the fruit at St.
Albans. When you are there, pray think how happy I should be walking
alone with you. No ambition can make me amends for being from you. If it
were not impertinent, I should desire you in every letter to give my
humble duty to the Queen, for I do serve her in heart and soul.[430]
“I am on horseback, or answering letters all day long; for, besides the
business of the army, I have letters from the Hague, and all places
where her Majesty has any ministers; so that if it were not for my zeal
for her service, I should certainly desert, for you know, of all things,
I do not love writing.”
At another time he writes to her, “I am very impatient for the arrival
of Devrell, you having given me hopes of a long letter by him; for
though we differ sometimes in our opinion, I have nothing here gives me
so much pleasure as your letters; and believe me, my dearest soul, that
if I had all the applause, and even the whole world given me, I could
not be happy if I had not your esteem and love.”[431]
CHAPTER XIII.
Dangers which beset Marlborough—Peculiar circumstances attending his
return to England—Order in Council forbidding the sale of
places—Lord Marlborough raised to a Dukedom—Sentiments of the
Duchess on that occasion.
The Countess of Marlborough was now left to steer her course alone, amid
the intricacies of politics. Her path was protected by the friendly
assistance of Lord Godolphin, who was at once her guide and support, and
the constant correspondent to whom Marlborough disclosed his inmost
sentiments.
Dangers and difficulties perplexed the hero, even amid his most
brilliant success. The campaign of the Meuse had been concluded, Liege
taken, and Marlborough was preparing to return to England, when an
accident occurred which had nearly closed for ever the splendid career
of him on whom the fortunes of England depended. In descending the
Meuse, from Maestricht, in order to go to the Hague, the boat in which
he sailed was separated in the night from its companion, manned with
sixty men, and Marlborough was left with a guard of twenty-five men
only. A French vessel from Gueldre was lurking among the reeds and sedge
on the river, as Marlborough’s small party became apparent. The adverse
party suddenly rushed on the boat, and overpowered the guards.
In this situation, the coolness of Marlborough, and his perfect command
of countenance, saved him from discovery. The Dutch deputies on board
were furnished with French passports, but Marlborough disdained to
solicit one from these functionaries. A man standing near him thrust
into his hands a pass which he drew out of his pocket. It happened to be
a French passport which had been formerly given to General Churchill,
Lord Marlborough’s brother, who had quitted the service from ill health.
Although aware that it was out of date, and that the slightest
inspection might detect the imposition, Marlborough composedly presented
it. He was, in consequence, permitted to proceed, whilst his escort were
detained. To the man who saved his life, he gave a pension of fifty
pounds.[432] Marlborough reached the Hague in safety, where rejoicings
of the greatest enthusiasm upon his escape gratified the kind heart
which was touched by the homely tribute of the lower orders.
It must have been with no common feelings that the Countess welcomed
back her husband, after a risk so imminent. In her Vindication of her
Conduct she alludes but seldom to Marlborough, and seems to make far
less account of his victories and defeats, than of her own successful or
frustrated intrigues; and of the sentiments with which she welcomed to
his home him whom the multitude compared to Cæsar for good fortune, and
declared that he was shown to be peculiarly in God’s favour, from his
unparalleled success,[433] there is, in her writings, no record.
During the Duke’s absence, the Tory party had been greatly augmented in
strength. After disposing of several important posts, to most of which
Tories were preferred, her Majesty, in July, passed an order in council
against the selling of places in her household and family; but this was
not issued until, as the enemies of Lady Marlborough observed, abundance
of places had been purchased from the favourite.[434]
Elections for a new Parliament were carried on with great warmth, the
Tory interest predominating. On the sixth of August, the Queen prorogued
the Parliament until the eighth of October; and three weeks afterwards,
accompanied by Prince George, she set out by Windsor for Bath, the use
of the waters being recommended for the Prince’s asthma. It is probable
that Lady Marlborough, in her capacity of Groom of the Stole,
accompanied her royal mistress on this occasion; it indeed appears, from
several of the letters, that she[435] frequently visited Bath. At
Oxford, where the Queen rested one night, she was received with
manifestations of loyalty and affection. She honoured the convocation of
the university with her presence, and, in reply to an address, assured
the magnates of “her favour and protection; and that she should always
have a particular regard to this great body, so considerable in itself,
and so useful both in Church and State.” After receiving the usual
present of a Bible, a common prayer-book, and a pair of gloves, Queen
Anne partook of a splendid banquet, at which most of the distinguished
members of her government were present, many of whom had received the
title of Doctor of Law. When these ceremonials were finished, she
proceeded on her road to Bath, where she remained until the beginning of
October, and where, doubtless, “Queen Sarah” remained with her Majesty.
And now commenced that course of prosperity which proved so intoxicating
to the mind of Lady Marlborough, and which is said to have engendered
the vice of cupidity in the otherwise noble nature of Marlborough. It is
one of the besetting temptations of a long career of success, that it
induces us to set a value upon our exertions, and our merits, which
produces the curse of discontent. Nothing can come up to our sense of
what we deserve: and the bounties of fortune, like some luscious
liquors, create only a thirst for more.
The Queen, in her speeches at the opening of her first Parliament,
referred to the successes of her arms under Lord Marlborough, she was
answered by an address, congratulating her Majesty upon that head, and
declaring that the Earl had signally “retrieved the ancient honour and
glory of the English nation,” a phrase which satisfied neither
Marlborough nor his captious wife. The Queen went in great state to St.
Paul’s to return thanks, and received an address of congratulation from
the Commons upon the recovery of her asthmatic consort, whose illness
had assumed the form of lethargy.[436]
In November Lord Marlborough returned, and immediately received the
thanks of the House of Commons for his services. This honour, accepted
with the most graceful, or, as some call it, artful humility by
Marlborough, was succeeded by a declaration of the Queen in council,
that it was her intention to make his Lordship a Duke.
Her determination was expressed in these terms: “I am so satisfied of
the eminent services of my Lord of Marlborough to the public and myself,
both in the command of the army, and in the entire confidence he has
settled between me and the States General, that I intend to make him a
Duke.”[437]
This new distinction is said to have proceeded entirely from the favour
of her Majesty, unsolicited, and indeed by Lady Marlborough undesired.
It is difficult to believe this of so ambitious a woman; yet thus writes
Lord Godolphin to her Ladyship on this momentous occasion.
In sending to Lady Marlborough the address of the House of Lords, he
says:—
“I am apt to think Mrs. Morley may have something to say to you upon the
subject, which perhaps you may not like; but I think it should be
_endured_ upon such an occasion, when it is visible to the whole world
that it is not on your account.”[438]
The Queen followed this prefatory letter with the following gracious and
delicate mode of announcing her intentions.
“_St. James’s, 22nd October._
“I have had this evening the satisfaction of my dear Mrs. Freeman’s of
yesterday; for which I give you many thanks, and though I think it a
long time since I saw you, I do not desire you to come one minute sooner
to town than it is easy for you, but will wait with patience for the
happy hour; and only beg, when you do come, you would send for a coach,
and not make use of a chaise.
“Lord Treasurer intends to send you a copy of the address of the House
of Lords, which is to be given me to-morrow, and that gives me an
opportunity of mentioning a thing which I did not intend to do yet. It
is very uneasy to your poor unfortunate, faithful Morley, to think that
she has so very little in her power to show you how sensible I am of all
Lord Marlborough’s kindness, especially when he deserves all that a rich
crown could give. But since there is nothing else at this time, I hope
you will give me leave, as soon as he comes, to make him a duke. I know
my dear Mrs. Freeman does not care for anything of that kind, nor am I
satisfied with it, because it does not enough express the value I have
for Mrs. Freeman, nor ever can, how passionately I am yours, my dear
Mrs. Freeman.”[439]
“Ambition,” the Duchess of Marlborough observes, “had no share in
procuring that new title;”[440] and the following extract from a letter
addressed by her, on this occasion, to one of her friends, appears to
confirm the declaration of one who was as little addicted to duplicity
as any person inhabiting the atmosphere of a court could possibly be.
“I believe,” she says, “there are very few in the world who do not think
me very much pleased with the increase of honour the Queen gave Lord
Marlborough when he commanded the army at her coming to the crown; and
perhaps it is so ridiculous, at least what few people will believe, that
I would not mention it but to those that I could show the original
letters to. If there be any truth in a mortal, it was so uneasy to me,
that when I read the letter first upon it, I let it drop out of my hand,
and was for some minutes like one that had received the news of the
death of one of their dear friends; I was so sorry for anything of that
kind, having before all that was of any use.
“I fear you will think what I say upon the subject is affected; and
therefore I must repeat again, that it is more uneasy to me for a time
than can easily be believed. I do think there is no advantage but in
going in at a door; and when a rule is settled, I like as well to follow
five hundred as one. And the title of duke in a family where there are
many sons is often a great burthen; though at that time I had myself but
one, I might have had more, and the next generation a great many. To
conclude, a higher title was not my feat; and if I saw you, I could
convince you of it.”
Lord Godolphin, who knew her reluctance to the proffered honour, wrote
to soothe her alarms, and to pacify her on the occasion. At the time
that these letters were written, there was not the slightest reason to
suppose that they would ever be made public; and the Countess is
therefore borne out in her assertion, that the distinction came to her
family, not only unsolicited but undesired.[441]
“I give you many thanks,” writes the Lord Treasurer, “for the favour of
your letter, which I received this evening. I did easily believe Mrs.
Morley’s letter would make you uneasy, but having her commands not to
speak of it, I durst not say any more, than just to prepare you to
submit to what I found by her she was convinced was necessary for the
satisfaction of the public. I have waited upon her this evening to let
her see how truly uneasy you were, and have begged of her, when she sees
you, not to part till she has made you easy again, either by your
submitting to please her, or by her condescending to cure your
apprehensions.”[442]
Lord Marlborough appears to have been far less averse to the favour
meditated by his gracious sovereign than his more cautious, and, in
common affairs, more sagacious wife.
Nov. 4th.—“You know,” he observes, writing from the Hague, in reply to
some letters in which the subject had been broached, “I am very ill at
compliments, but I have a heart full of gratitude; therefore pray say
all you can to the Queen for her extraordinary goodness to me. As you
have let me have your thoughts as to the dukedom, you shall have mine in
short, since I shall have the happiness of being with you so soon.”
He proceeded, however, to take counsel upon the occasion from the
Pensionary Heinsius, a man of great sagacity, and one of his intimate
and partial friends. Heinsius, across the channel, ventured to differ
with the female arbiter who ruled Godolphin and Marlborough, and
strongly recommended the acceptance of the high honour. He represented
that it would give Marlborough greater consideration with the allied
princes, and could not create jealousies, since it was bestowed wholly
as a reward for the good services of the last campaign. To Marlborough’s
objection that he should, until he had an estate, make a worse figure as
a duke than as he was, the Pensionary replied, that “the Queen’s
kindness was such, Lord Marlborough need not doubt a fortune; and that
whatever was done at this time, for his fortune as well as the title,
would be without envy, since all the people were pleased with what he
had done.” Heinsius concluded his arguments by representing to the great
general that it was not reasonable to expect in any future campaign such
signal success as had accompanied the last; and he begged his lordship,
for “the good of the common cause, the Queen’s service, and his own
sake, that he would think this the proper time for being distinguished.”
This discussion made considerable impression on the judgment of him whom
it chiefly concerned. Lord Marlborough assured the Pensionary that he
would acquaint the Lord Treasurer and Lady Marlborough of the matter,
and that he should be guided entirely by their decision. “I do beg of
you,” he adds, addressing his wife, “that you will do me justice that it
is not my vanity that makes me think what the Pensioner says is
reasonable.”[443]
The Queen having, on the second of December, announced her intention of
honouring the Earl of Marlborough with a dukedom, enhanced the
obligation conferred, by sending, in ten days afterwards, a message to
the House of Commons, stating that she had added to the distinction a
pension of five thousand a year upon the revenue of the post-office,
payable during the term of her Majesty’s natural life. She further
observed, “that if it had been in her power, she would have granted the
same terms in the pension as in the honour, that is, by making it
permanent; and that she hoped they would think it so reasonable in this
case, as to find some methods of doing it.”[444]
This message occasioned warm debates in the House, and an address was
returned, importing that the Commons, “to their inexpressible grief,”
could not comply with her Majesty’s wishes; and that they begged leave
to lay before her Majesty their apprehensions of making a precedent for
the alienation of the revenues of the crown, which had been so much
reduced by the exorbitant grants of “the late reign.”
The Queen, notwithstanding sundry complimentary matters from her Majesty
to the Commons, and from the Commons to her Majesty, was yet unable to
accomplish her point. Her justly-prized general and his favoured wife
were fruitlessly indignant, at what they considered almost as a
desertion of their interests, by their ministerial friends. They, on the
other hand, attributed the Duke’s efforts to have the grant of five
thousand a year made perpetual, to that fondness for money with which
this great man has been repeatedly, and, perhaps, not undeservedly,
reproached.[445] Sir Christopher Musgrave remarked, “that he disputed
not the merit of the Duke of Marlborough’s services; but that it must be
acknowledged they were well paid;” and the profitable employments which
had been already bestowed upon different members of his family were
brought into array against his demands.
Whilst these objections to the Duke’s claims were boldly advanced in the
House of Commons, the public, without the doors of that august assembly,
were lavish of satirical remarks, which stung the Duke and Duchess, and
even the Queen herself, to the very quick. Amongst other satires that
were circulated, a lampoon was handed about, importing that the Queen
intended to give one Duke (Marlborough) all the gold which another Duke
(Ormond) had brought from Vigo.[446]
Wounded and incensed by these remarks, the Duke entreated the Queen to
recal her message, lest he should be the cause of obstructing the public
business.[447] The Queen complied with this request; but, on the very
day when the Commons presented their remonstrance, generously intimated
her intention to the Duchess of Marlborough, of adding to the annuity of
five thousand pounds, two thousand pounds out of the privy purse. This
kind and prompt mark of affection was thus announced:
“I cannot be satisfied with myself without doing something towards
making up what has been so maliciously hindered in the Parliament; and
therefore I desire my dear Mrs. Freeman and Mr. Freeman would be so kind
as to accept of two thousand pounds a year out of the privy purse,
beside the grant of the five. This can draw no envy, for nobody need
know it. Not that I would disown what I give to people that deserve,
especially where it is impossible to reward the deserts; but you may
keep it as a secret or not, as you please. I beg my dear Mrs. Freeman
would never any way give me an answer to this; only comply with the
desires of your poor, unfortunate, faithful Morley, that loves you most
tenderly, and is, with the sincerest passion imaginable, yours.”[448]
The proffered bounty was, with a feeling of honour, lofty and
praiseworthy, declined. So disinterested a refusal might be considered
as setting aside the charge of covetousness against Marlborough, and the
imputed, grasping conduct of his wife. But, unhappily for those who
would wish to exalt human nature, years afterwards, when the Duchess was
out of favour, she had the meanness, by her own acknowledgment, to claim
the two thousand pounds a year thus offered, and thus, at the same time,
refused; and to press her claim by sending the Queen one of her own
letters, in which she enforced the Duchess’s acceptance of the grant;
and to demand that her Majesty should allow her to charge the sum, with
arrears, from the time of the offer, in the privy purse accounts. The
Queen, though alienated from her favourite, was generous enough to agree
to her proposal—the Duchess mean enough to receive the money.[449] The
original refusal, therefore, we cannot but suppose, proceeded from the
just, though not liberal Marlborough, who disdained to accept, from the
Queen’s private bounty, a grant which the assembly of the nation had
refused. Thus was the affair settled; but Marlborough never forgave the
Tories their opposition to his claims. In offering to the Parliament his
hearty thanks for their approbation of his services, he made this
speech:—“He was overjoyed,” he said, “that the House thought he had done
service to the public; but that he would hereafter endeavour, as it had
always been his wish, that he might be more indebted to his country,
than his country to him.”[450]
The subsequent rupture between Marlborough and the Tories originated on
this occasion. The Duke was indignant, it is said, at being placed
merely on a footing with Sir George Rooke, and the Duke of Ormond, who
received the thanks of the Houses at the same time with his grace. He
was also wounded, and not without reason, at the apparent disposition to
undervalue his services which his friends manifested. These sentiments
were shared, to their fullest extent, and exasperated with every womanly
invective, by her who had continually regretted the early partiality of
the Duke to a party whom she abhorred. But it was not long before, in
the course of events, the Duchess perceived that her direst foes were
not those who openly and vehemently opposed her ambitious views.
Amid the clamours of Whigs and Tories, and during the storm of their
hostilities, a middle or moderate party gradually and silently arose,
and, fostered by circumstances, attained a powerful ascendency. These
“trimmers,” as they were contemptuously called, gained accession to
their numbers, amongst those who, like the Duke of Marlborough, beheld
with regret the extravagances into which both factions were betrayed, in
their avidity for preferment.
Robert Harley, afterwards Earl of Oxford, was the leader of this new and
powerful schism from the Tory school of politics,—which he appeared, in
a great degree, to have latterly deserted.
