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Title: Anne Hyde Duchess of York
Author: Henslowe, J. R.
Language: English
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YORK ***
ANNE HYDE
DUCHESS OF YORK
[Illustration]
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[Illustration:
ANNE HYDE
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ANNE HYDE
DUCHESS OF YORK
BY
J. R. HENSLOWE
AUTHOR OF “DUKE’S WINTON—A CHRONICLE OF SEDGMOOR,” ETC.
[Illustration]
LONDON
T. WERNER LAURIE LTD.
8 ESSEX STREET, STRAND
------------------------------------------------------------------------
INTRODUCTION
Among the records, few at best, left by time of her who was destined to
be the mother of two queens regnant of England, there is one which bears
its own pathetic significance.
It is a very small book, only about four inches long by three wide,
bound in stamped leather from which the gilding is half worn away, with
a broken silver clasp, and thick, stiff pages.[1]
Footnote 1:
Additional MSS., 15,900 B. M.
Was this little book a gift from Edward Hyde to the young daughter whom
he dearly loved? Who is to tell us now?
It is a girl’s tiny notebook, a treasure perhaps to her, in which she
writes down occasional memoranda as they occur to her, but as we turn
the leaves it seems to bridge with a familiar touch the centuries which
lie between us and that vanished time. There is a page of figures, a
little poetry (“The Contented Marter”), a list of household matters, “3
bras candlesticks, 4 bras kittles, driping pans,” and so on. An allusion
to a servant—“Betty came to my Mother”—is on another leaf.
One fancies, somehow, that Anne kept this book by her bedside, jealously
clasped, along with her little store of devotional reading. She filled
it full of writing in pencil, quite easy to decipher, save that time has
made it pale and dim.
Some of the sentences are in the French she came to know very perfectly
in later days, and speak of a long dead romance.
“Je n’en vey mourir d’amour, mais ce n’est pas pour un infidèle
comme vous.—ANNE HYDE.”
“Adieu pour jamais, mais n’oubliez pas la plus misérable
personne du monde.—ANNE HYDE.”
Was the “infidèle” meant for Spencer Compton or Harry Jermyn? Do the
plaintive words point to the bitterness of supposed desertion by one
higher than either? When were they written? There is no date to guide
us.
Elsewhere there is a mention of one, her aunt Barbara Aylesbury, greatly
beloved:
“Je l’aime plus que moy-mesne mille fois.—ANNE HYDE.”
But on another page (it must have been much earlier), the girl, as girls
will, sets down gravely the short story of her young life, here
transcribed:
“If I live till the 22 of March 1653, I am 16 yeare old. My dear
Aunt Bab was when she died 24 yeare old and as much as from
Aprell to August.”[2] (This is the Barbara Aylesbury of the
other entry.) “I was borne the 12 day of March old stile in the
yeare of our Lord 1637 at Cranbourne Lodge neer Windsor in
Barkshire and lived in my owne country till I was 12 yeares old
haveing in that time seen the ruin both of Church and State in
the murtheringe of my Kinge. The first of May old stile 1649 I
came out of England being then 12 yeares old 1 month and 15
days. I came to Antwerp 6 of May old stile the August following
I went to Bruxells for 3 or 4 days and returned againe to
Antwerp where I stayed 3 weekes being loged at the court of her
Highness the Princess Royall. I returned to Antwerp in May where
I have been ever since February 8 1653. I am now 15 years old.”
Footnote 2:
Barbara, daughter of Sir Thomas Aylesbury, died in September
1652. (Nicholas Papers.)
So abruptly the record ends. The writer has no more to say, for she is
yet only on the threshold of life.
Turn the page. Over the leaf in another hand, large and straggling,
someone has inscribed a final memorandum. The little book would never be
wanted by its owner any more, but there was room for this.
“On the 3 day of March being fryday the Dutchess dyed at St
James and was buried the wednesday following 1671.”
Between the two dates a little span of years, not a score; and yet how
great a sum of the things which go to fill up life—of hope and love and
splendour, of pain and grief and disappointment.
* * * * *
It is this story that we try now to construct out of the memorials of
her time; the life story of the woman who, without any extraordinary
beauty or charm, so far as we are able to judge, to balance the
comparative obscurity from which she sprang, was fated in an age when
the claims of high birth were jealously guarded to become the wife of a
Prince of the Blood Royal of England.
Even in the seventeenth century, gilded as it was by the slowly dying
radiance of romance, the “glory and the dream” of chivalry, the strange
tale reads like a fable, and yet the life, short as it was, of Anne
Hyde, had results for her age and country which even now can hardly be
measured accurately and dispassionately, like the ever-widening circles
on the surface of a pool into which a pebble has been cast.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PARENTAGE 1
II. YOUTH 18
III. JAMES STUART 73
IV. THE MARRIAGE 109
V. THE DUCHESS 159
VI. THE FALL OF CLARENDON 211
VII. THE TURNING-POINT 239
VIII. THE END 276
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
ANNE HYDE _Frontispiece_
ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF BOHEMIA 26
JAMES DUKE OF YORK 102
HENRY DUKE OF GLOUCESTER 136
HENRIETTA MARIA, “MOTHER 144
QUEEN”
JOHN EVELYN 156
PRINCE RUPERT 168
ELIZABETH COUNTESS OF 178
CHESTERFIELD
FRANCES JENNINGS, DUCHESS OF 192
TYRCONNEL
EDWARD EARL OF CLARENDON 234
HENRIETTA DUCHESS OF ORLEANS 286
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ANNE HYDE, DUCHESS
OF YORK
CHAPTER I
PARENTAGE
THERE is, after all, something to be said for the birth of Anne Hyde.
Edward Hyde, the famous Chancellor and historian of the Great Rebellion,
though the first peer of his name, could still, quite honestly, boast of
long and honourable descent.
The Hydes of Norbury, in the county of Cheshire, celebrated by Camden in
his “Britannia,” had handed down that possession from father to son
since the far-back days before the Norman Conquest, but the first of the
race with whom we need concern ourselves is the grandfather of the
future Chancellor.[3]
Footnote 3:
“Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon, from his Birth to the Restoration
of the Royal Family,” written by himself. (1759.)
Evelyn’s “Correspondence.” To Mr Sprat, Chaplain to the Duke of
Buckingham, afterwards Bishop of Rochester.
Laurence, the seventh son of Robert Hyde of Norbury, could claim,
naturally, but a small provision from the paternal resources, but his
mother seems to have looked carefully to his education, as the best
chance for his future, and he was placed as a clerk in one of the
auditors’ offices of the Exchequer.
Thence he was employed in the affairs of Sir Thomas Thynne, who under
Protector Somerset in a short time raised a great estate, and was the
first of his name to possess Longleat.
Laurence Hyde, however, held the post little more than a year—and gained
nothing by it—but soon afterwards he married Anne, widow of Matthew
Colthurst of Claverton, near Bath, who brought him a fair fortune, and
by this marriage he had four sons and four daughters, the sons being
Robert, Laurence, Henry and Nicholas. He bought, at the time of his
marriage, the manor of West Hatch in the county of Wilts, but at his
death he left the greater part of his estate to his widow.
Of the four sons above mentioned, the second, named also Laurence,
became eventually “a lawyer of great name and practice,” being attorney
to Queen Anne of Denmark, and obtaining knighthood in due course. His
next brother, by name Henry, was at the time of his father’s death
already entered at the Middle Temple, being a good scholar and a Master
of Arts of Oxford. He was supposed (probably by his brothers and
sisters) to be his mother’s favourite, and perhaps it was because he was
the “spoilt child,” that he stoutly announced that “he had no mind to
the law” but wished to enlarge his mind by travel. Having with some
difficulty, as may be conjectured, extracted his mother’s unwilling
consent, he went joyfully off on the Grand Tour, going through Germany
from Spa to Italy. There he visited Florence, Siena and Rome, which, by
the way, was then inhibited to the subjects of Elizabeth, and he somehow
managed to obtain the protection of Cardinal Allen, probably a very
necessary precaution. However, in due time Henry Hyde came safely back
from what was then, and for long afterwards, considered a perilous
undertaking, and was of course on his return persuaded forthwith to
marry.
The wife who was chosen was Mary, one of the daughters and heirs of
Edward Longford of Trowbridge, and Henry Hyde appears from this time to
have settled down peaceably in his native county. He served as burgess
for some neighbouring boroughs in many parliaments, and moreover, like
his father before him, had a numerous family of four sons and five
daughters.
Of his sons, the third, Edward, lived to be the Lord Chancellor.
Edward Hyde was born at his father’s house of Dinton, Wilts, on 18th
February 1609, and as a child was taught by a schoolmaster to whom his
father presented the living.
After the fashion of those days, which peopled both the universities
with mere children, the boy was sent at the age of thirteen to Magdalen
Hall, Oxford, and thereafter entered at the Middle Temple by his uncle,
Nicholas Hyde, afterwards Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench.[4]
Footnote 4:
“Autobiography of Sir John Bramston.”
In his early youth there came to Edward Hyde an experience which seems
to us to embody a brief and sad romance. He married in 1629 the daughter
of Sir George Ayliffe of Gretenham in his own county of Wilts, but
before six months were past, the poor young bride was smitten by
smallpox, that scourge of the seventeenth century, and died. He says of
himself that “he bore her Loss with so great Passion and Confusion of
spirit that it shook all the frame of his Resolutions.”
However, in 1632, when he was but twenty-four, the young widower
repaired his loss by a second marriage with Frances, daughter of Sir
Thomas Aylesbury, a union which proved to be a very happy one. With
reference to this marriage Sir Bernard Burke, in his “Romance of the
Aristocracy,” gives a curious tradition respecting the descent of
Frances Aylesbury.
Some time early in the seventeenth century, a barefooted and destitute
girl arrived one day at a roadside tavern in the village of Chelsea, and
being kindly welcomed there, told the landlord that she was tramping to
London, hoping to take service there. As it happened, the situation of
“pot-girl” was then vacant at the Blue Dragon, and “Anne” forthwith
stepped into the place. A rich brewer was in the habit of coming every
day for his evening draught, and being attracted by the girl’s manner
and appearance, married her within three months. Before long he died,
leaving “Anne” a wealthy widow, to whom came many suitors. From among
these she chose Sir Thomas Aylesbury, Master of Requests and the Mint,
who moreover possessed lands in Buckinghamshire.
After many years there arose a dispute as to the property of the late
brewery, and Lady Aylesbury was recommended to employ a young barrister,
by name Edward Hyde, who was destined thereafter to become her
son-in-law.
From this tale was drawn the obvious conclusion that the two queens of
England, Mary and Anne, were great-granddaughters of a beggar maid.
Fortunately Burke merely gives the romantic story for what it is worth,
and suggests that very probably it was coined after the Restoration by
some one of Hyde’s numerous enemies, who were envious of his steady
ascent to rank and distinction, and found a theory of obscure
connections very comforting to their own souls.
In February 1634 we find young Hyde appointed one of the managers of a
masque presented before the King by the Inns of Court, as a protest
against Prynne’s furious attack on the drama.
Thither came King Charles, stately and gracious, forgetting perhaps for
a brief moment the heavy clouds now gathering low on his horizon to
cover the sky as with a pall: with dreaming, melancholy eyes intent for
a little space on the scene which the masquers unfolded before him;
where, a little before, Ben Jonson had brought many beautiful and dainty
fancies to such rare perfection—but on this occasion it was “The Triumph
of Peace,” by James Shirley.
Here, on that winter evening, in that great and splendid hall, shone all
the glitter and pageantry and poetic thought so soon to be for long
years eclipsed, leaving a pathetic memory to be cherished through many
weary seasons of strife and disaster by those who had seen it.[5]
Footnote 5:
_Dictionary of National Biography_, E. Hyde, 1609-1674.
Whether young Hyde at this time attracted the King’s special attention
or not, we have no record, but his progress was a steady one.
As to what manner of man he was, we have his own words. In the curious
sententious method of introspection and self-analysis employed by the
thinkers of that age, Hyde speaks of himself as “in his nature inclined
to Pride and Passion, and to a humour between Wrangling and Disputing
very troublesome”[6]; but he certainly possessed the art of attracting
the friendship of some of the finest spirits of that stormy age, which,
like all periods of stress, produced many such to shine like lamps in
their time. There were the poets Carew and Cotton, the elder Godolphin,
Evelyn, who extols Hyde’s “great and signal merits,” and greatest and
noblest of all, Lucius Carey, Lord Falkland.
Footnote 6:
“Life of the Earl of Clarendon,” by himself.
If, as has been said, a man is known by his friends, then it may surely
be counted to Edward Hyde for righteousness that he had eyes to discern
the shining of that “steadfast star” too early extinguished. There is
nothing more inspiring in English literature than the words in which he
chronicles the going out of that light, the death of his hero on the red
field which gave that pure spirit the peace it craved so earnestly.
“Thus,” says the historian, “fell that incomparable young man in the
four and thirtieth year of his age, having so much despatched the
business of life that the oldest rarely attain to that immense
knowledge, and the youngest enters not into the world with more
innocence, and whosoever leads such a life need not care upon how short
warning it be taken from him.”[7]
Footnote 7:
“History of the Rebellion.” Clarendon.
Edward Hyde’s link with the great Villiers family procured for him
powerful interest, and prompted him to vindicate the detested memory of
the first Duke of Buckingham. This Villiers connection was due partly to
Hyde’s first marriage, as there seems to have been a relationship with
the Ayliffes of Gretenham, and partly to his father-in-law, Sir Thomas
Aylesbury. He, being a distinguished mathematician, had been secretary
first to the Earl of Nottingham, Lord High Admiral of England, and then
to the latter’s successor, Buckingham. To the influence of the powerful
favourite he owed his posts of Master of Requests and of the Mint.
Anthony Wood says that Sir Thomas sat for a short time in Parliament in
the former capacity, and as a matter of form at Oxford in 1643 after the
beginning of the Rebellion.
His Cavalier sympathies procured for him the sentence of banishment from
England, and he died at Breda at the age of eighty-one. His son, who at
the instance of Charles I. had translated Davila’s “History of the Civil
Wars in France,” was for a time tutor to the second Duke of Buckingham
and his young brother Lord Francis Villiers, who in his turn merits one
word at least. Nothing in the history of the great strife has been
chronicled more heroic nor more pathetic than the fate of that boy—for
he was no more—at Kingston-on-Thames. A true Villiers, “prodigal of his
person,” he fiercely rejected quarter, and with his back against a tree
fought valiantly till he went down under the swords of the Roundheads,
“nine wounds in his beautiful face and body.”[8] Yet it was better
so—better to die in the flush of chivalrous, unstained youth, than to
live out such a life as his brother’s, a life blackened by degrading
vice, gasped out alone, in the “worst inn’s worst room,” as Pope
declared (though this has been denied), the last male of his race.
Footnote 8:
Brian Fairfax.
To return to the Aylesbury tutor of the Villiers brothers; he lived
abroad in exile for a time, and having been obliged to return to England
in 1650, he again left the country, and died six years later in Jamaica,
being then secretary to Major-General Sedgwick.
Another of Edward Hyde’s friends was Sir Edmund Verney, “of great
courage and generally beloved,”[9] that gallant standard-bearer who was
destined to fall at Edgehill at the beginning of the war, but who as
long as he lived, with Hyde and Falkland, might be considered to
represent the moderate or constitutional loyalists. Having in 1634 been
appointed keeper of writs and rolls of Common Pleas, we find Hyde later
emerging into the arena of public life. In 1640 he organised the royal
party in the Commons, and on the eve of the outbreak drew up the state
papers for the Royalist press.[10] With Colepepper, afterwards famous as
a general, and his friend Falkland, Hyde joined the King at York. At
this time he was member for Wotton Basset in his own county of Wilts,
having been also called to serve for Shaftesbury, which however he
declined. At the dissolution of the Short Parliament in 1640 he was
again, in the constitution of the Long Parliament, returned for his own
constituency. At some time he also seems to have represented Saltash. At
any rate, from the date above referred to, he gave up his practice at
the Bar, and devoted himself to “public business.”
Footnote 9:
“Life of the Earl of Clarendon,” by himself.
Footnote 10:
“Short History of the English People.” Green.
We have it under his hand that as late as 1639 the “three kingdoms” were
“flourishing in entire Peace and universal Plenty,” yet we cannot but
think that any one so far-seeing and sagacious as Edward Hyde must have
detected the first low mutterings of the gathering storm by that time.
His personal enmity to Cromwell began early, and at the beginning of the
Long Parliament he was attacked by the bitter Puritan Fiennes for his
steady attachment to the Church.[11] It was then that he was first sent
for by the King, who wished to thank him personally for his defence both
of himself and of the Church, and from this date begins his close
association with Charles. With Prince Rupert, loyal nephew and gallant
soldier as he showed himself to be, Hyde was never on good terms,
neither were his two colleagues,[12] and the trio before mentioned,
whether for good or evil, steadily opposed the sometimes headlong
counsels of the brilliant Prince Palatine.
Footnote 11:
“Life of the Earl of Clarendon,” by himself.
Footnote 12:
“A Royal Cavalier: The Romance of Rupert, Prince Palatine,” by Mrs
Steuart Erskine.
One of Hyde’s first actions after his election was to secure the
suppression of the Earl Marshal’s Court, while soon after his dispute
with Fiennes, the King wished to appoint him Solicitor-General, though
Hyde declined the post. The triumvirate, Colepepper, Falkland and Hyde
himself, steadfast, upright and loyal, constantly met to consult on the
King’s affairs, in the hope—a vain one as it proved—of stemming the
incoming tide of misfortune. At the beginning of 1643, Hyde was sworn of
the Privy Council, and made Chancellor of the Exchequer, but in common
with many other of the King’s most faithful and wisest servants, we find
him deploring the Queen’s unbounded influence over her husband, who,
since Buckingham’s untimely and tragic death from the dagger of Felton,
had had no supreme adviser. Before Henrietta left for Holland on her
expedition to procure supplies with the jewels she pledged there, she
exacted from the King two utterly preposterous promises: first, to
receive no one who had ever “disserved him” into favour, and secondly,
not to make peace without her consent. After the fatal loss of Falkland
at Newbury fight in this year, the King was anxious to make Hyde
Secretary of State, but the latter declined this office also, and it was
conferred on Digby.[13] But early in the succeeding year the Chancellor
received a proof of his master’s absolute confidence, as he was
entrusted with the care of the Prince of Wales.
Footnote 13:
“Life of the Earl of Clarendon,” by himself.
On the 4th March 1644, though neither master nor servant was to know it,
Edward Hyde parted from King Charles for the last time on earth, and set
out for the west of England with the boy whose life for the next sixteen
years was to be one of weary and ceaseless wandering.
From Pendennis in Cornwall they went to Scilly and on to Jersey. Here
Hyde himself stayed for two years with Sir George Carteret, remaining
after the Prince left the island for Paris in 1646, both Capel and
Hopton having gone before him.
The Queen’s mischievous jealousy of Hyde, which had begun early, had not
abated, and she still wrote to the harassed and almost despairing King
letters calculated to prejudice him still further against the former.
Charles, in this case, does not seem to have been really influenced by
them, for he wrote to the Chancellor that he wished him to join his son
as soon as he left France, and even Henrietta herself must have been
seized with some compunction, for she sent for Hyde in 1648. As soon as
he received the summons the latter went to Caen, then to Rouen, and
hearing the Prince was to go to Holland he went to Dieppe to wait, glad
probably of an excuse to avoid the unwelcome interview with the Queen.
Thence he joined Lord Cottington in a frigate going to Dunkirk, but they
were taken by pirates, who, however, did no worse than convey them to
Ostend, whence the Chancellor was able to join the Prince of Wales at
the Hague.
It was at this time that Hyde came into contact with one of the greatest
and noblest of his king’s servants, but one who was yet the object of
bitter jealousy at the hands of many of his own party, no less than at
those of his enemies.
Montrose was then in Holland, after the disaster of Philiphaugh, hoping,
plotting, working, with the restless, passionate, indomitable energy
which had achieved so much in the past, yet which was destined to fail
so utterly in the future. At a village near The Hague the two met, the
grave lawyer and the hot soldier, to confer on the state of Scotland and
the prospects therein of the master whom they both served with
whole-hearted and ungrudging devotion.
There they parted, and Montrose came back to his distracted country to
raise anew the standard, to fight his last fight, to be betrayed by the
basest of traitors, to die a dishonoured death, as his enemies called
it, which was to earn for him, nevertheless, imperishable fame; and Hyde
was to toil on steadfastly for long strenuous years, destined to bring
him fame and place and wealth, and to bring him likewise fresh exile and
bitter disillusion in his age.
After Hyde’s mission as ambassador to Spain with his friend Lord
Cottington was accomplished, he was at last able to send for his wife
and children to join him in the Low Countries, but before he met them at
Antwerp he made a journey to Paris to see the widowed queen, for by this
time the tragedy at Whitehall had been consummated, and Hyde’s young
charge was king _de jure_ if not _de facto_. Henrietta seems to have
been still possessed with the idea that the Chancellor’s influence with
her son was adverse to her interests, but she received him civilly on
this occasion.
After the disastrous defeat of Worcester in 1651, and his own romantic
escape, Charles II. bethought him of Hyde, and sent for him to Paris,
keeping him chiefly with him in Flanders on their return there, until
his own departure for Germany.[14]
Footnote 14:
They were together for three years at this time. (“Life of the Earl of
Clarendon,” by himself.)
During this time, Mary, Princess Royal of England, and Dowager of
Orange, showed herself a firm friend to her father’s old servant, and
evinced great kindness to his family, providing them with a house rent
free at Breda some time during the autumn of 1653, Breda being then in
Spanish territory, and not under the States General.[15]
Footnote 15:
“Lives of Princesses of England.” M. A. Everett-Green.
Here, then, he lived, surrounded by those dearest to him, as far as one
can judge a fairly contented life for the next few years. If, as we are
told, his three principles were “a passionate attachment to the religion
and polity of the Church of England, a determination to maintain what he
considered the true ideal of the English constitution, and a desire for
personal advancement,” this last attribute—ambition—could have had
little to feed on during those years at Breda.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER II
YOUTH
IT was at Cranborne Lodge in Windsor Park, the official home of Sir
Thomas Aylesbury, that his grandchild, Edward Hyde’s eldest daughter,
was born on the 12th March 1637, and baptized by the name of Anne, that
of her father’s first wife. It may be mentioned that there is a
tradition, though one altogether disproved, that her birthplace was the
College Farm at Purton, which is said to have belonged to her paternal
grandfather, Henry Hyde.[16]
Footnote 16:
“Life of Edward, Lord Clarendon,” by Sir Henry Craik.
Of her early childhood nothing has come down to us, but in May 1649 the
mother with her five children set out for Antwerp. It was the dreary
year when, immediately following the King’s execution, many of the
broken and impoverished Cavaliers and their families saw no prospect for
the future save in leaving their distracted country, and the Hydes did
as their neighbours.
Hyde himself, as we have seen, had been despatched hither and thither in
the service of the young King, and when at length he rejoined his
family, it was at Breda.
The Princess of Orange was always as staunch a champion of her native
country as she was a passionately loving sister to her exiled brothers,
and she was ready at all times to extend a welcome to the forlorn and
beggared English. Hyde, moreover, had been, as she knew, an absolutely
trusted and faithful servant of the slaughtered father whose memory she
cherished so fondly, and she lavished every possible attention on him
and his family. She was upheld here by the good offices of Daniel
O’Neill of the King’s bodyguard, a great friend of Hyde’s, who threw all
his influence into the balance in his favour. Mary, we have seen, gave
tangible proof of her attachment to the exiled Chancellor, as she
generously provided a house at Breda, free of charge, for him and his
family. Here then, Hyde, as we have said, set up his household gods. So
many of the banished English were coming and going about the Princess
Mary’s Court and the person of her brother during many years, that the
Chancellor was by no means destitute of old friends.
Among these, not the least beloved and trusted was Morley, afterwards
Bishop successively of Worcester and Winchester. He[17] had had a
brilliant record as to learning. A king’s scholar of Westminster at
fourteen, he had been elected to Christ Church at seventeen, and at
Oxford had numbered among his friends Hammond, Sanderson, Sheldon,
Chillingworth and also Falkland, who had often received him at Great
Tew, where one can fancy the two musing together over books, and
communing on all heaven and earth. He was, to some extent, tainted with
Calvinism, but nevertheless, as a royal chaplain, gave his first year’s
stipend for the help of the king in war, and later was deprived of his
canonry and the rectory of Mildenhall by the Parliament. He was present
with the chivalrous Arthur, Lord Capel, on the scaffold, aiding him with
his prayers, and soon after went into exile, first in Paris, then at
Breda where he took up his abode with the Hydes. We find his old friend
the Chancellor, who called him “the best man alive,” recommending him as
a spiritual adviser to Lady Morton, and much later we shall see how far
his influence availed with his pupil, Hyde’s daughter.
Footnote 17:
_Dictionary of National Biography._
Another of her father’s friends and advisers, destined to be in close
contact with him in later years, was Gilbert Sheldon, afterwards
Archbishop of Canterbury.[18] Belonging as he did to the school of Laud
and Andrewes, his views on certain points differed widely from those of
Morley, yet both were alike in their unswerving loyalty to the King.
Both, too, enjoyed the friendship of Falkland as of Hyde, who indeed
made Sheldon one of the trustees of his papers during his exile. Like
the bulk of his fellows, the latter suffered imprisonment, being ejected
from his College of All Souls, for his “malignancy.” After the
Restoration he was high in the King’s favour, nevertheless he did not
hesitate to refuse to admit Charles to Holy Communion, on the score of
the latter’s evil life.
Footnote 18:
_Dictionary of National Biography._
In the house at Breda, sedulously cared for by her parents, Anne, the
elder, and by her father at least the best beloved daughter, reached her
seventeenth year. She was a clever, thoughtful girl, unusually well read
for the period and circumstances of her life, a devout churchwoman under
the guidance of Morley and her father, looking out on the life unfolding
before her with a mind which then at least showed singular powers of
balance and perception.
It may be stated in parenthesis, that the other daughter of the house
was Frances, who subsequently married Sir Thomas Keighley of
Hartingfordbury in Herts, but nothing beyond the bare fact is recorded
of her, after childhood, though Evelyn mentions her as a guest at his
house in 1673. The year 1654 was destined to bring about a change in the
life of Anne which was to prove more momentous than anyone could
foresee.
In the household of Mary, Princess of Orange, there was a maid of
honour, one Mistress Kate Killigrew. An outbreak of smallpox at Spa
drove the Court to take refuge at Aix-la-Chapelle, but Mistress
Killigrew had already been smitten with the disease and died.