The political career of this being of ephemeral influence was, indeed,
one of artifice. “His humour,” says Lord Cowper, “was never to deal
clearly, nor openly, but always with reserve, if not dissimulation, or
rather simulation, and to love tricks, even, where not necessary, but
from an inward satisfaction he took in applauding his own cunning. If
any man was ever under the necessity of being a knave, he was.”[451]
The great instrument of the proud Sarah’s fall, Harley, was well
understood by his foe, even whilst, yet, he flattered her weaknesses,
and temporized with the party whom she espoused. To a plain, familiar,
unoffending manner, great application and extensive reading, Harley
united an aspiring genius, and, as the Duchess remarks, as much
knowledge as any one living, “of the secret of managing the corruptions
of human nature.”[452] Educated among dissenters, his moderation, and
the support which he gave to the succession of the house of Hanover, had
conciliated the Whigs, whose cause he now pretended, with various
reservations, to advocate. His election to the office of Speaker had
been, nevertheless, regarded by the Tories as a triumph, although it had
been carried almost by unanimous consent. Yet, by dexterous management,
Harley contrived, when the high church party became overbearing and
obnoxious, to erect in himself that resource, of which the Queen
afterwards availed herself, to balance parties. Extolled by Swift “for
venturing to restore the forgotten custom of treating his prince with
respect,” Harley was suspected of some deep design by others, when, at
his own table, he expatiated with admiration upon the manner of the late
King’s death, which he compared to that of the ancient heroes, as if it
had been above “the mere condition of mortal men.”[453] Yet, in public,
he still espoused the interests of the Tories, flattering the Whigs,
nevertheless, with assurances that he was satisfied that neither King
William, nor his ministers, had any design but for the public good, and
condoling with them upon the persecution that they had of late years
encountered from the clamours of the adverse party. Thus a foundation
was laid for that future eminence which Harley, to the downfall of
Marlborough and his lady, enjoyed, but with short duration.[454]
In private life Harley was amiable, and, as far as money was concerned,
singularly disinterested, for the times in which he lived. With all the
weight of business on his mind, he had the power of enjoying the
relaxation of conversation in an easy, light-hearted, and pleasing
manner. A patron, as well as a proficient in learning, he was, as Pope
relates, “above all pain, all anger, and all pride;” and thus, by that
happy combination of qualities, escaped those displays by which the
vanity and frequent absurdity of Halifax rendered the character of a
patron odious, and avoided the ridicule, which sometimes, with less
reason, alighted upon Godolphin.
Lord Rochester, the main prop of the Tories, and at present the
determined rival of Marlborough, was his ally; but proved, subsequently,
the only impediment of Harley’s pre-eminent favour with the Queen. By
much prudence, by the courtesy of his manners, and the command of his
temper, he was peculiarly formed to ingratiate himself at a court.
Rochester and Harley were, however, opposed to the favourite and her
gallant husband. But, at this period, both personal regard and
affectionate gratitude were still in favour of the Duchess’s continuance
in prosperity and power.
Aware of her Majesty’s inclination, Marlborough and his wife sought
every means of gratifying the Queen’s earnest wishes, in respect to the
elevation of her consort, Prince George, to an equal share of the regal
dignity with herself. The desire which Anne cherished for the
accomplishment of this end, strongly marks her affectionate disposition
and unambitious character. But although the Prince of Denmark might be
considered as the least dangerous of men, the measure, when brought
forward, was overruled by a jealous parliament, as unconstitutional.
Disappointed as she was, Anne sought consolation in the endeavour to
obtain for her husband a provision in case of his surviving her; a
project in which the Tories warmly concurred. To the bill which was
brought in for granting a pension of one hundred thousand pounds yearly,
a clause was annexed, continuing to the Prince, after the Queen’s death,
the offices which he held during her lifetime; and the most violent
opposition was raised by the Peers to this clause, which was contrary to
the Act of Settlement. The Whigs were clamorous against it, as deviating
from the principles of the Revolution, and the bill passed by one vote
only. Marlborough, who was still considered as belonging to the Tory
party, argued strenuously in the Queen’s behalf, and his efforts were
repaid by expressions of affectionate gratitude on the part of Anne.
“I ought,” wrote her Majesty, “to say a great deal to both of you in
return, but neither words nor actions can ever express the true sense
Mr. Morley and I have of your sincere kindness on this, and on all other
occasions; and therefore I will not say any more on this subject, but
that, to the last moment, your dear, unfortunate, faithful Morley will
be most passionately and tenderly yours.”[455]
The Queen, who was devotedly attached to her husband, notwithstanding
the disparity of their age, and other circumstances, never forgave those
who opposed this measure. It was true that there was little apparent
probability of the Prince’s living so long as to feel the loss of
station and decline of influence which the Queen’s death would entail
upon his Royal Highness. He had for years been afflicted with an asthma,
which during the winter (1702) endangered his life. Yet Anne evinced, on
the subject of a provision for her consort, a zeal which she had never
yet shown on any other subject.[456] The great world, whilst it admired
her domestic qualities, had not given her credit for the strong conjugal
affection which marked and elevated both her own private conduct, and
which had adorned the character of the late Queen. The courts of the
Stuarts had not been accustomed to qualities so respectable and so
amiable. Hence, when even the sedate and virtuous Anne promoted John
Sheffield, Earl of Mulgrave, and afterwards Marquis of Normanby and Duke
of Buckinghamshire, to be a privy councillor, her preference to that
brave and accomplished nobleman was attributed to an early
prepossession; Lord Mulgrave having paid his addresses to her before she
was contracted to Prince George.[457] Queen Anne resembled, it may be
presumed, most other women, who rarely cease to regard with complacency
the man who has once displayed towards them affection or admiration,
even when those feelings have not been reciprocal. If, by a stretch of
imagination, anything like romance can be attached to the recollection
of this amiable Princess, the early addresses of the young
nobleman,—addresses which were prohibited as soon as discovered,[458]
though proffered at a time when there was little probability of Anne’s
becoming Queen of England,—may be deemed romantic. “Anne,” says the
arch-satirist of her day, “had undoubtedly no turn for gallantry, yet so
far resembled her predecessor, Queen Elizabeth, as not to dislike a
little homage to her person. The Duke,” he adds, “was immediately
rewarded, on her accession, for having made love to her before her
marriage.”[459]
Lord Mulgrave, whom the Queen was thought for such reasons to promote,
had been a warm adherent to her father, even whilst he manfully
reprobated and ridiculed that monarch’s religious faith.[460] Like
Rochester, he influenced the Queen’s mind,—it may without scandal be
presumed, in some measure through her affections,—to the Tory party. In
conformity with the fashion of the day, he affected literature.
“The life of this peer,” says Horace Walpole, with his usual pointed and
well-bred ill-nature, “takes up fourteen pages and a half in folio in
the General Dictionary, where it has little pretensions to occupy a
couple. The author of the Dictionary,” he adds, “calls the Duke one of
the most beautiful prose writers and greatest poets of this age; which
is also,” he says, “proved by the finest writers, his cotemporaries;
certificates that have little weight, where the merit is not proved by
the author’s own works.” “It is said,” adds the malicious Walpole, “that
the Duke wrote in hopes of being confounded with his predecessors in the
title; but he would have been more easily confounded with the other
Buckingham, if he had never written at all.”[461]
Notwithstanding the Queen’s earnestness on the subject of a provision
for the Prince her husband, a protest was signed against that clause
which enabled him to keep his employments in the next reign, thus making
him an exception to all other foreigners similarly situated. It bore the
names of seven peers, whilst those of twenty-eight were affixed to a
still stronger protest, objecting to the whole bill. Amongst the noble
names which thus appeared, that of Lord Sunderland, who had lately
succeeded that celebrated statesman his father, gave the greatest
offence to Anne, and distress to the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough.
Lord Sunderland had aggravated his offence by speaking against the
grant. His father-in-law was grieved, and surprised at the part which
his son-in-law took; but the Duchess was incensed by what she considered
as a mark of disrespect, and an act of defiance to her will, by one
usually flattering and subservient to his stately mother-in-law.[462]
Her daughter, Lady Sunderland, with difficulty effected a
reconciliation; for the principles of the Whigs were forgotten in the
service of Majesty. This perplexing and irritating conduct on the part
of Lord Sunderland was one of a series of political vexations, which
Marlborough and his Duchess experienced at the hands of that able, but
violent nobleman.
The Duchess of Marlborough had now wholly embarked on that voyage of
politics which ended only with her long and weary life. A taste for the
excitement for cabal, like a passion for gaming, grows with indulgence;
it is rarely wholly relinquished, but fastens itself upon the character,
until every faculty is absorbed in what is popularly termed a spirit of
party.
The Duchess, whatever were her private motives, had, it must be allowed,
extended and sound views upon such subjects as engaged the powers of her
energetic mind. Doubtless the society of the able men whose intimacy she
had secured, contributed to enlarge those opinions, which could scarcely
have been formed in the courts of Charles the Second and his brother, or
improved into principles in the contracted court or common-place society
of the virtuous, but prejudiced Anne.
It is difficult to draw a distinction between what may be called real
liberality of sentiment, and a pernicious licentiousness of profession
in our religious concerns. The principle of toleration was mingled, in
the days of William and of Anne, with a dangerous laxity, which required
rather the counsels of the preacher, or the correctives of an
enlightened press, or the chastening hand of popular education, to
prevent its growth, than the questionable efficacy of penal enactments.
The Test and Corporation Acts had rendered the Sacrament of the Lord’s
Supper an essential observance to all those who held offices of trust.
This measure, passed (1673) in the time of Charles the Second, had
moderated the bitter feelings towards dissenters, in which the high
church party had, until that time, indulged; and the zeal which many
dissenters had displayed in the service of the country at the
Revolution, had procured them offices under government, to obtain which,
they had in many instances not scrupled to receive the Communion. A
participation in this ceremonial was, by law, only incumbent once, and
it might be followed by an immediate, and regular attendance on the
services and sacraments of a dissenting meeting-house. The laxity and
dissimulation to which this practice conduced, called for remedy; and
the remedy was either to be obtained by remitting the test, thus
unscrupulously nullified, or by strengthening the penal enactments.
The question became, as usual, a matter for faction to agitate, rather
than for the calm light of reason to settle, The dissenters were
countenanced by the Whigs: and were supporters of the war, which they
deemed essential to establish the principles of the Revolution. The
Tories, in attacking them, attacked, therefore, their adversaries in
various ways, and, as it was argued, more from political virulence, than
from religious zeal. Yet, since it was allowed that there were many
dissenters who reprobated the practice of thus prefacing the Sacrament
by making it the vehicle of a false profession, so it may be presumed
that there were also numerous persons amongst the high church party, who
viewed such evasions of truth with real indignation, independent of
party zeal, and who really desired, in the clamour for reformation, that
such scandal to religion, and such temptation to the worst passions of
our nature, should be prevented by legislative enactments.
It is agreeable to reflect that more just and delicate notions of
religion, and its invariable attendant, integrity, now prevail, and that
conduct in these matters, such as was common, and even habitual in the
days of which we write, would be reprobated by all thinking people in
our own times. Men who aspired to hold public offices were then
frequently to be seen receiving the Communion of the Church of England
once, and, having complied with the statute, were never known to enter a
church of the established form again. Even Prince George received the
sacrament as high admiral, yet maintained his Lutheran chapel, in which,
when interest called him not elsewhere, he was a continual attendant and
communicant.[463] Nor were those who raised the clamour against such
inconsistencies, to use the mildest term, much to be commended for the
regularity or sincerity of their religious observances. Sir Edward
Seymour, the leading partisan of the church, confessed, when discussing
the subject of non-conformity, that it was then seven years since he had
received the sacrament, or heard a sermon in the Church of England. It
was remarkable that the leading members of the House of Commons, who
were the most active against dissenters, were all descended from
dissenting families. Amongst these were Harley, and Henry St. John,
afterwards Lord Bolingbroke.[464]
The bill for preventing occasional conformity was, however, brought into
the House of Commons. Its advocates did not attempt to conceal the
existence of party motives, but contended, that since the last reign had
been begun with a law in favour of dissenters, it was becoming that the
gracious sovereign now on the throne should show, by some mark, her
determined protection of the established church.[465] Whilst in the
preamble a spirit of toleration was asserted, the enactments of the bill
were severe, though vague, and tended to promote the vices of informers,
and to produce a spirit of inquisition into every man’s actions. It
affixed a heavy fine upon every person holding a public office, after
attending any meeting of dissenters, not according to the Liturgy of the
Church of England, where more than five persons were present, besides
the family. Upon functionaries so offending, while exercising their
duties, it affixed a fine of five pounds for every day so employed; and,
after attending such meeting, they were incapacitated from holding any
office, until after a whole year’s conformity to the church;—the great
object of the bill being, according to a Whig “historian, to model
corporations, and to cast out of them all those who would not vote in
elections for the Tories.”[466]
Such was the opinion of Bishop Burnet. The Duchess of Marlborough gives
us a much more highly-coloured delineation of the motives and workings
of this famous measure, than even the determined and strenuous prelate.
The Church of England, the Duchess thought, could not be in any
immediate danger with such a “_nursing_ mother” as the Queen, or, as the
Tories called her, the illustrious ornament of the church; and the
Tories, in bringing forward this famous measure, “by the heat and
agitation with which they over-acted their part, exposed their
monopolizing ambition, which ought to have been better concealed under
the cloak of zeal for the church.”[467]
The affection of her Majesty for the church, the Duchess considered,
could not be doubted, since, for its better security, she had chosen
“its renowned champions to be of her ministry and council.
Nevertheless,” she adds, “in the very first new parliament after her
Majesty’s accession, it was thought necessary, with all diligence, to
provide new strength, new supports for this flourishing church, as if it
had been in the most tottering and declining condition.”[468] The
motives for such conduct were, in the Duchess’s estimation, interested
and invidious. The bill did not, in her opinion, “aim at excluding the
_occasional_ conformists only, but all those _constant_ conformists,
too, who could not relish the high church nonsense of promoting religion
by persecution.”
The measure, if intended, as the Duchess further asserts, to distinguish
in her Majesty’s estimation the friends, from the foes of the church,
succeeded in producing that effect, as subsequent events fully proved.
Those who contemplated by its enactments the immediate prevention of the
scandal of non-conformity, were disappointed, for it was not finally
successful. It was brought into the Commons and passed; its “hottest”
panegyrists being, according to Cunningham, “the clergy, and a crowd of
women of the lowest rank, inflamed, as it were, with a zeal for
religion.” “These women,” he observes, “expressed as great an exultation
at the supposed victory, as if they had taken more pleasure in such
religious triumphs, than in the gratification of even their lusts and
their appetites.”[469]
The Peers, however, less carried away at this time by religious or
political zeal than the Commons, threw out the bill, being of opinion,
not only that it was the offspring of party and prejudice, but that it
would be impolitic during the time of war to disgust so large a body of
her Majesty’s subjects as the Protestant dissenters. They argued, also,
that it was not then expedient to set about the reformation of religious
controversies.
The decision of the press was against the court, but highly acceptable
to the people. Prince George, though himself an occasional conformist,
was not ashamed to go to the House and vote for the bill;[470] yet even
this singular proof of the Queen’s good wishes towards the measure could
not save it. The commercial part of the nation were warm in their
dislike to its principles and details. Lord Somers, in a celebrated
speech, in which he designated the great body of merchants, tradesmen,
and mechanics, as “the nation,” denounced the measure. Lord Wharton lent
the aid of his forcible eloquence to advocate the cause of toleration.
His speech was strongly characteristic. “Men’s minds,” he argued, “are
different, and their sentiments of divine worship, various. It were,
indeed, to be wished, but is hardly to be expected, that men were all of
one opinion. Many people like variety, as I myself do, provided it be
not injurious to the public.” It was not long after these debates, that
these two lords, “having,” says Cunningham, “over-strained their voices
in the heat of debates in Parliament, fell into dangerous
sickness.”[471] Such was the violence with which the discussion was
carried on.
The loss of the bill was a great mortification to the Tories; and Lord
Rochester, about this time, resigned his appointment as Lord Lieutenant
of Ireland, it was said, chiefly from his unwillingness to leave
England, lest the church should be betrayed in his absence. But it was
with more truth supposed, that jealousy of Lord Godolphin, and vexation
at the Queen’s not making Rochester her sole director and adviser, had a
share in producing his lordship’s resignation. This, “if true,” says the
Duchess, “affords a remarkable instance how much self-love and conceit
can blind even a man of sense; for such, by his own party at least, he
was esteemed to be. I don’t wonder he should like power, (it is what
most people are fond of,) or that, being related to the Queen, he should
expect a particular consideration: this was very natural and very
reasonable, if he had behaved himself to her as he ought. But when one
considers that his relation to her was by such a sort of accident, and
that his conduct had been so very extraordinary, it is an amazing thing
that he should imagine that he was to domineer over the Queen and
everybody else, as he did over his own family.”[472]
“Whether the church was in any danger or _not_ before,” adds the
Duchess, contemptuously, “it could not be questioned by any good
churchman but it _now_ began to be in some peril, when my Lord Rochester
was no longer in place, nor in the council.”[473]
The Duchess, during the progress and defeat of the Conformity Bill,
endeavoured, but unsuccessfully, to bring the Queen over to her own
views of the important subject. Yet Anne, on being informed that a great
portion of her subjects were greatly offended at the attempt made by
this bill to shackle their religious professions, endeavoured, in her
speech on the opening of the next Parliament, to dissuade the House from
this measure, as it might prove a barrier to union at home, and
consequently detrimental to the prosecution of the war abroad.
Marlborough, though still reputed to be a high churchman, seconded the
wishes of the people by every effort in his power. His popularity, on
that account, rose to a pitch of the greatest favour; and the money and
the trade of the country being in the hands of those who espoused the
cause of the Dissenters, Lord Godolphin began also to be convinced of
the importance of the Whigs as a body, “and to pay them as much regard
as the times and the Queen’s prejudices would permit.”
The next blow to the Tories was manifested by the removal of Sir Edward
Seymour and Lord Jersey from their employments, and by the resignation
of Lord Nottingham, who was indignant at the favour shown to the Whigs.
The same party spirit which affected the political world, ran with
aggravated fury throughout the whole body of the clergy. Divisions now
took place, “to describe which,” says Burnet, “new names were found out;
and they were distinguished by the name of High Church and Low
Church.”[474] Those who treated the dissenters with moderation, who
expressed approbation of the Revolution, and aversion to the House of
Stuart—those who wished well to the present war, and ill to France—were
considered by their opponents to favour the presbytery, and to be ill
affected to the church. Amongst such, the Duchess of Marlborough figured
conspicuously, and, whilst her day lasted, with powerful effect upon the
growth and strength of the party with whom she delighted to be classed.
CHAPTER XIV.
Death of the Marquis of Blandford—His character. 1702–3.
How often does it occur, that in the hurry of life some event interposes
to show us the fruitlessness of our cares—to prove to us our position,
as powerless instruments in the hand of Providence—to mark the weakness
of our wills, and the transient nature of all that we prize, and of all
that we have sought to gain, by rising early, and late taking rest, and
eating the bread of carefulness!
Whilst the Duchess of Marlborough, by the workings of her powerful mind,
swayed the destinies of party, and governed her sovereign, it was
decreed that a chastising hand should humble and restrain her; that the
blow should be aimed in the tenderest part, calculated, to lower her
proudest aspirations, and to touch with poignancy those maternal
affections of which even the most worldly are never destitute, but which
the worldly taste only in bitterness; for interest and pleasure deaden
the daily emotions and gentle pleasures of domestic life, whilst they
cannot wholly avert the sting which the dormant affections receive.
The Duchess had borne her husband two sons. Of these, Charles, the
younger, died at an early age. John, the elder, survived until the age
of seventeen, when, in all the promise of future celebrity and
excellence, he was taken from his parents, just as their hopes of him,
their pride of him, and their love of him, had raised their expectations
to the utmost height.
Commanding in person, and strong in intellect,[475] this noble youth
united with the high spirit of his mother, the gentleness, and
graciousness, and strong principles of his father. His religious habits,
his frequent attendance on the holy sacrament, his assiduity in his
studies, and the regularity of his conduct, proved that, how much soever
his parents had been absorbed in the concerns of the world, and in the
pursuit of greatness, they had neither neglected the formation of his
intellect, nor the far more important yet corresponding culture of his
sense of duty, and his best affections.
Well might the bereaved parents afterwards exclaim with Congreve, when
death had robbed them of this star which shed a ray of brightness on
their path of life,
To mourn thy fall, I’ll fly the hated light,
And hide my head in shades of endless night;
For thou were light, and life, and wealth to me;
The sun but thankless shines that shows not thee;
Wert thou not lovely, graceful, good, and young,
The joy of sight, the talk of every tongue?
Did ever branch so sweet a blossom bear,
Or ever early fruit appear so fair?[476]
The original intention of the Duke and Duchess was, that their son
should, by the favour of the Queen, fill the place of master of the
horse to the young Duke of Gloucester. Upon the death of that young
Prince, Lord Blandford was sent to King’s College, Cambridge, having
been prepared for that seminary of knowledge by his previous education
at Eton. At Cambridge he was placed under the tuition of Mr. Hare,
afterwards Bishop of Chichester, the chaplain subsequently, and the
friend and correspondent, of the Duke and Duchess. Under his guidance,
and enjoying the friendship of Horace, afterwards Lord Walpole, the
young nobleman added credit to his name, by a regularity which would
have become the lowliest as well as the most exalted member of the
university. His classical attainments were considerable; the courtesy of
his manners accorded with an affectionate and modest nature; and his
good sense appreciated the important benefits of that college
discipline, from which a feebler or more presuming mind would have
revolted.
With all these excellencies—the excellencies which would have adorned
him in private life, had he been spared—Lord Blandford cherished the
ambition to resemble and to emulate his father, in the brilliant course
of a military career.
When scarcely sixteen, he entreated permission to join the campaign in
the Netherlands. His request was not gratified; for although Marlborough
could not repel a thirst for distinction which so well accorded with his
own nature, the mother of the high-spirited youth dreaded for her child
the dangers which appear not to have overwhelmed her at any time with
apprehensions for his father. Lord Blandford, nevertheless, ardent and
resolute, persisted in his desires, and sought to obtain for himself and
Horace Walpole commissions in the cavalry, that they might serve at the
same time, and in the same regiment.
The parent, who dreaded for her son perils by land, and perils by sea,
was doomed to lose him by that fatal complaint, which then, in most
instances, baffled medical skill, and proved the scourge of society. The
small-pox raged in Cambridge. Lord Godolphin, who was at Newmarket,
wrote to the inquiring mother accounts of her son’s health, which were
calculated to satisfy her maternal anxieties, whilst yet the disease had
not attacked the delicate, and, as it seems, prematurely gifted youth.
Lord Churchill, the lord treasurer acknowledged, was thin almost to
emaciation; but he dwelt more minutely upon the displays of his mental
and moral qualities than on his health.
“I repeat to you that I find Lord Churchill very lean. He is very
tractable and good-humoured, and without any one ill inclination that I
can perceive. And I think he is grown more solid than he was, and has
lost that impatience of diverting himself all manner of ways, which he
used to have. This is truly just as I find him, and I thought it might
not be improper to give you this account, that you might be the better
judge whether you would desire to see him now, according to the proposal
I made in my letter of yesterday, or stay for that satisfaction until my
Lord Marlborough comes over.”[477]
This was in August, 1703. In October, Lord Godolphin received the young
nobleman as a guest in his house at Newmarket, where, unhappily, the
small-pox then raged. But it was vainly hoped, by precautions, to avert
the risk of infection.
“What you write,” thus Lord Godolphin addressed the anxious mother, “is
extremely just and reasonable; and though the small-pox has been in this
town, yet he, going into no house but mine, will, I hope, be more
defended from it by air or riding, without any violent exercise, than he
could probably be anywhere else.”
In a few days afterwards, more particular accounts reached the Duchess,
and her maternal pride must have been highly gratified by the encomiums
which so consummate a judge of character as Lord Godolphin passed upon
her son.
“Your pretty son,” as the lord treasurer terms him, “whom I have just
now parted from; and I assure you, without flattery or partiality, that
he is not only the best natured and most agreeable, but the most
free-thinking and reasonable creature that one can imagine for his age.
He had twenty pretty questions and requests, but I will not trouble you
with the particulars till I have the honour to see you.”
The foregoing opinion was the last expressed by this well-judging and
warm friend, concerning him upon whom the fondest hopes were placed. How
gratifying, yet how mournful! Yet the noble youth was prepared for that
better sphere to which he was thus early called, to spare him, in mercy,
from the snares and troubles of the world, in which he might otherwise
have acted a conspicuous, but probably not a happy part.
The letter was followed by alarming intelligence. The small-pox, in its
most malignant form, had attacked the darling of these distinguished
parents. The Duchess hastened to Cambridge, and found her son in great
danger. She sent to London for additional medical assistance, and the
Queen, feeling as a mother bereaved, and acting with her usual
consideration, despatched two of her own physicians in one of the royal
carriages. The medicines were also sent by express from London. But the
cares, the fears, the hopes, the efforts of all those who were
interested in the young man, were unavailing. The fatal disorder ran
rapidly its devastating course. Dr. Haines and Dr. Coladon, the court
physicians, hastened in vain to aid the expiring youth. The grief of the
highest, and the sympathy of the lowest, individuals in her Majesty’s
realms, availed not: for his hour was come. How far we are, in such
instances, to look to secondary causes, it is difficult to say; but it
is easy to suppose that the imperfect knowledge of disease in those
unscientific days, the unnatural and irritating mode of treating it
which prevailed, even within the memory of man, may have aided that
consciousness of the importance of his recovery to his parents, and the
painful observance of their grief, in increasing the danger of the
amiable and lamented youth.
The Queen took his illness to heart, as if it had been the scene of her
own sad deprivation acted over again.
“I writ two words to my dear Mrs. Freeman,” she says, addressing the
Duchess, “and could not help telling her again that I am truly afflicted
for the melancholy account that is come this morning of poor Lord
Blandford. I pray God he may do well, and support you. And give me leave
once more to beg you, for Christ Jesus’ sake, to have a care of your
dear precious self; and believe me, with all the passion imaginable,
your poor, unfortunate, faithful Morley.”
Lord Godolphin, in a calmer, but equally kind, equally friendly strain,
thus proffers the valuable consolations of a sympathetic heart. “The
best use of one’s best friends is, to assist and support one another
under the most grievous afflictions. This is the greatest trial of your
submission and resignation to the Divine Providence that God Almighty
could possibly send you, and consequently the greatest opportunity of
pleasing Him, by that respect and submission which is always due to his
severest trials; and, at the same time, the greatest occasion of letting
the whole world see that God Almighty has blessed you with a Christian
patience and fortitude, as eminent as the reason and understanding by
which you are justly distinguished from the rest of your sex.”
The concern of a friend is expressed in the foregoing fragment; the
anguish of a father in those passages which follow.
The character of Marlborough, the great, the affectionate, the good, the
pious, shines forth in these extracts.
“I am so troubled at the sad condition this poor child seems to be in,
that I know not what I do. I pray God to give you some comfort in this
great affliction. If you think anything under heaven can be done, pray
let me know it, or if you think my coming can be of the least use, let
me know it. I beg I may hear as soon as possible, for I have no thought
but what is at Cambridge.
“I writ to you this morning,” he adds, “and was in hopes I should have
heard again before this time, for I hope the doctors were with you early
this morning. If we must be so unhappy as to lose this poor child, I
pray God to enable us both to behave ourselves with that resignation
which we ought to do. If this uneasiness which I now lie under should
last long, I think I could not live. For God’s sake, if there be any
hope of recovery, let me know it.”[478]
These mournful anticipations were followed by the too probable result.
Within a few hours after the unhappy father had written this letter, he
set off for Cambridge, where he arrived only in time to see his son
expire, on the morning of Saturday, the twentieth of February,
1704.[479]
The condolence of friends and relations, and the sympathy even of foes,
followed this event. To the chosen place of Lord Blandford’s interment,
in King’s College Chapel, whose sacred walls had witnessed his early and
late piety, beneath whose roof he had been a constant attendant at
morning and evening prayers,—the disconsolate parents followed the
earthly remains of their lost treasure. An inscription, in elegant
Latin, on a monument erected to his memory, perpetuates the recollection
of his early promise. Not only of the highest rank by descent, but of
the most exalted virtues, the external qualities of one so favoured by
fortune, and endowed by nature, corresponded, as the inscription states,
with his mental attributes. He possessed, it is said, the stately and
manly form, and the surpassing symmetry, which constitute the perfection
of manly beauty.[480] In the quickness of his faculties alone did he
resemble his mother. His admirable humility, and sweetness of manners,
in the midst of all that rank and affluence could effect to spoil him,
were the bright reflection of his glorious father. In purity of conduct,
though introduced early to a court life, between the period of his
leaving Eton and entering on an academic life at Cambridge, he was more
happy than that parent; for men are to be judged by circumstances. A
sense of religious duty (the only effectual safeguard) led to a “strict
observance of decorum, that rather,” says an historian, “seemed innate,
than acquired.”[481] He retained of the court nothing but its
politeness, and desired, in the bright prospects which apparently
awaited him, nothing but true honour and distinction, not from his
position alone, but from his own strenuous exertions.
His parents were deeply, but differently affected by their calamity. The
high spirit of the Duchess was subdued, and the best dispositions of her
heart were touched, by this bereavement: but ambition soon regained its
ascendency over her soul, and the chastening hand was forgotten in the
busy interests of the day, the hour. Marlborough, on the contrary,
though quickly summoned to a fresh campaign, carried about with him the
yearning tenderness, the mournful, though no longer poignant regrets,
which a sensitive mind retains for a beloved and lost object. After the
first bitter pangs had been assuaged, he set off for the seat of war;
but in the heart of enterprize, amid the busiest scenes in which he was
engaged, the father recalled all that he had hoped and planned for his
lost son. In a letter to Lord Godolphin, written from Cologne, he says:
“I have this day seen a very great procession; and the thoughts how
pleased poor Lord Churchill would have been with such a sight, have
added very much to my uneasiness. Since it has pleased God to take him,
I do wish from my soul I could think less of him.”[482]
Alas! how many parents may utter the same natural but fruitless wish!
The Duchess, unfortunately for those who feel an interest in probing the
long since tranquillized emotions of her turbulent spirit, imposed upon
the Duke a condition, with which, in the true spirit of honour, he
complied, (though, as he states himself, with regret,) of burning the
letters which she wrote to him. She seems, however, to have written in a
kind and consolatory manner, and we may infer from the lively gratitude
of her husband, that such was not always her custom. What a picture of
real attachment is presented in the following passage of the Duke’s
answer!
“If you had not positively desired that I would always burn your
letters, I should have been very glad to have kept your dear letter of
the 9th, it was so very kind, and particularly so upon the subject of
our living quietly together, till which happy time comes, I am sure I
cannot be contented; and then I do flatter myself I should live with as
much satisfaction as I am capable of. I wish I could recal twenty years
past, I do assure you, for no other reason but that I might in
probability have longer time, and be the better able to convince you how
truly sensible I am at this time of your kindness, which is the only
real comfort of my life; and whilst you are kind, besides the many
blessings it brings me, I cannot but hope we shall yet have a son, which
are my daily prayers.”[483]
His earnest solicitude on the subject of her health seems to have been
fully shared by the Duchess with respect to him. Marlborough, like many
men whose minds are tasked to the utmost of their bodily strength to
bear, suffered severely from the headache. How that over-wrought frame
and intellect at last broke down, it is melancholy to reflect.
“I have yours of the eighteenth, by which I find you were uneasy at my
having the headache. It was your earnest desire obliges me to let you
know when I have those little inconveniences of the headache, which are
but too natural to me; but if you will promise to look upon my
sicknesses as you used to do, by knowing I am sick one day and well
another, I must not be punctual in acquainting you when I am uneasy. I
think you are very happy in having dear Lady Mary with you; I should
esteem myself so, if she could be sometimes for an hour with me; for the
greatest ease I now have is sometimes sitting for an hour in my chair
alone, and thinking of the happiness I may yet have, of living quietly
with you, which is the greatest I propose to myself in the world.”
At the very time of his investing the fortress of Huy, after being
distracted by opposing councils, compelled to adopt plans which he
disapproved, and harassed by fatigues, being often fourteen hours of the
day on horseback, and marching sometimes five days together,[484]—it was
in the midst of these trials of strength and patience that his heart
turned towards home, and he found leisure, in the midst of a camp, to
write those beautiful letters, unequalled for simplicity, and in the
true expression of a tender and noble nature.
Lord Godolphin had written to his friend the painful intelligence that
he thought the Duchess to be much out of health. This information roused
all the tenderness and apprehensions of the hero’s sensitive mind.
“For God’s sake,” he writes, “let me know exactly how you are; and if
you think my being with you can do you any good, you shall quickly see
you are much dearer to me than fame, or whatever the world can say; for
should you do otherwise than well, I were the unhappiest man living.”
Notwithstanding the offer of this noble sacrifice—noble in one who was
not merely carried on by impulse, but who had laid plans of the greatest
extent for the aggrandizement of his country—the Duchess, who appears to
have been a domestic tyrant, could never be wholly satisfied without
incessant expressions of regard and devotion. She could not forbear,
even at this distance, adding to his many troubles by her exacting
spirit. She scrutinized even the language of affection, with the
fastidiousness of a spoiled child, loath to be contented.
From the following and other passages, we are led to conclude that the
hopes of having a child to supply the loss of him from whom he had been
severed, were, at one time, revived in the Duke’s mind. On a former
occasion he wrote to his wife thus:—
“What troubles me in all this time is your telling me that you do not
look well. Pray let me have, in one of your letters, an account how you
do. If it should prove such a sickness as that I might pity you, yet not
be sorry for it, it might make me yet have more ambition. But if your
sickness be really want of health, it would render me the unhappiest man
living.”
These hopes were further raised, only, unfortunately, to be frustrated.
In all other respects the Duchess of Marlborough, pre-eminently blessed,
was destined to that one cankering disappointment—that the children of
the son-in-law whom she least loved, became the heirs of those honours
so dearly purchased by Marlborough.
“I have just now,” says the Duke, in one of his letters, “received yours
of the sixth. What you say to me of yourself gave me so much joy, that
if any company had been by when I read the letter, they must have
observed a great alteration in me.”[485]
Yet, with his usual delicacy and consideration, he writes in a
consolatory strain, when it appeared to the Duchess that he thought more
of his disappointed hopes, than of the ill health which caused them. He
urged upon her the tranquillizing of her busy mind, by quiet, and
cessation from business, and by looking to higher sources of comfort
than the adulation of society, or the favours of a monarch. The
chastening hand was not extended to Marlborough in vain, when he could
think and write in terms such as these. After entreating his wife to
think as little as possible of worldly business, and to be very regular
in her diet, which he trusts, by the aid of a good constitution, may set
her right in time, he addresses her in the following beautiful strain:—
“Op-heeren, Aug. 2.
“I have received yours of the twenty-third, which has given me, as you
may easily believe, a good deal of trouble. I beg you will be so kind
and just to me, as to believe the truth of my heart, that my greatest
concern is for that of your own dear health. It was a great pleasure to
me, when I thought we should be blessed with more children; but as all
my happiness centres in living quietly with you, I do conjure you, by
all the kindness which I have for you, which is as much as man ever had
for woman, that you will take the best advice you can for your health,
and then follow exactly what shall be prescribed for you; and I do hope
that you will be so good as to let me have an exact account of it, and
what the physicians’ opinions are. If I were with you, I would endeavour
to persuade you to think as little as possible of worldly business, and
to be very regular in your diet, which I should hope would set you right
in a very little time, for you have naturally a very good constitution.
You and I have great reason to bless God for all we have, so that we
must not repine at his taking our poor child from us, but bless and
praise him for what his goodness leaves us; and I do beseech him, with
all my heart and soul, that he would comfort and strengthen both you and
me, not only to bear this, but any correction that he should think fit
to lay on us. The use, I think, we should make of his correction is,
that our chiefest time should be spent in reconciling ourselves to him,
and having in our minds always that we may not have long to live in this
world. I do not mean by this that we should live retired from the world,
for I am persuaded that by living in the world, one may do much more
good than by being out of it; but, at the same time, to live so as that
one should cheerfully die when it shall be his pleasure to call for us.
I am very sensible of my own frailties; but if I can ever be so happy as
to live with you always, and that you comfort me and assist me in these
my thoughts, I am then persuaded I should be as happy and contented as
it is possible to be in this world; for I know we should both agree,
next to our duty to God, to do what we ought for the Queen’s service.”
Happy would it have been for the Duchess, had these higher principles of
conduct guided her future path through life. But while the afflictions
which bore down the spirit of her husband sank into a good soil, in the
mind of this ambitious and restless woman, schemes for the
aggrandizement of her family soon succeeded to the gloom of her son’s
deathbed, and effaced all the solemn lessons which she had there
learned.