Without loss of time the Stuart princess nominated Chancellor Hyde’s
young daughter to the vacant post. In this she was backed by her brother
Charles, for whom she had hired a house in Aix, keeping also a table for
him.
The proposed honour was, however, by no means so welcome as might be
supposed.
For one thing, the queen-mother, always a woman of impulse and violent
prejudice, had in no degree abated her dislike to Hyde, and everyone was
aware of the fact. O’Neill, it seems, declaring that the Princess
herself had so much kindness for the Chancellor’s daughter that she long
resolved to have her upon the first vacancy, suggested to his friend to
ask for the post for Anne, a proceeding to which Hyde strongly objected,
no doubt smarting under the knowledge of Henrietta’s attitude towards
him. He had, he said, “but one daughter, who was all the company and
comfort her mother had in her melancholic retirement,”[19] and therefore
he was resolved not to separate them, nor to dispose his daughter to a
“Court life,” “which he did in truth perfectly detest.”[20]
Footnote 19:
It is possible that the younger daughter, then an infant, might have
been left in England under the charge of friends there.
Footnote 20:
“Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon,” by himself. 1827.
In the old days when the dwindling Court had sojourned at Oxford, he had
seen enough and more than enough of the turmoil of intrigues and
jealousy, the incessant petty warfare between the rival factions of
Henrietta and her husband, which the latter at any rate had been
powerless to control, and naturally Hyde was sickened of it all, and
unwilling to venture his “Nan” into a like atmosphere. About the same
time we find him writing to Secretary Nicholas on the matter: “I presume
you think my wife a fool for being so indulgent to her girl as to send
her abroad on such a gadding journey. I am very glad she hath had the
good fortune to be graciously received by her Royal Highness, but I
think it would be too much vanity in me to take any notice of it.”[21]
Footnote 21:
“Life of Henrietta Maria.” J. A. Taylor.
As before said, the King put his oar in, saying to the Chancellor “his
sister having seen his daughter several times, liked her so well that
she desired to have her about her person, and had spoken to him herself,
to move it so as to prevent displeasure from the Queen, therefore he
knew not why Hyde should neglect such an opportunity of providing for
his daughter in so honourable a way.”[22]
Footnote 22:
“Tudor and Stuart Princesses.” Agnes Strickland.
To this Hyde answered: “He could not dispute the reasons with him, only
that He could not give himself Leave to deprive his Wife of her
Daughter’s Company, nor believe that She could be more advantageously
bred than under her Mother”—another shaft aimed at the influence of a
Court.[23]
Footnote 23:
“Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon,” by himself. Ed. 1759.
Finally Mary herself bore down all opposition. She had her full share of
the family obstinacy, and was determined to carry her point. In the end,
as might be supposed, she succeeded. Hyde himself went to her, and said
candidly that “if it had not been for her bounty in assigning them a
house where they might live rent free they could not have been able to
subsist,” and he therefore “confessed it was not in his power to make
his daughter such an allowance as would enable her to live in her Royal
Highness’ Court conformably to the position that was offered to
her.”[24]
Footnote 24:
“The Royal House of Stuart.” Cowan.
The Princess promptly answered that she did not mean him to maintain his
daughter in her service, as she took that upon herself, so the father
reluctantly withdrew his opposition, saying “he left his daughter to be
disposed by her mother.” On this point Lady Hyde had consulted Morley,
and, probably to her husband’s surprise, that adviser counselled the
acceptance of the Princess’s offer, on which the latter, recognising her
triumph, remarked cheerfully: “I warrant you my Lady and I will agree on
the matter.”
One cannot but wonder at Hyde’s backwardness, for he was then so poor
that he was forced to borrow of Nicholas small sums to pay postage for
King Charles. One member of the English royal family there was who
heartily approved and upheld the appointment. The Queen of Bohemia,
Elizabeth Stuart, that unlucky “Queen of Hearts” who attracted to
herself through so many stormy years the chivalrous devotion, among
others, of the gallant Lord Craven, was at all times accustomed to speak
and write her mind. On 7th September 1654 she wrote to Sir Edward
Nicholas: “I heare Mrs Hide is to come to my neece in Mrs Killigrew’s
place which I am verie glad of. She is verie fitt for itt, and a great
favorit of mine.”
One advantage Hyde himself reaped from his daughter’s advancement. He
records that his wife, “when she had presented her Daughter to the
Princess, came herself to reside with her Husband to his great Comfort
and which he could not have enjoyed if the other Separation had not been
made, and possibly that Consideration had the more easily disposed him
to consent to the other.”[25]
Footnote 25:
“Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon,” by himself. Ed. 1759.
[Illustration:
ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF BOHEMIA
]
The girl’s own feeling in the matter is expressed in a letter to her
father, dated 19th October, which, under the ceremonious address then
alone admissible, breathes a spirit of strong family affection.
“I have received yours of the 13th and shall euer make it soe
much my business strickly to observe all your commands in it
that when euer I transgress any of them in the least degree it
shall be out of ignorance and not willfullness soe that I hope
you shall neuer have cause to repent of the good opinion you are
pleased to have of me and which I shall dayly endeuour to
increase, and since you thinke it fitt for me, shall very
cheerfully submit to a life which I have not much desired but
now looke upon not onely as the will of my Father, but of
Almighty God and therefore doubtles will prove a blessing; but
S^r. you must not wonder if being happy in soe excelent a Father
and Mother I cannot part with them without trouble, for though
as you say I have been soe unfortunate as allways to live from
you yet I looke upon myself now as still more unlikely to be
with you or see you, and though I shall often heare from my
Mother and I hope see her, yet that will be but little in
respect of being continually with her. I say not this that I
repine at goeing to the Princess for I am confident that God
that has made her soe gracious in desiring me will make me happy
in her service, but I should be the worst of chilldren if I were
not very sensible of leaving soe good a Mother and leaving her
so much alone; but I hope you will be together this winter, and
in the meane time I beseech you to perswad her to stay as long
as shee can w^{th} vs at the Hague, that shee may be as little
as is possible alone heare; I humbly beg your blessing vpon
“S^r.
“Your most dutifull and obedient daughter,
“ANNE HYDE.”[26]
Footnote 26:
Clarendon MS., vol. xlix., folio 70 (Bodleian Library).
So she entered upon the duties of her new life, if with a certain shy
reluctance, yet probably with a more or less eager curiosity and
anticipation, feeling within herself a capacity to fulfil adequately the
demands of this altered sphere.
As might be supposed, Queen Henrietta, on hearing of the appointment,
flew into a passion and quarrelled hotly with her elder daughter, her
constant appeals to whom to dismiss the obnoxious “Nan Hyde” almost
seeming as though, if such a thing were possible, she had a sort of
presentiment of the future.
Hyde himself had reminded Mary of her mother’s probable resentment, but
the Princess answered simply: “I have always paid the duty to the Queen
my Mother which was her due, but I am mistress of my own family, and can
receive what servants I please, nay—I should wrong my Mother if I
forebore to do a good and just action lest her Majesty should be
offended at it. I know that some ill offices have been done you to my
Mother, but I doubt not that in due time she will discern that she has
been mistaken.”[27]
Footnote 27:
“Lives of the Queens of England.” Agnes Strickland.
If the young maid of honour could write submissively to her father, she
was not backward in admonishing her brothers, but in reading the
following letter one must bear in mind that she was the eldest, and no
doubt quite honestly believed that she was fulfilling a duty in giving a
piece of advice.
“BREDA, _6
Oct. 1654_.
“DEARE BROTHER,—This is to shew you that I will not allways be
soe lasey as not to answer your letters, and indeed I will never
be soe without a just cause for I am never better pleased than
when I am walkeing with you as me thinks I am when I am
writteing to you. I am sory to heare you doe not goe to Collogne
with my Father for I wish you might see as much as is possible
now you are abroad but our present condition will not permit us
what we most desire but I doubt not of a happy change and then
you will have all that is fitt for you which I most earnestly
wish you and truely it is one of the things I beg dayly of
Allmighty God to see you a very good and very happy man which I
shall not doubt of if you make it your business (as I hope you
ever will) to serve him and pleas my Father and Mother. My
service to all my acquaintance with you. I will not send it to
any of the Princesses Court becaus I belieue them all gone. My
Brothers and all heare are your seruants and I am ever yours
most affectionately,
“A. H.”[28]
Footnote 28:
Clarendon State Papers (Bodleian).
Anne once established in her new post, the Queen of Bohemia did not
forget her sentiments of friendship, for on the 16th November[29] we
find her again writing to Secretary Nicholas from the “Hagh”
(Elizabeth’s spelling was at any rate no worse than her neighbours’): “I
pray remember me to Mr Chancellor and tell him his Ladie and my favorit
his daughter came hither upon Saterday and are gone this day to Teiling.
I finde my favourit growen euerie way to her advantage.” A little later,
too, that is, on 11th January 1654-1655, she tells the same
correspondent: “We had a Royaltie though not vpon twelf night at Teiling
where my neece was a gipsie and became her dress extream well.” “Mrs
Hide was a shepherdesse and I assure you was verie handsome in it, none
but her Mistress looked better than she did. I beleeve my Lady Hide and
Mr Chancellor will not be sorie to heare it which I pray tell them from
me.” It was a kind little message from one mother to another. Elizabeth
Stuart’s roving life had perhaps taught her sympathy, grafted on to the
traditional good nature of her family. It is all the more surprising
that her own large flock of children “got on,” as one says, so badly
with their mother, though she did care more for her sons than for her
daughters.[30] However, that she took a fancy to “Nan Hyde” was certain.
Beauty, it is true, was lavishly distributed among those high-spirited,
high-handed Princes and Princesses Palatine (among whom their cousin
Charles II. so nearly found a bride), but it was probably Anne’s acute
perception and strong intellect that appealed to their brilliant mother.
Nevertheless she could, as we have seen, look with a keen and
appreciative eye on the girl’s personal appearance. Anne at eighteen was
at her best. The large frame had not yet thickened into the proportions
which so early in life discounted her claims to beauty. She had the
charm of expression, of good eyes, of vivacity, and then at least of
exuberant spirits.
Footnote 29:
Evelyn’s “Correspondence.”
Footnote 30:
“A Royal Cavalier: The Romance of Rupert, Prince Palatine.” Mrs
Steuart Erskine.
The “Royaltie” which the Queen describes was not unique. There were many
such revels at the Court of The Hague. The Princess Mary, recovered from
the shock of her early widowhood, and eager for enjoyment, loved these
occasions, and shone at them with hereditary grace, while in every
festive gathering her maids necessarily bore their part. The Queen
writes to her nephew, Charles II., during the same January of another
Royalty—she wrote to him very often, by the way:
“Though I believe you had more meat and drink at Hannibal
Sestade’s, yet I am sure our fiddles were better and dancers;
your sister was very well dressed like an amazon; the Princess
Tarente like a shepherdess; Mademoiselle d’Orange, a nymph. They
were all very well dressed, but I wished all the night your
Majesty had seen Vanderdons. There never was seen the like; he
was a gipsy, Nan Hyde was his wife; he had pantaloons close to
him of red and yellow striped, with ruffled sleeves; he looked
just like a Jock-a-lent. They were twenty-six in all, and came
[not?] home till five o’clock in the morning.”[31]
Footnote 31:
“Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia.” M. A. Green, revised by S. C.
Lomas.
A little before this Elizabeth had written to the same correspondent of
the amusements of his sister:
“My dear niece recovers her health and good looks extremely by
her exercises, she twice dancing with the maskers; it has done
her much good. We had it two nights, the first time it was
deadly cold, but the last time the weather was a little better.
The subject your Majesty will see was not extraordinary, but it
was very well danced. Our Dutch minister said nothing against
it, but a little French preacher, Carré, by his sermon set all
the church a-laughing.”
An early allusion to the festivities in which Anne Hyde afterwards
shared and shone.
* * * * *
In the year 1655, within a few months of her appointment in the Princess
Mary’s service, Anne’s young charms of mind and body brought to her feet
at least one lover worth the winning.
At The Hague, in those days, among the many exiled Cavaliers who were
generally made welcome at the Court of their young King’s elder sister,
was Sir Spencer Compton, not the least distinguished of his gallant
race. He was the youngest son of the loyal Earl of Northampton, and when
but a child wept bitterly because he could not go forth to battle with
his chivalrous brothers, seeing his small fingers could not grasp one of
the great wheel-lock pistols of that day.[32] With characteristic
contempt of concealment, he made no secret of his passion for Mistress
Anne. Charles II. himself with his usual love of mischief wrote to Henry
Bennet, afterwards Lord Arlington: “I will try whether Sir Spencer
Compton be so much in love as you say, for I will name Mrs Hyde before
him so by chance except that he be very much smitten it shall not at all
move him.”[33] We are not told how young Compton stood the test, but it
was pretty enough, that love-idyll of youth presented among the sylvan
shades of the wooded Hague, though whether from interference or the
coldness of the young maid of honour it was destined to fade quickly and
pass into the limbo of things forgotten. One would like to know the
story, but nothing more remains to us. Another suitor was Lord Newburgh,
of whom Sir George Radcliffe wrote from Paris in the spring: “Onely one
tould me yesterday a pretty story of him y^t he must marry Mr
Chancellor’s daughter (who waites of y^e Princesse Royale) and so by ye
Chanc: meanes be engaged in all the Scots affaires. The Chanc: has much
talke of him at y^e Pallais Royale where he is thought to be a powerfull
man at y^e Court at Cologne. A person of honour would needs persuade me
that y^e Princesse Royall had provided for 3 of his children (which was
2 more than I had heard on).” Here there is a touch of the jealousy of
Hyde’s influence and prosperity which was afterwards so widely spread.
Footnote 32:
Sir Philip Warwick.
Footnote 33:
Evelyn’s “Correspondence.”
We hear also of some sentimental passages with the conquering Harry
Jermyn, who was said, on what authority it is now difficult to decide,
to have been afterwards privately married to the Princess Mary. The same
story, by the way, was told of his uncle, the elder Jermyn, and Queen
Henrietta.
How far, however, the heart of the maid of honour was really concerned
in these fleeting love affairs it is useless to conjecture. She was
probably ready enough to be amused, and, conscious that she was not a
beauty, to be flattered at such homage.
She was not idle, either; she was always fond of writing and ready with
the pen, and at some time during her service—there is no date
attached—Anne bethought her to set down in writing the character of her
royal mistress. The manuscript is not in the girl’s own hand, but it is
endorsed: “Pourtrait of ye Princess Royall drawne by Mrs Anne Hyde.”
“Ceux qui connoissent l’admirable Princesse dont j’entreprend le
portrait trouveront bien étrange qu’une personne si peu capable
que moy, de la bien representer oze l’hazarder a un si grand
ouvrage et on m’accusera assurement de vanité ou de folie. Mais
comme j’y suis toute preparée cela ne m’exonnera pas ni ne
m’empêchera de commencer comme je ‘avois resolue, en vous disant
qu’elle a la taille la plus belle et la plus libre du monde et
qu’oy qu’Elle n’est pas des plus grandes il s’en voy beaucoup
plus au dessous qu’au dessus de la Sienne elle a les cheveux
d’un fort beau brun fort lustre et en grande quantité, les yeux
grands et si beaux et brillans qu’on a de la peine a en
supporter l’esclar. Son nes est un peu grand mais si bien fait
que cela n’otte rien de la beauté de son visage. Sa bouche est
fort belle, et les lèvres des plus vermeilles que l’on puisse
voir, les dens belles, le tour du visage parfaitement beau, et
le teint se uniet si beau qu’il ne se puisse rien voir au monde
qui l’égalle, la gorge belle, les bras et les mains de mesme.
Enfin on vois en toute sa personne quelque chose de si grande et
de si relevée que sans la connoistre on verroit combien elle est
au dessus du reste du monds. Elle a meilleure mine que personne,
et quoy qu’Elle a asses de douceur pour luy gaigner le cœur de
tous ceux qui la voyent. Elle a aussi une certaine fierte qui
luy fait craindre et respecter de tous le monde et qui sied fort
bien a une personne de sa condition. Pour son intérieur il est
tellement impossible de la connoistre, qu’il est bien difficile
pour moy d’y bien reussir; pour de l’esprit, Elle en a
infiniment mais de l’esprit vif et penetrant et qui la rend de
la meilleure humeur du monde, quand Elle veut obliger ceux avec
qui Elle se trouve; mais quand Elle ne se plait pas, Elle est
tout a fait retirée, ne pouvant se contraindre pour qui que se
soit quoy qu’Elle est generallement civile, mais Elle regarde la
contrainte comme une chose peu necessaire aux personnes de sa
qualité, les croyans plus faits pour eux mesmes, que pour les
autres; Et c’est ce qui est cause qu’Elle parle moins que
personne quand Elle est dans des Compagnies ou Elle ne veut pas
estre tout a fait familière; cela fait a croire a ceux qui ne la
connoissent pas qu’Elle est plus glorieuse qu’Elle n’est en
effet, il est vray qu’Elle l’est un peu mais il ne luy mésied
point, car il y a asseurement une espèce de gloire qui est
necessaire à toutes les femmes et sur toutes a celles de sa
naissance: Elle est tout a fait genereuse, et oblige de bonne
grace ceux pour qui Elle a de l’amitié, il est vray qu’Elle n’en
a pas pour beaucoup, mais Elle est parfaitement bonne amie où
elle en fait profession et ne change jamais, à moins que de luy
donner grand sujet, mais quand Elle a une fois mauvaise opinion
d’une personne pour qui Elle a eue de l’amitié, on ne se remet
jamais bien avec Elle, quoy qu’en apparence Elle vit fort bien
avec eux; ce qui marque qu’Elle est plus dissimulée qu’Elle ne
croit. Elle est asses colere qu’oy qu’Elle ne le temoigne guere
car en ses humeurs la Elle se renferme des apres diners entieres
sans voir qui que se soit; Elle parait plus indifferente que
personne, mais ceux qui ont l’honneur de la voir souvent,
peuvent remarquer qu’Elle n’est pas incapable des sentimens de
l’amitié et de la haine: Elle ne se mocque jamais de qui que se
soit, ni ne rompe jamais en visière, mais Elle n’est pas faschée
de faire de petites malices, qui peuvent mettre ses gens en
peine mais c’est tousjours a ceux dont Elle connoit tout a fois
les humeurs. Elle est fort constante en ses resolutions, un peu
trop quelque fois, car il y a des temps on cela va jusques à
l’opiniotreté; Elle ne se mele jamais des affaires d’autruy, si
ce ne’est qu’on luy en parle le premier, et alors Elle est tout
a fait secrete, et donne ses avis avec toute la franchise
imaginable. En fin Elle a toutes les qualites requises pour
rendre une personne parfaite; car outre ce que j’ay deja dit,
Elle danse mieux que qui se soit, mais Elle est un peu
paresseuse, ce qui est cause qu’Elle songe moins à se diverter
que personne, et qu’Elle aime mieux passer son temps toute seule
dans sa Chambre que de prendre la peine de s’ajuster pour une
assemblée, quoy qu’Elle y reusset mieux que personne n’a jamais
fait. Je n’aurois jamais fait si je voulois entreprendre à
depeindre toutes les admirables qualités de cette grande
Princesse. Je me contenteray donc de finir en la supliant tres
humblement de pardonner toutes les fautes d’une Portrait, qu’il
est impossible de rendre aussi parfait que son original, set
qu’Elle aura la bonté de se souvenir, que celle qui l’a fait est
tellement dediée à son service qu’Elle se croit seulement
heureuse parcequ’Elle est sienne, et qu’elle ne plaint son faut
d’esprit et de jugement que parcequ’ils l’empeschent de
representer comme elle doit les admirables qualites de sa
maitresse.”[34]
Footnote 34:
MS. 276, Egerton, 2542.
If the flattery contained in this portrait may be termed excessive, yet
something is due to the customs of the period, which almost enjoined
language of the kind. At the same time, Mary’s pride of demeanour is
insisted on in a way that betrays some sense of injury, though this is
carefully veiled. Later we know Anne was to suffer from the wrath and
indignation of her mistress, but there is no reason to suppose that when
she wrote these words she did not feel a very real affection for the
Princess, who had braved her own mother’s anger and surmounted various
difficulties for the sake of the writer. And moreover Mary, Princess of
Orange, was a Stuart. If she was haughty, imperious, at times wayward,
yet she had her share of the haunting, ineffable charm of her doomed
race, the charm which attracted the homage of heart and life of those
round her, and bound them to her with an imperishable chain. On the same
theme the maid of honour also ventured into poetry, at any rate into
rhyme. The effusion may possibly be ascribed to the same date.
“Heroic nymph! in tempests the support,
In peace the glory of the British Court,
Into whose arms the Church, the State, and all
That precious is or sacred, here did fall.
Ages to come that shall your bounty hear
Shall think you mistress of the Indies were,
Though straiter bounds your fortune did confine
In your large heart was found a wealthy mine.
Like the blest oil, the widow’s lasting feast,
Your treasure as you poured it out increased.
While some your beauty, some your bounty sing
Your native isles does with your praises ring,
But above all, a nymph of your own train
Gives us your character in such a strain
As none but she who in that Court did dwell
Could know such world, or worth describe so well.”[35]
Footnote 35:
“Tudor and Stuart Princesses.” Agnes Strickland.
Meanwhile Anne’s fate, all unsuspected, was advancing towards her with
swift and unfaltering steps.
Queen Henrietta had never been able to reconcile to herself Princess
Mary’s appointment of Hyde’s daughter about her person, and since its
accomplishment had constantly appealed to her to dismiss Anne from her
service.[36] Lord Hatton, in fact, writes: “The Queen’s last sickness
was by the chamber confident said to be expressed by the Queen by reason
of some late letters from the young P^{rsse} Orange wherein she still
contests for retaining with her Sir E. H. daughter which the Queen will
not cease till she out her there. This I assure you comes from eare
witnesses.”
Footnote 36:
“Lives of Princesses of England.” M. A. Everett-Green.
Mary was, however, quite as resolute as her mother, and when in 1655 she
formed the project of a visit to Paris, it was with the intention of
taking her favourite in her train.
Hyde, who as we have seen was fully conscious of the queen-mother’s
disapproval, wished to take this opportunity of withdrawing his
daughter, but the Princess peremptorily refused, declaring that it would
be only necessary for her mother to see Anne in order to abate her
unreasonable prejudice. The Chancellor’s unwillingness in the matter can
be gleaned from a letter he wrote at the time to Lady Stanhope, who had
become the wife of John van der Kirckhove Heenvliet, the Dutch
Ambassador despatched to England in 1641 to arrange the marriage of Mary
with the late Prince of Orange.
“MY VERY GOOD LADY”—so wrote Hyde[37]—“Though the considerations
and objections I presumed to offer this last year against the
high grace and favour which your Royal Mistress was then
inclined to vouchsafe to my poor Girl, were not thought
reasonable or probable, yet you now see that I had too much
ground for these apprehensions, and they who came last from
Paris are not reserved in declaring that the Princess Royal’s
receiving my Daughter into her service is almost the only cause
of the Queen’s late reservation towards her Royal Highness which
I hope you believe is a very great affliction to me. I most
humbly beg your Ladyship if you find any disposition in her
Royal Highness out of her goodness to me to give the girl leave
to attend her in this journey, when it seems others who have
more title to that honour must be left behind, that you will
consider whether the preferring her to this new favour may not
be an unhappy occasion of improving her Majesty’s old dislike,
and if there be the least fear of that or appearance of any
domestic inconvenience by leaving others unsatisfied I do beg
you with all my heart, to use your credit in diverting that
Gracious purpose in your Royal Mistress towards her, and let her
instead of waiting this journey, have leave to spend a little
time in the visitation of her friends at Breda, and upon my
credit, whatsoever in your wisdom shall appear fittest in this
particular shall be abundantly obliging to
“Madam, your Ladyship’s, etc.
“COLOGNE, this 16th March 1655.”
Footnote 37:
Clarendon State Papers.
Whether this letter was laid before the Princess or not, the journey was
undertaken, and she and her attendants began the long projected
expedition which was to be fraught with such far-reaching results.
Mary set out in high spirits at the prospect of the change, of seeing
her mother (in spite of their differences, which she probably considered
to be trivial) and of making the acquaintance of the little sister who
was yet a stranger to her, Henrietta Anne, the child born at Exeter
during the siege, and brought to France through many dangers, with real
heroism and devotion, by Lady Dalkeith.
According to our ideas, the journey from The Hague must have been a very
long and tedious one, but it was no doubt full of interest to the
Princess and her train. Each day furnished incidents to engross and be
discussed as the long cavalcade of maids and men, of heavy baggage
waggons, of lumbering coaches, of numerous pack-horses, of guards armed
with dag and musket, accoutred in back and breast plate—for there was a
body of sixty horse—flaunted along the heavy, muddy roads. Here a wheel
would sink into the deep ruts, and the vehicle be released with immense
noise and bustle; there an axle-tree would break and must be mended at
the cost of an hour or two’s delay, while the shoeing smiths reaped a
goodly harvest by their task of replacing cast shoes. The minister
Heenvliet accompanied the Princess to Antwerp and Brussels, at which
place he left her. At Mons ordnance was fired, torches were lighted, and
the magistrates paid her the compliment, customary in the case of
royalty, of asking from her the watchword for the night.[38]
Footnote 38:
“Lives of the Princesses of England.” M. A. Everett-Green.
So the procession passed on through the level, dyke-protected tracts of
Flanders, and came at last to the frontier and the fair land of France.
In the splendid days of Charles the Bold, he who had been Count of
Flanders and the Netherlands had been also Duke of Burgundy, a most
unwilling vassal to the French crown. Since his time, that province of
his great inheritance had become part and parcel of the dominion of King
Louis, and when the Princess of Orange halted at the ancient city of
Peronne she was well within French territory.
Here, at the capital of the old Burgundian Duchy, she was met by her
second brother, James, Duke of York, at this time—through no fault of
his own—reduced to a life of inaction at Paris, and here possibly began
the prologue of the romance which was to affect not only his own life,
but the future of the far-off country of his birth. Of this more later.
With the Duke, and attached to his person, were the Lord Gerard and Sir
Charles Berkeley, besides M. Sanguin, _maître d’hôtel_ to the French
king.
So accompanied Mary pursued her journey, to be met by her mother and
sister at Bourgel, six miles from Paris.
Of her stay in the French capital, though it extended over a period of
some months, there are but scanty records, but that she entered fully
into all the gaiety which surrounded the boy King is certain.