CHAPTER XV.
Remarks on costume and manners in the time of Anne—Literary men, their
habits and station in society—The system of patronage—Its effects in
degrading the moral character of writers—In producing not only
flattery, but slander—Mrs. De la Rivière Manley—Dr.
Drake—Prior—Congreve.
The manners and spirit of the period of which we treat are so fully
exemplified in those periodical publications of the day, which are in
the hands of every English reader, that no digression for the purpose of
illustrating the mode of social life, with which we are all so familiar,
appears necessary. With the costumes of the fashionable world, the pages
of the “Tatler,” “Spectator,” and other works, have rendered us
intimately acquainted. It is sufficient to remark, that in this last
respect the customs which prevailed in the reign of William were but
slightly varied when Steel and Addison handed them down to fame.
Formality of manner, and decorum in dress, had already succeeded the
negligence and indelicacy of the preceding century. Still there were
gross absurdities creeping into vogue. As we have ever borrowed the most
startling extravagances from the French, so we owed to Louis the
Fourteenth the long reign of perukes, in the adoption of which we were
servile copyists, until good sense drove out those disfiguring
encumbrances, and left mankind free to breathe and to move untrammelled.
When Anne reigned, many lived, more especially amongst the sons of the
aristocracy, who could scarcely remember to have worn their own locks.
Boys were quickly disguised in flowing curls—the higher the rank, the
greater the profusion. Thence they rose to the dignity of a _scratch_
for their undress, and to that of the waving flaxen peruke, called by a
wag, “the silver fleece.” White wigs, frosted with powder, had succeeded
the dark curling perukes which were in vogue in the reign of Charles the
Second; and the use of powder had become lamentably universal. For this
extravagance outraged nature was indebted, also, to that most artificial
of human beings, Louis the Fourteenth, whose very statues were laden
with enormous wigs; and the monarch himself wore one even in bed.[486]
William the Third seldom varied his dress; but, after the accession of
Anne, female extravagance and male absurdity rose to their climax.
Whilst the summit of each exquisite courtier was crowned with a flowing
peruke, redolent of perfume, and replete with powder, on the which sat a
small cocked-hat, his nether proportions were mounted aloft on high
heels, affixed to varnished and stiffened boots, or to shoes garnished
with large buckles. The costume of the present court dress, with its
accompaniments of plain cravats and lace ruffles, completes the picture.
The ladies of the court of Anne were befitting partners for such
objects. Their hair was curled and frizzed, and in the early part of the
eighteenth century it rose high, surmounted by a sort of veil or lappet,
but diminished to a small caul with two lappets, termed a mob. Raised
heels continued in vogue to a very late period; whilst hoops, in Anne’s
time, were in their infancy, commencing in what was then called a
“commode,” which gently raised and set out the flowing train. In this
respect our fair ancestresses resembled our modern ladies; but in one
essential point they differed greatly. Modesty of attire, brought into
public estimation by the example of their truly respectable Queen, was
uniformly studied; and the loose and indelicate style in which Sir
Godfrey Kneller and Sir Peter Lely painted the female aristocracy, was
to be seen no more. With some deviations, the commendable practice of
being adequately clothed, continued until after the time of Sir Joshua
Reynolds, whose portraits bear out the fact, that decency of apparel in
_his_ days, as it had been in those before him, distinguished a
gentlewoman from a female of loose character. Unhappily for the
nineteenth century, this distinction is now thoughtlessly abandoned.
Concerning the immorality of our forefathers, many hints must
necessarily, in the course of this work, escape, without any intention
of enlarging upon so disagreeable a subject. There is little doubt but
that the free strictures of the public press, conjoined with the
influence and example of the court, served greatly to check the misrule
and reckless profligacy which, even in the sober days of William, had
been accounted spirited and fashionable by the young nobility and their
sycophants. The “Hectors,” a species of the bravo genus, were the
illustrious predecessors of the “Mohawks,”[487] whose inglorious courses
have been the subjects of so much admirable satire from Addison,[488]
and who have gradually subsided into a description of creature less
dangerous, though perhaps equally reprehensible and offensive. The
female portion of the community, among the higher ranks, are described
by a contemporary writer to have been the slaves of punctilio and
ceremony, and to have sat, in all the stateliness of their costume,
“silent as statues”[489] in the company of men,—amongst whom alone
cultivation of the intellect, in those days, had become general.
No sooner was a settled monarchy established, and the country relieved
from the dreaded dangers of a second civil war, than literature revived,
and resumed the flourishing aspect, though not the sound and vigorous
condition, to which, in the days of Elizabeth, it had happily attained.
The impoverished state of a great portion of the country, and the decay
of many ancient and once wealthy families, rendered the pursuit of
literature essential as a profession to those who preferred walking in
the paths of science, or following the footsteps of the Muses, to the
perilous duties of a soldier, or to the service of a church torn by
contentions, and threatened with hourly destruction.
The profession of letters is supposed to have been at its height of
prosperity during the middle and latter part of the reign of Anne. Some
unpleasant peculiarities, however, attended its exercise. Since those
days, the extension of education, and the general taste for knowledge
which has consequently been diffused, have gradually effected a
considerable change in the position of literary men. The lettered and
the scientific are now able to rise to fame independent of individual
patronage, excepting in instances of extreme poverty, by which the
exertions are either shackled or turned into different and inferior
channels.
In the times of Anne, that approbation of literary merit which is
necessary to its existence, and which gradually swells into an universal
tribute to genius, originated with the higher orders of society, or, at
least, if unparticipated by them, languished and died away. In our own
days, on the contrary, it is the testimony of the middle classes to
merits which they are now qualified to discern, and the gratification
which they manifest in the productions of the lettered world, which lead
the way to what is vaguely called popularity. It is not easy to define
the causes of this remarkable change in one part of our social economy.
From the exclusive enjoyment of the privileges of education, which were
confined to the higher classes, and by them only moderately enjoyed,
arose the system of patronage which, for nearly a century, regulated the
commonwealth of letters. The benefits conferred proceeded solely from
the nobility and richer gentry, amongst whom literature and the arts
found that protection which is now derived from the common tribute of
mankind. No distinction was accounted greater, among the nobility, than
the power, and disposition, to reward literary merit. To be a patron of
the learned, to protect, with more effectual aids than mere empty
commendations, some one, if not several, of the needy wits who came to
the metropolis on speculation, was as essential a line of conduct to any
young nobleman who aspired to fashionable distinction, as it is now to
belong to a certain order of society, or to possess the attributes,
without which gentlemen, in every age, must sooner or later sink in the
estimation of their own class. There were few of the stately halls and
pleasure saloons of the noblemen of that time, in which some learned
dependent was not to be seen, sharing the festivities, and enhancing the
social pleasures of the liberal patron, whom he failed not to repay in
sonorous verse, or with dedications in prose, of lofty phraseology. The
old system of remunerating dedications by sums of money, unhesitatingly
offered and unblushingly received, prevailed even until the close of the
eighteenth century. More solid advantages were also derived to the
fortunate literati by patronage. The celebrated St. Evremond took his
seat at Devonshire-house, pensioned by its high-minded and noble owner,
and experienced such liberality in England, that he declined returning
to France, even when not only permitted, but encouraged to dwell in his
native country. Dryden had his Buckingham and his Ormonde, ducal patrons
with whom he lived on terms of familiarity; and Congreve had friends no
less elevated in rank, the Dukes of Marlborough and of Newcastle.
Halifax, as we have seen, was “fed with dedications,” by Steele and
others. Gay had his Queensberry, in whose stately abode he was
absolutely domesticated. Innumerable other instances might be adduced.
The notorious fact, that whilst the middling and lower classes were
generally indifferent to literature, the gay and the great mingled some
attentions to it with all their daily frivolities and nightly revelries,
may be accounted for, in the beginning of the last century, by the
distinctions of Cavalier and Roundhead being not as yet wholly obsolete:
the spirit, though not the form, of these distinctions remained. Before
the civil wars, and as long as the Stuarts ruled, taste, fancy, wit, the
culture of letters, and the patronage of the arts, were cherished by the
highly-horn and the well-bred, the more that they were avoided by the
Puritans, as temptations to forget the grand business of life. The young
nobleman who had not some small amount of poetical fame, amplified into
extraordinary fecundity of genius by the gratitude of poorer and wittier
men, seemed to the world scarcely to have fulfilled his destiny, as a
man born to all the luxuries of praise and fame. The commotions of the
second James’s reign, and the indifference of his grave successor to the
interests of learning, checked, but did not annihilate the notion, that
to nobility some exhibition of literary taste, and an extensive
appreciation of it in others, were essential attributes.
The effect of this prevailing fashion of patronage on the one side, and
of dependence on the other, was not to destroy our literature,
assuredly, for never were its shoots so abundant, nor its blossoms so
fair, as in the famed Augustan age; but whilst it called forth
imaginative minds, and rendered the pursuit of letters a profession
worthy of the name, in so far as emoluments might be procured, it
debased the moral character of men in proportion as it rendered their
intellectual powers marketable to the rich and the powerful. Adulation
became a trade; and when such base commodity was found to be in request,
slander was soon perceived to be no less profitable to him who sped the
arrow of calumny which flieth by night, or the pestilence of destruction
by day.
Indelicacy, and its consequence, immorality, being likewise acceptable,
in an age when a father could jest with his son on the success of that
son’s amours,[490] the taste of the lofty and luxurious patron was even
consulted by writers whose nobleness of thought and elevation of fancy
might have led the world to expect better fruits from the growth of
their own untrammelled inclinations. Hence that mixture of “dissolute
licentiousness and abject adulation,” of which Johnson too justly
accuses Dryden; but from which our older poets, the pure and exalted
Milton, and his inimitable predecessors, Shakspeare, Cowley, Spenser,
were nobly exempt. The merriment, and the adulation of Dry den were, as
Johnson also remarks, “artificial and constrained, the effects of study
and meditation,—his trade, rather than his pleasure;” and the same may,
with reverence, be observed of the prince of flatterers, the great, the
little, the powerful, the weak, the satirical, the fawning Alexander
Pope.
The system of patronage called into being another class of writers, who
also “traded in corruption.” These were the political pamphleteers of
the day, a paid regiment, in which, to the disgrace of the sex, a female
author, unparalleled in any day for the power of invention, or rather of
perversion, received no slight encouragement in her gross and horrible
attacks upon personal character, from the most eminent in rank and in
intellect among the party by whom her services were hired.
Mrs. de la Rivière Manley, or Rivella as she was figuratively called,
the pupil, in her early days, of the infamous Madame Mazarin, and the
confidante of the scarcely less infamous Duchess of Cleveland, was the
disseminator, if not the originator, of those calumnies which party
spirit chose to affix to the characters of the Duke and Duchess of
Marlborough, and of the latter in conjunction with Lord Godolphin. Her
own history, translated from the French, and supposed in the narrative
to be communicated by Louis Duc d’Aumont, ambassador in England, in
1712, to his friend General Tidcomb, whilst taking the air in
Somerset-house garden, is said, by its dreadful details, sufficiently to
prepare those who are condemned to read it, for the subsequent works of
this wretched woman. Of these, the most popular were her “Atalantis,”
the “History of Prince Mirabel’s (Marlborough’s) Infancy, Rise, and
Disgrace, collected from the Memoirs of a Courtier lately deceased,” and
the “Secret History of Queen Zarah and the Zarazians,”[491] first
published and inserted among the State Tracts by Dean Swift, in
1715.[492] This patronage on the part of Swift, which scarcely excites
our wonder in the clergyman who could remodel and publish the “Tale of a
Tub,” ceased only with the life of the abandoned Rivella, which closed
at an advanced age, in 1724.
Dr. James Drake, the author of “The Memorial of the Church of England,”
was a man of liberal education and of considerable attainments, which,
unhappily for him, were applied to serve political rancour, instead of
being confined to the medical profession, of which he was a member. Dr.
Drake was a native of Cambridge, a Master of Arts in that university,
and fellow both of the College of Physicians and of the Royal Society.
Yet he found it more profitable, notwithstanding the patronage of Sir
Thomas Millington, to devote his talents to the service of booksellers,
who quickly appreciated his powers of invective and ridicule. It was
disappointment on not being made one of the commissioners of the sick
and wounded, which induced Drake, after successive publications, to
publish the “Memorial,” in conjunction with Mr. Poley, the member for
Ipswich. In this production, after referring to the death of King
William, Drake comments upon the “numerous, corrupt, and licentious
party throughout the nation, from which the House of Commons was
sometimes not free,” who might “entertain hopes, from the advantage of
being at the helm, and the assistance of their rabble, to have put into
practice their own schemes, and to have given us a new model of
government of their own projection,” and “to have mounted their own
beast, the rabble, and driven the sober part of the nation like cattle
before them.” That this was no conjecture was proved, the author stated,
by the conduct of the party to the Queen, towards whom, “not contented
with showing her a constant neglect and slight themselves, they also
instructed their whole party to treat her with disrespect and slight.
They were busy to traduce her with false and scandalous aspersions; and
so far they carried the affront, as to make her at one time almost the
common subject of the tittle-tattle of every coffee-house and
drawing-room, which they promoted with as much zeal, application, and
venom, as if a bill of exclusion had been then on the anvil, and these
were the introductory ceremonies.”[493]
Lord Godolphin, and certain other of the ministry, were so much
scandalized at these comments, that they represented to Queen Anne that
the publication was an insult to her honour, and prevailed upon her
Majesty to address both Houses upon the subject, in the Parliament which
met October 27th, 1705. Accordingly, after a long debate, “it was voted
that the church was not in danger,” and her Majesty was entreated to
punish the authors of the “Memorial.” The printer was accordingly taken
into custody, and, being examined before one of the secretaries of
state, deposed that the manuscript of the “Memorial” was brought to him
by a lady in a mask, accompanied by another lady barefaced, who,
together, stipulated to have two hundred and fifty copies printed, which
were delivered to four porters sent by the parties who brought the
“Memorial.” But although the lady without a mask and three of the
porters were found, Dr. Drake remained undiscovered; and the indignant
ministry were obliged to convict him upon another publication.
Drake was the editor of a newspaper, entitled “The Mercurius Politicus,”
for which he was prosecuted in the Queen’s Bench in the ensuing year,
but acquitted upon a flaw in the information, the word NOR being
inserted in the written information, and, in the libel given in
evidence, the word NOT. Eventually the prosecution killed Drake, for the
anxieties attending it, and the ill usage of some of his party, brought
on a fever of which he died, bitterly exclaiming against the severity of
his enemies. Thus speedily were extinguished an energetic spirit, and
abilities adapted to higher purposes than those to which they were
applied. Besides displaying in his writings great command of language,
Dr. Drake possessed a well-stored and philosophic mind. Amid historical,
political, and even dramatic works, he published a “New System of
Anatomy,” which met with deserved praise and success.[494]
It would require a work of some extent to describe the innumerable
productions of the day in which the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough,
under fictitious names, were alternately defamed and defended. The
authors of these productions came forth like bats and owls, in the
twilight and in darkness, when the political day of the great Colossus,
as the Duke was called, and of “Queen Sarah,” was overcast by the shades
of night. They were for the most part answered, and they cannot, on the
whole, be said to have affixed any stain upon the memory of the great
hero, or on the more faulty conduct of the imperious favourite, whom
they assaulted generally in the grossest manner, and with invective
rather than facts.[495]
Attacks so violent as these soon pass out of remembrance, consumed in
their own heat; for it is only the wary and well-directed operations of
a cautious hand that wound, and injure, and endure. Already had the
Duke, and Duchess, and their party a powerful, though latent foe, who,
in the retirement of an Irish parsonage, divided his days between the
gentler arts of deluding the affections, and alternately beguiling and
breaking the hearts, of weak, but fondly disinterested women; and of
advancing the cause of the church,—if those efforts could be called
advancement, which disseminated immorality, whilst they advocated the
constitution of the hierarchy. Jonathan Swift, by all accounts the least
lovable, and yet the most dangerous, of mankind, was at this time
nominally a Whig, but a disappointed Whig, in his inert and chrysalis
state, awaiting only the necessary change to become a Tory. Brought up
in dependence, and his deportment as a “fine gentleman spoiled,” as he
declared, by a subservience half affectionate, half abject, towards his
great patron, Sir William Temple,[496] the arbitrary, sarcastic, and
selfish spirit of this most able, but most unhappy man, grew under the
check of adversity, which cannot soften all natures. He was a
tyrant,—from the domestic cruelty of forcing a guest to eat asparagus in
King William’s way,[497] to the monstrous ingratitude, indelicacy, and
perfidy of influencing his supposed wife, the beautiful, the devoted
Stella, to bear the imputed ignominy of being his mistress. He was a
timeserver, as selfish men may be expected to become; and a calumniator,
from the same narrow principles of self-advancement. Swift, at this
period, was living in the unrestrained enjoyment of the attachment with
which he had inspired the unhappy Stella, then scarcely twenty years of
age, in all the bloom of that beauty of form and face which were
destined to fade beneath the pressure of suspense, expectation,
disappointment, and despair. Already had the moral profligate, if we may
so call him, secured his Stella from the addresses of a respectable
clergyman, who had applied to Swift in the capacity of the lady’s
guardian, acting in which office Swift had demanded such unreasonable
terms of settlement, that the honest lover was unable to accede to
them.[498] This love of evasion, this mixture of moderation with
passion, of prudence with grasping desires, marked the political, as
well as the personal character of Swift. Generally speaking, the high
churchmen of those days were Tories, and the low churchmen Whigs. It is
not easy to say why, except for the purposes of party, this should be
the case; nor can we reasonably justify a suspicion that an ardent
promoter of the principles of the Revolution, like Swift, could not be
equally sincere in his ultra notions of liberty, and in his vehement
advocacy of the high church cause. His subsequent abandonment of the
Whig party confirms the uncomfortable and foreboding feelings with which
we behold him, in one poem extolling the constancy of Archbishop
Sancroft, who refused the oaths to William and Mary,[499] and, in
another, on the burning of Whitehall,[500] declaring that nothing could
purify that ancient palace, after the residence of the Stuarts. Speaking
of James the Second—
“He’s gone—the rank infection still remains;
Which to repel requires eternal pains:
No force to cleanse it can a river draw,
Nor Hercules could do’t, nor great Nassau.”[501]
It was not difficult to predict that Swift would be one of the first to
lend his too powerful aid to darken the portraits of the Whigs, when any
future cloud should throw a gloom over those services and talents which
he once magnified and extolled.
The advocate of Somers, and of Halifax, Oxford, and Portland, in 1701,
Swift had now become the friend of Addison, Steele, Arbuthnot, and other
noted men, whom he met at Button’s coffee-house, and to whom, not
knowing his rare talents, nor hearing him at first even utter a
syllable, they gave the name of “the mad parson.” The appearance of the
“Tale of a Tub,” in 1704, published in spite of his intimacy with the
little knot of friends, called “Addison’s senate,” in order to benefit
the interests of the high church party, by exposing the errors and
corruptions of Popery, concentrated the good-will of the Tory chiefs,
who could not be blind to the powerful assistance of one who could aid
them with the engine of ridicule. But, in giving to the world this
production, Swift proved himself to be, like many unprincipled men,
near-sighted, and destroyed all hopes of that high preferment to which
he aspired. Although the “Tale of a Tub” has since been claimed, but
with no certainty, as the original idea of Somers,[502] and although it
was, at the time of its publication, imputed to a pedantic and simple
cousin of Swift, the real author was tolerably well surmised, and
eventually ascertained.[503]
The real lovers of religion, and the sincere adherents of the Church of
England, were shocked and disgusted by this celebrated satire, and Queen
Anne could never be prevailed upon to bestow on the author the
preferment which he panted to obtain, by fair, or, if these were
inexpedient, by any means.
If other statements are to be credited, one who held a high place in her
Majesty’s confidence was the original framer of the bold composition.
Whether this conjecture be true or not, there is abundant reason to
conclude that Swift enriched the original design by the effusions of his
surpassing wit, to which he sacrificed the all important considerations
of character. It was not long before he gave proofs, that if he were not
the sole author of the “Tale of a Tub,” he was fully capable of being
so, by his Letter on the “Relaxation of the Sacramental Text,” which he
also endeavoured, but vainly, to conceal.[504] But it was at a later
period that Swift began that series of attacks upon the Duke and Duchess
of Marlborough, and on their party, in his papers in the “Examiner,” a
periodical paper set on foot by himself, Dr. Atterbury, St. John, Prior,
Dr. Frend, and other Tory writers, after the administration had passed
from the hands of Godolphin and Marlborough into those of Harley and his
party. To this powerful production, sustained with an apparent calmness
and exactness of statement, which gave indescribable effect to its
bitter remarks and searching analyses, the Duchess of Marlborough was
indebted for much of her unpopularity, and Harley for a considerable
proportion of his influence over the public mind.[505] The portion of
the papers for which Swift was solely responsible, are acknowledged to
be greatly superior to the subsequent essays. Swift himself prophesied
the inferiority. Upon the publication of number forty-four, which was
the last he wrote, he intimated to his friends that the rest would be
“trash for the future;” and the subsequent papers were, he says,
“written by some under-spur leathers in the city, and were designed
merely as proper returns to those Grub-street invectives which were
thrown out against the (Tory) administration by the authors of the
‘Medley’ and the ‘Englishman,’ and some other abusive detracting papers
of the like stamp.”
The result fully bore out this prediction; and the “Examiner,” of all
the attacks which were made upon the Marlborough party and their
friends, the most obnoxious to them, and beneficial to their enemies,
soon sank in reputation, and altogether ceased. But its disparaging
effects upon those whom it assailed were long experienced; and the party
which this celebrated publication attacked, never recovered the
popularity and stability which it first undermined.
APPENDIX.
LETTER FROM MISTRESS WITTEWRONGE, _daughter-in-law of Sir John
Wittewronge, Bart. of Rothamsted Park, Herts, to the_ DUCHESS OF
MARLBOROUGH, _referring to Mrs. Jennings_.
Sir John Wittewronge came to England from Ghent, in consequence of the
persecutions of the Protestants in Flanders. One of his family was
maid of honour to Queen Anne, probably through the interest of the
Duchess, who appears from this letter to have been a friend of the
family.
May it please your grace, when your grace was last at St. Albans, I
endeavoured to have the honour of making my duty in person, but word was
brought me by the servant I sent, that your grace’s stay there was soe
short, that company was not expected; and not knowing when I may hope to
have any opportunity of speaking, humbly crave pardon, that I presume to
express myself in this manner, which I thought could not be well omitted
without a seeming neglect, both of my duty and interest, since your
grace will please to remember that it was told me I should be in a
capacity in London ere it were long, which I took as a gracious
intimation that some favour was intended for my husband, who, I am sure,
will deserve it, and has no hopes from any other hand. I must own my
affection to the memory of your noble mother, who honoured me with her
love, and bestowed upon me many costly favours, which may seem an odd
argument in my behalf to hope for more from your grace; but it is
godlike to confer new mercies on them who have been the objects of
former ones without any merit, especially upon such as are truly
thankful for what they have received. I begg at least forgiveness, and
shall ever remain
Your grace’s most dutyfull
Thankful Servant,
MARY WITTEWRONGE.
For her grace the Duchess of Marlborough.
(Endorsed in the hand writing of Mr. Wittewronge)
My wife to Duchess Marlb.
_Extract from “An Account of the Conduct of the Duchess of Marlborough.
1742._”
FROM THE QUEEN TO HER SISTER THE PRINCESS ANNE.
Kensington, Friday, the 5th of Feb.
Having something to say to you which I know will not be very pleasing, I
chuse rather to write it first, being unwilling to surprise you,
although I think what I am going to tell you should not, if you gave
yourself the time to think, that never anybody was suffered to live at
court in my Lord Marlborough’s circumstances. I need not repeat the
cause he has given the King to do what he has done, nor his
unwillingness at all times to come to such extremities, though people do
deserve it.
I hope you do me the justice to believe it is as much against my will
that I now tell you, that after this it is very unfit Lady Marlborough
should stay with you, since that gives her husband so just a pretence of
being where he ought not.
I think I might have expected you should have spoke to me of it. And the
King and I, both believing it, made us stay thus long. But seeing you
was so far from it that you brought Lady Marlborough hither last night,
makes us resolve to put it off no longer, but tell you she must not
stay; and that I have all the reasons imaginable to look upon your
bringing her as the strangest thing that ever was done. Nor could all my
kindness for you (which is ever ready to turn all you do the best way,
at any other time,) have hindered me from showing you that moment, but I
considered your condition, and that made me master myself so far as not
to take notice of it then.
But now I must tell you it was very unkind in a sister, would have been
very uncivil in an equal, and I need not say I have more to claim: which
though my kindness would make me never exact, yet when I see the use you
would make of it, I must tell you I know what is due to me, and expect
to have it from you. ’Tis upon that account I tell you plainly, Lady
Marlborough must not continue with you in the circumstances her lord is.
I know this will be uneasy to you, and I am sorry for it; and it is very
much so to me to say all this to you, for I have all the real kindness
imaginable for you; and as I ever have, so will always do my part to
live with you as sisters ought. That is, not only like so near
relations, but like friends. And, as such, I did think to write to you.
For I would have made myself believe your kindness for her made you at
first forget that you should have for the King and me; and resolved to
put you in mind of it myself, neither of us being willing to come to
harsher ways.
But the sight of Lady Marlborough having changed my thoughts, does
naturally alter my stile. And since by that I see how little you seem to
consider what even in common civility you owe us, I have told you
plainly; but withall assure you, that let me have never so much reason
to talk anything ill of you, my kindness is so great, that I can pass
over most things, and live with you as becomes me. And I desire to do so
merely from that motive; for I do love you as my sister, and nothing but
yourself can make me do otherwise; and that is the reason I chuse to
write this rather than tell it you, that you may overcome your first
thoughts; and when you have well considered, you will find, that though
the thing be hard, (which I again assure you I am sorry for,) yet it is
not unreasonable, but what has ever been practised, and what you
yourself would do, were you in my place.
I will end this with once more desiring you to consider the matter
impartially, and take time for it. I do not desire an answer presently,
because I would not have you give a rash one. I shall come to your
drawing-room to-morrow before you play, because you know why I cannot
make one; at some other time we shall reason the business calmly; which
I will willingly do, or anything else that may show it shall never be my
fault if we do not live kindly together; nor will I ever be other by
choice but your truly loving and affectionate sister,
M. R.
THE PRINCESS ANNE’S ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING LETTER.
Your Majesty was in the right to think your letter would be very
surprising to me. For you must needs be sensible of the kindness I have
for my Lady Marlborough, to know that a command from you to part with
her must be the greatest mortification in the world to me; and, indeed,
of such a nature, that I might well have hoped your kindness to me would
have always prevented. I am satisfied she cannot have been guilty of any
fault to you; and it would be extremely to her advantage if I could here
repeat every word that ever she had said to me of you in her whole life.
I confess it is no small addition to my trouble to find the want of your
Majesty’s kindness to me upon this occasion, since I am sure I have
always endeavoured to deserve it by all the actions of my life.
Your care of my present condition is extremely obliging, and if you
would be pleased to add to it so far as upon my account to recall your
severe command, (as I must beg leave to call it, in a matter so tender
to me, and so little reasonable, as I think, to be imposed upon me, that
you would scarcely require it from the meanest of your subjects,) I
should ever acknowledge it as a very agreeable mark of your kindness to
me. And I must as freely own, that as I think this proceeding can be for
no other intent than to give me a very sensible mortification, so there
is no misery that I cannot readily resolve to suffer, rather than the
thoughts of parting with her. If, after all this that I have said, I
must still find myself so unhappy as to be farther pressed in this
matter, yet your Majesty may be assured, that as my past actions have
given the greatest testimony of my respect both for the King and you, so
it shall always be my endeavour, wherever I am, to preserve it carefully
for the time to come, as becomes
Your Majesty’s
Very affectionate Sister and Servant,
ANNE.
From the Cockpit, Feb. 6th, 1692.
FROM THE PRINCESS ANNE TO THE QUEEN.
I am very sorry to find that all I have said myself, and my Lord
Rochester for me, has not had effect enough to keep your Majesty from
persisting in a resolution which you are satisfied must be so great a
mortification to me, as, to avoid it, I shall be obliged to retire, and
deprive myself of the satisfaction of living where I might have frequent
opportunities of assuring you of that duty and respect which I always
have been and shall be desirous to pay you on all occasions.
My only consolation in this extremity is, that not having done anything
in all my life to deserve your unkindness, I hope I shall not be long
under the necessity of absenting myself from you; the thought of which
is so uneasy to me, that I find myself too much indisposed to give your
Majesty any farther trouble at this time.
February 8, 1692.
_Two Letters of kindness from the Princess of Denmark to Lady
Marlborough._
THE PRINCESS ANNE TO LADY MARLBOROUGH.
To Lady Marlborough.—I had last night a very civil answer from the
Bishop of Worcester, whom I sent to speak with, but have heard nothing
more of him since, so I dare not venture to go to London to-day for fear
of missing him. If he comes in any time to-morrow, I will not fail of
being with my dear Mrs. Freeman about five or six o’clock, unless you
are to go to the Tower. And if you do, pray be so kind as to let me know
time enough to stop my journey. For I would not go to London, and miss
the satisfaction of seeing you. I could not forbear writing, though I
had nothing more to say, but that it is impossible ever to express the
kindness I have for dear Mrs. Freeman.
TO LADY MARLBOROUGH FROM THE PRINCESS ANNE.
To Lady Marlborough.—Sir Benjamin telling me you were not come to town
at three o’clock, makes me in pain to know how your son does, and I
can’t help inquiring after him and dear Mrs. Freeman. The Bishop of
Worcester was with me this morning before I was dress’d. I gave him my
letter to the Queen, and he has promised to send it, and seemed to
undertake it very willingly; though, by all the discourse I had with
him, (of which I will give you a particular account when I see you,) I
find him very partial to her. The last time he was here, I told him you
had several times desired you might go from me, and I repeated the same
thing again to him. For you may easily imagine I would not neglect doing
you right upon all occasions. But I beg it again for CHRIST JESUS’S
sake, that you would never name it any more to me. For be assured, if
you should ever do so cruel a thing as to leave me, from that moment I
should never enjoy one quiet hour. And should you do it without asking
my consent, (which if ever I give you may I never see the face of
heaven,) I will shut myself up, and never see the world more, but live
where I may be forgotten by human kind.
THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO THE QUEEN.[506]
This letter proves that, so early as the year 1707, the good
understanding between the Queen and her favourite was undermined.
August 7, 1707.
Lord Marlborough has written to me to put your Majesty in mind of Count
Wrateslaw’s picture, and in the same letter desires me to ask for one
that he sent Lord Treasurer, which came from Hanover, which I have seen,
and which I know you would not have me trouble you with; and I have been
so often discouraged in things of this nature that I believe nobody in
the world but myself would attempt it; but I know Mrs. Morley’s
intentions are good, and to let her run on in so many mistakes that must
of necessity draw her into great misfortunes at last, is just as if one
should see a friend’s house set on fire, and let them be burnt in their
bed without endeavouring to wake them, only because they had taken
laudanum, and had desired not to be disturbed. This is the very case of
poor dear Mrs. Morley; nothing seems agreeable to her but what comes
from the artifices of one that has always been reported to have a great
talent that way. I heartily wish she may discover her true friends
before she suffers for the want of that knowledge; but as to the
business of calling for the Princess Sophia over, I don’t think that
will be so easily prevented as she (perhaps) may flatter herself it
will, though I can’t think there can be many, at least, that know how
ridiculous a creature she is, that can in their hearts be for her. But
we are a divided nation; some Jacobites that cover themselves with the
name of Tory, and yet are against the crown. And whoever comes into the
project of that sort must do it in hopes of confusion. Others there are
that are so ignorant that they really believe the calling over any of
the House of Hanover will secure the succession, and the Protestant
religion. And some of those gentlemen that do know better, and that have
so many years supported the true interest against the malice of all the
inventions of the enemies to this government, I suppose will grow easy,
and be pretty indifferent at least in what they think may be of no ill
consequence, further than in displeasing the court, not only in this of
the Princess Sophia, but in anything else that may happen; and as Mrs.
Morley orders her affairs, she can’t expect much strength to oppose
anything where she is most concerned. Finding Mrs. Morley has little
time to spare, unless it be to speak to those that are more agreeable,
or that say what she likes on these subjects, I have taken the liberty
to write an answer to this, which you will say is sincere, and can be no
great trouble only to sign it with Morley.
_Extract from the Duchess’s Letter to Mr. Hutchinson._ (_This passage
relates to the Duchess accepting two thousand pounds out of the privy
purse: a sum, which she had formerly refused from the Queen._ Taken from
the Coxe Manuscripts, vol. xliii.)
But to return to my own case. When the Queen had turned me out of my
places, the next thing I had to do was to make up my accounts for the
robes and privy purse, with all the care and exactness I could. But in
the mean time, while some of my friends persuaded me to let the Queen be
asked whether she would not allow me to take out of the privy purse the
two thousand pounds a year which she had so often pressed me to accept,
since the reason of my refusing it now ceased, when she turned me out of
my places, I must confess it went much against me to desire anything of
her; but when I considered how great a sum of money I had saved her by
the management of my offices, the real service I had done her in many
respects, and the dear hours of my life I had spent upon her for many
years together, without either asking or having anything of her, (except
those few trifles I mentioned before,) after she came to the crown,
which any one would think was the proper time for her to have rewarded
her old servants, I thought I should not be in her debt though she
should give me what I had so often refused, and therefore that I might
very well suffer myself to be governed by my friends in letting her be
asked about this matter; and accordingly I consented that a copy of one
of her own letters, in which she pressed me so much to take that money
out of the privy purse, should be shown to her, and that the person who
carried it should tell her that I desired to know, before I made up my
accounts, whether she still was willing that I should take the money out
of the privy purse according as she had desired me in that letter. When
this was proposed to her, she blushed and appeared to be very uneasy,
and not disposed to allow of my putting that money into my accounts; but
for want of good counsel or instructions to defend herself in refusing
that which she had been so very earnest with me to accept before, she
consented that I should do it. Then I sent in my accounts with that
yearly sum charged in them from the time she had offered it to me. But I
still used this further caution, of writing at the bottom of the
accounts, before I charged the last sum, a copy of the letter I
mentioned before, that when she signed them, she might at the same time
attest her own letter, and the offer she had made me of her own accord,
and pressed me to take in this manner—“_Pray make no more words about
it, and either own or conceal it, as you like best; since I think the
richest crown could never repay the services I have received from you._”
After this the Queen kept my accounts almost a fortnight by her, in
which time I don’t doubt but they were well examined by Abigal and Mr.
Harley; but there was no fault which they could pretend to find with
them, and they were sent back to me, without the least objection being
made against them, signed by the Queen’s own hand, who had writ under
them that she allowed of them, and was satisfied they were right; so
that the new ministers had nothing left them in this matter but to
whisper about the town some scandalous storys of it, and to employ such
of their agents as the Examiner in propagating them.
I don’t pretend to give you any particular account of these, or any
other abusive storys that were industriously raised of me, but leave you
to judge of them by the matters of fact which I have now given you a
relation of, and which I have told in so full a manner as I think will
give you a clear notion of my whole behaviour in all the concerns I had
with the Queen, and particularly with respect to everything in which she
seemed to show any uneasiness towards me.
_Extract from a Letter written by the Duchess of Marlborough,
vindicating herself from the charge of selling places; and touching also
upon other matters._—Taken from the Coxe Manuscripts, vol. xliv. p. 2.