Anne Hyde appears to have caught smallpox during the visit, but it was a
slight attack and she probably escaped without disfigurement.[39] She
had not been well early in the year, as appears from Sir Alexander
Hume’s letter from Teyling on 22nd February.
Footnote 39:
Rawlinson MS. (Bodleian).
“I have acquainted your neece Mrs Hide with the tendernesse you
expresse for her, who returns her humble service to you with
many thanks for your care of her. But shee hath not been in any
such euill disposition of health as it seemes you have been
informed, only one day shee took a little physick since when
shee hath euer been a great deal healthfuller and handsomer than
before, and shee is indeed a very excellent person both for body
and minde as any young gentlewoman that I know.”[40]
Footnote 40:
Nicholas Papers.
Whether she won such golden opinions at Paris does not appear, but
probably she held her own there as well as in Holland. She had always
plenty of self-possession, which carried her through many anxious
moments, and if any special admirers manifested themselves there, it
must have been only to be flouted.
If the image of one too high in place to be acknowledged had already
been imprinted on her mind, she at least made no sign, but it is evident
that the young maid of honour was in no apparent haste to change her
condition, and was capable of determination in the management of her
affairs. She did not succeed in overcoming the prejudice of the English
queen-mother, and this was no doubt a cause of keen disappointment and
vexation to her own mistress. Mary had also other reasons for annoyance
on her own account. Besides the fact of Frances Stanhope’s conversion to
Rome, which was made as public as possible, she had to withstand her
mother’s pertinacity in this direction. Henrietta, who never left a
stone unturned to bring her children over to her own faith, insisted on
taking her elder daughter with her to her beloved convent at Chaillot,
in the hope of working on her feelings to the extent of securing her for
the fold of Rome. These efforts were useless, but they made matters more
or less uncomfortable for the Princess, who moreover strongly resented
anything in the shape of coercion. Keenly, therefore, as she appreciated
and admired the splendour and gaiety of the French Court, her visit was
not altogether free from drawbacks. Nevertheless, she might have
prolonged her stay but for the intelligence of her little son’s alarming
illness. It turned out to be only measles, and the child made a good
recovery, but his mother lost no time in starting on her journey, and it
was not long before she and her train found themselves once more at
home. It is certain that the Princess had at this time no suspicion of
any understanding between her brother and Anne Hyde, for the latter
remained in her service and high in her favour till the year before the
Restoration. One glimpse we have of the English girl at this time from
the facile and often extremely amusing pen of the Princess Palatine,
Elizabeth Charlotte, afterwards Duchesse d’Orléans, but at that time a
child. Her grandmother, the Queen of Bohemia, brought her to Mary’s
Court, a wild, unruly little person, but she records gratefully the fact
that Mistress Hyde was kind and good-natured.
“My aunt [Sophia, Electress of Hanover] did not visit the
Princess Royal, but the Queen of Bohemia did, and took me with
her. Before I set out, my aunt said to me: ‘Lisette, take care
not to behave as you generally do. Follow the Queen step by
step, that she may not have to wait for you.’ ‘Oh, aunt,’ I
replied, ‘you shall hear how well I behave.’
“When we arrived at the Princess Royal’s, whom I did not know, I
saw her son, whom I had often played with. After gazing for a
long time at his mother, without knowing who she was, I went
back to see if I could find any one who could tell me her name.
Seeing only the Prince of Orange, I said: ‘Pray can you tell me
who is that woman with so tremendous a nose?’ He laughed and
answered: ‘That is my Mother, the Princess Royal.’
“I was quite stupefied at the blunder I had committed. Mdlle
Hyde, perceiving my confusion, took me with the Prince into the
Princess’s bed chamber, where we played at all sorts of games. I
had told them to call me when the Queen was ready to go. We were
both rolling on a Turkey carpet when I was summoned. I arose in
great haste, and ran into the hall, but the Queen was already in
the ante-chamber. Without losing a moment I seized the robe of
the Princess Royal and, making her a courtesy at the same time,
placed myself directly before her, and followed the Queen step
by step into her coach. Every one was laughing at me, but I had
no idea what it was for.
“When we came home, the Queen sought out my aunt, and seating
herself on the bed, burst into a loud laugh. ‘Lisette,’ said
she, ‘has made a delightful visit,’ and related all I had done,
which made the Electress laugh more than her mother. ‘Lisette,’
said she, ‘you have done right, and revenged us well on the
haughtiness of the Princess.’”
This episode throws another side-light on Mary’s reputation for pride,
and her steady determination in exacting all the respect due to her
rank—a determination which we see to be more or less resented among her
German relations.[41]
Footnote 41:
“Tudor and Stuart Princesses.” Agnes Strickland.
During the years that were yet to intervene before the Restoration, Hyde
himself was to know little of peace. He was constantly on the move, now
with the King at Bruges, now obeying a summons from the Princess Royal.
His wife was writing in 1657 and 1658 to John Nicholas, on various
domestic questions, yet always betraying her disappointment at her
husband’s long absences and the uncertainty that attended his return to
her. The long and steady friendship with the family of the Secretary
extended over a long term of years, and never failed until death stepped
in to close it.
These letters were all written from Breda, at the house where the
Princess Dowager had established the Hyde family, and the first which
now follows was addressed to Bruges.
“_Sep. 20,
1657._
“I take it for a very perticuler favour to finde myselfe
preserved in Master Secretaries and my Ladys remembrance, and
you will very much oblige your servant in returning my most
humble and most affectionat serv’ces to them, please to assure
my Lady that I will be very carefull in obeying her commands,
but I am afrade I shall not performe them, as I desire, lining
Cloth being much deerer than ever I knew it, but Roberts and I
will doe our best; the goode Company you speake of will not make
me stay much the longer here, for as soone as my Husband hath
performed his duty to the Princesse we shall make hast to you,
my Husbands business not alowing him many play days, besids he
is impatient, w^{ch} I am in my winter matter, though wee are
now like to stay a little Longer then wee once intended. I hope
our frinds will not conclude w^{th} the rest that wee will come
no more, but looke upon the trew cause w^{ch} depends upon our
Master, thay say heare that the Princesse will be heare the
later end of the weake, and my Husband in his last gives me hops
that he shall be heare Saturday next, and he thretens me that he
will stay but very few days at Breda; to tell you I wish to be
at Bruges I know you will say is a compliment but I doe assure
you from the munite I leave the place, I shall wish myselfe
w^{th} your excelent familey to every of which I am a most reall
servant and very perticulerly
“S^r
“most affectionatly your
“faithfull servant
“FRAN: HYDE.
“Pray my serv’ces to your Brother and if it will not importune
you to much, lett the rest of my friends know I am there
servant.”[42]
Footnote 42:
2536, Nicholas Papers. Egerton MS.
The next letter is addressed to Brussels, to which place the Nicholas
family had transferred itself. Lady Hyde here makes allusion to one of
her children, Laurence, afterwards Earl of Rochester, who seems to have
become on his own account a correspondent of John Nicholas.
“_16 May
1658._
“I have many thankes to give you for your care to me, and though
it be longe, doe not forgitt the civilitie of your letter to me
w^{ch} the many indisposisons I have had sence my Lyeing in hath
kepte me from. Lory hath given you many a scrouble of from me of
w^{ch} I hope you will excuse w^{th} the rest. I am sure I must
relye one your goodnesse for it. Your last to Lory hath given me
great sattisfactione in Mr Secretaries perfecte recoverey. I
pray God continew his health to him, and make you and your hole
familey as happy as I wishe you. I was in hopes to have bin
w^{th} you longe before this time but the unsertainty of the
Kings being, keepes me still here, and now my Lord sends me word
that he will come hether, so that I am not like to see you a
great while, unlesse Mr Secretarey please to make his way to
Bruges whether I here he intends to goe as soon as the Kinge is
gon, pray tell him from me w^{th} my humble serv’ces that it is
but a Summers [day?] Journey and I know my Lady will dispense
w^h his absence for a few days more. If my Lady your Mother
still want a waiteing woman, I can helpe her to a prety younge
maid, I beleave you may know her mother, it is Mrs Gandye; now
if my Lady will doe an acte of Charity, I beleave she will in a
short time make her fitt for her serv’ces but she is holy to be
tought. I can only commend her for a prety civil maid, and truly
I beleave her capable to learne. She is about my haight and 16
yeares of age. I would not write to my Lady about it, because
even you can tell better then I can, whether this is fit
proposition, all w^{ch} I refere to you and desire only this
from you, that you would not move it to my Lady, unlesse you
like it very well, for I tell you againe she is to be maid a
servant by those that take her. Excuse this trouble with the
rest.”
Lady Hyde seems to have been as eager to supply her friends with
servants as some of her sisters in modern life, but laudably anxious to
be quite discreet in her recommendations.
In the next letter, dated 27th May 1658, there is an allusion to her
eldest son Henry, who was to succeed his father as second Earl of
Clarendon and who was at this time at Brussels under the care of the
Nicholas family. There is also mention of little Frances, the younger
daughter, who seems to have come back to her mother’s keeping recently
from England (if she had been left there). The remark as to her English
speaking points to this conclusion. But the chief anxiety in the
writer’s mind is the condition of her father, Sir Thomas Aylesbury, who
was an inmate of her house, and then in rapidly failing health.
“You are very much in the wright, I am not yet so raidy, and if
I were, should not use it to my friends and perticulerly where I
owe so much as to your familey, and w^{th} our acomplement the
blush would returne upon myselfe, if I should forgitt to returne
my thankes to you. I am againe to thanke you for delivering my
message to Mr Secretarey, and upon my word both he and you
s^{hd} be very welcome if you make Breda your way to Bruges.
M^{rs} Frances will be able to make you speaches in English, w^h
I am sure you will say is Language enough for a woman, and if
this will not bringe you, I can say no more. I am glad my
Husband hath refused to lend his House at Bruges, it Lookes, as
you say, as if it shou’d returne, but of this I know nothing,
but I assure you I should have great sattisfactione if it bringe
me to my Lady. I beleave indeed it is not possible for you to
guise at my Lord’s coming; I thinke from the first weeke of my
being brought to bed, he hath promised to come to me, but now I
will not so much as thinke of it till I see him, though he still
says it will not be long before he come. I wish I could tell you
that my Father were well but his sore mouth makes me much
afraide of him and yett to-day at present I thinke him better
than he was a week agoe; haveing latly hard from Monsieur
Charles I cannot but tell you that he is well, and his dry Nurse
assures me he grows apace. Pray present my afectionat and humble
serve’s to M^r Secretarie, and when you write to Bruges lett my
Lady know I am her most faithfull servant; though I am to make
no complaints, you may tell my Hary I have not hard from his
Father sence the 20. I wish it may prove a signe of your
removing towards Breda.”
The succeeding letter, which is dated 3rd June 1658, contains an
allusion to the siege of Dunkirk, which had been invested on the 25th
May by the English and French forces under Turenne. The Spanish army
marched from Brussels to relieve the town, and in this host were the
Dukes of York and Gloucester and the famous Condé, who, however, was not
allowed a free hand, for it was against his advice that the Spanish
Ambassador, Don John of Austria, persisted in giving battle. It was then
that the Prince said to the Duke of Gloucester: “Did you ever see a
battle fought?” and on the boy answering that he had not, Condé[43]
rejoined grimly, “Well, you will soon see a battle lost.”
Footnote 43:
Knight’s “Popular History of England.”
“This is to acknowledge yours of the 27. of the last Month and
to intreate you to returne my humble serv’es to my Lady w^h my
thankes for her willingness to receive a servant from me. Pray
assure her La^{sp} I am very well sattisfied with her reason in
not taking another servant at this time, and when I have the
happiness to see my Lady shall speake w^{th} her more at large
of the person I would recomend to her. I am very sorry the
plague is feared at Bruges, and much troubled for Dunquerque. I
pray God preserve them from the French. I hope you will not be
angry if I wish my Lady’s house at Breda this sumer, upon my
word I should looke upon it as a great blessing to me. What the
people w^{th} you intend, God knows, and though I must submitt
to my Lords businesse, I confesse I am troubled that he is not
now heare, my Father being not like to recover, and wishing
every day to see my Husband, this will I hope excuse my sad
impatience. Pray my humble serv’es to M^r Secretary and tell him
I doe still hope to see him here as I do our souter.”
The letter of 6th June makes another reference to Dunkirk.
“You are so great a courter that I could quarrell w^{th} you for
useing me so like a strainger, and you have forgotten my humor
if you thinke I expect it from my freinds. I am very glad that
you have some hopes of Mr Secretaries cominge hether, pray
present my humble serv’es to him and be sure you doe all good
offeces that may bringe him to Breda. If my Lady Steephens can
helpe my Lady your Mother to a good waiteing woman and it be not
inconvenent to my Lady to take her I hope nothing I have said
shall hender her from it, for the Person I proposed is to be
maid usefull to my Lady by her owne trouble in scatching and
making her fitt for her La^{ps} serv’es, and therefore is not to
keepe her from a better. I only named this in case there were
not a better to be had and so beseech you to lett my Lady know
w^{th} my most affectionat and humble serv’es to her. Thay say
Dunquerque is releeved, but being but Breda’s news I feare it,
how ever I wish my Lady a neerer neighbor and that it were in my
power to doe anything towards it that I might inioye her La^{ps}
company. Sence I tould you that I thought my Father was better,
I have bin in a great fright for him but I thanke God he is now
better and was this week tooke to take the Ayre w^{ch} I thinke
hath don him goode, but God knows he is brought very low, w^{ch}
keepes me in continual fear for him though I am very confident
my Lord will come to Breda, and beleave you thinke he will
surprise me, yett the people he hath to Leave w^{th} are so
unsertane that it is imposible for me to beleave anything of his
coming tell I see him: my Father’s illnesse makes me more
impatient of his stay then otherways I should be but I must
submitt to all.”
The next letter of 13th June lays further stress on Sir Thomas
Aylesbury’s failing condition, and there is an allusion which looks as
if little Frances Hyde were a special pet of the Secretary’s.
“You see how kind I am to myself in desiring so good a family as
yours neere me and I wish w^{th} all my heart it might be in my
power to serve my Lady if she should be put to a remove I assure
you none could w^{th} greater alacrety serve her then myselfe in
the meane time, so if my Lady have a mind to change the ayre I
will make her as good a conveniency w^{th} me as I can. I thanke
you for the share you are pleased to beare with us in our
afflictions for my Father. I am daly in great aprehensions of
him yett at present wee thinke him somthing better then he was,
pray give me your prayers for him; my Lord hath againe given me
hopes of seeing him this weeke and by w^t you say I should be
confident of it, but the King’s irresolution makes me still in
doubt. The sweete meate box w^{th} out asking any questions, is
most freely at your dispose. I will still hope to see Mr
Secretarie here, and so pray tell him with my most humble
serv’es and that his servant little Franke shall eate cold
puding with him for a wager, my humble serv’es to my Lady your
Mother when you write, if you will excuse the hast of this
scribled paper. I shall not doubt of your charity to
“S^r your most faithfull servant.”
All the letters show how much the movements of the exiled King and his
sister affected the Hyde household at Breda, and Lady Hyde’s comments
betray a certain impatience and irritation at the fact. It is evident
that to some extent she resented her husband’s constant periods of
absence, and scarcely considered them necessary, though she saw nothing
for it but submission.
“_June 27._
“I am now doeing a thing I doe not love to doe w^h is to
acknowledge three of yours in owne and if I had bin alone at
Breda would not have forgiven my selfe the neclicing it so long,
my Lord’s coming alone would not have kepte me from it but in
ernest sence the Kinge and Princesse came so neere Breda, I can
safely say I have not had an houre in the day to my selfe, and
this minit I have now gott in is by stealing out of a croude
w^{ch} will not alow me tim enough to ensware every particular
of yours. I hope I am wrightly understud by you that I would not
impose anything upon my Lady your Mother in w^{ch} I writ about
the waiteing-woman, it being meerely my owne thoughts, for the
person knows nothing of it, and my businesse was only to serve
my Lady, if she were willing to undertake the trouble of her.
Sence my husband hath found out so easy a way for my Lady I hope
she will alow us some time here where I can assure her a reall
and harty welcome w^{ch} I wish might make up for w^t will be
wanting in the entertaine her according to my desire to a person
I so truly love and honoure. Hary tells me of a third designe to
borow our House at Bruges w^{ch} w^{th} your timely notes I
thinke I shall prevent. I thank you for your prayres w^{ch} I
still aske from you, though I doubt my Father will not long
inioye the benefitte of them here, he weareing every day a way,
I may calle it like a lampe. I pray God it may be of no more
paine to him then yett it hath bin; now I have tould you this I
know you will pitty my conditione that must whether I will or
now entertaine and put on a cheere looke. I would say more but
Hary calles a waye w^{ch} must w^{th} all other faults excuse
this hast.”
Her eldest son had returned, and his mother in a letter of 5th August
speaks as if his health had been a matter of some anxiety.
“By your last I was in hope you would have bin at Hoochstraet in
a very short time but Mr Secretary’s last illnesse makes me
doubt all thoughts of that journey are Laid aside and
consequently that you will not come to Breda w^{ch} in ernest I
am sory for. I hope I shall not faile in my next my Husband
haveing promised me that I shall come to Bruxelles this winter
where I promise my selfe great sattisfactione in your excelant
family. I give you many thankes for your great care and
kindnesse to Hary of home I will have all the care I can and doe
not doubt but he will have much better health now he is like to
have more liberty in order to w^{ch} his Father hath taken a
Secretary w^h I beleeve Hary hath allredy tould you, as I am
confident he did that he and Lory were to goe into Holand for a
weeke w^{th} Mr Bealing. I would not have given you the trouble
of this account, but that I know you are Hary’s friend.”
Three days later, on 8th August, Lady Hyde alludes to the great sorrow
which has befallen her in the death of her father, Sir Thomas Aylesbury,
who died as previously mentioned at the age of eighty-one, surrounded by
all the care and affection his daughter could lavish on him.
“I doe acknowledge I am two Letters in your dett the former of
w^h I had answered longe before this but you know the sad
conditione I was in at this time w^{ch} is so inst: an excuse
and to tell you the truth I am yett unfit for anything else. I
had sent you a chalinge while you were at Antwerp for not
gitting one day to come to Miss Francesse, who is now al the
merth of our house, but in ernest I was in hope then to have
seene you, for I knew you were to returne to my Lady when the
Kinge did, she being so newly come to a strange place which I
have sent Mr Secretary word hath maid his pease for the present.
From Hochstraet now is the place I looke for to see you, by
w^{ch} time I hope my Lady will thinke it fitt to take the Ayre,
I can say no more but assure you a harty wellcome.”
The last letter to be transcribed, written on 29th September, is a short
one.
“I am a gaine two Letters in your dett but Downings’ disturbance
was the cause w^{ch} hath kept me from acknowlideing my Lady’s
favour and reioycing w^{th} you for Mr Secretary’s recovery, for
all w^{ch} I hope to make my peace when I come, my husband tells
me that shall be so quickely there, that I will say no more tell
I come, but intreate you to favour me w^{th} my humble serv’es
to Mr Secretarey and my Lady and your brother.”
These letters give a fairly close impression of the exiled Hyde
household at the time when that expatriation was drawing to its close.
The picture of Frances Hyde, the dutiful daughter, the devoted wife, the
affectionate mother, the loyal friend, is a pleasant one, but one
singular point must be noted. There is no allusion to the eldest
daughter. And yet Anne, in attendance on the Princess, must have been in
constant communication with her parents, both in person and by letter.
Indeed there are four letters from Anne to her father which, though
undated as to the year, may probably be placed in 1658 or 1659, towards
the end of her period of service.
“HOUNSLERDYKE,
“_July 24_.
“MY LORD,—I received yours of the 19 but yesterday, and am very
glad you weare not displeased with me. I am sure I shall never
willingly give you cause to be soe, and it would be the greatest
trouble to me in the world if euer you are it, for the business
of the play I assure you I shall never doe any such thing
without her Highness command and when that is I am confident
your Lord^p will not be displeased with me for it and in that
and all things els neuer have nor neuer will give anybody any
just cause to say anything of me. Miss Culpeper is this day gone
to her Brother’s wedding when shee returnes I hope your
Lord^{sp} will give me leave to see you somewheire in the meane
time I humbly beg yours and my Mothers blessing upon
“My Lord, your Lord^{sps}
“Most dutiful and obedient daughter
“ANNE HYDE.”[44]
Footnote 44:
Clarendon State Papers, MS. (Bodleian).
This seems to refer to some acting in which she was concerned, and which
her father did not altogether approve. The following allusion in a
letter from the Queen of Bohemia to Charles may refer to something of
the sort:
“We have now gotten a new divertisement of little plays after
supper. It was here the last week end, and now this week at your
sister’s. I hope the godly will preach against it also.”[45]
Footnote 45:
“Tudor and Stuart Princesses.” Agnes Strickland.
Anne’s next letter to Hyde contains a covert complaint of poverty. In
the light of subsequent events it is easy to see how such a condition
must have been irritating to the writer.
“HAGE,
“_August
22_.
“MY LORD,—I received yours of the 20 this minit when I cam
hither with her Highness in our way to Hounslerdyke from Tyling
wheire wee left my Lady Stanhope, it is true that her Highness
went incognito, but for business shee had none at least that I
could see, but to buy some thinges, it is a very fine place but
very troublesome to see when one has noe more money to lay out
then I had, but however I am very well satified to have been
theire. I pray God you may quickely heare some good news from
England, we are heare in great paine not hearing anything at
all, the Princess euery post askes me what I heare therefore
when theire is anything may be known, I shall be glad to have it
to tell her, my humble duty I beseech you to my Mother and be
pleased to give both your blessings to, my Lord, your Lord^{sps}
most dutifull and obedient daughter,
“ANNE HYDE.”
The next two letters indicate that the maid of honour’s empty purse is
replenished or to be so shortly.
“HAGE,
“_October 21_.
“MY LORD,—Though I heard noething from Bruxells this last post I
hope you are by this time perfectly recouered of your cold which
I heard troubled you soe much that I was afraid my letter then
would but have been troublesome to your Lord^{sps} which was the
cause I have been soe long without writeing, but I can now give
you some account of what you spoke to Monsieur D’Heenvliet, he
told me that he has spoke to her Highness and that shee had
promised I should very quickly have some money I am sure if he
does what he can in it it may eassily be done, wee goe next
weeke to Breda but the day is not yet named, but I suppose it
will be the latter end of the weeke because her Highness is
first to carry the Prince to Leyden. My humble duty I beseech
you to my Mother, and be pleased to give both your blessings
upon my Lord your Lord^{sps} most dutifull and obedient
daughter,
“ANNE
HYDE.”[46]
Footnote 46:
Clarendon State Papers, MS. (Bodleian).
“HAGE,
“_November 3_.
“MY LORD,—I have received yours of the 13th and am very glad the
King is at the Frontiers. I pray God this change in England may
worke a good one for his Majesty, and give him cause quickly to
come backe that wee might once againe hope to meett in England;
her Highness carries the Prince to-morrow to Leyden which is the
cause I write this to-day and by the Grace of God wee shall
without faile goe sometime the next weeke to Breda where I shall
expect your Lord^{sps} and my Mother’s commands since you will
have it soe, I will believe I am obliged to Monsieur d’Heenvliet
though I confess I cannot see how he could avoyd speakeing after
you desired him and the proffession he makes and I am sure he
deed but barely speake and I must beleeve that more is in his
power. I humbly beg my Mother’s and your blessing upon my Lord
your Lord^{sps} most dutifull and obedient daughter,
“ANNE HYDE.”[47]
Footnote 47:
Clarendon State Papers, MS. (Bodleian).
The prince mentioned in these two letters is of course Mary’s only son
William, destined afterwards to be King of England, but at this time a
little boy.
And through these years from 1656 to 1659 Anne was keeping her secret
well. Whether the Duke of York had arranged any means of communication
or not, enough had been said at Paris. Love can live on a very small
modicum of hope, and Anne’s nature may well have been of the stuff which
is “wax to receive and marble to retain.”[48]
Footnote 48:
It is possible that her mother had some inkling of the state of
affairs, and the uneasy consciousness of this may have prompted her
silence as to her daughter in her own correspondence.
At this point it may be as well to see what manner of man the English
prince, fated from childhood to a life of exile, appeared to his
contemporaries at this period of his life.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER III
JAMES STUART
JAMES, the second son of Charles I. and Henrietta Maria, was born on the
15th of October 1633, being baptized by Laud on the 24th,[49] and like
his elder brother was bandied about, hither and thither, during the
progress of the great Civil War, in a manner and among associates
unlikely to have a satisfactory effect on the character of a boy.
Footnote 49:
“Adventures of King James II.,” by the author of the “Life of Sir
Kenelm Digby,” introduction by F. A. Gasquet, D.D.
It can scarcely be a matter for surprise that it was so. The King, more
and more harassed and preoccupied as time went on, could hardly be
supposed to give adequate consideration to his sons’ surroundings,
although, as we have seen, he did his best for the elder in committing
him to the guardianship of Edward Hyde.
In 1648 James was named Lord High Admiral of England, a barren title in
the state of affairs as they then were, but before this he had passed
through some exciting adventures. He was in Oxford when that loyal city
surrendered to Fairfax in 1646, two years earlier, and with his sister
Elizabeth and their little brother Henry was taken to St James’s Palace,
where they were detained as wards of the Parliament. Although the
children’s intercourse with their father had of late been of necessity
intermittent,[50] yet they loved him very dearly, as he had been always
tender and indulgent to them. On this point there is a pathetic story of
James, at that time but twelve years of age. For some time he had been
kept in ignorance of the King’s imprisonment, but in January 1647 “one
of his attendants, a servant of the Earl of Northumberland, told him of
it, to which he replied, How durst any rogues to use his Father after
that manner! and then fell a-weeping. The man told him he would inform
his Lord of what had been said, whereupon the Duke took a long bow then
in the place to have shot him, had not another behind him held his hand.
For this it is reported the Earl of Northumberland will have the Duke
whipped, but whether it hath been done I know not.”[51]
Footnote 50:
“Anecdotal Memories of English Princes.” D. Adams.
Footnote 51:
Clarendon State Papers, vol. ii., Appendix.
It is easy to picture the scene. The insolent serving-man, “armed with a
little brief authority,” meanly rejoicing in the opportunity to sting a
fallen prince; and the boy, the passionate tears still wet on his young,
flushed face, wild with indignant wrath at the bitter news and his own
helplessness. One cannot bear to think that such hot, impetuous
affection and grief should have been so requited.