And upon the whole, I solemnly swear, as I hope for happiness here or
hereafter, that besides the case of the pages to the Princess, which I
have told you of, I never did receive the value of one shilling in
money, jewells, or any such thing, either directly or indirectly, for
the disposing of any employment, or doing any favour during my whole
life, nor from any person whatsoever, upon any such account; and that if
there is any man or woman upon earth that can give the least proof to
the contrary, I am contented for the future to be looked upon both by
friends and enemies, as one of the vilest of women, worse than Abigal
herself, when I consider her as instrumental in doing the greatest
mischief that a nation can suffer; the reducing it from the most
flourishing to at least a dangerous condition; and as acting the most
ungratefully and injuriously to a person to whom she owes her very
bread.
I may be thought, perhaps, in this to put my own vindication upon too
ticklish a bottom, when it is considered how far the malice of men will
go, in these times especially, in maintaining the greatest falsity
against others, when they can serve their own purposes by it. But as
everybody ought to look upon all general reflections, where no proof is
offered at, to be only mere aspersions; so I depend upon it that I shall
be able to convict any man, to his own shame, that shall dare to produce
any particular instance against me, of my having taken anything for the
disposal of any employment. I am sensible my enemies have not wanted
inclination to have done this long ago, if there had been any room for
it; and it is no small vindication of me, that their own impudence, as
great as it is in this respect, has not carried them so far as to offer
at any proof against me of this nature.
There is another public vindication of me which I think I ought to take
notice of, and that is, that soon after the Queen came to the crown, I
was the cause of having the strictest orders made against taking of
money for the disposing of places that were ever known at the court;
which, how consistent it was with having any designs of my own of making
money that way, I leave any one to judge. In the green cloth I found
means of making it necessary, for every one that came into any
employment there, to make an oath, in the strictest terms that could be,
that he did not pay anything for it. And though I could not so easily
procure any such effectual means to prevent the same practice with
respect to the dispensing of other employments, yet I often pressed the
Queen to do all that was possible in it; and upon this there was an
order of council made, which everybody knows of, about it. All this, I
hope, is sufficient to clear me from anything cast upon me with respect
to the disposal of employments.
_Extract from a work called “Sylva, or the Wood,” published in 1788;
describing the limited education of the Duchess, and the manner in which
she delivered the Vindication of her Conduct, so often referred to in
this Volume, to Mr. Hooke._[507]
The “old Sarah,” as she was then called, published, in 1742, an _Account
of her Conduct_ under Queen Anne; which _account_, by the way, affords
an excellent insight into the manœuvres of a court, and would greatly
confirm the idea given of it in the two preceding numbers. She was
assisted herein by Mr. Hooke, the historian, to whom, though oppressed
with the infirmities of age, and almost bed-rid, she would continue
speaking for six hours together. She delivered to him her account
without any notes, in the most lively, as well as the most connected
manner; and though the correction of the language is left to Hooke, yet
the whole is plainly animated with her spirit; and as some philosophers
have said of Saul with regard to body, she was _tota in toto, et tota in
qualibet parte_. She was of a strong understanding and uncommon
sagacity, which I premise to justify my wonder at the strange neglect of
education among the females; for her woman would have written as well,
and perhaps better.
Here follow, merely as curiosities, two letters from her own
handwriting, directed “For Doctor Clarke, att his haus near St. James’
Church,” without alteration of either grammar or orthography; that is
_verbatim et liberatim_, as Mrs. Bellamy upon a like occasion expresses.
_An Inventory of the Jewels belonging to the Duke and Duchess of
Marlborough._—Copied from the Coxe Manuscripts, vol. xlviii.
Weight. Value.
Car. Gr. £ s. d.
In the Duke of Marlborough’s George, eleven
jewels 0 95
A brilliant of the first water, and very
lively weight, in a ring; the gift of the
Emperor 10 1½ 900 0 0
A brilliant drawing to the crown, and a
fowle on one side; the gift of the king of
Prussia, in a coulant to a cross 13 0¼ 1,500 0 0
In her grace the Duchess of Marlborough’s
earrings, the two brilliants under - - 900 0 0
A fine spread brilliant, the bottom very
deep, drawing upon the blue 6 2¾ 450 0 0
A high-crowned brilliant, good water, and
perfect cleane 7 0½ 450 0 0
A clear lively stone, well spread, but a
little drawing, (in the cross) 5 2½ 300 0 0
A fine stone of good water, perfectly
cleane, but thin, (the middle stone of a
button for a loope) 2 3½ 150 0 0
A spread stone, but drawing to the crown,
(in a collet for a little cross) 3 1¾ 150 0 0
A good water, and a fine lively cleane
brilliant, (in the cross) 4 1¾ 130 0 0
A fine lively cleane stone, but drawing in
the water, (in the cross) 4 2½ 130 0 0
The middle stone of a button for a loope,
very white, extremely spread, and cleane
and lively 2 0¾ 100 0 0
A very fine stone, in all perfection of
colour and cleaness, (in the cross) 2 1¾ 60 0 0
A cleane stone, a little drawing, (in the
cross) 2 2¼ 60 0 0
A brilliant of the first water, and almost
perfectly cleane, (in a ring) 5 0 210 0 0
One fassett diamond drawing 2 3¼ 100 0 0
The other fassett drawing yellowish. The two
middle stones of the button 2 0½ 80 0 0
Forty-four fassetts in the loopes 7 2 45 0 0
Sixteen fassetts in the buttons above 9 0 72 0 0
Two high fassett diamonds through the four points in
buttons, each set round with eleven brilliants, all
valued at 220 0 0
Forty-four fassett diamonds in the two loopes 35 0 0
Twenty-two fassett diamonds in a buckle 60 0 0
Two loopes with forty brilliants in them - - -
Twenty-four brilliants round the two brilliant buttons - - -
Twelve buttons of the same sort 355 0 0
Twelve loopes that go with them 135 0 0
Two buttons of another fashion, with seven diamonds,
each of them about the bigness of the middle stone 130 0 0
Two loopes, with thirteen diamonds in each, and one
large diamond at the bottom of each loope 210 0 0
Four buttons, with nine diamonds in each, of another
fashion and smaller 50 0 0
Four loopes, with ten diamonds in each loope 25 0 0
A fine large rose diamond, perfect cleane, set for a
coulant 360 0 0
Five fossett diamonds in a cross 220 0 0
A pair of ruby earrings set with brilliants about
them, and a cross and coulant set with diamonds, and
a pearle necklace to it, with rubies mixt with them,
all at 90 0 0
A blue enamelled cross set with diamonds 20 0 0
A pair of shoe-buckles set with fossett diamonds 20 0 0
A large brilliant in a ring, in which is his grace the
Duke of Marlborough’s picture 800 0 0
Two rose diamonds cut through the pints, very high,
cleane and lively 170 0 0
Two middle drops to earrings 160 0 0
Four side drops to ditto 70 0 0
A yellow rose diamond, set in a ring which his grace
wears 150 0 0
A large brilliant ring; the gift of the Emperor 1,500 0 0
A large rose diamond set in a ring; the gift of the
King of Poland 1,500 0 0
Endorsed in the Duchess’s handwriting with these words:
“All the brilliants and other small diamonds, except those described in
this book, were bought with the Duchess’s own money, as likewise all the
pearles of every sort. The two best pendant drops cost of Mr. Dolbin
500_l._, and were once valued at 2,200_l._”
_Dated December the 30th, 1718, from a book of Sarah Duchess of
Marlborough’s._—Additional Catalogue.
A large pearl necklace, containing thirty-nine pearls; the two end
pearls are what are called pendant pearls.
Two very large pendant pearls that cost five hundred pounds, but are
valued at more than double the price, set in earrings with two brilliant
diamonds.
Two hundred and eighty-four pearls in a string, for a bracelet.
Three strings in a necklace, with a brilliant hook. Near four hundred
pearls in three; and the hook contains sixteen diamonds.
One hundred and forty-seven pearls in a bracelet, with the Duke of
Marlborough’s picture.
Nine old pearls.
A pair of pendants, with eight false French pearls, set about with
brilliants.
A pair of ruby earrings, with six drops, set round with diamonds.
A ruby cross, set round with diamonds.
In the necklace twenty-six fossett diamonds; all the rubies false but
the middle one and those in the cross.
Five large diamonds in a cross; one very large one for the middle
collet, one large one to buckle it behind, with two little ones: in all
nine.
A brilliant buckle for a girdle, with sixteen diamonds.
A brilliant buckle for the Duke of Marlborough’s picture, with eight
diamonds and a drop.
Such another buckle for four pictures of my daughters.
The Duke of Marlborough’s picture in a ring.
A large buckle for a girdle of fossetts.
A buckle for a girdle of lesser fossetts.
Four diamond buckles and loops, to put on the neck of a manteau.
Six diamond buckles and loops for manteau sleeves: there is in the loops
for the sleeves one hundred and twenty-four diamonds, some brilliants,
and some fossetts.
Fifteen loops set for stays, and eight buttons.
One very fine ring fossett set transparent.
Six pendant drops set in a sprig, fossett stones all.
Six very fine brilliant drops in a pair of pendants, and two very fine
fossetts for the earrings of those pendants.
A very large brilliant ring set transparent.
Two pins with four fossett diamonds.
Sixteen collets set with cristalls and hair; sixty little brilliants set
in collets to go between the cristalls.
A buckle for one of the bracelets with eight little brilliants and a
drop.
Ten brilliant buckles for stays, and two taggs (one lost.)
Eight little square buckles for a waistcoat, fossett, and ten taggs.
Seven little white brilliants, unsett.
A little yellow diamond for the hook of a necklace.
Madame d’Escalache’s picture in a locket.
Thirty-six brilliant collets, pretty large, for a necklace.
Seventeen of those diamonds generally used for the boddice.
A little bracelet with gold crosses.
A little locket of cristall with my Lord Godolphin’s hair.
A pair of earrings with four pretty large brilliant diamonds.
Two little diamond hooks to set drops upon.
Fourty-four small diamonds set in fassetts.
Thirteen more of the same sort.
Two small fassett drops with two little diamonds, for earrings.
Two diamond knotts with false blue stones, for earrings.
A large amethyst ring.
A small Turkey ring.
Two French pearls with diamond tops.
A pair of diamond knotts with false green earrings.
A pair of diamond knotts with eight false green stones.
A ring with my mother’s hair, and four brilliant diamonds.
A gold snuff-box, with two of the Duke of Marlborough’s pictures in it.
A gold snuff-box, with the Duchess of Portsmouth’s picture in it.
A pair of shoe-buckles.
* * * * *
Lady Anne Egerton’s and Lady Dye’s diamonds, that are in use, are not in
this account.
Mr. Gibson valued the best pearl necklace by weight that was bought of
the Duchess of Beaufort at six hundred and eight pounds, and said he
would give so much for it to sell it again, in October, 1715; and
besides that, there were five pearls added to it, bought of the Duchess
of Montague.
A little diamond hook to a garnet necklace.[508]
_An Account of what the Grant of Marlborough-House has cost the Duke and
Duchess of Marlborough._[509]
Paid to Sir Richard Beeling, upon a pretended debt of Queen Dowager’s,
two thousand pounds.
Building the house, and making the garden, very near fifty thousand
pounds.
That article seems almost incredible, but it is not really so
extravagant as it appears, because it is the strongest and best house
that ever was built; and if it were worth the trouble to look into old
accounts when they signify nothing, I could prove what I have said by
the payments out of the accounts. As to what has been paid for two
grants in Queen Anne’s time, there being a mistake in one of them which
occasioned another, and the renewal in King George the First’s time;
likewise the fine and payments upon account of the four little houses to
make the way, must have cost a good deal. But it is not worth the
trouble of summing up the particulars. The yearly rents I pay to the
crown are five shillings; and thirteen pounds fifteen shillings for
Marlborough-house; and thirteen pounds fifteen shillings for the four
little houses. The land-tax for Marlborough-house is sixty pounds a
year; for the four little houses I don’t know what it is. The Examiner
magnified the vast profit I had by this grant from the crown, which it
never cost one shilling. Likewise a great value was set upon the
advantage of the lodges in Windsor Park. None of the expense of building
either was done by the crown; and it cost the Duchess of Marlborough a
great sum of money to make those two lodges what they are, who lost an
arrear due from King George the First, the allowance for keeping the
Park. After that, his present Majesty, by letters patent under the privy
seal, bearing date the twenty-ninth day of June, in the second year of
his reign, was pleased to grant to the ranger of the Great Park at
Windsor an allowance of five hundred pounds a year in consideration of
the charge of supplying hay for feed of the deer, and paying
under-keepers, and gate-keepers, and other subordinate officers doing
duty or service there, their wages; and to authorise and direct the
payment of the said fee, salary, or allowance, at the receipt of the
Exchequer, quarterly, out of his treasure applicable to the uses of his
civil government. This salary was stopt by another order at Christmas,
1736, since which time the Duchess of Marlborough has been at the whole
charge of all the payments in his Majesty’s Park; notwithstanding that
by her grant she has as strong a right to it as anybody can have from
the crown. And though Queen Anne gave her this grant, at King George’s
coming to the crown she paid the usual fees as if it had been given her
then, and which ’tis plain, by what has passed since, could not be taken
from her. But she did not think it worth making a dispute about that.
There is likewise in the order to recal the payment, from the crown,
that Mr. Bridgman should not continue his payment for an allowance he
had for keeping one of the King’s gardens in the Park. That is a thing I
don’t pretend to have a right to have, for it is not in my grant; nor do
I know more of it than that my Lord Ranelagh, when he reduced the prices
of the gardeners to the crown, I suppose to please some former ranger
before I had it, obliged the gardeners to pay a hundred pounds a year to
the gardener that kept that garden in the Great Park. And likewise they
paid an allowance out of theirs for keeping the garden that comes into
the Little Park; and some allowance for some fruit-trees planted in that
park. But I don’t know the particulars of the last exactly, because I
have computed that this grant of Marlborough-house, which the crown
never paid one shilling for, besides the constant rent of the crown, and
taxes, at fifteen hundred pounds a year. Now money is at three per cent.
This statement terminates thus abruptly.
-----
Footnote 1:
It is the impression of her descendant, Earl Spencer, that the Duchess
was born at Holywell: and the facts which are stated in chapter i. p.
10 of the first volume, and for which the Authoress is indebted to the
kindness of Mr. Nicholson, abundantly prove that conviction to be
just.
Footnote 2:
Life of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, 1745, p. 61.
Footnote 3:
Collins’s Baronage, art. Churchill.
Footnote 4:
The letter, now amongst the papers of John Bennet Lawes, Esq., the
descendant of Sir John Wittewronge, Bart., is too much mutilated to be
copied or inserted in the appendix. The Duchess, from the vicinity of
Sandridge to Rothamsted Park, was probably early acquainted with the
family of Wittewronge. She bought some land from Sir John
Wittewronge.—See her Grace’s will.
Footnote 5:
A Letter from the Duchess. Private Correspondence of the Duke of
Marlborough. Colburn, 1837, vol. ii. p. 112.
Footnote 6:
For a more detailed account of the Jennings or Jennyns family, see
Appendix I.
Footnote 7:
Sandridge is a straggling and by no means picturesque village, in the
vicinity of St. Albans. The property once belonging to the Jennings
family descended to the favourite grandson of the Duchess, Lord John
Spencer, (commonly called “Jack Spencer,”) and was sold by the present
Lord Spencer to John Kinder, Esq., who has built a handsome house on
the estate.
The manor of Sandridge, at the time of the dissolution, formed part of
the possessions of the Abbot of St. Albans, and is thus described in
the Domesday Survey. “It answered for ten hides. There is land to
thirteen ploughs. The Abbot himself holds Sandridge. Three hides are
in the demesne, and there are two ploughs here, and a third may be
made. Twenty-six villanes here have ten ploughs Meadow for two
ploughs. Pasture for the cattle. Pasturage for three hundred hogs. The
whole value is 18_l._ When received 12_l._ And the same in King
Edward’s time.”—_Clutterbuck’s Hist. of Hertfordshire_, p. 216.
Upon the dissolution, this manor came to the crown, and was granted by
charter, anno 32 Henry VIII., to Ralph Rowlat, whose sister married
Ralph Jennings, the grandfather of Richard Jennings.
Footnote 8:
With the day of her birth I have been assisted by the kindness of a
friend. Coxe mentions merely the year.
Footnote 9:
I am enabled, by the kindness and intelligence of the Rev. Henry
Nicholson, rector of the Abbey of St. Alban’s, to give the
corroborating evidence to this fact. A member of the highly
respectable family of a former rector of St. Albans distinctly
recollects that it used to be the boast of her aunt, an old lady of
eighty, not many years deceased, that she had herself been removed,
when ill of the small-pox, to the very room in the house where Sarah
Duchess of Marlborough was born. This was a small building since
pulled down, and its site is now occupied by a summer-house, between
what is called Holywell-street and Sopwell-lane in St. Alban’s, and
within the space afterwards occupied by the pleasure-grounds of the
great house at Holywell. Holywell is said by tradition to have been so
called, because in it was a well, marked in an old map of St. Albans,
where the nuns of Sopwell used to dip their crusts, too hard to be
eaten without such a process.
Footnote 10:
Clutterbuck’s History of Hertfordshire, p. 57.
Footnote 11:
Bishop Burnet’s Hist. of His Own Times, vol. v. p. 53.
Footnote 12:
Granger, art. M. B.
Footnote 13:
Macpherson’s Hist. of Great Britain, vol. i. p. 174.
Footnote 14:
Macpherson, p. 177.
Footnote 15:
Life of James II., edited by Macpherson, vol. i. p. 73.
Footnote 16:
Hist. Brit., vol. i. p. 178.
Footnote 17:
See Archdeacon Coxe’s Life of John Duke of Marlborough, vol. i.
Introduction, p. 45; also Lediard’s Life of Marlborough. For a further
account of the Churchill name and lineage, see Appendix II.
Footnote 18:
See Coxe, p. 47 and 49.
Footnote 19:
See Grammont.
Footnote 20:
This early exploit was the result of a wager of Turenne’s. “I will bet
a supper and a dozen of claret,” said the general, “that my handsome
Englishman will recover the post with half the number of men commanded
by the officer who has lost it.” The wager was accepted and
won.—Lediard, vol. i.
Footnote 21:
Coxe, p. 9.
Footnote 22:
Lord Chesterfield’s Letters, 136.
Footnote 23:
For a specimen of the errors, in this respect, imputed to the Duke,
see Appendix, No. I., in an extract from the newspapers of his time.
Footnote 24:
“Divi Britannici; being a Remark on all the Kings of this isle, from
the year of the world 2855 unto the year of Grace 1660.”—General
Biography, art. Churchill.
Footnote 25:
Coxe, p. 1, 2.
Footnote 26:
See Life of Zarah, p. 2.
Footnote 27:
Life of Zarah, p. 3.
Footnote 28:
Collins’s Baronage, vol. ii. p. 131.
Footnote 29:
Collins’s Baronage, art. Churchill.
Footnote 30:
Coxe, i. 13.
Footnote 31:
Chesterfield’s Letters, p. 136.
Footnote 32:
Bishop Burnet alludes to this intrigue between Marlborough and the
Duchess. “The Duchess of Cleveland, finding that she had lost the
king, abandoned herself to great disorders; one of which, by the
artifice of the Duke of Buckingham, was discovered by the king in
person.”—Hist. of his own Times, vol. i. p. 370.
Footnote 33:
Burnet, vol. i. p. 129.
Footnote 34:
Grammont, vol. ii. p. 284.
Footnote 35:
Chesterfield’s Letters, p. 136.
Footnote 36:
From 1675 to 1678. See Coxe, vol. i. 15.
Footnote 37:
Life of John Duke of Marlborough, p. 39.
Footnote 38:
See Coxe, 14, 15.
Footnote 39:
Continuation of Lord Clarendon’s Life, p. 167.
Footnote 40:
Ibid., p. 148.
Footnote 41:
Granger.
Footnote 42:
Lediard, p. 32.
Footnote 43:
Echard’s Hist. Revolution, p. 113.
Footnote 44:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 15.
Footnote 45:
Coxe.
Footnote 46:
Lediard.
Footnote 47:
Coxe.
Footnote 48:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 18.
Footnote 49:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 18.
Footnote 50:
See Coxe, from Lives of Marlborough and Eugene, vol. i. p. 15.
Footnote 51:
Dalrymple, Appendix, p. 239.
Footnote 52:
Lediard, p. 39, 40.
Footnote 53:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 19.
Footnote 54:
Coxe.
Footnote 55:
Coxe.
Footnote 56:
Lediard.
Footnote 57:
Boyer, p. 36.
Footnote 58:
Granger.
Footnote 59:
Macpherson’s Hist. England, p. 365.
Footnote 60:
Boyer.
Footnote 61:
Granger, vol. i. p. 8.
Footnote 62:
Ibid.
Footnote 63:
Private Correspondence of the Duchess of Marlborough, vol. ii. p. 116.
Footnote 64:
Priv. Correspondence.
Footnote 65:
Granger, art. Anne.
Footnote 66:
Boyer, p. 716.
Footnote 67:
Ibid.
Footnote 68:
Four last Years of Queen Anne’s Reign, vol. xii. p. 11.
Footnote 69:
Granger.
Footnote 70:
Four last Years, p. 11.
Footnote 71:
Conduct.
Footnote 72:
Conduct, p. 11–15.
Footnote 73:
Conduct, p. 10.
Footnote 74:
Lord Wharncliffe’s edition of Lady M. W. Montague’s Works, vol. i.
Footnote 75:
The Life of Colley Cibber.
Footnote 76:
Burnet’s History of his own Times, vol. i. p. 756.
Footnote 77:
Conduct, p. 11.
Footnote 78:
Ibid., p. 20.
Footnote 79:
Conduct, p. 13.
Footnote 80:
Conduct, p. 15.
Footnote 81:
Coxe, 27.
Footnote 82:
Conduct, p. 13.
Footnote 83:
Conduct, p. 12.
Footnote 84:
Coxe, 28.
Footnote 85:
Dalrymple, i. 104.
Footnote 86:
Ibid.
Footnote 87:
Life of St. Evremond. See Notes to Grammont, vol. ii. p. 351.
Footnote 88:
Brian Fairfax’s Life of the Duke of Buckingham, quoted in Grammont.
Footnote 89:
Macpherson, vol. i. p. 384.
Footnote 90:
Grammont, ii. 190.
Footnote 91:
Burnet, vol. i. p. 368.
Footnote 92:
See Notes to Grammont, vol. i. p. 329.
Footnote 93:
Ibid. 261.
Footnote 94:
See Opinions of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough. Edit. 1784, p. 4.
Footnote 95:
£20,000 a year.
Footnote 96:
Ibid. p. 6.
Footnote 97:
Boyer’s Life of Anne, p. 3.
Footnote 98:
See letters from the Princess of Denmark to the Princess of Orange in
Dalrymple’s Mem. vol. ii. Appendix.
Footnote 99:
Conduct, p. 16.
Footnote 100:
Coxe, i. 33.
Footnote 101:
Conduct.
Footnote 102:
Coxe, 34.
Footnote 103:
Conduct, p. 16.
Footnote 104:
Tindal, vol. xv. p. 150.
Footnote 105:
Four Last Years of Queen Anne, p. 10.
Footnote 106:
See Oliver’s Pocket Looking Glass, printed 1711, p. 25.
Footnote 107:
Coxe, p. 34.
Footnote 108:
Dalrymple, book v. p. 215.
Footnote 109:
Dalrymple, book v. p. 215.
Footnote 110:
Dalrymple, 228, book v.
Footnote 111:
See Coxe, Lediard.
Footnote 112:
Macpherson, ii. 479; Clarendon’s Diary, Nov. 9, 1688.
Footnote 113:
Conduct.
Footnote 114:
Tindal, xv. p. 200.
Footnote 115:
Before the Princess had sent to declare her distress.
Footnote 116:
Conduct, p. 16.
Footnote 117:
Tindal, p. 75, vol. xv. See Appendix.
Footnote 118:
Dalrymple, b. vi. p. 230.
Footnote 119:
Life of Colley Cibber, p. 48.
Footnote 120:
The Other Side of the Question, in a Letter to Her Grace the Dowager
Duchess of.... By a Woman of Quality. Ed. London, 1742, p. 5.
Footnote 121:
Conduct, p. 19.
Footnote 122:
Life of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, 1746, p. 6.
Footnote 123:
Life of John Duke of Marlborough, by Lediard.
Footnote 124:
Other Side of the Question, p. 11.
Footnote 125:
Other Side of the Question, 11.
Footnote 126:
Dalrymple, b. vi. p. 232.
Footnote 127:
Macpherson, i. p. 516.
Footnote 128:
Burnet, iv. 193.
Footnote 129:
Noble’s edition of Granger, vol. i. p. 13.
Footnote 130:
Burnet.
Footnote 131:
Macpherson, vol. i. p. 308, apud d’Avaux.
Footnote 132:
Dalrymple, Burnet, Tindal, Macpherson.
Footnote 133:
Dalrymple, b. vi. p. 269.
Footnote 134:
Tindal, vol. xv. p. 280.
Footnote 135:
Macpherson.
Footnote 136:
Dalrymple, b. vi. p. 270.
Footnote 137:
Dalrymple, b. vi. p. 270.
Footnote 138:
Dalrymple, b. vi. p. 270.
Footnote 139:
Conduct, p. 22.
Footnote 140:
Conduct, p. 22.
Footnote 141:
Dalrymple, b. i. p. 90.
Footnote 142:
Granger. Edited by Noble. art. Russell.
Footnote 143:
Dalrymple.
Footnote 144:
Burnet, vol. iv. p. 196.
Footnote 145:
Ibid.
Footnote 146:
Ibid.
Footnote 147:
Dalrymple, b. ii. p. 113.
Footnote 148:
Ibid. b. vii. p. 272.
Footnote 149:
Dalrymple, b. vi. p. 238.
Footnote 150:
Conduct.
Footnote 151:
Dalrymple, b. vii. p. 276.
Footnote 152:
Macpherson, vol. i. p. 512.
Footnote 153:
Burnet, v. 69.
Footnote 154:
Burnet.
Footnote 155:
Conduct, p. 25.
Footnote 156:
Doctor Birch’s Notes from the Princess Anne’s Letters to her Sister.
See Sir John Dalrymple’s Memoirs.
Footnote 157:
Dalrymple, vol. ii. part ii. b. i. p. 305.
Footnote 158:
In 1708 the hinges of the portcullis were remaining.
Footnote 159:
Among others, those near the water were occupied by the late Duchess
of Portland.—Smith’s Antiquities of Westminster, vol. i. p. 19.
Footnote 160:
Conduct, p. 29.
Footnote 161:
See Dalrymple.
Footnote 162:
Conduct, p. 28.
Footnote 163:
Conduct, p. 30.
Footnote 164:
Boyer, p. 6.
Footnote 165:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 60.
Footnote 166:
Conduct, p. 30.
Footnote 167:
Conduct, p. 32.
Footnote 168:
See Private Correspondence.
Footnote 169:
He was called in Ireland, when he was appointed by Anne lord
lieutenant, Polyphemus, or Ireland’s Eye.—Noble’s Granger, vol. i. p.
51.
Footnote 170:
Conduct.
Footnote 171:
Tindal, vol. xvi. p. 502.
Footnote 172:
Conduct, p. 35.
Footnote 173:
Ibid. 37.
Footnote 174:
Ibid.
Footnote 175:
Noble’s edition of Granger, vol. ii. p. 18.
Footnote 176:
Macpherson.
Footnote 177:
Noble, art. Godolphin.
Footnote 178:
Dean Swift’s Four Last Years of Queen Anne, p. 12.
Footnote 179:
Boyer, p. 17.
Footnote 180:
Ibid.
Footnote 181:
Swift, p. 12.
Footnote 182:
Four Last Years, p. 12.
Footnote 183:
Swift.
Footnote 184:
Conduct, p. 37.
Footnote 185:
Conduct, p. 38.
Footnote 186:
Macpherson.
Footnote 187:
Letter written soon after the Revolution, by Daniel Finch, Esq. of
Nottingham. Dalrymple’s Mem. vol. ii. p. 79.
Footnote 188:
Boyer, p. 357.
Footnote 189:
Conduct, p. 38.
Footnote 190:
Ibid.
Footnote 191:
Correspondence, vol. i. p. 44.
Footnote 192:
Ibid. p. 27.
Footnote 193:
Coxe, vol. i. 4to. p. 18.
Footnote 194:
Lediard.
Footnote 195:
Coxe.
Footnote 196:
Lediard, p. 103.
Footnote 197:
Dalrymple.
Footnote 198:
Dalrymple, part II. b. i. p. 300.
Footnote 199:
Dalrymple, part ii. b. i. p. 300.
Footnote 200:
Tindal, Dalrymple, Burnet.
Footnote 201:
Burnet, vol. iv. p. 2.
Footnote 202:
Ibid. p. 5.
Footnote 203:
Swift’s Four Last Years of Queen Anne, p. 16.
Footnote 204:
Swift.
Footnote 205:
Boyer, App.; Tindal, Burnet.
Footnote 206:
Sir William Temple’s Memoirs. See Boyer, App. p. 49.
Footnote 207:
Boyer, Appendix, p. 57.
Footnote 208:
Noble, vol. i. p. 61.
Footnote 209:
See Coxe, note, vol. i. p. 61.
Footnote 210:
Coxe, p. 59.
Footnote 211:
Lediard, p. 107.
Footnote 212:
Ibid. p. 105.
Footnote 213:
Coxe, p. 59.
Footnote 214:
Lediard, vol. i. p. 105.
Footnote 215:
Conduct, p. 42.
Footnote 216:
Conduct, p. 43.
Footnote 217:
Notes to Grammont, vol. ii. p. 324.
Footnote 218:
Granger and Grammont, from Coles’s State Papers.
Footnote 219:
She was the daughter of Sir Matthew Boynton, and sister-in-law to the
famous Earl of Roscommon.
Footnote 220:
Notes to Grammont, vol. ii. p. 328.
Footnote 221:
Lediard, p. 111.
Footnote 222:
Ibid.
Footnote 223:
Other Side of the Question, p. 70.
Footnote 224:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 63.
Footnote 225:
Lediard, p. 111.
Footnote 226:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 61.
Footnote 227:
Other Side of the Question, p. 48.
Footnote 228:
Conduct, p. 42.
Footnote 229:
See Appendix, No. IV., for the rest of this letter, and for others
upon the same subject.
Footnote 230:
Conduct.
Footnote 231:
Conduct, p. 48. See Appendix V. for Queen Mary’s two letters to Lady
Churchill.
Footnote 232:
Other Side of the Question, p. 75.
Footnote 233:
Conduct, p. 55. See Appendix.
Footnote 234:
Whitehall, partly rebuilt by James I., who found it in a ruinous
state, comprehended within its walls, although unfinished, different
suites of rooms, in which the various members of the royal family,
their several retinues, the great officers of state, and in the times
of Charles the Second and James, the female favourites of those
monarchs who could sanction their pretensions.—_Pennant’s London_, v.
i. p. 191.
Footnote 235:
Conduct, p. 58. See Appendix VI.
Footnote 236:
Elizabeth Percy, Duchess of Somerset, daughter and sole heiress of
Joceline Percy, Earl of Northumberland. This lady had been affianced
to Henry Cavendish, Earl of Ogle, only son of Henry Duke of Newcastle,
but his early death, in 1680, prevented the completion of the
nuptials. The Duchess afterwards supplanted the Duchess of Marlborough
in the confidence of Queen Anne.—_Granger_, vol. iii. p. 437.
Footnote 237:
Charles Seymour, commonly called the proud Duke of Somerset.
Footnote 238:
It may here be observed, that probably this firmness and propriety of
conduct on the part of the Duke and Duchess of Somerset laid the
foundation of that partiality which Anne evinced towards them, to the
prejudice, as it proved, of her earlier friends. The Duchess, or, as
the Duchess of Marlborough was wont to call her, “the great lady,” was
an avowed opponent of the Tory party, and became in after life a most
influential, as well as a most active friend to Whig principles.
Footnote 239:
Notes to Berwick’s Memoirs, vol. i. p. 424.
Footnote 240:
Conduct.
Footnote 241:
Tindal, vol. xvi. p. 517.
Footnote 242:
Dalrymple’s Memoirs.
Footnote 243:
Notes to Berwick’s Memoirs, p. 426.
Footnote 244:
Marshal Berwick, the son of James II., and the nephew of Marlborough,
was twice married. His first wife was a daughter of the Earl of
Clanricarde, and in 1699 he married a lady attached to the court of
the exiled Queen of England, and niece of Lord Bulkley.—_Memoirs of
the Duke of Berwick_, vol. i. p. 17.
Footnote 245:
Autobiography of James II., edited by Macpherson, p. 235.
Footnote 246:
Ibid.
Footnote 247:
Dalrymple, b. vii. part ii. p. 493.
Footnote 248:
Dalrymple, p. ii. b. vii. p. 493.
Footnote 249:
Russell avoided an engagement with the French fleet: he never failed
entreating King James to prevent the meeting of the two fleets,
assuring him that as an officer and an Englishman, he could not avoid
firing on the first French ship that came in his way, even if he
should see the King on the quarter-deck.—_Notes to Berwick’s Memoirs._
Footnote 250:
Tindal, xvi. p. 531.
Footnote 251:
Dalrymple.
Footnote 252:
Conduct, p. 60.
Footnote 253:
Conduct, p. 63.
Footnote 254:
Conduct, p. 62.
Footnote 255:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 34.
Footnote 256:
See Appendix, VII.
Footnote 257:
Conduct.
Footnote 258:
Note in Coxe, vol. i. p. 9.
Footnote 259:
Coxe.
Footnote 260:
Life of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, p. 41.
Footnote 261:
Life of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, p. 39.
Footnote 262:
Burnet.
Footnote 263:
Coxe, vol. vi. p. 216.
Footnote 264:
Opinions of the Duchess of Marlborough. See Private Correspondence,
Colburn, 1837, vol. ii. p. 125.
Footnote 265:
Ibid.
Footnote 266:
Burnet.
Footnote 267:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 69.
Footnote 268:
Conduct, p. 74.
Footnote 269:
Lord Cholmondeley, to whom the Duchess addressed her Vindication.
Footnote 270:
Conduct, p. 74.
Footnote 271:
See Horace Walpole’s Letters to Sir Horace Mann.
Footnote 272:
Conduct, p. 73.
Footnote 273:
Conduct, p. 79.
Footnote 274:
Conduct, p. 80.
Footnote 275:
Conduct, p. 18.
Footnote 276:
Opinions of the Duchess. Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 120.
Colburn.
Footnote 277:
Conduct, p. 98, 99.
Footnote 278:
Ibid.
Footnote 279:
Conduct, pp. 98, 99.
Footnote 280:
Pennant, p. 171.
Footnote 281:
Dalrymple, b. vii. p. 508.
Footnote 282:
See Mary’s Letters to William III. Dalrymple, Appendix, p. 129.
Footnote 283:
Conduct, p. 103.
Footnote 284:
Ibid., edition 1742, p. 109.
Footnote 285:
Conduct, p. 285.
Footnote 286:
Burnet, iv. p. 149.
Footnote 287:
Lady Derby was Lady Elizabeth Butler, daughter of Thomas Earl of
Ossory; married to George ninth Earl of Derby, who died in 1702, and
was succeeded by James tenth Earl, who had been groom of the
bedchamber to William the Third.—_Burke’s Peerage._
Footnote 288:
Conduct, p. 106.
Footnote 289:
Burnet.
Footnote 290:
Conduct, p. 107.
Footnote 291:
Burnet, p. 199.
Footnote 292:
Swift. Last Years of Queen Anne’s Reign, p. 6.
Footnote 293:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 74.
Footnote 294:
Conduct, p. 110.
Footnote 295:
Conduct, p. 115.
Footnote 296:
Conduct, p. 111.
Footnote 297:
Conduct.
Footnote 298:
Walpole’s Reminiscences, p. 315.