The King, meanwhile, was very anxious to effect the escape of his second
son, whose life as heir presumptive was of great importance, and he
confided the attempt to Colonel Charles Bampfylde, or Bamfield, an
Irishman. The latter found a willing accomplice in Anne Murray, the
daughter of the King’s old tutor and secretary, Thomas Murray, who
afterwards became Lady Halkett, and the two conspirators laid their
plans carefully, though it was May 1648 before the adventure could be
accomplished.[52]
Footnote 52:
“Autobiography of Anne Murray (Lady Halkett).” Charles II. thanked her
for this service when they met at Dunfermline.
The three children thus under ward at St James’s were instructed to play
at hide and seek in the then neglected and thickly wooded garden of the
ancient palace, and the young Duke James proved himself quite
sufficiently adroit in seconding the plans of his preservers. Under
cover of the spring twilight he contrived to slip through a gate
purposely left open, which led to the Tilt-yard—for Bampfylde had
managed to interest other sympathisers in the plot. James had remembered
also to lock the balcony through which he emerged, and to throw away the
key, besides taking the precaution of locking up his little dog in his
room.[53] By Tilt-yard end, as it was called, Bampfylde was waiting for
him with a wig and patches, and they hurried forthwith to Spring
Gardens, “as if to hear the nightingales,” a favourite expedition of the
London citizens at that season. Thence a coach conveyed them to the
river, where they took boat at Ivy Bridge, and reached the “Old Swan.”
Here Mistress Anne Murray was waiting for them, and she arrayed the boy
in girl’s clothes in all haste, while he, poor child, impatiently
adjured her: “Quickly, quickly, dress me!” This done, Bampfylde took his
charge to the Lion Key, where a Dutch Pink, cleared the day before by
Gravesend searchers, was expecting “Mr Andrews and his sister,” the
latter supposed to be on her way to join her husband in Holland.
Footnote 53:
Clarendon State Papers, vol. ii., Appendix.
Here the Prince, waiting in the cabin, in a moment of forgetfulness
nearly wrecked the whole situation by putting his leg on the table to
pull up his stocking, seeing which the barge-master suspected the sex of
the pretended girl. However, Bampfylde’s threats and James’ promises of
future provision prevailed, and the voyage was safely accomplished.[54]
Footnote 54:
Macpherson’s “Original Papers.”
The fugitives landed in due course at Middleburg, going thence to
Dordrecht, and James, having despatched Bampfylde to The Hague to
announce his successful escape, was met by his brother-in-law the Prince
of Orange, and by him conducted to the Princess at Sluys. Bampfylde’s
influence appears to have been bad from the beginning, as he tried to
implicate the boy in an act of treason.[55] Six ships of the fleet then
lying in the Downs deserted, and having secured Deal, Sandown and
Walmer, sailed to Helvoetsluys, where James joined them, but Bampfylde
worked on the sailors to declare for the young Duke without any mention
of the King or the Prince of Wales. James, however, was wise enough to
answer that he would be their admiral only with his father’s consent.
Footnote 55:
“History of the Rebellion.” Clarendon.
At The Hague he joined his elder brother, and early in the succeeding
year set out for Paris, starting on 6th January 1649, just when the war
of the Fronde was beginning. On this account his mother sent letters to
meet him at Cambrai, bidding him delay his journey, and the Archduke
Leopold, Governor of the Netherlands, offered him quarters in the Abbey
of St Amand. Here he stayed for about a month, a visit which is
supposed, in spite of his youth, to have laid the foundation of his
subsequent conversion to the Church of Rome. The religious of this
community no doubt did their best in controversy to influence the young
English prince who might one day prove a valuable asset. At some time,
probably soon afterwards, a nun is said to have advised him to pray
every day if he was not in the right way, that God would show it to him,
and this seems to have made a deep and lasting impression on his mind,
judging from his allusion to it many years later.[56]
Footnote 56:
Burnet’s “History of His Own Time.”
In February he was able to prosecute his deferred journey, and on the
13th he made his appearance at the Louvre where his mother then was. She
was sitting at dinner when the boy came hastily in and knelt for her
blessing.[57] What kind of reception she gave him we do not know, but
when all is said and done, Henrietta, capricious as she could be, was an
affectionate if injudicious mother, and there must have been a keen
sense of satisfaction in receiving her young son after their long
separation and his adventurous travels.
For a time James settled down among his hitherto unknown relations. The
famous princess, Anne Marie Louise d’Orléans, the redoubtable heroine of
the Fronde, “la grande Mademoiselle,” was very kind to her new cousin at
a time when she was flouting his elder brother. The Duke of York,
between thirteen and fourteen years of age, was then, she says, “very
pretty, well made, with good features, who spoke French well, which gave
him a much better air than had the King his brother,” who was at that
time completely ignorant of the language, though he was eagerly put
forward by his mother as a suitor for the hand of his imperious cousin,
who could bestow such a magnificent dowry on any husband on whom her
choice might fall.
Footnote 57:
Nicholas Papers.
In the September of 1649 Charles determined to go to Jersey, the Channel
Islands having remained steadily loyal to the royal cause, and he took
his brother James with him, probably intending to detach him from their
mother’s influence.[58] At Caen they visited Lady Ormonde, who was
living there at that time in exile, and at Coutances, not far away, the
bishop received the brothers with some distinction, giving a banquet in
their honour at Cotainville on the following day. However, as the boats
were waiting, they started at once, and reached Jersey on the 18th. Here
they passed the winter, and the Duke of York won golden opinions from
those who came in contact with him.
Footnote 58:
“History of the Rebellion.” Clarendon.
He was by this time a tall slight boy, almost as tall as his brother,
lively and gracious in manner, while his bright complexion and fair hair
displayed a marked difference from the swarthy young King. The two were
then in mourning for their martyred father, whose tragic death had taken
place in the previous January, and James is described as dressed “in an
entire suit of black without any other ornament or decoration than the
silver star displayed upon his mantle, and a purple scarf across his
shoulders.”[59]
Footnote 59:
“Charles II. in the Channel Islands.” Hoskins.
The brothers were much together in those early days of exile, and it
could not be for the advantage of the younger, seeing what manner of men
Charles chose to encourage about him, though after all, considering his
own youth and circumstances, the latter was scarcely a free agent in
this respect.
The two quarrelled at times, and indeed somewhat later Charles
manifested a certain jealousy of his brother which can scarcely be a
matter for surprise.[60]
Footnote 60:
“Travels of the King.” Eva Scott.
The Duke of York in due time took service in the army of France, under
the great Turenne, and speedily distinguished himself by his courage and
military genius,[61] while the unhappy King was forced to remain in
obscure idleness and abject poverty, an object of more or less contempt
in each country which he visited in his wanderings, especially after
that disastrous attempt which ended in the crushing defeat of
Worcester—Cromwell’s “crowning mercy”—and his own hairbreadth escape.
James, on the other hand, before he was twenty-one had seen three
victorious campaigns under his famous leader, and was drawing pay which
placed him in easy circumstances, enabling him to support his rank
suitably. Nevertheless whatever differences might arise between the
brothers (and these were certainly fomented by those about them, not to
speak of Cromwell, who from motives of policy wished to divide them),
there was strong family affection among the children of Charles I., and
in later days these two were certainly linked together by an unswerving
attachment which grew with advancing years, and was dissolved only by
death.
Footnote 61:
“Memoirs of J. Evelyn,” edit. Wm. Bray, 1818. Edward Hyde (Paris) to
Sir Richard Browne, 6th December 1653: “The Duke of York is returned
hither, full of reputac’on and honour.”
Charles had left Jersey in February 1650, but his brother remained
there, probably because of the latter’s opposition to the treaty with
the Scots. Young as he was, he set himself passionately against it, and
even dismissed Lord Byron and Sir John Berkeley from his bedchamber on
this account.[62] However, the brothers parted affectionately at this
time, and did not meet again for more than eighteen months, Charles
having joined his mother at Beauvais, and then returned to Flanders. In
1650 Lord Taafe had proposed a match between the Duke of York and the
little daughter of Duke Charles IV. of Lorraine, “a prince,” as James
remarked afterwards, “not much accustomed to keep his word.”[63]
However, the young Duke seems to have acquiesced in the plan, though the
Queen was very angry with both Taafe and Lord Inchiquin for presuming to
interfere, as she termed it. At this time her relations with her second
son were certainly strained. She was very hard on him, and he hated
Henry Jermyn, hotly resenting the latter’s powerful influence with his
mother, who, he declared, “loved and valued Lord Jermyn more than all
her children,” an instance of Henrietta’s headstrong disregard for
appearances, which involved her in what was possibly an unmerited
scandal.[64] The poor boy had also at this time the fret and strain of
poverty, but just then there came a report of the King’s death, on which
James set out for Brussels, where he stayed at the house of Sir Henry de
Vic. He remained there for two months, frequenting, so we are told,
various popular churches for the sake, he said, of the fine music he
heard in them. At this time Sir George Radcliffe was controller of the
Duke’s meagre household, and with Sir Edward Herbert appointed a new
suite. His mother had forbidden him to join his sister Mary, but in
December 1650 he was allowed to proceed to The Hague from Rheims, where
he had gone from Brussels. At the christening of the baby William, born
under such mournful circumstances, the Princess Dowager proposed that
the young uncle should carry the child, but the mother interfered,
considering such a proceeding highly insecure.[65] James was made chief
mourner at the funeral of his brother-in-law, the Prince of Orange, at
Delft, but soon afterwards the States General found him an inconvenient
visitor, as they were anxious to establish a good understanding with the
English Parliament: thus he was sent to Breda, and his mother was asked
to recall him.
Footnote 62:
Carte’s “Letters.”
Footnote 63:
Nicholas Papers.
Footnote 64:
“The King in Exile.” Eva Scott.
Footnote 65:
“The King in Exile.” Eva Scott.
He was with her in France at the time of his brother’s absence in
Scotland, and they went together to Moriceux, to meet the fugitive
King on the accomplishment of his romantic escape after Worcester.
James was soon to make his acquaintance with war on his own account,
for it was at the age of nineteen,[66] and therefore in 1652, that he
entered the army of his cousin Louis XIV., wherein he served four
years with honour, becoming popular with all ranks. At the end of his
fourth campaign, which included the sieges and taking of Landrecy,
Condé and St Guislain, Turenne was sent for by Mazarin, and as all the
other lieutenant-generals were on leave the young English prince was
for a time in supreme command of the army of France.[67] Before this,
however, and soon after he joined Turenne, the lad had received his
baptism of fire at the first attack on Etampes, and it was there that
Schomberg, the future famous marshal, was wounded at his side.[68]
Forty years later at the Boyne Water, King James, in the desperate
attempt to regain his lost crown, was defeated by the great Dutch
general, who fell in the hour of victory. Time has his revenges. One
wonders if the thoughts of the luckless, despairing King travelled
back to that first fight, in the early flush of youth and hope, when
the world was opening before him and everything seemed possible.[69]
Footnote 66:
“Turenne,” by the author of “Life of Sir Kenelm Digby.”
Footnote 67:
“Adventures of King James II.,” by the author of “Life of Sir Kenelm
Digby.”
Footnote 68:
“James II. and his Wives.” Allan Fea.
Footnote 69:
“Turenne,” by the author of “Life of Sir Kenelm Digby.”
Soon after Turenne’s summons to attend the Cardinal the treaty which
Cromwell concluded with France required the banishment of the Duke of
York, and having thus perforce to leave the army, he came to Paris there
to rejoin his mother. He was smarting under the treatment he had
received, for Turenne was his ideal and moreover had treated him with
marked kindness and consideration, giving “him a reception suitable to
his birth, and endeavoured by all possible proofs of affection to soften
the remembrance of his misfortunes.” This great leader had a high
opinion of the Duke, saying of him that he “was the greatest prince and
like to be the best general of his time.” We find Clarendon himself
writing to Secretary Nicholas in 1653: “The Duke of York is this day
gone towards the field, he is a gallant gentleman and hath the best
general reputation of any young prince in Christendom and really will
come to great matters.”
The Duke had not reached manhood without further plans on his mother’s
part to negotiate a suitable alliance. We have seen that the Lorraine
match fell through. In the succeeding year, when he was eighteen, Marie
d’Orléans, Mademoiselle de Longueville, the daughter of the Duke de
Longueville by his first wife, was suggested by Sir John Berkeley. She
was ugly and deformed, though called a wise princess, but the greatest
heiress in France, after Mademoiselle de Montpensier, and James made no
objection.[70] Hyde, however, opposed the marriage, on the ground that
the heir presumptive ought not to marry before the sovereign, in which
axiom the queen-mother for once agreed with him, and Anne of Austria,
Queen-regent of France, clinched the matter. The Duke of York, she
decided, was too great, as the son of a king, to marry in France without
the consent of his nation and brother.[71] Mademoiselle de Longueville
married Henri, Duc de Nemours, in 1657. Madame de Motteville speaks of
her good looks, which Hyde denies, and affirms attachment on James’
part.
Footnote 70:
“Life of Henrietta Maria,” I. A. Taylor.
Footnote 71:
“Memoirs for History of Anne of Austria,” Madame de Motteville, 1725;
“James II. and his Wives,” Allan Fea.
James is reported to have been “very much displeased,” which seems a
little unlikely, considering his youth and the unattractive appearance
of the proposed bride. But four more years of strenuous life, as we
know, were to pass over his head, and then at Peronne, in the train of
his sister Mary, James, Duke of York, was fated to meet for the first
time Anne Hyde. In his own memoirs, dictated long afterwards, he
acknowledges that he learnt to love her at that time. The brilliant
girl, for whom Spencer Compton and Harry Jermyn had sighed in vain, was,
with her ready wit and hereditary talents, a conspicuous figure in the
entourage of the Princess of Orange.[72] “Besides her person,” says the
record just mentioned, “she had all the qualities proper to inflame a
heart less apt to take fire than his.” “A very extraordinary woman” she
is even called by Burnet (who, however, is not always to be trusted).
But at any rate, clever, fearless, ready of tongue and broadly
sympathetic, she stood for much that might be considered typically
English at that time.[73] As for Anne’s own feelings, no one can wonder
at her reciprocation of a passion which a prince like James laid at her
feet. Fresh from the fields of his prowess, confessed by the greatest
captain of the age to be of conspicuous gallantry, and surrounded with
the halo of unmerited misfortune, there is no doubt that he must have
seemed a very Paladin to the daughter of the loyal Cavalier to whom
fealty to the exiled race was a religion, and for the rest, when one
looks at the picture painted in his youth by Lely—the haughty, beautiful
face, with its sensitive mouth and luminous eyes—one cannot choose but
see, like poor Nan Hyde, in the Duke of York a veritable Prince
Charming.
Footnote 72:
“Memoirs of the Court of England during Reign of Stuarts.” J. H.
Jesse.
Footnote 73:
“Queen Anne and her Court.” P. F. Williams Ryan.
His own statement is simply made in few words,[74] and apparently if the
lovers confessed their attachment to each other at that time no one else
guessed their secret then nor for long afterwards.[75]
Footnote 74:
“Life of James II.” Rev. J. S. Clarke, from original Stuart MSS. in
Carlton House, 1816.
Footnote 75:
“Original Papers containing Secret History of Great Britain,” arranged
by James Macpherson, 1775. Extracts from writings of James II.
himself.
The Princess Mary and her train remained for some months in France, as
before mentioned, and it was during the stay in Paris that Frances
Stanhope, one of her ladies, was converted to Rome, and Queen Henrietta
was present at her profession in the Jesuit Noviciate Church. At this
time the Queen’s capricious favour seems to have veered in the direction
of her second son, probably on account of his service in the French
army.
During this Paris visit Sir Richard Browne, father-in-law to John
Evelyn, was writing to Hyde in the month of May: “I have as yett been
onely once at our Court where by misfortune I could not kisse ye hande
of y^r faire daughter.” They were old friends, and the friendship lasted
for years.[76]
Footnote 76:
Evelyn’s “Correspondence.” Sir E. Hyde to Sir R. Browne, Bruges, 18th
August 1656: “We expect the Duke of York here very speedily.”
Meanwhile the Duke of York, utterly weary of inglorious ease, again took
up arms, though reluctantly, at this time in the Spanish army under the
exiled Condé. He had received a sort of apology from Mazarin for the
treaty with Cromwell, which however he frankly acknowledged to be
unavoidable. It was, as has already been said, a prime object with the
Protector to foment disagreements between the royal brothers, and he
persuaded the Cardinal to offer James a command of troops in Italy.[77]
Charles on this summoned his brother to Breda, and bade him take an oath
of service to Spain and also dismiss his governor, Sir John Berkeley,
who was secretly an agent of Cromwell. The Duke of York, however,
probably resenting dictation of any kind, left Flanders hurriedly, to
his brother’s great wrath; on which Hyde, justly apprehensive of a
breach between the two, interfered on behalf of the younger brother,
begging that at any cost he should be recalled, and Ormonde was sent
after the truant. James listened to his persuasions so far as to consent
to return, on condition that his household was not meddled with, and the
offending Berkeley was given a peerage, it is hard to see why, being
created Baron Berkeley of Stratton. On this occasion the Princess Mary
went to Bruges to assist in bringing about the reconciliation between
her brothers, and in the month of May the Duke of York was given the
command of certain regiments newly raised, and in the succeeding month
finally made up his difference with Charles. At the battle of the Dunes
he displayed extraordinary valour, a quality which distinguished him
throughout his career as a soldier. Condé, who might certainly be
considered a judge of such matters, placed it on record that “if there
was a man without fear, it was the Duke of York.”
Footnote 77:
“Charles II.” Osmund Airy.
In this campaign James had now the company of his younger brother Henry,
Duke of Gloucester. In that poor boy’s short and stormy life there was
indeed little space for anything to be called happiness. He,
contemptuously called “Master Harry” by his gaolers, had been released
by the Parliament some years previously, and having landed at Dunkirk
was first sent to Lady Hyde at Antwerp, but he arrived in Paris in
1653.[78] He had become—he was but ten years old—terribly spoilt by bad
company, but he quickly improved in his new surroundings, and later,
Morley at any rate thought highly of him.[79] No sooner, however, had he
taken up his abode with his mother than she, regardless of the dying
commands of his father, set to work with all her might to win him over
to the Church of Rome, fancying no doubt that with a child of
Gloucester’s tender years her task would prove an easy one.
Footnote 78:
Sandford’s “Genealogical History.”
Footnote 79:
_Dictionary of National Biography._
Charles II., nevertheless, wrote the boy a stern letter of warning, and
appealed passionately to James for aid, he being then at hand, bidding
him even leave the service of France sooner than refrain from supporting
his brother. Besides this the King despatched the faithful Ormonde to
enforce his command, the latter moreover on arrival finding it necessary
to sell his own George, the last jewel remaining to him, to help the
young Duke in his destitution.
On this Henrietta flew into one of her tempests of rage and promptly
turned her youngest son out of her house, believing she could thus
coerce him into surrender. After a piteous scene with his little sister
Henrietta, who seemed beside herself with terror, only gasping “Oh me!
my mother!” amidst her sobs, the poor young Duke, forlorn and helpless,
but unshaken in his resolve, fled to his brother James, who did his best
to console him, and proved indeed always kind and affectionate. On this
occasion, moreover, the Duke of York attempted in vain to soften his
mother’s anger, but the only result was that she refused to communicate
with either son, except through Walter Montague, who was much in her
confidence as a messenger and go-between on many occasions. This favour
he probably owed to the fact of his being a convert from the Anglican
Church. He entered the religious life, and died as Abbot of Pontoise.
The two royal brothers during their Paris sojourn attended together
regularly the English service which was held at the house of Sir Richard
Browne and was frequented by many of the exiled Cavaliers. If at this
time James had indeed begun to entertain doubts as to the Church of his
baptism, they were not yet strong enough to lead him away from her
worship. He appears to have been instructed early in the doctrines of
the Church, especially in that of the Real Presence, by Dr Steward, who
was successively Prebendary of Worcester and Provost of Eton. During the
progress of the war, the latter became (nominally) Dean of St Paul’s and
of Westminster, and while Clerk of the Closet to Charles I., was one of
the commissioners at the Treaty of Uxbridge. He also taught the Prince
of Wales, and became one of the Duke of York’s Cabinet Council, Sir
George Radcliffe spitefully calling him “the heifer the queen plowes
with.”[80] The support James gave to his younger brother testifies to
his loyalty, at any rate for that time, and something also may be due to
the ardent veneration which the memory of their father inspired in the
children of Charles I. To him the offices of his Church had been his
stay and consolation up to the supremest moment of the great tragedy,
and his son could not but remember the fact. And moreover it must be
recollected that among the many faults of James, Duke of York,
dissimulation had no place. Even Burnet, though no friend to him, could
not but acknowledge him to be “candid and sincere,” therefore we must
conclude that whatever difficulties may have presented themselves to his
mind, at the time when he and his brother Henry knelt side by side at
Mattins and Evensong in Sir Richard Browne’s house, the Duke of York was
still conscientiously an English churchman, and it is significant that
in after years he never tried to turn his daughters from their
faith.[81]
Footnote 80:
Burnet’s “History of My Own Time.”
Footnote 81:
Eva Scott, “The King in Exile.” Cosin, Dean of Peterborough,
afterwards Bishop of Durham, was chaplain in Paris.
The Duke of Gloucester was afterwards for a time with his elder sister
in the Low Countries, and, as we have seen, in 1657 took up arms with
his brother.[82] Both were well known for their extreme and reckless
courage, an attribute not, it must be confessed, shared by the leaders
of the Spanish forces, who were their brothers in arms, for the latter
for the most part took care to watch the battles in which they were
engaged from the safe and distant harbourage of their coaches.[83]
Footnote 82:
Madame—Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady). In June 1657 both were reported
slain or prisoners, but reached Bruges safely.
Footnote 83:
Thurloe State Papers.
At the end of the campaign James had, as in the case of the army of
France, won the confidence of his men and the respect of Condé and of
the Spanish leaders in general.[84]
Footnote 84:
Clarendon State Papers. Marquess of Ormond to E. H. Brussels, 21st
June 1657: “The Duke of York will take exceedingly in the army. He is
as brave and as little troublesome as any prince can be.”
It may be that neither England nor France was in favour of the Princes
taking service in the Spanish army, a circumstance which would have some
force in determining James, who very probably was quite willing to fling
a defiance in the teeth of Cromwell.
Nevertheless, it is strange to find Sir John Berkeley and Colonel
Bampfylde, the plotter of some years back, seriously discussing about
this time the question of a marriage for the Duke of York with one of
the Protector’s daughters, a fact which goes to prove the despair of the
Royalists of otherwise succeeding in England.[85] Still later, in 1659,
a party among the exiles, choosing to believe a rumour which pronounced
the King to have consumptive tendencies and to be in a precarious state
of health, actually proposed to set him aside in favour of his second
brother. There is not, however, a shadow of evidence that James himself
was in any way a party to such a scheme. Indeed in August of that year
he followed Charles to France, and later in the autumn the unlucky truce
between France and Spain put an end to the military career of the Dukes
of York and Gloucester, and as a consequence deprived them of their pay
in the army of the latter country, throwing them once more on their
elder brother’s meagre resources.
Footnote 85:
Eva Scott, “Travels of the King,” “The King in Exile.”
In this connection a letter from Mr Jennings (Captain Titus) to Hyde
seems to point to the increasing arrogance of the Protector’s family.
Writing from Antwerp on 11th February 1656-1657, he says: “There was
lately a wedding of a kinswoman of Laurence’s, whither all the
grandees and their wives were invited, but most of the Major-Generals
and their wives came not. The feast wanting much of its grace by the
absence of those ladies, it was asked by one there, where they were?
Mrs Claypole answered: ‘I’ll warrant you washing their dishes at home,
as they use to do.’ This hath been extremely ill taken, and now the
women do all they can with their husbands to hinder Mrs Claypole from
being a Princess and her Highness” (Clarendon State Papers). It will
be remembered that Elizabeth Claypole, Cromwell’s favourite daughter,
predeceased him by a few weeks.
When Henry had been sent out of England by the Parliament, that body had
promised the prince a small maintenance, provided he kept away from all
and any of his relations, a proviso which obviously was unlikely to be
observed. However, any such provision was forfeited, and he was in the
same plight as his next brother.
Another effort at an English alliance was made during this year, Lord
Mordaunt suggesting this time, as a bride to the Duke of York, Fatima
Lambert, the only child of the famous Roundhead general, whose influence
was for a time paramount with the army since the death of the Lord
Protector in September of 1658.
James, however, now pledged secretly to Anne Hyde, at once refused the
proposed match, alleging as a reason the want of the King’s consent, but
still keeping his secret inviolate.
From Secretary Nicholas’ letter to Charles II., dated 8th October, it
appears that in his communication with the Duke, Lord Mordaunt did not
mention the name of the lady, but called her mysteriously “a daughter of
a gentleman of power and good quality in England, but he was not to tell
who it was,” which seems an unmeaning precaution, as sooner or later
James must have been told, and could not be expected to pledge himself
in ignorance of the lady’s parentage.[86]
Footnote 86:
Carte’s “Letters.”
However, as we know, the negotiation, if it attained such a point,
speedily fell to the ground, and events which soon followed removed it
altogether out of the sphere of possibilities.
In that year, when hope and fear alternated almost daily, when events
crowded on each other, Lambert’s restless figure holds the stage in one
aspect or another.[87] In the autumn he is sent with a strong force to
suppress the rising of Sir George Booth, who is taken in the endeavour
to escape in a woman’s dress, and Lord Derby in the disguise of a
servant. Lambert is to command the Parliament’s forces in the north in
October. In March of the next year the pendulum has swung back, and the
victorious general is committed to the Tower. He is released on parole,
but once more he is stirring up strife and is made prisoner. Later, he
narrowly escapes the block, to be a captive for his life in Guernsey.
But now another figure dominates the arena, and it is Monk who gathers
up all the threads into his strong hands, who takes the tide at the
turn, who grasps the empty crown which a greater than he had longed but
feared to wear, and lays it at the feet of the exile whose birthright it
is.[88]
Footnote 87:
Whitelocke’s “Memorials.”
Footnote 88:
“State Papers of John Thurloe, Esq.” Copy of a letter from Brussels,
of the 13/3 of March 1660/59.
In the early spring of 1660, the year which was to see the end of King
Charles’ dreary, aimless wanderings, the Duke of York was made
captain-general of all the Spanish forces at sea, and “admiral of his
fleets commanding his cinque-ports,”[89] but he had not time to enjoy
these dignities long, for in the month of May he came home once more
with his brothers, and was forthwith made admiral of the English fleet.
Hyde had been strongly opposed to the Spanish appointment as it was
supposed to involve the profession of the faith of Rome, but at that
moment the fortunes of the royal house were at their lowest ebb. Charles
himself had gone incognito to Calais, James to Boulogne, hoping for the
success of Booth’s attempt, but its failure already mentioned sent both
the brothers back to Brussels.
Footnote 89:
Whitelocke’s “Memorials.”
Only in March, came Bailey secretly to Ormonde with the tale that the
King was toasted in the taverns of London. Only in March, and in May the
_Royal Charles_ was bringing him back to his inheritance, the Duke of
York sailing in the _London_, the Duke of Gloucester in the _Swiftsure_.
The 29th of May—Oak-Apple Day—the day looked for through long years of
suspense, the day almost despaired of, the day welcomed with a very
agony of joy and exultation, had come at last.
To understand the fervour of welcome that greeted the restored King, we
must consider the unhealed wounds suffered by the many, and the fact
that the religious life of a great and representative class was
inextricably bound up with the fortunes of the exiled race. In the
eighteen years which had passed since the Standard was set up at
Nottingham, castle and grange and manor—yes, and farmhouse too—had sent
forth their sons, ungrudgingly for the most part, to fight under that
banner, and the great Anglican Church, with her array of saintly
doctors, never more conspicuous than in that age, had given her blessing
on the enterprise. In either case the sacrifice had been exacted, the
soldier had laid down his life, the priest had suffered for the cause,
and above all the scaffold before Whitehall had for ever set the seal on
both. It was nothing that England had known years of strong,
heavy-handed government, that she had dictated terms to other nations.
To many who cherished sorrowful memories, those years only represented a
space of stern tyranny and repression, and the graves of the beloved
slain at Edgehill and Newbury, Marston Moor and Naseby, were green for
ever in their hearts. To such simple and devout souls, also, it was much
that through that time the Liturgy had been forbidden, that the churches
had been desecrated, that the whole land lay desolate, neither could she
“enjoy her Sabbaths.” To them it was much that the end had come, and
even with haunting memories of the past they could say it was worth
while. If there was much that was short-sighted in this position, there
was also much that was heroic.
[Illustration:
JAMES, DUKE OF YORK
]
So in the sunshine of spring, an English spring with the laburnums and
lilacs ablow, with the air scented with the breath of flowers, alive
with the singing of birds, the King came “to his own again.”
Thanksgivings had been offered in the glorious cathedral of Canterbury,
Rochester had added to the welcome, and now on Restoration Day a gallant
train rode slowly over Blackheath on its triumphant way to London. Blare
of trumpet and ring of bridle-chains and a riot of colour were all
combined, while the people who lined the way could, some of them,
scarcely see, for their blinding tears, the dark-faced King, thirty
years old to-day, glancing quickly around him, the saturnine mouth
relaxed in a smile, as he bowed to right and left. No wonder that he
could remark with easy cynicism that no doubt it must be his own fault
that his coming had been so long delayed, since everyone was so glad to
see him.
Just behind the King came his brothers, side by side.
As James, Duke of York, reined his fretting horse with practised skill,
he looked in his costly attire a very comely prince in the eyes of his
brother’s lieges. Yellow ribbons were fluttering from his shoulders,
fleecy white plumes waved from his hat over the long brown curls which
framed the proud and handsome face. He was now twenty-six, already a
soldier of tried capacity, and as one of the Intelligencers of London
had already said of him, “cried up for the most accomplished gentleman
both in arms and courtesie that graces the French Court.”[90] So people
wrote and thought, yet this reputation was for the most part left behind
him when he crossed the Channel.
Footnote 90:
“Queen Anne and her Court,” P. F. Williams Ryan. “The Duke of York,
besides being an able Captain and successful administrator, was a man
of many accomplishments, acquired by association with the most
polished society of Western Europe.”
It was the fate of James Stuart, as it has often been the fate of
obscure persons, just to miss the appreciation which in some measure he
really deserved. His elder brother’s careless good humour and the grace
of manner which concealed so much selfish indifference won for Charles
II. from his people, weary of long repression and smarting under
unwelcome conditions, an amount of real affection which was certainly
both unreasonable and undeserved, but which nevertheless lasted for his
lifetime, and made him one of the most popular sovereigns of his
country.
James, on the other hand, because he lacked just those superficial
attributes was, to the bitter end, mistrusted and misunderstood. He was
not clever in any sense, possessing none of the brilliant gifts which
Charles misused and flung away with absolute recklessness; but as
Buckingham, with his rapid, mordant apprehension, once said of the
brothers: “The King (Charles II.) could see things if he would, and the
Duke would see things if he could.”[91]
Footnote 91:
Bishop Burnet’s “History of My Own Time.”
If he could—there was the key of the whole position. When the supreme
moment of his life arrived, James proved absolutely blind to the issues
involved—he could not see.
As to his better qualities, Bishop Burnet, as already mentioned at no
time a friend to the Duke of York, was forced to admit his personal
courage. “He was very brave in youth, and so much magnified by Marshal
Turenne, that till his marriage he really clouded the King, and passed
for the superior genius.” Also it is acknowledged that he was “a firm
friend till affairs and his religion wore out all his first principles
and inclinations.”
That same grace of constancy in friendship is endorsed by all his
biographers, and unhappily it was in many cases to prove his undoing. He
could not withdraw his confidence once given, and he was utterly blind
to the faults of his friends, clinging to them through good and evil
report, and in this respect he must be cleared of the charge of
fickleness.
Presently we shall see how this insensate belief in his friends, and
misapprehension of their motives, was to operate in the drama of his
marriage, which was nearly thereby shipwrecked.
He had no gifts as a letter writer (in which capacity Charles II.
certainly excelled, judging from the correspondence which survives[92])
and in speech he even stammered slightly, for which reason he was
habitually silent. But while Charles was incurably idle, letting life
drift by on the surface of a jest, and unutterably bored whenever he was
forced to work (though no man knew better how to apply when put to it),
James was plodding, methodical, diligent, though he got little credit
for it, then nor later.
Footnote 92:
Granger’s “Biographical History of England.”
This difference, apart from diversity of temperament, may be partly
accounted for by the circumstances of the brothers’ early life. Charles
during his years of exile was for the most part condemned to inaction,
while James gained in the arena of European warfare, under the eye of
the greatest generals of his day, the habit of action and of eager
disposal of his time.
One more contrast is to be noted.
Charles deliberately allowed himself to sink deeper and deeper into the
mire of degrading vice, successfully stifling the voice of his
conscience, till to all appearance it ceased to trouble him. James, on
the other hand, greatly as he had shared in the prevailing sins of his
age, never lost the uneasy sense of remorse, and certainly for the last
fifteen years of his life tried to atone for his stained youth by
fervent and real penitence. Moreover it is to be reckoned in his favour
that he never tolerated any sneers at religion in his presence.
For the rest, he loved England with even passionate fervour. To his
dying day he steadily and enthusiastically extolled his
fellow-countrymen, banished though he was from the land that was so dear
to him; nor could he refrain from sympathetic admiration of his English
sailors for their daring gallantry at La Hogue, a gallantry displayed as
it was against himself, when with the navy of France he made one more
fruitless attempt to regain his lost kingdom.[93] Grammont, gay,
careless, superficial, was yet able to sum up the character of the Duke
with unusual gravity and deliberation. He bore the “reputation of
undaunted courage, inviolable attachment for his word, great economy in
his affairs, hauteur, application, arrogance, each in their turn, a
scrupulous observer of the rules of duty and the laws of justice; he was
accounted a faithful friend and an implacable enemy.”[94]
Footnote 93:
Granger’s “Biographical History of England.”
Footnote 94:
“Memoir of the Court of Charles II.,” by Count Grammont, ed. by Sir
Walter Scott, revised ed. 1846.
Lastly, let it be said of James Stuart that he cannot be denied the
courage of his opinions, mistaken though they were, and grievously as he
erred in enforcing them.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER IV
THE MARRIAGE
IT is difficult, nay impossible, now to fix the exact date of the
secret, but definite, understanding between the Duke of York and Anne
Hyde.
Macpherson places it in 1657. James, he says, “had fallen in love with
Anne when the Chancellor and he were on ill terms,”[95] but the
probabilities point to the Paris visit already described. This would
give a reason for the Prince’s lingering on in the French capital at
that time, for he appears then to have been treated by the Court of
France with very little consideration, a state of things which he was by
no means the person to endure meekly, proud and punctilious as he could
show himself to be.[96]
Footnote 95:
Macpherson’s “Original Papers: Life of James II., by himself.”
Footnote 96:
Thurloe Papers.
It was, by the way, then—if at all—that his sister Mary made the secret
marriage with the younger Harry Jermyn, formerly a suitor of Nan
herself, though the fact of such a union is more than doubtful.[97]
Footnote 97:
“Life of Henrietta Maria.” J. A. Taylor.
However, James himself acknowledges that it was when the Princess and
her train came to Paris that he was first attracted to the young maid of
honour. He says that she brought “his passion to such an height as
between the time he first saw her and the winter before the King’s
restoration he resolved to marry none but her, and promised to do it,
and though at first when the Duke asked the King his brother for his
leave, he refused and diswaded him from it, yet at last he opposed it no
more, and the Duke married her privately, owned it some time after, and
was ever after a true friend to the Chancellor for several years.”[98]
Footnote 98:
Macpherson’s “Original Papers: Life of James II., by himself.”
We are here given a period between the summer of 1656 and the winter of
1659-1660. As we know that the Duke’s campaigning had taken him away
from Paris in the autumn of 1657, the assumption is that some sort of
pledge passed between the lovers before this time, and that they had
then parted for some years with the knowledge of their jealously guarded
secret confined to themselves alone. No one seems really to have
suspected the truth till long afterwards, though there is a despatch
dated the 7th or 17th of August 1656 which has been supposed to refer to
this love affair, though it is hard to say on what grounds the
supposition is founded. The letter is from Ross to Secretary Nicholas.
“In England there is much bustle about choosing Parliament men.
Some counties have chosen Bradshaw, Ludlow, Salloway, Harrison
and Rich, at which Cromwell is so incensed that he has ordered
them to give bail to the majors general of their counties. My
wife is going to Dover to get a conveyance to go to the Duke of
York. I hear from young Musgrove that Mrs Benson is become ward
to a physician who lately applied to the Princess Royal to board
with her and one Bronkard who is with her and they are to go
with her on her next journey and be spies on the King’s
deportment.”[99]
Footnote 99:
“Calendar of Domestic State Papers,” edit. by M. A.
Everett-Green.
It is said that “Benson” is cypher for the Duke of York. Query, is Mrs
Benson intended for Anne Hyde? The date makes this supposition unlikely.
Even had there been any inkling of the affair it could scarcely have
been so soon, and such a storm of wrath was evoked by the discovery of
the contract in 1660 that it is most improbable that any suspicion of it
was afloat four years earlier.
Too many people were interested in so vital a question for the secret to
have been quite closely kept in such a case. It would have leaked out
somehow, a whisper here, a hint there, to ears only too ready to listen
to so choice a morsel of scandal, from lips equally ready and eager to
retail it. It is at least certain that for long after the Paris visit
Anne retained the affection and confidence of the Princess of Orange,
and we know that these were rudely shaken by the discovery when it was
made.[100]
Footnote 100:
“Lives of Princesses of England.” M. A. Everett-Green.
How the great secret was to be a secret no more, but the property of the
world at large, has now to be told.[101]
Footnote 101:
“Continuation of the Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon,” by himself,
ed. 1759.
In some respects it is fairly easy to reconstruct the London of the
earlier Stuarts. Here and there one can trace, by the help of main
thoroughfares, the sites of buildings once famous, though now either
substantially changed or altogether non-existent. The south side of the
Strand in those days was lined with large and stately houses, mansions
in the true sense, each with its façade facing the street; and to the
rear its shady garden reaching to the river, where the water-gate with
its elaborate ironwork and lofty flanking pillars gave access to a
flight of steps, where a boat was commonly moored. The Thames was then
the chief and favourite highway of the city. Its shining surface was for
the most part alive with craft of every description, from the royal
barge, gaudy with profuse gilding and silken hangings, to the small boat
darting hither and thither, and holding perhaps but a single passenger.
Heavy loads would be going slowly down to Greenwich or Gravesend, a boat
full of cheerful citizens with violins on board rowing up to Chelsey
Reach, a market woman or two with their baskets crossing over from the
fields beyond the Tabard on the south side, a Templar embarking at
Whitehall stairs to hurry down to Alsatia—it was all a feast of colour
and life, such as, in one sense, has passed away from the scene for
ever.
One of the great houses occupying such a position was that known as
Worcester House.[102] It had been originally a residence of the bishops
of Carlisle, and it stood on the site of the present Beaufort Buildings,
between the Savoy and Durham Place. At the Reformation it became the
property of the Crown, and was granted to the founder of the Bedford
family, when it was known as Bedford House, till they removed to the
present Southampton Street and built there another Bedford House.
Footnote 102:
Besant, “Survey of London”; Wheatley, “London, Past and Present”;
Walford, “Old and New London.”
The house in the Strand then passed to Edward, second Marquess of
Worcester, the loyal Cavalier who held his strong castle of Raglan so
stoutly for the King, and who is, as well, remembered for his “Century
of Inventions” and his numerous scientific experiments. He died in 1667,
and his son Henry being created Duke of Beaufort in 1682 gave that name
to the block of houses now occupying the site. During the Commonwealth,
the house had been used for committees and was furnished by the
Parliament for the Scottish Commissioners. At one time Cromwell himself
had lived there,[103] but in May 1657 a Bill was passed to settle it on
Margaret, Lady Worcester. The Somersets having regained possession of
their house, Lord Worcester, twelve days after the Restoration, offered
it rent free to Edward Hyde, who, however, agreed to a lease at five
hundred pounds a year, looking on it merely as a temporary house,
intending to build for himself; an intention to be fulfilled before much
time was past.
Footnote 103:
Sir Henry Craik, “Life of Edward, Lord Clarendon.”
Here for the present, at any rate, the Chancellor, who had accompanied
his master on his triumphant return, took up his abode.
The pageant of the Restoration was possessing fully the mind and temper
of the people. The streets were daily thronged with eager, excited,
jubilant crowds, demonstrating their noisy welcome to the long
expatriated King. London was delirious for the time being with the
revulsion, and those who had endured years of exile and poverty were not
the least happy. Among these might be numbered the Hydes. The Chancellor
might certainly be considered to deserve a season of rest and prosperity
after so many strenuous years of service, and as soon as the King was at
Whitehall, firmly established in the house of his fathers, Hyde had
leisure to turn to his own affairs, and forthwith sent off for his
daughter Anne. It has been said that the Princess Mary’s suspicions had
been already aroused with regard to her brother James and her maid of
honour, and that she had therefore dismissed the latter from her
service, but if so it does not seem that she imparted such suspicions to
any one at that time, for certainly Hyde himself was then completely
ignorant of them. He was, as we have seen, a man of strong and tenacious
family affections, and for his elder girl he had a deep and enduring
love. “She being his eldest child he had more acquaintance with her than
with any of his children.”[104] Besides, another question with regard to
her was beginning to occupy his mind. Now that public affairs were
settling down peaceably in England, he bethought him of finding an
honourable establishment for his Nan, and it seems he had “an overture
from a noble family.”
Footnote 104:
“Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon: Continuation,” by himself.
Since the quickly extinguished love affairs at The Hague in 1654-1655
nothing of the kind is recorded, and the Chancellor was fully alive to
the advisability of a suitable marriage for this his elder daughter, who
was now twenty-three, a mature age according to the ideas of the time.
Back, therefore, to England and to the new home in London, came Anne
Hyde, a stranger to her native land since her childhood, to be received
by her parents with exceeding joy.
It was, no doubt, to many of the long exiled Cavaliers a summer of hope,
destined, in many cases, to be unfulfilled. They looked forward eagerly
to the knitting together of ravelled skeins, to the renewal of old ties,
of old friendships; to the building up of home in the dear familiar
places so long laid waste and desolate.
So Edward Hyde and Frances his wife looked forward fondly to welcoming
their Nan, and cherished happy visions of a blithe bridal, of a new
relationship, new ties; of children’s children at their knees in God’s
good time.
They were keeping open house like their neighbours with lavish
hospitality, and perhaps Mistress Anne, in spite of the possession of
her momentous secret, and the anxiety inextricable from it, was not
averse to the intercourse now opened with the choicest spirits of that
English society which was re-forming itself around her.
In the wainscotted rooms of Worcester House they were made welcome.
Ormonde, tried and trusted, who had watched over the boyhood and shared
the exile of his king with selfless devotion; and Southampton, whose
memory could go back to the awful night, when he was keeping his vigil
by the body of his dead king in St James’s, and the muffled figure of
Cromwell stole into the dusky room to look at the calm face of his
victim; and Edward Nicholas, the Secretary, of whom it could be said
that there was “none more industrious, none more loyal, none less
selfish than he.”[105] These with their host could talk over the days of
strife and confusion, of rebellion and anarchy, wherein they had played
their parts; days past, so all trusted, never to return. Together they
could speak with hushed and saddened voices of lost friends and of the
master whom they had served so faithfully, yet failed to save. There,
too, often came John Evelyn, a friend true and loyal through long years.
“This great person,” he says, speaking of Hyde, “had ever been my
friend.” He would come by water from his house at Deptford—that Sayes
Court near which he was afterwards to discover the young Gibbons at work
on his great carving—and so, landing at the water-gate, would pass
through the garden into Worcester House. And there likewise would be
Morley, now Dean of Christ Church (who had come back before the
Restoration, being sent by Hyde to contradict the report of the King’s
apostacy), taking up once more the threads of the close friendship of
many years. Perhaps, too, Gilbert Sheldon, who had gone joyfully to meet
the returning king at Canterbury—now Dean of the Chapel Royal, but soon
to be Bishop of London—was there also, ready for an argument or dispute
with Morley, yet both of them united in virtue of long-standing
affection for the Chancellor.[106] And among them would be other and
younger guests: gallants scented and curled, in lace and satin, playing
the courtier to the daughters of the house, Anne and even little
Frances, or laughing with their young brothers, or, one of them, singing
a dainty madrigal or so to the music of a lute or virginals.
Footnote 105:
“Life of Edward, Lord Clarendon.” Sir Henry Craik.
Footnote 106:
_Dictionary of National Biography._
It was to all seeming a happy, sunny time, but suddenly into the midst
of the cheerful trifling was flung an announcement which was to prove,
with a vengeance, an apple of discord to all whom it could concern.
James, Duke of York, the King’s second brother, the heir presumptive to
the Crown, and the Chancellor’s elder daughter, Mistress Anne Hyde, were
married, and every one, whether remotely interested or no, stood aghast.
When the Duke first spoke to his brother on the subject is
doubtful,[107] but according to his own memoir it seems to have been
before the Restoration, possibly even at the time of the projected match
with Fatima Lambert, though as we have seen he did not openly give it as
a reason for his refusal.
Footnote 107:
“Original Papers containing Hist. of Gt. Britain,” arranged by John
Macpherson, 1775; extracts from “James II., by himself”: “The King at
first refused the Duke of York’s marriage with Mrs Hyde.”
Easy-going as Charles II. was on some points, he was naturally strongly
opposed to such a marriage for his brother as one with the Chancellor’s
daughter, since no possible advantage could result from it, and later,
when he did give his consent, he only reluctantly withdrew his
opposition.[108]
Footnote 108:
“Memoirs of the Court of Charles II.” Count Grammont, edit. Sir W.
Scott, revised ed. 1846, note 42.
Nevertheless James disregarded the fraternal disapprobation, without at
the time confessing the fact, for the marriage on which so much was to
hang took place at Breda on 10th November 1659.
The Princess of Orange and her three brothers were there alternately
with Brussels throughout that winter and the early part of the
succeeding spring.
Thurloe writes in March 1659-1660: “To-morrow I am parting for Antwerp,
whither the princess royal is going, being on her return from Breda. The
King of Scots goes with her to Antwerp, and from thence returns
specially hither, but both the dukes go through with her to Breda.”[109]
It is certain that though Mary was ignorant of the marriage she
suspected the existence of some understanding between her brother and
the maid of honour before the end of 1659, and on this account made no
difficulty of the latter’s retirement from her service.
Footnote 109:
“State Papers of John Thurloe, Esq.”
There is a consensus of evidence as to the date of the marriage. Among
others, Lady Fanshawe gives it.[110] She was certainly in Holland at the
time and it is possible that she was at Breda itself.
Footnote 110:
“Notes to the Memoirs of Ann, Lady Fanshawe” (_Chalmers’ Biographical
Dictionary_).
Who the witnesses of this union were cannot now be ascertained, and it
may be because of this fact that we are told that James could, if he
chose, have had the contract annulled at the time when the storm
broke.[111] It has indeed by some writers been termed a contract, only,
of marriage, but we shall see later that the validity was fully
established.
Footnote 111:
“Royalty Restored.” J. F. Molloy.
At any rate James now went to the King, and on his knees made a clean
breast of the affair, confessing the fact of his marriage in defiance of
the prohibition of the previous year, and entreating permission for a
public ceremony. Charles was, we are told, “greatly troubled with his
Brother’s Passion,” “which was expressed in a very wonderful manner and
with many tears, protesting that if his Majesty should not give his
consent, he would immediately leave the Kingdom, and must spend his life
in foreign parts.”[112]
Footnote 112:
“Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon: Continuation,” by himself.
The King, as might be expected, was greatly dismayed and perplexed, as
the situation offered serious complications. He does not appear to have
shown then, nor later, much positive anger with his brother, but he was
far-seeing enough to fear the difficulties that would probably arise
from this unwelcome alliance, which might very well prove a terrible
stumbling-block in his way.
James meanwhile was vehement and determined. As to his threat of
self-expatriation, that was of course not to be thought of for a moment,
and the King in his perturbation sent for the Chancellor.
Probably Charles’ first feelings with regard to Hyde were those of
strong irritation, as it might easily transpire that the latter from
motives of ambition had, if not assisted, at least countenanced the
match.
However those old and tried friends, Ormonde, the new Lord Steward, and
Southampton, now Lord High Treasurer, were deputed to see and confer
with him first, before his interview with the King himself.
Hyde’s outburst of wrath and bitter grief on being told the news[113]
satisfied all parties that there was no collusion on his part, and when
Charles himself came into the room, he was softened by the father’s
evident distress, and spoke gently and kindly to his old servant.
Footnote 113:
“The Chancellor knew nothing of the Duke of York’s marrying his
daughter” (Macpherson Papers).
“Nobody was so surprised and confounded as the Chancellor himself,
who, being of a nature free from jealousy, and very confident of an
entire affection and obedience from all his children, and particularly
from that daughter whom he had always loved dearly, never had in the
least degree suspected any such thing, though he knew afterwards that
the Duke’s affection and kindness had been much spoken of beyond the
seas, but without the least suspicion in anybody that it could ever
tend to marriage” (“Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon: Continuation,”
by himself).
The Duke of York himself next made his appearance, but possibly the
King, wishing to avoid a scene, or not thinking the moment a propitious
one for his brother to attempt any justification, took the latter away
with him, leaving Hyde for the present with his friends, who for their
part did their best to console him. They for one thing strenuously
upheld the fact of the marriage, of which the Chancellor, in his pain
and bewilderment, was at first doubtful, and indeed urged every ground
of comfort. For the time being, however, the angry father would listen
to no argument nor representation. Hurrying home he ordered his daughter
into close confinement, in the high-handed fashion which parents in
those days were in the habit of employing. He really seems, moreover—the
grave, sedate, well-balanced Chancellor—to have taken leave of his
senses, for he even seriously suggested sending the culprit to the
Tower, not to mention the extreme measure of cutting off her head.
Southampton, in his dismay at his old friend’s frenzy, had told the King
that it must be madness in some form,[114] saying that “His Majesty must
consult with soberer men, that He” (pointing to the Chancellor) “was
mad, and had proposed such extravagant things that he was no more to be
consulted.” However, without any question of Tower or block, Mistress
Anne was locked up in her father’s house, and apparently was destined to
remain in durance. Finding the rigorous treatment which, as it was, Hyde
chose to adopt, the King again sent for him, and taking him to task for
his harshness, interceded for the offending daughter. The Chancellor,
however subservient he could be, was not to be coerced on such a point,
and stood firm. He answered proudly, that “her not having discharged the
duty of a daughter ought not to deprive him of the Authority of a
Father, and therefore he must humbly beg His Majesty not to interpose
his commands against his doing anything that his own dignity required;
that He only expected what His Majesty would do upon the Advice He had
humbly offered to him, and when He saw that He would himself proceed as
He was sure would become him.” Charles, for his part, accepted this snub
direct with perfect docility, but the plot was destined to thicken
quickly, and neither of them could, as it turned out, prevent the march
of events, nor sever the offending pair.
Footnote 114:
“The behaviour of Lord Clarendon on this occasion was so extraordinary
that no credit could have been given to any other account than his
own” (Hallam’s “Constitutional History”).
In spite of her father’s vigilance, the Duke of York found means to
visit his wife during her incarceration, by the connivance of her maid,
Ellen Stroud, who had been a confidante from the beginning.[115]
Clarendon in his own Memoir uses the words: “By the administration of
those who were not suspected by him, and who had the excuse that they
‘knew that they were married.’” One other accomplice there seems to have
been.[116] It is almost certain that the girl’s mother was in the plot,
though how far must be a matter of conjecture, but before the esclandre
Sir Astley Cooper, after dining at Worcester House, said to Lord
Southampton, who was also present, that he was certain that Mistress
Anne was the wife of either the King or the Duke of York, judging by her
mother’s demeanour. This, it seemed, displayed the scarcely veiled
consideration due to the new rank, and an eager expectation of the
moment when concealment would be no longer necessary.
Footnote 115:
“The Duke came unknown to him” (“Continuation of the Life of Edward,
Earl of Clarendon,” by himself, ed. 1759).
Footnote 116:
“Soon after the Restoration the Earl of Southampton and Sir A. A.
Cooper dined at the Chancellor’s. On the way home Sir Anthony said:
‘Yonder Mrs Anne is certainly married to one of the brothers: a
concealed respect (however suppressed) showing itself so plainly in
the looks, voice and manner wherewith her mother carved to her or
offered her of every dish, that it is impossible but it must be so’”
(“Samuel Pepys and the World he Lived In.” Wheatley).