Footnote 299:
Walpole’s Noble Authors, p. 190.
Footnote 300:
See Appendix, VIII.
Footnote 301:
Conduct, p. 114.
Footnote 302:
Conduct, p. 115.
Footnote 303:
Dalrymple, b. iv. p. 78.
Footnote 304:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 74.
Footnote 305:
Dalrymple, b. iii. p. 56.
Footnote 306:
Coxe. From the Shrewsbury Papers.
Footnote 307:
Coxe, p. 82.
Footnote 308:
Coxe, p. 86. From the Duchess’s Narrative. Green Book.
Footnote 309:
Dalrymple, book v. p. 88.
Footnote 310:
Lediard, p. 118.
Footnote 311:
Conduct, p. 117.
Footnote 312:
Conduct, p. 119.
Footnote 313:
Boyer, p. 7.
Footnote 314:
It is told of Burnet, that on the consecration of some bishops, Bishop
Williams was appointed to preach the sermon at Bow Church. The clerk
had twice given out the psalm, and still the bishop, detained by some
accident, did not appear. Burnet was desired by the Archbishop of
Canterbury to supply his place. He did so, and preached one of the
best sermons he had ever been known to deliver.
Footnote 315:
Johnson’s Lives of the Poets, art. Rochester. See also Life of Bishop
Burnet, by Thomas Burnet, Esq.
Burnet, Hist. of his own Times, vol. iv. p. 307.
Footnote 316:
Vol. iv. p. 207.
Footnote 317:
Reminiscences, p. 341.
Footnote 318:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 92. See Note.
Footnote 319:
Life of Halifax.
Footnote 320:
Burnet, vol. iv. p. 302.
Footnote 321:
Coxe, p. 94.
Footnote 322:
Granger, vol. ii. p. 373.
Footnote 323:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 95.
Footnote 324:
Ibid.
Footnote 325:
Cunningham’s History of Great Britain, book iv. p. 171.
Footnote 326:
Granger, vol. ii. p. 46.
Footnote 327:
Coxe, p. 96.
Footnote 328:
Cunningham’s History of Great Britain, book v. p. 301.
Footnote 329:
Coxe.
Footnote 330:
See Swift’s Letters.
Footnote 331:
Granger, vol. ii. p. 372.
Footnote 332:
Clutterbuck’s Hist. Hertfordshire, p. 19.
Footnote 333:
See Appendix VIII. The Epitaph of Lady Bridgwater.
Footnote 334:
Collins’s Baronage, vol. ii. p. 319.
Footnote 335:
Horace Walpole, Rem. p. 315.
Footnote 336:
Cunningham.
Footnote 337:
Coxe, p. 88.
Footnote 338:
Burnet, vol. iv. p. 358.
Footnote 339:
Ibid.
Footnote 340:
Coxe, p. 88.
Footnote 341:
Dalrymple, Appendix.
Footnote 342:
Coxe, from Macpherson’s Hist., vol. ii. p. 130.
Footnote 343:
Dalrymple, b. vii. p. 132.
Footnote 344:
Coxe.
Footnote 345:
Cunningham, vol. i. p. 252.
Footnote 346:
Dalrymple.
Footnote 347:
Flying Post, 1702.
Footnote 348:
Dalrymple.
Footnote 349:
Burnet, vol. v. p. 69.
Footnote 350:
Marlborough’s Apotheosis, p. 11. London, 1714.
Footnote 351:
Reminiscences, p. 313.
Footnote 352:
With one exception: in her “Conduct” she seems to imply that the Duke
of Marlborough had held no correspondence whatsoever with James the
Second. She does not, indeed, say so; but disingenuously says, if Lord
Marlborough had acted so and so. There was abundant proof of his
negociations with the exiled family.
Footnote 353:
Such is the style of the work, entitled, “The Other Side of the
Question,” and also of the “Review of a late Treatise, entitled ‘An
Account of the Conduct of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, &c.,’ in a
Letter addressed to a Person of Distinction.” In this work, which was
written by a nobleman, there seems to be more of invective than of
fact.
Footnote 354:
Lord Wharncliffe’s edition of Lady Mary W. Montague’s Letters.
Introduction, p. 75.
Footnote 355:
Review of a late Treatise, &c., p. 53.
Footnote 356:
Horace Walpole’s Reminiscences.
Footnote 357:
Conduct, p. 21.
Footnote 358:
Cunningham, vol. i. p. 257.
Footnote 359:
London Gazette.
Footnote 360:
Cunningham, Boyer, Dalrymple, Somerville.
Footnote 361:
Flying Post, or Postmaster. March 8, 1702.
Footnote 362:
Postboy. March 10.
Footnote 363:
Character of Anne by the Duchess.
Footnote 364:
Somerville’s Queen Anne.
Footnote 365:
Boyer, p. 15.
Footnote 366:
London Courant, April 24th, 1702; Flying Post, 1702.
Footnote 367:
Ibid. April 23rd.
Footnote 368:
Daily Courant, April 15th.
Footnote 369:
Review of a late Treatise, &c., p. 22.
Footnote 370:
Cunningham, b. v. p. 259.
Footnote 371:
Conduct, p. 121.
Footnote 372:
Conduct.
Footnote 373:
Ibid. p. 125.
Footnote 374:
Conduct, p. 126.
Footnote 375:
Mrs. Hannah More.
Footnote 376:
Conduct.
Footnote 377:
Churchill’s Annals, 1702.
Footnote 378:
Swift. Four Years of Anne.
Footnote 379:
See Bishop Watson’s Life.
Footnote 380:
Life and Character of John Lord Somers, by Richard Cooksey, Esq. 1791.
Footnote 381:
Maddock’s Life of Somers, p. 34.
Footnote 382:
Swift.
Footnote 383:
Four Last Years, p. 7.
Footnote 384:
Cooksey’s Life of Somers.
Footnote 385:
Ibid.
Footnote 386:
Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 148.
Footnote 387:
Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 149.
Footnote 388:
Halifax was called “Mouse Montague,” from the circumstance of Lord
Dorset’s presenting him to William the Third as a _Mouse_.—_Granger’s
Biography._
Footnote 389:
Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 153.
Footnote 390:
See Dedication to the fourth volume of Tatler.
Footnote 391:
Dedication to the Tatler.
Footnote 392:
Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 156.
Footnote 393:
Cunningham, vol. vi. p. 316.
Footnote 394:
Ibid.
Footnote 395:
Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 154.
Footnote 396:
Pope’s Epistle to Arbuthnot.
Footnote 397:
Four Last Years, p. 9.
Footnote 398:
Freeholder, p. 39. May 4, 1716.
Footnote 399:
Horace Walpole.
Footnote 400:
Collins’s Baronage, vol. i. p. 110.
Footnote 401:
In a poem, entitled “An Allusion to the Bishop of Cambray’s Supplement
to Homer.”
Footnote 402:
Collins’s Baronage, vol. i. p. 118.
Footnote 403:
Dalrymple, b. x. p. 130.
Footnote 404:
Cunningham, b. ii. p. 259.
Footnote 405:
See Cunningham.
Footnote 406:
His infamous example was renewed in that singular, gifted, and most
profligate nobleman, his son, Philip Duke of Wharton. Modern times
scarcely furnish a parallel to the character of this peer.
“Like Buckingham and Rochester,” says one who understood him well, “he
comforted all the grave and dull, by throwing away the brightest
profusion of parts on witty fooleries, which may mix graces with a
great character, but can never compose one. If Julius Cæsar had only
rioted with citizens, he had never been the emperor of the world.” The
courage of this bad, wild, singular man was not equal to his
assurance. Abuse sometimes displays cowardice; it is the cool and
temperate who are usually courageous. Lord Wharton, with the levity of
a man who really loved nothing but pleasure, and really prized nothing
but self-interest, could jest at his own want of heroism. When seized
by the guard in St. James’s Park for singing the Jacobite air, “The
King shall have his Own again,” as he has himself recorded in his
ballad,
“The duke he drew out half his sword,
The guard drew out the rest.”
The worst attribute of Philip Duke of Wharton, as a citizen of the
world, was his indifference to reputation. Men of pleasure are not
generally indifferent to a character for honour and consistency; but
Lord Wharton cared merely for ephemeral applause. Attached, in
reality, to no party, and having no actual motives but those of
expediency, there was not the slightest dependence to be placed upon
those visionary things, his opinions, beyond the moment when he was
haranguing a popular assembly, or debating in the House of Lords. It
is well known that at a later period, in 1723, upon the third reading
of a Bill of Pains and Penalties against Atterbury Bishop of
Rochester, Lord Wharton accomplished a brilliant display by a most
dishonourable artifice. He went to Chelsea, where the minister
resided, and professing his resolution to effect a reconciliation with
the court by speaking against the Bishop, requested some suggestions
upon the case. Thus enticed, the minister went over the whole argument
with his lordship. Wharton returned to town, passed the night in
drinking, (his libraries being, as Horace Walpole observes, made
taverns,) went to the House of Lords, without going to bed, and made a
most eloquent speech in favour of the Bishop, showing all the weak
points of the arguments which he had thus surmounted, in the most able
and masterly manner.
Footnote 407:
Horace Walpole’s Reminiscences.
Footnote 408:
Boyer, p. 14.
Footnote 409:
Conduct, p. 130.
Footnote 410:
Conduct, p. 131.
Footnote 411:
Ibid. p. 129.
Footnote 412:
Boyer, Appendix.
Footnote 413:
Lord Rochester married Henrietta, daughter of Lord Burlington, by whom
he had five daughters and one son, who succeeded him in his titles.
“He was,” says Mackay, “easily wound up to a passion.”—Pref. to
Clarendon Papers, vol. i. p. 18.
Footnote 414:
Conduct, p. 132.
Footnote 415:
Conduct.
Footnote 416:
Boyer, p. 33.
Footnote 417:
Essay from the Quarterly Review.
Footnote 418:
Burnet.
Footnote 419:
Other Side of the Question, p. 157.
Footnote 420:
Remarks upon the Conduct, &c., p. 43.
Footnote 421:
Cunningham, b. iv. p. 125.
Footnote 422:
Cunningham, b. iv. p. 125.
Footnote 423:
Ibid.
Footnote 424:
Burnet, vol. v. p. 88.
Footnote 425:
Narrative on Mrs. Morley’s coming to town. St. Albans, 1709. Coxe,
vol. i. p. 142.
Footnote 426:
Coxe, p. 153.
Footnote 427:
Coxe, Papers, B. M., vol. xli. p. 22.
Footnote 428:
Coxe, p. 158. From Marlborough Papers.
Footnote 429:
Coxe, Papers, p. 43.
Footnote 430:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 159–172.
Footnote 431:
Coxe, MSS. British Museum, vol. xli. folio, p. 11.
Footnote 432:
Coxe, 192. Note.
Footnote 433:
Cunningham, b. v. p. 296.
Footnote 434:
Boyer, p. 33.
Footnote 435:
Coxe, MSS., B. M.
Footnote 436:
Boyer, p. 35.
Footnote 437:
State of Europe, 1702.
Footnote 438:
Coxe, p. 202.
Footnote 439:
Marlborough Papers.
Footnote 440:
Conduct, p. 303.
Footnote 441:
Conduct, p. 305.
Footnote 442:
Coxe, p. 204.
Footnote 443:
See Lord Marlborough’s Letter, fragment. Coxe, p. 206.
Footnote 444:
Boyer, p. 37.
Footnote 445:
Cunningham, b. vi. p. 314.
Footnote 446:
The Duke of Ormond had recently, in a very gallant manner, taken Vigo,
in conjunction with Sir George Rook. A great booty was taken, but
whilst the Spaniards sustained a heavy loss, the English were not
comparatively benefited. “A great deal of the treasure taken at Vigo,”
says Burnet, “was embezzled, and fell into private hands; one of the
galleons foundered at sea.”—_Burnet_, vol. v. p. 115.
Footnote 447:
Boyer, p. 37.
Footnote 448:
Coxe, p. 208.
Footnote 449:
Conduct, p. 295.
Footnote 450:
Cunningham, vol. vi. p. 314.
Footnote 451:
Lord Cowper’s Diary, MS., p. 16.
Footnote 452:
Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 126.
Footnote 453:
Cunningham, b. vi. p. 315.
Footnote 454:
Harley first saw the light in Bow-street, Covent Garden.
Footnote 455:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 210.
Footnote 456:
Burnet, vol. v. p. 125.
Footnote 457:
Boyer, p. 14.
Footnote 458:
Boyer, p. 14.
Footnote 459:
Royal and Noble Authors, p. 436.
Footnote 460:
Burnet, vol. i. p. 683.
Footnote 461:
Royal and Noble Authors, p. 436.
Footnote 462:
See MSS. Letters from Lord Sunderland, in which he extols the
Duchess’s political exertions. Coxe, Papers B. M. Vol. xli. p. 13.
Footnote 463:
Burnet, vol. v. p. 123.
Footnote 464:
Cunningham, book v. p. 317.
Footnote 465:
Somerville, chap. xi. p. 27.
Footnote 466:
Burnet, vol. v. p. 120, 121.
Footnote 467:
Conduct, p. 136.
Footnote 468:
Conduct, p. 138.
Footnote 469:
Cunningham, b. v. p. 138.
Footnote 470:
Conduct.
Footnote 471:
Cunningham, p. 318.
Footnote 472:
Conduct, p. 142.
Footnote 473:
Ibid, 145.
Footnote 474:
Burnet, vol. v. p. 138.
Footnote 475:
Granger, vol. ii. p. 41.
Footnote 476:
Congreve’s Works.
Footnote 477:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 217.
Footnote 478:
Coxe, p. 220.
Footnote 479:
Ibid. vol. i. p. 219.
Footnote 480:
Collins’s Baronage, vol. i. p. 318.
Footnote 481:
Ibid.
Footnote 482:
MSS. Correspondence of the Duke of Marlborough. Coxe, Papers, vol.
lxiv. p. 2.
Footnote 483:
Coxe, 228.
Footnote 484:
Lediard.
Footnote 485:
Coxe, vol. i. p. 228.
Footnote 486:
Noble, vol. i. p. 386.
Footnote 487:
See “Account of a Journey to England,” a scarce tract in the British
Museum, written at the command of a nobleman in France. 1700.
Footnote 488:
These have since degenerated into the innocent race of dandies, that
“domestic wonder of wonders,” as a modern writer terms the
species—Sartor Resartus, p. 284.
Footnote 489:
See Letter to England. B. M.
Footnote 490:
Lord Chesterfield.
Footnote 491:
On the copy of this work, (1712,) in the British Museum, are written
these words, “Splendidi Mendex.”
Footnote 492:
See Tract in British Museum.
Footnote 493:
Biographia Britannica, art Drake.
Footnote 494:
Biographia Britannica. He wrote the “Sham Lawyer, or Lucky
Extravagant,” which he declares on the title-page to have been
“damnably acted” at Drury Lane.
Footnote 495:
It is not likely that many people will now take the trouble to read
the answers to the Duchess’s “Vindication.” The principal of these
are, “Remarks on the Conduct of a certain Duchess, in a Letter from a
Member of Parliament to a young Nobleman. 1742.” “The Other Side of
the Question, in a Letter to her Grace, by a Woman of Quality. 1742.”
The pamphlets for and against the Duke are numerous, and of various
titles. “Oliver’s Pocket Looking Glass, 1711, new-framed and cleaned,
to give a clear view of the Great Modern Colossus.” “No Queen, or no
General. 1712.” “Rufinus, or the Favourite; a Poem.” “Our Ancestors as
well as We, or Ancient Precedents for Modern Facts;” with others of
less imposing titles. “The Story of the St. Alb—ns Ghost, or the
Apparition of Mother Haggy. 1712;” a coarse, disgusting attempt to
satirize the Duke and Duchess and their family.
Footnote 496:
See Swift’s Journal to Stella.
Footnote 497:
That is, stalks and all.—Quoted in Scott’s Life of Dean Swift.
Footnote 498:
Scott, p. 73.
Footnote 499:
Ibid., p. 76.
Footnote 500:
Ibid., p. 46.
Footnote 501:
Sheridan’s Life of Swift.
Footnote 502:
See Maddock’s Life of Somers; and also Cooksey’s, p. 21.
Footnote 503:
Swift, indeed, at the very moment that he was revising a new edition
of the poem, wrote to his bookseller, hinting that he thought that his
little parson cousin was at the bottom of the Tub.
Footnote 504:
Scott’s Life.
Footnote 505:
See notes by Hawkesworth. Swift’s Works.
Footnote 506:
Coxe MSS.
Footnote 507:
Page 287.
Footnote 508:
This curious list proves the exact habits of the Duchess.
Footnote 509:
Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 158. Also copied from the Duchess’s own
writing.
END OF VOLUME I.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY IBOTSON AND PALMER, SAVOY STREET.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_Just published, Second Edition, 2 vols. 8vo., with Portraits, Price
28s._
THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH’S PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE.
ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE COURT AND TIMES OF QUEEN ANNE.
(Now first published from the Originals.)
WITH
HER SKETCHES AND OPINIONS OF HER CONTEMPORARIES.
“This is a very delightful work. We have closed the volumes with a
confirmed impression that in many of the highest points of conduct,
courage, and understanding, the Duchess of Marlborough was the most
remarkable woman of her own or any other day.”—_Examiner._
“In point of interest, and the developement of character, court and
cabinet intrigues, state of parties, and public manners, this
interesting and valuable publication rivals in merit the celebrated
correspondence of Horace Walpole.”—_Warder._
HENRY COLBURN, Publisher, 13, Great Marlborough Street.
TO BE HAD OF ALL BOOKSELLERS.
* * * * *
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THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH’S CORRESPONDENCE
WITH THE DISTINGUISHED PERSONS OF HIS TIME.
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Correspondence.
HENRY COLBURN, Publisher, 13, Great Marlborough Street.
⁂ ORDERS RECEIVED BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. P. 86, changed “assigning some slight treason” to “assigning some
slight reason”.
2. P. 201, changed “battle of the Boyne in 1651” to “battle of the
Boyne in 1690”.
3. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
4. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
5. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
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