“Lord Shaftesbury told Sir Richard Wharton, from whom I had it, that
some time before the match was owned, he had observed a respect from
Lord Clarendon and his lady to their daughter that was very unusual
from parents to their children, which gave him a jealousy she was
married to one of the brothers, but suspected the King most.” As far
as one can judge, Clarendon himself was ignorant. (Burnet’s “History
of His Own Time,” Lord Dartmouth’s Notes.)
It is scarcely to be wondered at. Frances Hyde may have been prompted by
ambition, or simply by the desire to give her daughter her heart’s
desire without counting the cost or considering the consequences. In
either case it is hard to blame her, though her connivance places her on
a lower plane than her husband, with his high ideals of what was due to
the royal house, exaggerated as the feeling might be which made him say
that sooner than see her wife of the Duke, “I had much rather see her
dead, with all the infamy that is due to her presumption.”
Yet fate was too strong for him.
It was very likely easy enough for mother and bower-maid to arrange the
stolen meetings of the two, when we recollect the position of Worcester
House.
It was quite simple, in the velvet darkness of a summer night, for the
prince to come down in a wherry from Whitehall stairs to the water-gate
of the Chancellor’s house, which he would find unlocked, and so pass
through the silent garden where only the whisper of the leaves stirred
in the light wind fitfully, piloted by Ellen the maid, to the room where
Mistress Nan herself was waiting to keep tryst. No one else need be the
wiser—no one else knew, save Lady Hyde, and she would keep out of the
way carefully.
It was no doubt a halcyon time, that summer of the Restoration, for many
pairs of lovers, joined after long sundering to make reunion all the
dearer; and to Anne Hyde it was gilded twofold. Love triumphant burnt in
a clear and steady flame, and besides, there was the dazzling promise of
splendour and royalty. The moments hurried by all too swiftly in the
starlight. If his tongue was, as we are told, slow and halting, hers was
ready and swift, and there was, at any rate, the eloquence of clasped
hands, of eager eyes.
But matters were not to arrange themselves quite happily at present, and
the threads of the puzzle would need a very careful disentangling before
the cord would straighten out quite smooth and even.
Rumour had begun to be busy. Gossips talked of a contract. Pepys, who is
never very accurate, and who moreover constantly and unaccountably
betrays a prejudice against the lady, calls it a promise, only, of
marriage.[117]
Footnote 117:
“Diary of Samuel Pepys, 7th October 1660,” notes by Lord Braybrooke,
1906.
He gives the story that James, after the time-honoured manner of the
hero of melodrama, had signed this promise with his blood, that Anne had
carefully locked it up but that the Duke had found means to get this
important paper “out of her cabinet,” that the King wanted his brother
to marry her but that the latter “will not.” This remark about the King,
by the way, puts the account out of court. Sir John Reresby, more
good-natured but scarcely better informed, says the marriage or
betrothal probably took place either in January or February 1660, soon
after James returned to Flanders on the failure of Booth’s rising. We
have, however, much more definite evidence. In the deposition on oath of
the parties, to be noticed presently, the word contract is certainly
used, and the expression had to be defined. We shall see in what manner
this was done.
It is clear that the King very quickly made up his mind to countenance
the marriage. He said to Hyde himself that his daughter “was a Woman of
a great Wit and excellent parts, and would have a great power with his
brother, and that he knew she had an entire obedience for him her
Father, who he knew would always give her good counsel by which he was
confident that naughty people which had too much credit with his brother
and which had so often misled him, would be no more able to corrupt him,
but that she would prevent all ill and unreasonable attempts, and
therefore he again confessed that he was glad of it.”[118]
Footnote 118:
“Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon: Continuation,” by himself.
This was, of course, a tribute to the Chancellor himself. Charles II.
was fully conscious of how much he had owed for many years to the
counsels and service of Hyde, and how important they were likely to
prove in the future; therefore his chief anxiety, at that time at any
rate, was to bind the latter’s interests to his own at all costs. He
also in the daily conference with the Chancellor on which he insisted,
used the common-sense argument that the latter “must behave himself
wisely, for that the thing was remediless”—in other words, that what was
done could not be undone, a highly characteristic attitude on the part
of the speaker.
But if the King was prepared to be reconciled to the match, no other
member of the royal family could be said to tolerate the idea, certainly
not the queen-mother, who was almost beside herself with fury. Anne’s
late mistress, the Princess Royal, was also deeply incensed, resenting
the affront all the more from the favour she had lavished for so many
years on her maid of honour. The storm so evoked raged with more or less
violence through the autumn. The wrathful letters written by his mother,
on the first intelligence, James had shown to Anne, and before he set
out to meet his elder sister, who was on her way to England, he came
openly to Worcester House, and taking the Chancellor aside, said to him
in a whisper that “he knew that he had heard of the matter, that when he
came back he would give full satisfaction, and that he was not to be
offended with his daughter.”
What answer Hyde chose to make on this occasion we do not know, nor how
much he suspected, but the “matter,” as the Duke called it, had already
been made absolutely sure.
Worcester House had been the scene, not only of romance, of love-trysts,
of secret meetings on summer nights, but it had witnessed a union which
was to have far-reaching results for the realm of England.
On the night of 3rd September 1660, James, Duke of York, and Anne Hyde,
did for the second time plight their faith either to other.[119]
Footnote 119:
“Memoirs of the Court of England under the Reign of the Stuarts,” John
Heneage Jesse; Macpherson’s “Original Papers”; “Memoirs for History of
Anne of Austria,” Madame de Motteville, 1725.
The officiating priest was the Duke’s chaplain, Dr Crowther, Lord Ossory
(the son of Ormonde) giving away the bride, and another witness was
present in the person of the maid Ellen Stroud, who had so often
connived at the Duke’s visits, and who now, with the ease of long
practice, smuggled these persons into the house. Lady Hyde was certainly
not there, though it is quite possible that she was aware of the
transaction.[120]
Footnote 120:
“Memoirs of the Court of England under the Reign of the Stuarts.” John
Heneage Jesse.
As to the ceremony itself, we have the depositions, as before mentioned,
of all present, solemnly and severally attested, which afterwards passed
into the possession of John Evelyn.[121]
Footnote 121:
Original Depositions formerly in the possession of John Evelyn. MS.
18,740. B. M.
The first of these may suffice.
“I, James Duke of York do testify and declare that after I had
for many months sollicited Anne my wife in the way of marriage,
I was contracted to her on the 24th November 1659, at Breda in
Brabant and after that tyme and many months before I came into
England I lived with her (though with all possible secrecy) as
my Wife and after my coming into this Kingdome, And that we
might observe all that is enjoyned by the Church of England I
married her upon the third of September last in the night
between 11 and 12 at Worcester House, my Chaplain, Dr Crowther
performing that office according as is directed by the Book of
Common Prayer the Lord Ossory being then present and giving her
in marriage of the truth of all which I do take my corporall
oath this 18 February 1660-61. JAMES.”
The bride followed, and each of the witnesses deposed in much the same
terms, appending their signatures with the exception of Ellen the maid,
who, as was usual in a person of her class at that time, was unable to
write, and therefore “made her marke.”
It is very important here to notice that the depositions were further
endorsed thus:
“James Duke of York and Anne Hyde Duchess of York having been married at
Breda.”
The Worcester House ceremony was therefore to be regarded as simply a
re-marriage to guard against any possible doubts or difficulties that
might subsequently arise. It was by no means unheard-of for a marriage
to be repeated in form where there existed any suspicion as to complete
regularity, but this did not render the previous solemnisation less
binding on the parties. Considering the character of Anne, who showed
herself from first to last a proud, resolute, as well as ambitious
woman, the inference is that she had looked on the Breda ceremony as
much more than a mere betrothal. Putting aside the strong, even stern,
religious principles in which she, the pupil of Morley, had been
educated and which she had evinced from childhood, one can arrive at but
one conclusion as far as she was concerned.
But an event was to happen in the same month of September, which for the
time being was to put aside the thought of everything else.
Smallpox, the terrible scourge of the age, busy at the dangerous season
of the falling leaf, smote the youngest son of the royal house, and on
the 22nd, Henry, Duke of Gloucester, was dead in the flush of his early
youth.
He had abundantly proved himself, in the Spanish campaign, a gallant
soldier at the side of his brother James, and if there were already
signs manifested that he was not altogether untouched by some of the
failings of his race, that question must be suffered to sleep with him.
In 1659, when he had been created by letters patent Duke of Gloucester
and Earl of Cambridge, he had also been invested with the Garter at The
Hague by Sir Edward Walker, Garter King-at-Arms, but he was never
installed.[122]
Footnote 122:
Sandford’s “Genealogical History.”
In the anger and excitement consequent on the discovery of the Duke of
York’s stolen marriage, the younger brother must needs put in his word.
He did not like Mistress Anne. He vowed with boyish petulance that he
hated “to be in the room with her, she smelt so strong of her father’s
green bag.”[123] And perhaps, who knows? the impatient words may have
rankled in the mind of the latter, though it mattered little after all.
Footnote 123:
“Memoirs of the Court of England under the Reign of the Stuarts.” John
Heneage Jesse.
All too soon, alas! the grave closed over the fair young head, and one
forgets all that is best forgotten. We only think tenderly of Henry
Stuart, as the loving child who sat on his doomed father’s knee at that
last piteous interview in St James’s Palace, the day before the fatal
30th January, and promised fealty to the brother who was next to claim
it, with the unquestioning obedience of childhood.
[Illustration:
HENRY, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER
]
Charles II., callous as he was steadily becoming to his better feelings,
grieved bitterly at the loss of his young brother,[124] and this
unexpected sorrow probably helped to soften him with regard to events
which were soon to follow. Over in France, too, the little sister
Henrietta, whose short intercourse with her brother had been marked by
their mother’s unjust persecution of him, wept passionately for him, as
she had been eagerly looking forward to seeing him again during the
visit she and her mother were on the point of paying to England. At the
boy’s funeral in Westminster Abbey his brother James was chief
mourner.[125]
Footnote 124:
Sandford’s “Genealogical History.”
Footnote 125:
“Royalty Restored.” J. F. Molloy.
Meanwhile, immediately following the arrival of the Princess of Orange,
a mysterious silence fell on everything concerned with the marriage of
the Duke of York. To Anne, waiting in her seclusion at Worcester House
for both the return of her husband and for the birth of their child, now
near at hand, the suspense must have been little short of maddening. As
we have seen, the queen-mother’s bitter letter to her son on the score
of the marriage which she believed to be not yet accomplished, had been
shown to his wife. The anger of the Princess Mary, too, deep as it was,
could not account for the Duke’s non-appearance. Had he not made
assurance doubly sure by the second ceremony? What then was brewing?
The clue to the mystery lay in the infamous conspiracy now to be
related.
Sir Charles Berkeley, belonging at this time to the Duke of York’s
household, and certain others, were destined to prove themselves with a
vengeance, the “naughty people” whom Charles II. trenchantly denounced
as having too much weight with his brother.
There is no evidence that the queen-mother had any knowledge whatever of
the matter. Passionate, prejudiced, and headstrong as Henrietta Maria
had often shown herself, it is impossible to attach to her any of the
guilt of this abominable plot, although it is true that it played into
her hands; but she was far too outspoken and impetuous to be concerned
in it, or to be taken into the confidence of the conspirators.
The Berkeley above mentioned, who was nephew to John, Lord Berkeley of
Stratton, James’ former tutor and bad adviser, had, it appears, himself
fallen in love with Mistress Hyde, and his suit being rejected, made up
his mind to gain her on any terms. It is to be supposed that he was
ignorant of the Worcester House re-marriage, but at this moment he came
forward and with devilish effrontery declared that the unhappy girl had
been his mistress, succeeding, moreover, in convincing Jermyn, Arran,
and Talbot of the truth of this assertion.[126]
Footnote 126:
“Memoirs of the Court of Charles II.” Count Grammont, edit. Sir W.
Scott, revised ed. 1846.
Besides his own ulterior views, Berkeley was influenced by an inveterate
spite against the Chancellor, and being entirely unscrupulous he took
this dastardly means of gratifying his enmity.
The curious point about this transaction is the ease with which the Duke
of York fell into the trap; but we are here confronted with the most
salient point of his character, which has been noticed previously. He
possessed what might be called an obstinate fidelity to his friends, or
those whom he chose to consider as such, and a singular obtuseness as to
the nature of their motives. Long before, as we have seen, he had
quarrelled with his elder brother because Charles had discovered the
treason of the elder Berkeley in “trafficking” with Cromwell, and had
refused to dismiss him from his service: now he clung stubbornly to the
nephew, believing, in spite of his own deep anguish, the horrible
slanders which the latter had coined with regard to his wife. It was
just this trait in the character of James II. which was to prove his
undoing at the close of his stormy reign. He trusted traitor after
traitor, almost against the evidence of his senses, till the end came,
and crown and kingdom had passed from him for ever.
On this occasion there is ample evidence of James’ misery and despair.
He was, besides, in deep grief for the death of his brother the Duke of
Gloucester, who had been so closely associated with him through the
Spanish campaign, and whom he loved with a protecting and indulgent
affection: and indeed at this time he had himself fallen ill, having
refused food in his grief.
And now, just a month after Gloucester’s untimely death, in the midst of
this web of deceit, of false witness, of distress and unbearable
anxiety, an event occurred to which the persons most nearly concerned
looked with mingled sentiments, but which was likely to prove of
profound consequence to the kingdom. On 22nd October, Anne, Duchess of
York, gave birth to her first-born son.
As matters then were, this child, it must be remembered, stood in the
line of succession, the King not being yet married; and he, at any rate,
fully recognised the importance of the occasion, for he despatched Lady
Ormonde and Lady Sunderland (Waller’s “Sacharissa” of other days) to
Worcester House to be present at the birth of the expected heir.[127]
Dean Morley, Anne’s spiritual adviser since her childhood, was also
summoned, and in view of the aspersions against her now current, the
poor mother was solemnly exhorted in that extreme hour to make
profession on oath of her innocence in respect of Berkeley’s hideous
accusations, which she did with a vehement earnestness and passion in a
degree which seems to have carried conviction to those present.
Footnote 127:
“Life of Henrietta Maria.” J. A. Taylor.
It also appears that the King at this time laid the facts of the
contract at Breda before “some Bishops and Judges,” and that they
pronounced that “according to the doctrine of the Gospel and the law of
England it was a good marriage.”[128] The second ceremony, that at
Worcester House, which was thus rendered unnecessary, was kept for some
time a secret, but John Evelyn was one of the first persons to have any
accurate information on the subject. As early as the 7th October we find
him entertaining at a farewell dinner a French count with Sir George
Tuke, “being sent over by the Queen Mother to break the marriage of the
Duke with the daughter of Chancellor Hyde. The Queen would fain have
undone it, but it seems matters were reconciled on great offers of the
Chancellor to befriend the Queen, who was much in debt, and was now to
have the settlement of her affairs to go through his hands.”[129]
Footnote 128:
Bishop Burnet’s “History of His Own Time.”
Footnote 129:
“Diary of John Evelyn,” introduction by Austin Dobson.
Evelyn is too weighty and dispassionate as a chronicler for his evidence
to be set aside, but this account reads a little strangely in the face
of Hyde’s anger and dismay, which no one supposed other than sincere,
when he was first made aware of the matter, even begging the King’s
permission to give up office and go far from the Court. On this point
Burnet further declares that all Clarendon’s enemies rejoiced at the
marriage, “for they reckoned it would raise envy so high against him,
and make the King jealous,” and so “end in his ruin.” One must arrive at
the conclusion that finding how far things had gone, the Chancellor had
for his own sake, his daughter’s, and indeed for that of the country,
set himself to deprecate the wrath of Henrietta in the readiest manner
possible to him. Most of her dower-lands had been parted among the
regicides, and he was probably able to adjust some sort of restitution.
Pepys, inquisitive as he was, like all inveterate gossips, was entirely
ignorant of the real facts of the case till much later. On 24th October
he speaks of the Duke’s “amour,” though he knows of the birth of the
child. Even as late as 16th December he writes: “To my Lady’s [Lady
Sandwich] and staid with her an hour or two, talking of the Duke of York
and his lady, the Chancellor’s daughter, between whom, she tells me, all
is agreed, and he will marry her.” This, it must be remembered, is more
than three months after the Worcester House ceremony.
But before this the principal enemy to the marriage had arrived in
England.
On 2nd November King Charles came up by water from Gravesend,[130]
escorting, with all due respect, “Mary the Queen Mother.” Henrietta, it
must be remembered, was always known in England in her own time as Queen
Mary.
Footnote 130:
“Side-lights on the Stuarts.” Inderwick.
[Illustration:
HENRIETTA MARIA, “MOTHER QUEEN”
]
In the grey November weather the banks of the Thames were not at their
best, neither were the feelings of the exiled Queen, who was coming home
at last. She too was changed. The short-lived beauty of expression and
grace and vivacity had long fled, and it was a “little plain old woman”
who sat on the deck of the royal barge, and gazed at scenes once
familiar through a mist of tears. So she came back, an honoured guest
indeed, but with all the wine of life drained to the lees, to a country
which had dealt her the heaviest blows a woman could endure, in the
past. She was coming, too, with a heart full of bitter wrath against the
upstart who had forced herself, so she considered, into the circle of
royalty. The Queen’s extreme anger, it may be noted, was, in her case,
in some degree inconsistent, seeing that at one time she had
contemplated a match between her elder son, the King of England (at that
time if not _de facto_ at least _de jure_), and one of Mazarin’s nieces,
that bevy of lovely Mancini sisters, whose beauty was so famous in their
day, for they, we are told, “sprang from the dregs of the people.”[131]
Otherwise no one can wonder at the indignation of the haughty Bourbon
princess, the daughter, on one side at any rate, of a line of kings (and
even of the proud Hapsburg blood, through the once despised Medici
ancestry); and she came now, as she said, “to prevent with her authority
so great a stain and dishonour to the Crown,” by hindering her son James
at all costs from publicly recognising his marriage.[132] Indeed her
anger knew no bounds, and all her old prejudices against Anne’s father
had awakened once more, adding fuel to the fire. At the moment, too, the
Duke of York played into his mother’s hands, for he was then, as it
were, reeling from the frightful blow of Berkeley’s base accusations,
and only ready in his despair to repudiate alike his wife and child.
Footnote 131:
“Lives of the Queens of England.” Agnes Strickland.
Footnote 132:
“Life of Henrietta Maria,” J. A. Taylor; “Princesses and Court
Ladies,” Arvède Barine.
There was also, it appears, a general opinion that the whole business
spelt disaster to the Chancellor.
On 6th November, just after the Queen’s arrival therefore, Pepys notes
that “Mr Chetwind told me that he did fear that the late business of the
Duke of York’s would prove fatal to my Lord Chancellor,”[133] and the
latter in his own History avers that he “looked upon himself as a ruined
person,” and says bitterly that previous to this the Duke’s manner to
him “had never anything of grace in it.”[134] Meanwhile Mary, Princess
of Orange, had also come to England, and was adding her voice to the
chorus of indignant reprobation. She could not for a moment think, so
she said, “of yielding precedence to one whom she had honoured over much
by admitting her into her service as maid of honour.”
Footnote 133:
“Diary.” 6th Nov. 1660.
Footnote 134:
“Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon: Continuation,” by himself. “Said
to be helped on by enemies of Hyde, to bring disgrace upon him.”
So matters stood when suddenly a complete reversal, in one direction,
occurred.
Whether Berkeley was touched by his master’s misery, which to say the
least of it seems unlikely, or, which is more probable, he foresaw that
his own ends were unlikely to be served as he expected by the slander he
had coined, he made at this time a full confession, and a powerful
auxiliary also came forward in the person of the King, always henceforth
a kind and steady friend to his sister-in-law.
On escaping from the sea of intrigue which had almost fatally engulfed
her, Anne did at least display great generosity and a lofty capacity for
forgiving injuries, for she pardoned Berkeley the vile slanders with
which he had loaded her name, and even suffered him to kiss her hand in
token of amnesty, when with brazen effrontery he presented himself
before her. Perhaps the revulsion was too great at the time to admit of
anything but relief; perhaps she thought she could afford to be
magnanimous, seeing that her enemy had found himself unable to drag her
from her pride of place.
James, on his part, at once and joyfully acknowledged the marriage in
defiance of his family, and sent an affectionate message to his wife,
“bidding her to keep up her spirits for Providence had cleared her
aspersed fame, and above all to have a care of his boy and that he
should come and see them both very shortly.” It is evident that he had
only been waiting for the chance, for Lady Ormonde, who with her husband
was always a stanch friend to the Hydes, and had been steadily convinced
of Anne’s innocence, said of the Duke that she “perceived in him a kind
of tenderness that persuaded her he did not believe anything amiss.”
He had now to withstand anew his mother’s resentment, for when they
first met, after his reconciliation with Anne, the Queen refused to
speak to her son. She, however, adroitly turned the circumstances of the
King’s acknowledgment of the match into a means of gaining his consent
to his younger sister’s marriage, for she represented to him that he
must consent to the Princess Henrietta becoming Duchess of Orleans, for
“she could not suffer her to live at his Court to be insulted by Hyde’s
daughter.” The fact of the case was that in England the Duchess of York
would take precedence of the Princess. Whether this consideration
weighed with Charles or not, he made then no opposition to the marriage
of his favourite and “dearest sister” with the cousin for whom he
entertained, with good reason, the strongest dislike and contempt.
On 26th November Lord Craven was writing to the Queen of Bohemia of
Anne: “She is owned in her family to be Duchess of York, but not at
Whitehall as yet, but it is very sure that the Duke has made her his
wife. Your Majesty knows it is what I have feared long although you were
not of that opinion. The Princess [Mary] is much discontented at it, as
she has reason.”
He wrote again on the 28th: “I cannot tell what will become of your
godson’s business: the child is not yet christened, but it is
confidently reported that it shall be within a few days, and owned. The
Princess is very much troubled about it; the queen is politic and says
little of it. There is no question to be made but that they are married.
They say my lord Chancellor shall be made a duke.”[135]
Footnote 135:
“James II. and his Wives,” Allan Fea; “Life of Henrietta Maria,” J. A.
Taylor.
The Duke of York was godson of his aunt Elizabeth, it must be noted
here.
So things were, but before the year had ended death was to lay once more
effacing fingers on discord and bitterness.
The Princess Royal, who had come, as we have seen, to rejoice with one
brother on his long delayed Restoration, to resent hotly the other’s
unwelcome marriage, was seized like Henry of Gloucester with smallpox on
the 18th December.
It has been hinted that she was a party to Berkeley’s plot, though, in
view of her character, this is very unlikely; and it is also said that
on her uneasy deathbed in the grip of that ghastly and relentless
pestilence, she declared herself repentant of the part she had taken
against her brother’s wife and her own quondam maid of honour.[136]
Footnote 136:
“Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia.” M. A. Green, revised by S. C. Lomas.
Be that as it may, Mary Stuart passed away at Somerset House on
Christmas Eve 1660, just three months after her youngest brother.[137]
Footnote 137:
Madame—Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady).
On the 29th December her body was brought by torchlight to Westminster
Abbey, and laid in the Stuart vault by that of Gloucester, her brother
James again officiating as chief mourner. On this occasion one can only
contemplate with amazement what appears the entire callousness of the
queen-mother. Whether her anger at the marriage of the Duke of York
occupied her mind to the exclusion of all natural affection, it is hard
to say, but there is no record of any great grief on her part for poor
young Gloucester’s untimely end, and she certainly showed extraordinary
indifference with regard to her elder daughter, according to most
chroniclers; though one account certainly does credit her with the wish
to remain with her till forbidden by the doctors. In terror for her
youngest, the mother fled from Somerset House when the sickness declared
itself, and betook herself with the Princess Henrietta to St James’s,
leaving Mary to her fate. But it is to be remarked, that from the time
her youngest child was restored to her by Lady Dalkeith after their
escape, the Queen concentrated all the force of her affection on her.
Possibly the fact of her being allowed to bring her up in her own
religion undisturbed may have had something to do with it, but the fact
remains that for the last few years of her life she showed comparatively
little affection for her other children.
One of Mary’s oldest attendants was destined to make her home in
England. The minister Van der Kirckhove Heenvliet died in March of this
year, and his widow, Lady Stanhope, to whom Charles II. allowed the
title of Lady Chesterfield, to which her first husband would have
succeeded, married as her third husband the adventurous Daniel O’Neill
of whom mention has already been made.[138]
Footnote 138:
Lady Chesterfield was with the Princess at her death. (“Lives of the
Princesses of England,” M. A. Everett-Green.)
“The Tower of London,” Richard Davey. Daniel O’Neill had been
imprisoned in the Tower in 1643, but escaped and reached Holland in
safety.
Immediately on the death of the Princess Royal, the queen-mother
suddenly announced to her son James that she withdrew her opposition to
his marriage. It is just possible that the loss of her daughter may have
exercised a softening influence, but it is more probable that this
change of front was owing to a warning from Mazarin, who sent her a
peremptory message to keep on good terms alike with her sons and the
English Ministers of State, and the impoverished Queen could not afford
to disregard the powerful adviser of Anne of Austria.[139] Whatever the
motive, the result was plain. Three days after the funeral of Mary, her
mother so far did violence to her own strong and bitter prejudice as to
consent to receive not only her son, but the hated daughter-in-law. On
1st January Pepys records the fact: “Mr Moore and I went to Mr Pierce’s,
in our way seeing the Duke of York bring his lady to wait upon the
Queen, the first time that ever she did since that business, and the
Queen is said to receive her with much respect and love.”
Footnote 139:
“Life of Henrietta Maria.” J. A. Taylor.
Hyde was informed of this communication by that industrious go-between
Walter Montague, who was in England at this time.
This latter statement may be taken with a grain of salt, but Henrietta
did control her feelings sufficiently to behave with dignity and
self-restraint. As she passed to dinner, her ladies following her,
through the corridor of St James’s Palace, Anne was waiting, white and
trembling, with a thickly beating heart, and she fell on her knees as
“Mary the Queen Mother” swept by in her mourning robes. With the stately
gesture the latter could assume at will, she turned, and raising the
girl, she kissed her, and leading her to the table placed her at her
side.[140]
Footnote 140:
“Calendar of Domestic State Papers.” 3rd January 1661.—Secretary
Nicholas to Bennet: “The Duke and Duchess then came to Court. The
Queen received them very affectionately.”
On the same day, the Queen made a still further concession. She
consented to see Hyde himself, receiving him graciously and speaking at
length of the matter in hand. “He could not,” she said, “wonder, much
less take it ill, that she had been offended with the Duke, and had no
inclination to give her consent to his marriage, and if she had in the
Passion that could not be condemned in her, spoke anything of him that
he had taken ill, he ought to impute it to the Provocation she had
received though not from him. She was now informed by the King, and
well-assured that he had no hand in contriving that Friendship, but was
offended with that Passion that really was worthy of him. That she could
not but confess that his Fidelity to the King her husband was very
eminent and that he had served the King her son with equal fidelity and
extraordinary success. And therefore she had received his daughter as
her Daughter and heartily forgave the Duke and her and was resolved ever
after to live with all the affection of a Mother towards them. So she
resolved to make a Friendship with him, and hereafter to expect all the
offices from him which her kindness should deserve.”[141]
Footnote 141:
“Continuation of the Life of Edward, Earl of Clarendon,” by himself.
Hyde, as might be expected, showed himself equal to the occasion, though
he must have felt that the Queen did him no more than justice when she
thus acknowledged his services to her husband and son.
“She could not,” answered the courtier, “show too much anger and
aversion, and had too much forgotten her own honour and dignity if she
had been less offended.”
But nevertheless the wounds which Henrietta’s unbridled tongue had
inflicted in time past were not so easily healed. Clarendon himself
remarks bitterly: “From that time there did never appear any want of
kindness in the Queen towards him, whilst he stood in no need of it, nor
until it might have done him some good.”[142]
Footnote 142:
“Life of Henrietta Maria.” J. A. Taylor.
Yet a truce was signed as it were, and peace was in a fair way to be
established. But still the Chancellor was never entirely reconciled to
his daughter’s lofty alliance, on which he looked with doubt and
misgiving to the end.
Some ten days before this momentous interview Evelyn speaks of the
marriage as fully acknowledged. Under the date of 22nd December he
writes:
“The marriage of the Chancellor’s daughter being now newly
owned, I went to see her, she being Sir Richard Browne’s
intimate acquaintance, when she waited on the Princess of
Orange. She was now at her father’s at Worcester House in the
Strand. We all kissed her hand as did also my Lord Chamberlain
Manchester, and the Countess of Northumberland. This was a
strange change. Can it succeed well?”[143]
Footnote 143:
“Diary of John Evelyn,” ed. Edw. Bray, 1850.
Strange indeed, and no one can wonder that a mind so thoughtful,
uplifted, and restrained as that of John Evelyn, who had known the
father through good and evil days, who remembered from her childhood the
girl, now a princess of England, should doubt the final issue of such a
turn of fortune.
Two days after Anne’s reception at Court her child was baptized at
Worcester House by the name of Charles, the King and Monk, now Duke of
Albemarle, being godfathers, while the queen-mother sealed her
reconciliation by undertaking the office of godmother, the other being
Lady Ormonde, and the boy was created Duke of Cambridge.
During this same month of January, Henrietta closed her first visit to
England after the Restoration. It had not been a happy one. It had been
clouded with heavy grief and bereavement, besides reviving poignant
recollections, and she had moreover sustained the vexation and
disappointment which her second son’s marriage had inflicted on her,
from which she had by no means recovered, in spite of her altered
attitude towards the offenders.
[Illustration:
JOHN EVELYN
]
She was impatient to escape, and eager besides for the marriage of her
sole remaining daughter, the disastrous results of which it was
impossible for her to foresee. She was also anxious, on account of her
health, to visit the baths of Bourbon which then enjoyed a great
reputation.
The King accompanied his mother and sister to Portsmouth, where they
embarked, but the Duke of York remained in London. He was still ill and
depressed. He had passed through a period of acute pain and anxiety; he
had really felt deeply the death of the sister who had always been to
him, at least, staunchly affectionate, at a time when he needed
affection, and now he “being indisposed was at Whitehall with the
Dutchess.”
At the time of the Restoration Hyde had refused a peerage, but now, for
obvious reasons, he signified his acceptance of one, and on the 6th
November he had taken his seat as Baron Hyde of Hindon in Wilts (near
Hatch, where Laurence Hyde, his ancestor, had lived). Moreover the King
made him a grant of twenty thousand pounds out of the amount (fifty
thousand pounds) which Parliament had sent the latter at The Hague, at
which time the Duke of York, by the way, had received ten thousand
pounds and Gloucester five thousand pounds. Later, that is in April
1661, Hyde received his final honours, being created Earl of Clarendon
and Viscount Cornbury.
A closing epilogue to the drama of the marriage comes from the pen of
Lord Craven. Writing to the Queen of Bohemia on 11th January 1661 he
says: “I have this morning been to wait upon the duchess; she lies here
and the King very kind to her: she takes upon her as if she been duchess
this seven years. She is very civil to me.”[144] And on 23rd February:
“The greatest news we have here is that upon Monday last, the duke and
duchess were called before the Council and were to declare when and
where they were married and their answer was that they were married the
3rd of September last, in a chamber at Worcester House, Mr Crowther
married them; nobody but my Lord of Ossory and her maid Nell by; but
that they had been contracted long. That is all that I can hear of the
business.”[145]
Footnote 144:
“Lives of Princesses of England.” M. A. Everett-Green.
Footnote 145:
“Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia.” M. A. Green, revised by S. C. Lomas.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER V
THE DUCHESS
IT is hard to survey quite dispassionately, or even thoroughly to
understand, the attitude of Anne Hyde on safely attaining her new
dignity, the dizzy height to which she had climbed by such a thorny
path. She seems, unhappily, to have had enemies from the first, but
whether they were due to her father’s steadily increasing unpopularity,
to her own behaviour, or to envy of her success, easily comprehensible,
it is difficult to determine. Probably each of these conditions had
something to do with it.
As regards her conduct, James himself says of her: “Her want of birth
was made up by endowments, and her carriage afterwards became her
acquired dignity.”[146] Pepys, who, as has been already remarked, never
lost an opportunity of a fleer at her, says, as early as 13th April
1661, of “Edward Pickering his discourse most about the pride of the
Duchess of York.” This may or may not be true, for Pepys was nothing if
not prejudiced, and the man who could, with his eyes open, write with
foolish admiration of “my dear Lady Castlemaine,” cannot be considered
an authority to be altogether respected. It is however certain, from
other sources, that from the first, Duchess Anne was known unfavourably
for her arrogance. Even Lord Craven, as we have seen, had noticed it,
and he had no reason to be specially biassed. On this point also the
French ambassador, the Comte de Cominges, remarks with some covert
amusement: “She upholds with as much courage, cleverness and energy the
dignity to which she has been called, as if she were of the blood of the
kings or of Gusman at the least, or Mendoza.”[147]
Footnote 146:
Macpherson’s “Original Papers.”
Footnote 147:
“A French Ambassador at the Court of Charles II. (Comte de Cominges).”
Jusserand.
Bishop Burnet, who evidently held her in great respect, and usually
extols her, says: “She soon understood what belonged to a Princess, and
took state upon her rather too much.”[148]
Footnote 148:
Burnet’s “History of My Own Time.”
We have to piece together these stray scraps of evidence in the best
manner possible, and in so doing come to the conclusion that Anne, on
finding herself publicly acknowledged Duchess of York, and wife of the
heir presumptive to the Crown, also found that she had set her foot on
the first steps of a difficult and stony road, and that possibly she
conceived her only chance in such a position was to assume and maintain
a defensive attitude. A perpetual uneasy consciousness of her hardly
acquired rank made her afraid of stepping for one moment off the
pedestal to which she had been raised, and this of itself would serve to
make her unpopular. It must be remembered also that the society which
surrounded her, reckless, wild, unscrupulous as it was, was yet one
which guarded jealously the traditions of high rank and lofty descent,
and in the fervour of the Restoration was inclined to resent hotly the
intrusion of a parvenue into the narrow circle of the blood royal of
England and was only too ready to find fault whenever a loophole could
be given. Poor Anne, it is to be feared, afforded many such.
Perhaps it may be as well to discuss in this place the vexed question of
her personal appearance. On 20th April of this year 1661, Pepys writes
acidly: “Saw the King and Duke of York and his Duchess, which is a plain
woman, and like her mother my Lady Chancellor.”
In fact, if nearly all the pictures of her which exist may be trusted,
they certainly dispose of Anne’s pretensions to beauty. They represent
for the most part a large, heavy looking woman, with an abnormally wide
mouth; and we know from contemporary evidence that she became very fat
early in life.
It is true that Sir John Reresby, who is never ill natured, generously
calls her “a very handsome woman,”[149] but only one other chronicler,
Granger, in his Biographical History, ventures on such an opinion.
Bronconi, in his Journal, declares without circumlocution: “La Duchesse
de York est fort laide, la bouche extraordinairement fendue, et les yeux
fort craillez, mais très courtoise.” The famous Grammont, a professed
critic of beauty, alluding to the marriage, says: “The bride was no
perfect beauty,” and elsewhere sums up the case judicially:
Footnote 149:
“Memoirs of Sir John Reresby,” 1764.
“She had a majestic mien, a pretty good shape, not much beauty,
a great deal of wit [this Reresby and others endorse] and so
just a discernment of merit that whoever of either sex were
possessed of it were sure to be distinguished by her, an air of
grandeur in all her actions made her to be considered as if born
to support the rank which placed her so near the throne.”[150]
Footnote 150:
“Memoirs of the Court of Charles II.,” by Count Grammont, ed.
by Sir Walter Scott, revised ed. 1846.
Considering the passion which Anne had certainly inspired in several
men, and which in the Duke of York had now raised her to her lofty
position, one is forced to the conclusion that, in spite of her lack of
physical beauty, she must have been possessed of some conquering charm
of manner which, joined to undoubted wit and certain brilliant
endowments of mind, made up for the want of personal attractions in an
age which, perhaps of all others, most prized such an attribute.
This too would partly account for the steady friendship which her
brother-in-law the King always testified for her. He was, it is true, a
connoisseur of beauty of all types, but he also greatly valued wit, and
keenly appreciated any one who could and would amuse him. He had the
strong sense of humour which is often allied to a saturnine disposition,
and which we know never failed him to the end. His own wife, with all
her good qualities, which were quite definite, with her adoring and
pathetic devotion to himself, was nevertheless, we fear, not amusing,
and he probably found in his plebeian sister-in-law a quickness of
apprehension which appealed to his strain of cynicism and impatience of
dullness; and which was not always allied to the radiant and undoubted
beauty which he admired in other women.[151]
Footnote 151:
In the year 1661 we find evidence of the King’s kind feeling towards
his sister-in-law in a present made to her. The letter is to Sir
Stephen Fox:
“CHARLES R.
“Our will and pleasure is yt you forthwith pay to Sir John
Shaw ye sum of one thousand pounds in ys of a necklace of
Pearls given by us to ye Dutchesse of Yorke and for yr soe
doing this shal be yor warrt. Given at or Court at Whitehall
this 19th of July 1661” (Egerton MS.).
Duchess Anne had for her part “wit and agreeable manners, but without
personal charm,” and Jesse rather ponderously asserts: “In the character
of Anne Hyde there seems to have been more to admire than to love. She
was possessed rather of dignity than grace, rather of masculine sense
than feminine gentleness.”[152] And Burnet further testifies that she
was “a woman of great spirit,” “a very extraordinary woman,” who “had
great knowledge and a lively sense of things.”
Footnote 152:
“Memoirs of the Court of England during the Reign of the Stuarts.”
John Heneage Jesse.
Thus equipped by nature, by education, by experience, Nan Hyde, the maid
of honour in past years of the Mary who now slept hard by among her
kindred in the Abbey, began her career as a princess, fully aware, there
can be no doubt, of the many pitfalls which menaced her.
The arena into which she stepped was a brilliant one. The Court of
England, after the long stormy interval during which such a thing did
not exist, became “very magnificent,” and the fact is readily
comprehensible.
Charles II. had so long lived an out-at-elbows life, from hand to mouth,
as it were, that the inheritance to which he had at last succeeded and
the fifty thousand “gold pieces” voted by Parliament must have seemed
for the time being inexhaustible, and a character like his would set no
bounds to his careless extravagance.[153] His ideas were naturally
lavish and picturesque, and there were always plenty of people about him
quite willing—and more than willing—to minister to these; many hands in
his pockets, moreover, as well as his own.
Footnote 153:
“Royalty Restored.” J. F. Molloy.
This state of things was, too, for a time at any rate, not unacceptable
to the people at large. Through the grim years of the Civil War, and
during the severe rule of the Commonwealth, they had been condemned to a
lack of beauty in life, to sad-coloured raiment, to stern repression, to
an absence of all the amusement and colour which had pervaded England in
the joyous, if strenuous, Elizabethan age and the first years of the
succeeding century.
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that the commonalty, wearied and
fretted by their Puritan taskmasters, should be dazzled by the vision of
a gracious young king, easy of access, genial of speech, surrounded
moreover by splendour, beauty and gaiety.
We know now what underlay the vision. We know what was destined to
become a headlong race of folly—and worse, but it was all at first, at
least, very seductive.
And in the midst of it all now moved the new Duchess of York, for a few
months, at least, the first lady in the kingdom, until the King should
find himself a bride.
We have seen that Anne’s father participated in some of the state which
surrounded her; the dignities conferred on him, fully as his long-tried
service had merited them, being as much for his daughter’s honour as for
his own.
Pepys gives us a glimpse, now and then, of the doings at Court during
the spring of 1661. Early in April he is in St James’s Park to watch the
Duke of York play at “Pele-mele, the first time that ever I saw the
sport.”[154] James, like all his family, was very active in body, loving
sport and games of every kind. He was passionately devoted to hunting,
and this continued to the end. Long afterwards, along the grassy rides
of the forests of Saint Germain or Marly, the banished King of England
would sweep down with his train, forgetting for a few exhilarating
moments the pain of loss and exile and the green glades of Windsor which
he would never see again. It may be remembered, moreover, that when
Prince George of Denmark testified some alarm at his own tendency to
fat, Charles II. gave him promptly the advice: “Walk with me, and hunt
with my brother.”
Footnote 154:
“Diary.” 1st April 1661.
The Duke was also very fond of tennis, but here he was excelled by his
cousin Prince Rupert, the best player in England. The Prince Palatine
had not accompanied the King at the time of the Restoration, but had
arrived in England in September of the same year, after the death of the
Duke of Gloucester, when he came armed with a commission to ask for the
hand of the Princess Henrietta on behalf of the Emperor Leopold. We have
seen that this overture was useless, the queen-mother being unwilling to
consider anything which could clash with the claims of her nephew the
Duke of Orleans.[155]
Footnote 155:
“A Royal Cavalier: The Romance of Rupert, Prince Palatine.” Mrs
Steuart Erskine.
The coronation of Charles II. took place on St George’s Day, 23rd April,
the culmination of the Restoration rejoicings, but the month of May was
to see the withering of the first flower of the royal stem.
[Illustration:
PRINCE RUPERT
]
The little Duke of Cambridge, round whose cradle such a storm of passion
had raged, died on the 5th. Pepys spitefully volunteers the opinion that
the poor baby’s death, he believes, “will please everybody, and I hear
that the Duke and his lady themselves are not much troubled at it”[156];
a conclusion which seems, on every ground, very unlikely. James was to
prove himself a deeply affectionate father, and Anne’s strength and
tenacity of feeling were not likely to fail in this direction, though it
is quite possible that she made little demonstration outwardly of grief.
Footnote 156:
“Diary of Samuel Pepys,” notes by Lord Braybrooke, 1906.
Worthington’s “Diary and Correspondence.” 14th May 1661.—S. Hartlieb
to Dr Worthington: “I know not whether I told you before that the Duke
of York’s only child is dead and buried.”
During this year the King’s aunt Elizabeth, the “Winter Queen,” was at
last suffered to revisit her native country after so many stormy years.
She had been passionately desirous to do so, though England could have
been little more than a memory. But at one time she had been enshrined
in the hearts and imaginations of the English, some of whom would have
willingly set aside her brother’s children and accepted her son, Charles
Louis, as king. No doubt the knowledge of this lingered in the Queen’s
mind when she set sail once more for her early home, but as happens to
many in like circumstances, it meant disillusion. The radiant Queen of
Hearts, whom Christian of Anhalt and many another chivalrous warrior had
adored, was no more the same, and she came back, we fear, to find
herself forgotten.[157] Only Craven was left, to whom she had been the
one and only star, a few—very few—faithful friends, and her gallant son
Rupert. At first she stayed at Drury House, the guest of Lord Craven,
but later she removed to a house of her own in Leicester Field. Here,
only a few months after, she died, in February 1662.[158]
Footnote 157:
Sir Henry Wotton’s famous lyric, “Ye Meaner Beauties of the Night,”
was addressed to Elizabeth.
Footnote 158:
“A Royal Cavalier: The Romance of Rupert, Prince Palatine.” Mrs
Steuart Erskine.
In the old days at The Hague and Breda, as we have seen, Elizabeth had
been good to Chancellor Hyde’s young daughter, and had strenuously
backed the Princess Mary’s choice of the girl as maid of honour, little
dreaming how nearly they were destined to be related.
Did the Duchess of York remember the many kindnesses shown to Nan Hyde,
now when it had become possible to repay them? One must hope so, for
there is no record to tell us.
The day of the Queen of Bohemia’s funeral, on 20th February, there was a
terrible storm, a type indeed of the unquiet life now closed.[159]
Footnote 159:
“Merry Monarch: England under Charles II.” Davenport Adams.
That spring of 1662 saw the expected change in the position and
prospects of the Duchess of York, for the negotiations for the King’s
marriage were now completed. One of the basest of the many slanders
current against Clarendon was that he pushed on the match with Catherine
of Bragança by every means in his power, knowing that she would never
bear children, in order to ensure the succession to the Crown to his
daughter’s offspring.
As a matter of fact, though the Queen was destined never to become the
mother of a living child, it is yet certain that more than once she had
the hope of maternity.
However, scandal of every sort and kind was never more rife than in the
reckless, pleasure-loving, unscrupulous Court of Charles II. Every one
seems to have said whatever he or she chose, without the slightest
reference to truth, if that was likely to spoil a piquant story, and no
one was more victimised in this respect than the Lord Chancellor, who
thus paid the penalty of success. His friend Evelyn was among the few
who never wavered in their loyal attachment, and who never said a bitter
or ill-natured thing. This friendship, by the way, brought the diarist
into closer relation with the Duke of York, for in January we find the
latter announcing that he intended to visit the garden at Sayes Court,
already famous for its rare and lovely plants, the care bestowed on it,
and the culture of its gifted owner.[160] The next month, too, Evelyn
records that he is present at a comedy acted before the Duchess at the
Cockpit.
Footnote 160:
Evelyn’s “Diary.” Wm. Bray. 1850. “1662, 16th January.—Having heard of
the Duke of York’s intention to visit my poor habitation and garden
this day I returned.”
But the new queen was soon to be expected. On the 23rd April, the
anniversary of the coronation, she set sail for England, arriving at
Portsmouth on 14th May.
The Duke of York, in virtue of his office of Lord High Admiral, was
despatched to receive her as his brother’s representative, and she
welcomed him in her cabin, sitting under a canopy on a chair of state,
but displaying frank, if shy cordiality.[161] Charles himself was in no
violent hurry to see his richly-dowered bride, for he did not leave
London till the 19th, travelling in Lord Northumberland’s coach.
However, when he did arrive, no further time was lost, for the pair were
married by Sheldon on the 22nd, in the great hall or presence-chamber in
the governor’s lodging (now swept away) at Portsmouth. The register is
in the Parish Church of St Thomas. They finally reached Hampton Court,
where the honeymoon was to be spent, on the 29th, the King professing
himself perfectly satisfied with his new wife.
Footnote 161:
“Royalty Restored.” J. F. Molloy.
On the same evening the Duchess of York arrived to pay her duty to the
Queen. It must have cost her an effort, for her second child, Mary,
destined in after days to be queen, had been born barely a month
previously, on the 30th of April—Prince Rupert, by the way, being her
godfather. The Duchess came by water, in her own beautiful barge, and as
she landed at the steps the King was waiting at the garden gate near by,
and taking her by the hand, he led her along the straight, smooth alleys
into the ancient palace, and so into the new Queen’s bedroom. Anne would
have knelt to kiss her hand, but Catherine prevented the act of homage,
and raising her, kissed her affectionately.[162]
Footnote 162:
“Life of Catherine of Bragança.” L. C. Davidson.
The poor little lonely bride, fresh from her convent and narrow
upbringing, much younger than her actual years, bewildered by the racket
in which she found herself, was perhaps already hungering for some one
of her own sex to whom she could venture to unbend, and saw an augury
for future friendship and confidence in the assured carriage, the fresh
face, the steady, resolute eyes of English Nan. If so, she was not
likely under present circumstances to be disappointed; even the King was
perfectly willing to sanction such advances.
On the 15th August Evelyn mentions a visit paid to him by the Lord
Chancellor. Hyde, as we know, had a year before received the earldom of
Clarendon,[163] and though this occasion seemed to have been simply a
friendly one, yet his purse and mace were borne before him when he came
to Sayes Court. The diarist further notes: “They were likewise
collationed with us, and were very merry. They had all been our old
acquaintances in exile.”[164]
Footnote 163:
He was created Lord Hindon in November 1660, and Viscount Cornbury and
Earl of Clarendon in April 1661. (Kennet’s “Chronicle.”)
Footnote 164:
Evelyn’s “Diary.” Wm. Bray. 1850.
Before the year was out the queen-mother came to pay her second visit,
after the Restoration, to England. This time it was to welcome the new
daughter-in-law who, besides her royal blood and rank, had brought such
a splendid dower to the needy crown of England. The first meeting took
place at the ancient palace of Greenwich, which had been little used for
many years, its day having almost passed. Here Henrietta made the gentle
Portuguese bride sit on one arm-chair on her right hand, while she
herself occupied another. The King, waiving his precedence, of which,
indeed, he was never very tenacious in such matters, took a stool, while
the Duchess of York sat on one also, and the Duke stood by them.[165] It
sounds very much as if they grouped themselves with an eye to
portraiture, but it was really a matter of some importance, and thus
Anne was, we see, accorded what in France was called the right of the
“tabouret” by the dreaded queen, who less than two years back had
declared that if the hated interloper were to enter the room by one
door, she herself would leave by another. But time has its revenges, and
on the return visit, which was paid at Hampton Court, which to the
queen-mother must indeed have been full of bitter-sweet memories, when
she, naturally, was placed on Catherine’s right hand, the Duchess of
York was even provided with a chair a little to the left.[166]
Footnote 165:
“Life of Catherine of Bragança.” L. C. Davidson.
Footnote 166:
_Ibid._
As far as the young Queen was concerned, the auspicious beginning with
regard to Anne was justified. She always remained on friendly terms with
her sister-in-law. Her yielding, placable nature deferred readily to one
whose qualities provided the complement of her own, and later events
knitted a closer bond of union between them.
Meanwhile the Duke and Duchess of York took up their quarters in St
James’s Palace, the traditional residence of the heir presumptive—the
ancient manor of Henry VIII.—of whose building little remains now but
the brick gate-way.[167] It seems to have been furnished with great
splendour, and under Anne’s resolute sway her Court was more stately and
ceremonious than that at Whitehall, where the motto might have been that
of Medmenham in later days: “Fais ce que voudras.” In an idle age,
moreover, the Duchess was not idle. “She writ well,” says Burnet, “and
had begun the Duke’s life, of which she showed me a volume. It was all
drawn from his journal, and he intended to have employed me in carrying
it on.”[168]
Footnote 167:
“Old and New London.” Thornbury.
Footnote 168:
Burnet’s “History of My Own Time,” ed. 1766. “She writ very correctly”
(Appendix).
It was on account of this piece of literary work that Horace Walpole
gave the writer a place in his catalogue of noble authors, although, it
is true, he never saw the work in question. Anne also took a more or
less intelligent interest in the art of her time and country, for it was
she who projected the Series of Beauties to be painted by Lely, whose
genius was employed for many years of this reign.[169] She could at
least appreciate beauty in others, if she had but little herself, and
for this scheme we certainly owe her a debt of gratitude.
Footnote 169:
“Some Beauties of the Seventeenth Century.” Allan Fea.
The Christmas after the King’s marriage was marked by more than the
usual festivities. Secretary Pepys, always on the watch to see and
retail all that was to be seen, went eagerly to watch the royal party
dancing at Whitehall. The Queen, it seems, did not dance, but the King,
who “danced rarely,” took out the Duchess of York, and the Duke the
Duchess of Buckingham, to dance the bransle, where hands were taken in
turn. After this the King led a lady through a lively coranto, in which
dance it appears he excelled; and another of the best performers was the
little Duchess of Monmouth, Anne Scott, the greatest heiress of her day,
who in her childhood had been given to the unlucky pretender who was to
suffer so grim a fate in after days.
But happy and triumphant as one may picture her, the personal troubles
of the Duchess had already begun. In the autumn just past there occurred
the Duke’s ephemeral passion for Elizabeth Butler, Lady Chesterfield,
the daughter of Ormonde, who on her part by no means reciprocated it,
but to put an end to the situation, which she probably found
embarrassing, promptly retired into the country from London.[170]
Footnote 170:
“James II. and his Wives.” Allan Fea.
“January 19, 1663.—This day by Dr Clarke I was told the occasion of my
Lord Chesterfield’s going and taking his lady (my Lord Ormond’s
daughter) from Court. It seems he not only hath been long jealous of
the Duke of York, but did find them two talking together, though there
were others in the room, and the lady by all opinions a most good,
virtuous woman. He the next day (of which the Duke was warned by
somebody that saw the passion my Lord Chesterfield was in the night
before) went and told the Duke how much he did apprehend himself
wronged in his picking out his lady of the whole Court to be the
subject of his dishonour, which the Duke did answer with great
calmness not seeming to understand the reason of complaint; and that
was all that passed, but my Lord did presently pack his lady into the
country in Derbyshire near the Peake” (Samuel Pepys’ “Diary”).
[Illustration:
ELIZABETH, COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD
]
Poor Duchess Anne, however, took it passionately to heart, and
complained vehemently not only to the King, who was scarcely likely to
give her much sympathy—though he did remove Lord Chesterfield from his
office of Groom of the Stole to the Queen—but to Ormonde himself, who,
it must be remembered, was her father’s old friend. It is also probable
that she and Lady Chesterfield must have had some degree of intimacy.
Pepys, of all people, took it on himself to moralise on the subject. “At
all which I am sorry,” he writes, “but it is the effect of idleness and
having nothing else to employ their great spirits upon,” which seems an
insufficient reason. Lady Chesterfield, who never returned to London,
died two years later at Bretby, leaving a daughter who eventually
married Lord Strathmore.[171]
Footnote 171:
“Royalty Restored,” J. F. Molloy. Lord Chesterfield himself is said to
have been in love with Lady Castlemaine, a fact which did not
interfere with his jealousy of his wife.
By the month of January 1663 the Duke and Duchess appear to have made up
their differences, for they appeared together at the Cockpit to see
_Claracilla_ done by the King’s players, and there scandalised the
ubiquitous Secretary by “dalliance there before the whole world, such as
kissing and leaning upon one another,” a very curious picture of the
manners of the time.[172]
Footnote 172:
“Diary.” 5th January 1662-1663.
In the autumn of the same year Charles II., wishing perhaps to
familiarise the Queen with her new country, as well as to procure for
himself the change and variety for which he was always restlessly
seeking, set out on the first of his royal progresses, on which he was
accompanied by his brother and the Duchess, with a brilliant train.[173]
The party first visited Bath, which was recovering from the paralysing
effect of the Civil War, and about to enter on the era of its fame,
though its best period was not reached till the succeeding century; but
its waters had been long known and valued, and had been sought by Queen
Anne of Denmark fifty years earlier.
Footnote 173:
“Calendar of Domestic State Papers.” _News Letter_, 21st September
1663: “The Duke and Duchess are leaving Portsmouth, and the Duke’s
guards are to meet him on the way.” 17th September, Portsmouth.—Thomas
Lancaster and Hugh Salisbury to the same (Navy Commissioners):
“Arrived of the Foresight at Spithead, the Duke and Duchess of York
being in Portsmouth on their way to Winchester, boats have been sent
by Mr Coventry’s order to bring the Duke down to see the Dock,” etc.
On the 22nd September the King and his train left Bath and proceeded
first to Badminton, where they dined, their host being Lord Herbert.
They went thence to Cirencester, where they were received by Lord
Newburgh, and remained for that night. The next day they went on to
Oxford, and were met on the border of the county by Lord Cornbury
(Duchess Anne’s elder brother) with the high sheriff and two troops of
horse militia, besides volunteers. Further on they were met by Clarendon
himself as Lord-Lieutenant of Oxfordshire, and he entertained them with
great splendour and hospitality at his house of Cornbury. Then on the
28th the expedition passed on to Oxford itself, near to which they were
received by the heads of houses, the vice-chancellor in a short speech
giving the usual presents to the King and Queen.
Oxford, who had seen within her grey walls the dwindling Court of the
martyred king, who had vindicated her loyalty so stoutly, who had
suffered with such constancy, received now the recognition of her
fealty. None could express gratitude with more consummate grace than
Charles II., nor clothe appropriate sentiments with more fitting words,
and if the hearers were forced to the conviction that they were words
and nothing more, still they left their own impress behind them.
The King and Queen, the Duke and Duchess of York, and most of the train
were on horseback, and the cavalcade as it swept up the High Street,
past University, and Queen’s and St Mary’s Church made a very goodly
show by means of colour and movement, waving plumes and fluttering
ribbons, glitter of jewels and sheen of satin and velvet. Just so had
the Cavaliers who had rallied to the royal standard twenty years back
adorned the same streets with life and colour. For them, too, the bells
had pealed out and the citizens stood to watch, and they were gone—and
some of them forgotten.[174]
Footnote 174:
_News Letter_, 28th September: “Entering the town, the Recorder made a
speech, and the Mayor gave a present. The City militia guarded them to
the North gate, the gownsmen to Christ Church, and the scholars of
Christ Church made them a guard in the great quadrangle to their
lodgings, where Dr Fell the Dean and the Canons received them with a
short speech. On the 24th the University went in procession to Christ
Church to know when they would visit the University, and the 28th was
fixed upon. On the 25th the King and Duke went to Cornbury to see
Woodstock Park and the places near, returning to Oxford to dinner. On
the Sunday they all attended service at Christ Church, when Dean Fell
preached a seasonable and excellent sermon” (“Calendar of Domestic
State Papers”).
In 1665 there seems to have been another combined excursion westward.
The ambassador Van Gogh, writing to the States General from Chelsea, on
24th July records:
“The King and Duke of York go on Thursday from Hampton Court for
three or four days and then to Salisbury, whither the Queen and
Duchess are already gone.”[175]
Footnote 175:
“Calendar of Domestic State Papers.”
Somewhere about this time an idea seems to have got about that the Duke
of York was completely ruled by his wife, submissive to her will in all
things.
An opinion to this effect was openly expressed by the King, whose tongue
was never too scrupulous, and who nicknamed his brother “Tom Otter”
after the henpecked husband in Ben Jonson’s “Epicene, or Silent Woman,”
and elsewhere we are told that James “seemed in awe of his wife.”[176]
If so, this state of things did not long continue, and in any case it is
altogether foreign to the character of the Duke of York, as we know it.
He was at no time a person to be easily overawed, whether by his wife or
another. That she influenced him up to a certain point is very probable,
but there were distinct limits to that. Even the amount of influence
which Anne exercised in the early days of their marriage was destined to
decrease before long, and that for a reason which must now be given. The
grounds for this reason cannot be satisfactorily examined nor the
evidence sifted, for that is no longer possible. There are, as almost
always occurs, conflicting and contrary accounts; that is in the nature
of things.
Footnote 176:
“Charles II. and his Court,” A. G. A. Brett; “History of My Own Time,”
Burnet, ed. 1766.
It is no happy nor welcome task to trace the progress of
disillusionment, estrangement, coldness, following the ill-assorted
union of the King’s brother and the Chancellor’s daughter. One can so
easily picture the eager bystanders murmuring with unctuous satisfaction
the time-honoured conclusion: “I told you so!” And yet—“The pity of it,
Iago, the pity of it!” One would gladly omit from the record of that
marriage the chapter which must now perforce be set down, if only for
the sake of all that went before, of all that was to follow.
In the year 1640, when the Earl of Leicester—who was afterwards to be
half guardian, half jailer, of Princess Elizabeth and her youngest
brother at Penshurst—was ambassador at Paris, the youngest of his famous
sons, Henry, was born there. When he was eighteen his mother, whose
favourite he is said to have been, died, and in 1665 he was attached to
the household of the Duke of York as Groom of the Bedchamber.[177]
Footnote 177:
“Memoirs of the Court of England during the Reign of the Stuarts,”
John Heneage Jesse. “She is said to have proposed the Duke’s journey
to York in 1665 to be more with Sidney.”
“Diary of the Times of Charles II.,” by Henry Sidney, Earl of Romney.
Edit. R. W. Blencowe (Introduction).
“History of My Own Time,” Burnet. “A very graceful young man of
quality that belonged to her Court.” “The Duke took up a jealousy, put
the person out of his Court.”
He had his full share of the hereditary beauty of his family, the beauty
which distinguished his sister Dorothy, married three years after his
birth to the gallant young Sunderland who fell at Newbury, and his
brother Robert, believed by many of his contemporaries to be the father
of Monmouth, and who was known in his day as the “handsome Sidney.”
Conscious or not of his personal advantages, Henry Sidney fell
passionately in love with the Duchess, but that wild adoration was no
secret. Such things never were at that time, and the Court speedily rang
with the tale. Pepys licks his eager lips over the matter. “Pimm tells
me,” he writes, “how great a difference hath been between the Duke and
Duchess, he suspecting her to be naught with Mr Sidney. But some way or
other the matter is made up, but he was banished the Court, and the Duke
for many days did not speak to the Duchess at all.” Anthony Hamilton
pronounced her guilty, but Reresby, always kind and never scandalous,
says stoutly the Duchess “was kind to him and no more.” One thing is
certain, James was hotly jealous of his servant. If there really was any
truth in the aspersion on her, if Anne, in her lonely splendour,
conscious of her husband’s waning affection, resenting his infidelity,
turned to the love laid humbly and adoringly at her feet, then we can
but say: God pity her! for she was destined to drink deep of sorrow.
But it is quite as easy and fully as reasonable to give her the benefit
of the doubt. From what we have already seen, from what we have still to
see, it can be argued that she was too resolute, too self-contained, too
guarded, to succumb at this period of her life to mere personal
attraction. She had risked too much, had won her honours too hardly, to
venture them easily. That she was accused goes for nothing. Almost every
one was accused sooner or later, and the particular accusation may very
well have been an ill-natured tale invented to blacken an unpopular
princess. The hero of the romance, Henry Sidney, “the handsomest youth
of his time,” was destined to a brilliant career in after days.[178] The
short-lived disgrace which was the immediate consequence of his passion
for the Duchess, did him no harm. Much later, it is true, he was
dismissed from office, but he was made envoy to the States of Holland,
and remained there two years, having declined the embassy in Paris. It
is said that he voted for the exclusion of the Duke of York from the
succession, in the Parliament which met in 1680, when member for
Bramber, and perhaps the recollection of that early, ill-starred love
had more than a little to do with his action then. At the coronation of
James, so the story goes, the crown nearly fell from its wearer’s head,
a sinister omen, as many people considered it. Henry Sidney standing by,
promptly averted the accident, and adjusted the diadem, remarking with
happy audacity “it was not the first time that a Sidney had supported
the crown.” He became, however, one of the stanchest upholders of the
Revolution, and took with him to The Hague, in the fateful year of 1688,
the invitation of the plotters to William of Orange. On the coronation
of the latter, Sidney received the reward of a peerage, being created
Viscount Sidney and Baron Milton, and a few years later, in 1693, he was
made Earl of Romney and also became Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland and
Warden of the Cinque Ports. Henry Sidney died in 1704, unmarried. It
was, possibly, a tribute to the memory of a long dead romance—at least,
one is free to think so.
Footnote 178:
“Memoirs of Sir John Reresby.” “His Royal Highness and his duchess
came down to York (Aug. 5) where it was observed that Mr Sydney, the
handsomest youth of his time and of the Duke’s bedchamber was greatly
in love with the duchess, and he might well be excused, for the
Duchess, daughter to Chancellor Hyde, was a very handsome personage
and a woman of Fine Wit. The Duchess on her part seemed kind to him,
but very innocently.”
There was at one time a rumour coupling the name of the Duchess of York
with Henry Savile, another of the Duke’s grooms of the bedchamber, and
in reference to this report, Pepys piously ejaculates: “God knows what
will be the end of it!” However, as in the case of Sidney, there is no
positive evidence beyond rumour, and rumour was not likely to spare
anyone who had so many enemies as Anne Hyde. Therefore here, too, a plea
of innocence may be admitted on her behalf.
During the ten years from 1661 to 1671 the Duke and Duchess moved, it
seems, little from London. Besides the progress already described, made
in company with the King and Queen from Bath to Oxford, the pair were
once at York in 1665, and this, according to Reresby, seems to have
marked the beginning of Henry Sidney’s passion for the Duchess.[179]
Another time they were at Oxford, and when, like the Court, they fled
from the Plague, they took refuge at Rufford in Nottinghamshire, being
there entertained by Sir George Savile.[180] In return for this piece of
hospitality his uncle, William Coventry, begged the Duke to procure a
peerage for the host. James referred the matter to his father-in-law,
the Lord Chancellor Clarendon, backing, however, the appeal by saying
that “Sir George had one of the best fortunes in England, and lived the
most like a great man, that he had been very civil to him and his wife
in the North, and treated them at his house in a very splendid manner.”
Savile afterwards became Marquess of Halifax, having married Dorothy,
eldest daughter of Henry, Earl of Sunderland (as already mentioned), who
fell at Newbury, and also, of course, of “Sacharissa.” The Duke and
Duchess were back at St James’s at the time of the Fire, when the former
did yeoman’s service in the endeavour to check the ravages of the
terrible conflagration, when old St Paul’s, with its splendid if ruined
nave, its beautiful chantries and tombs, and its lofty spire, thundered
down in a whirlwind of devouring flame, in company of eighty-nine City
churches. No one worked harder in the face of this calamity than the
King and his brother, nor showed greater contempt of danger and
readiness of resource, and to the Duke we owe the preservation of the
Temple Church by his order to blow up the neighbouring houses. To this
Evelyn bears testimony, for he says: “It is not indeed imaginable how
extraordinary the vigilance of the King and Duke was, even labouring in
person, and being present to command, order, reward or encourage
workmen.”
Footnote 179:
“Calendar of Domestic Papers.” 7th August 1665, York.—Sir William
Coventry to Lord Arlington: “The Lord Mayor and Aldermen on horseback,
in their habits, who besides the speeches presented the Duke with 100
pieces, and the Duchess with 50.”
Footnote 180:
“Court of William III.” E. and M. S. Grew.
A little before this we find Mrs Kate Philips, known in her own day as
the “Matchless Orinda,” writing to Lady Temple (whom we know and love as
Dorothy Osborne): “I am glad of the news of the Duchess’ recovery, and
the other victory you mention at Court.” The recovery is probably from
measles, from which Anne suffered about this time.[181] The victory is
that of Frances Stewart, afterwards Duchess of Richmond, whom Charles
II. loved so madly—for a time—over her unpopular rival, Lady
Castlemaine. It was a very well known piece of gossip with which the
Court was ringing at the moment, but one can hardly fancy it to be
particularly welcome nor interesting to Dorothy Temple, being the manner
of woman she was. A month later poor Orinda was dead of smallpox, and
her poetry, “matchless” as it was thought, was very soon forgotten.[182]
Footnote 181:
“Diary.” Samuel Pepys. 28th December 1663.
Footnote 182:
“Martha, Lady Gifford: Life and Letters, 1664-1722,” edit. by Miss J.
E. Longe. “Letter from Mrs Kate Philips under the name of Orinda to
Sir Wm. Temple’s lady (Dorothy Osborne), 22nd January, 1664.”
As to Anne’s own household, it is significant that she was said to rule
it with decision and vigilance. One of her ladies was lovely Frances
Jennings, the elder sister of the famous Sarah, afterwards Duchess of
Marlborough, and she, having married first one of the wild
Hamiltons,[183] became Duchess of Tyrconnel, and was destined in her old
age to suffer the stings of poverty and neglect. But early in her career
there were love passages with the Marquis de Berni, son of Hugues de
Lionne, Foreign Secretary to Louis XIV., and her mistress encouraged the
affair, for it seems that “the Duchess, who is generally severe on such
things, finds the two so well suited that she is the first to favour
them.”[184]
Footnote 183:
Brother of Anthony, Count Hamilton, the chronicler.
Footnote 184:
“A French Ambassador at the Court of Charles II. (Comte de Cominges).”
Jusserand.
Another of the ladies was Miss Temple, afterwards Lady Lyttelton, and
yet another Lady Denham, whose story is a sad and dark one. She had been
a Brooke, and had already attracted the Duke of York when she married
Sir John Denham, who discovering the liaison, poisoned his wife, at
least, so it was suspected.[185]
Footnote 185:
Mary Kirke was another of Anne’s maids, according to Grammont.
[Illustration:
FRANCES JENNINGS, DUCHESS OF TYRCONNEL
]
But attached likewise to the Duchess’ person was one who, one cannot but
think, must have been to some extent a support and comfort in a life
that became more and more lonely and difficult as time went on.
Margaret, daughter of Colonel Thomas Blagge of Horningsheath in Suffolk,
a loyal Cavalier through the Civil War, during which he was governor of
Landguard Fort, became maid of honour to Anne, when a little girl,
probably not more than twelve years of age. The story of her short life
has been told by Evelyn, who watched over her with the care of a father,
and to whom she seems to have been almost an inspiration.[186] As a
little child she had been sent to France with the Duchess of Richmond
(that wayward, beautiful Mary Villiers, so long and deeply beloved by
Prince Rupert, and whose chivalrous lord had died broken-hearted for the
loss of his master, Charles I.). The child was then confided to the care
of Lady Guildford, Groom of the Stole to the queen-mother Henrietta, yet
even then we are told that little Margaret resisted being taken to Mass.
After her return to England she was confirmed by Gunning, Bishop of Ely,
at the age of eleven, and admitted to Holy Communion at that early
period. It was not long after this that the Duchess of York asked for
her, and from that time she lived, outwardly, the beautiful, admired,
lively maid of honour; inwardly, a life “hid with Christ.” Evelyn
himself was long unwilling to know much of her, fancying her “some airy
thing that had more wit than discretion”; and Pepys with much relish
relates that he, in company with Sir John Smith, dined with her, Mrs
Ogle and Mrs Anne Howard (another maid of honour, afterwards Lady
Sylvius), and that it “did me good to have the honour to dine with them
and look upon them.” In the whirl of the Court life Margaret Blagge
moves like the “Lady” in _Comus_, with spotless garments unsmirched by
the mire through which she treads, and leaving behind her the ineffable
perfume of the “white flower of a blameless life.”[187] She was destined
to die young, in the twenty-sixth year of her age, the passionately
beloved wife of Sidney Godolphin, the best part of whose life and
character was buried in that early grave. It is hard to think that he
who was to know such a consecration could write verses to Moll Davis!
Footnote 186:
“Life of Mrs Godolphin,” by John Evelyn, ed. by E. W. Harcourt.
Footnote 187:
“Diary of John Evelyn,” introduction by Austin Dobson. “1667. June
30th.—My wife went a journey of pleasure down the river as far as the
sea with Mrs Howard and her daughter the maid of honour (after Lady
Sylvius) and others, amongst whom that excellent creature Mrs Blagge.”
This is his first mention of her.
To Anne Hyde, whose almost stern character could appreciate honesty, the
straightforward mind and transparent truth of Margaret Blagge must have
appealed, in spite of the divergence of faith which came before the end.
For we hear of the Duchess, that “her frankness was such that she could
as little conceal her antipathies as she could disguise her
affections.”[188] This candour was, it may very easily be seen,
dangerous in her position and must have made for unpopularity.
Footnote 188:
“Anecdotal Memoirs of English Princes.” Davenport Adams.
Meanwhile the Duke of York, whatever else he was, was by no means
reconciled to a life of idleness. Pepys, in his character of Naval
Secretary, affirms early in 1664: “The Duke of York do give himself up
to business, and is likely to prove a noble prince, and so indeed I do
from my heart think he will.”[189] The former had, indeed, every
opportunity of judging, as his post brought him necessarily into
constant communication with the Lord High Admiral, communication of the
most intimate kind, for another time he remarks: “Up and carrying my
wife to Whitehall to the Duke where he first put on a periwigg to-day,
but methought his hair cut short in order did look very prettily of
itself before he put on his periwigg.”[190] This is the last we see of
James’ fair curls. King Charles was turning grey—it was said from
anxiety on account of the Queen’s dangerous illness—and so assumed a
black peruke; therefore his brother, no less than his whole Court, must
needs do likewise. Another of the honest secretary’s remarks conveys a
certain pathos: “To St James’s, and there did our business as usual with
the Duke and saw him with great pleasure play with his little girle like
an ordinary private father of a childe.”[191] If Pepys was what
Thackeray calls a snob, he was at any rate a very candid one, and
perhaps there was, besides, lurking in that commonplace mind a little
envious pang at the sight, for he, we know, was childless. Yet could he
have foreseen the future he had no need to envy James that pretty
plaything, for twenty-four years later “Mary the daughter,”[192] as the
bitter Jacobite rhyme calls her, was destined to grasp the crown torn
from the head of the father who so loved her, the father driven into
exile by his children.
Footnote 189:
“Calendar of Domestic State Papers.” Ambassador Van Gogh to the States
General. 1664-1665.—March: “The Duke of York is recovered, and will
soon go to Deal, it is believed he will go out with the Fleet. The
Duchess goes with him, and has taken a country house near so as to be
at hand to receive news of him during the expedition.”
Footnote 190:
“Diary.” 15th February 1664.
Footnote 191:
_Ibid._ 12th September 1664.
Footnote 192:
There’s Geordie the drinker,
There’s Annie the eater,
There’s Mary the “daughter,”
There’s Willie the cheater.
The Duke of York’s work on behalf of the navy did not begin and end in
St James’s or in the Admiralty buildings near the Tower. Later we shall
see him on board his flagship at grips with the Dutch, but meanwhile he
took care to visit many ships, and Anne was often with him on these
expeditions. On 19th May 1665, Lord Peterborough, writing from Harwich,
mentions that he is “going on board to compliment the Duchess.”[193] The
ship on this occasion was the _Royal Charles_, and a few days later Sir
William Coventry seems to be suffering acutely, for, addressing
Arlington, he says: “The Duchess and her beautiful Maids are departing,
therefore long letters must not be expected from me under such a
calamity, would visit their desperation on the Dutch were not the
victuallers as cruel as the ladies.”[194]
Footnote 193:
“Calendar of Domestic State Papers,” ed. by M. A. Everett-Green. Earl
of Peterboro’ to Williams.
Footnote 194:
“Calendar of Domestic State Papers,” ed. by M. A. Everett-Green. Earl
of Peterboro’ to Williams.
James was not the only prince of his house to supplement the laurels won
on land by achievements on the high seas. His cousins, the Princes
Palatine, Rupert and Maurice, had long ago made their names known as
valiant mariners. A mystery always hung over the fate of Prince Maurice,
who with his ship, the _Defiance_, vanished in a great storm.[195]
Rupert himself barely escaped with his life in a small boat when the
_Constant Reformation_ was lost with three hundred and thirty-three men,
and this year, 1665, he set out to attack the Dutch on the coast of
Guinea. He was accompanied down the river by the King and the Duke of
York, the latter longing to go with his cousin on this adventure, which,
however, came to nothing, for in spite of the Prince’s efforts the fleet
did not sail. The next year, however, the long smouldering rivalry with
the States General came to a head, and war was declared. A fleet to
proceed against the Dutch was assembled at Gunfleet, the Duke, as Lord
High Admiral, being in supreme command, and Prince Rupert, Admiral
Lawson and Lord Sandwich admirals under him. Charles, by the way, had
given the settlement of New Amsterdam to his brother, and it was
henceforth known as New York, the Dutch land settlement having been
originally taken by James I.
Footnote 195:
“A Royal Cavalier: The Romance of Rupert, Prince Palatine.” Mrs
Steuart Erskine.
In April the fleet aforesaid began the blockade of the Zuyder Zee, but
after a fortnight it was forced to return for provisions, though it had
been supposed to be victualled for five months. Prince Rupert, who came
to be known as the seaman’s friend, was highly indignant with Pepys and
other Admiralty officials on this occasion, but the debts on the fleet
had really begun under the Commonwealth and had mounted to such an
extent that it was impossible to pay the pursers.[196] Finally, after
the loss of Hamburg to the Dutch, the English fleet again set sail and
headed for Southwold Bay, meeting the enemy on 1st June. For two more
days they pursued them, till they succeeded in getting their wind-gauge,
fourteen miles from Lowestoft, and the battle actually began at
half-past three on the afternoon of 3rd June, Prince Rupert leading the
van, the Duke of York the centre, and Sandwich the rear. To James it was
probably as keen a satisfaction as it was to his cousin, to vindicate on
the sea the reckless valour which in his early youth had distinguished
him on land, and it was with the knowledge of his contempt for personal
danger, that the Duchess contrived to convey a strict injunction to all
his servants to do whatever lay in their power to restrain him on this
occasion. It was during the action that the Dutch copied the English
tactics of turning, but they found the latter ready for them, their rear
and van changing positions. However, the English sustained some disaster
by means of a mistake in the new signalling orders, and a false move on
the part of Sandwich, who allowed his squadron to become mixed with the
enemy. Nevertheless the victory remained with the English, for by seven
o’clock the Dutch were in full flight, fourteen of their ships being
taken and four thousand men slain. It was even said that they might have
been annihilated but for conflicting counsels on the part of the
English, and a mistake for which, guilty or innocent, the Duke had to
suffer. A council had been held on board his flagship, when some of the
captains asked him to discontinue the pursuit. This, however, James
refused, giving, on the contrary, the order to press on all sail, and
bidding his servants to call him when the Dutch should be sighted. He
then went below, and during the night, Brouncker, who was Gentleman of
his Bedchamber, going to the admiral, Sir William Penn, bade him shorten
sail. Penn, believing this order to come from the Duke, obeyed it, but
in the morning James came on deck, and at once questioned the admiral,
who promptly accused Brouncker. The latter held his tongue, but his
master, declaring he had given no such order, dismissed him from his
service. It was at the time considered significant that the Duke did not
further punish him, but on the other hand, it may be noticed that James’
own account of the matter is that he intended to punish Brouncker by
martial law, but that the House of Commons took up the question, and by
impeaching the culprit made any further action on his own part
impossible. Lord Montague seems to have believed that the Duke did give
the order, but Brouncker when before the House did not even pretend that
his master had done so. Whatever were James’ faults, his character for
courage and candour make his own account the more probable. In any case
he was the ultimate victim, for he was withdrawn from the command of the
navy on the ground that it exposed _him_, the heir presumptive, to too
much danger.[197] The service thereby lost a valuable head, for he had
worked hard to establish it on a permanent footing, and had already
evolved some order out of chaos. Yet this department of duty was not, at
least at this period of his life, what he most desired, or was most
congenial to him. Again on this subject Pepys writes: “He [Mr Coventry]
tells me above all of the Duke of York that he is more himself and more
of judgment is at hand in him in the middle of a desperate service than
at other times, as appeared in the business of Dunkirke, wherein no man
ever did braver things or was in hotter service at the close of that
day, being surrounded with enemies. And though he is a man naturally
martial to the highest degree, yet a man that never in his life talks
one word of himself or service of his own, but only that he saw such and
such a thing and lays it down for a maxim that a Hector can have no
courage.”[198]
Footnote 196:
“A Royal Cavalier: The Romance of Rupert, Prince Palatine.” Mrs
Steuart Erskine.
Footnote 197:
“Anecdotal Memoirs of English Princes.” Davenport Adams.
Footnote 198:
“Diary.” 4th June 1664.
It is no indifferent testimony, even in an age which produced many
brilliant soldiers who left an inheritance of great names. It may be
noted that Anne’s cruel enemy, Lord Falmouth, once Sir Charles Berkeley,
fell at Southwold Bay.
There are two letters from the Duke of York to the Prince Palatine,
which, although they are undated except as to the month, probably refer
to this year’s campaign.
“For my deare Cousin,
Prince Rupert.
“_July 17._
“I no sooner received yours of the 12 but that I sent for S^r G.
Downing and gave him order about River so that I hope he will
become exchanged, and in the meane tyme the Dutch Cap^{ne} is
put in chanes and told why he is so used. I hope that and your
giving them a sound bange will teach them better manners; this
bearer will tell them all the newes so that I have no more to
say but to thank you for the scrole you sent me and to wish you
a faire wind and good successe, and that God will preserve you
in the midst of those dangers you are likly shortly to be in.
“JAMES.”
“For my deare Cousin,
Prince Rupert.
“_Nov. 7._
“I received yours by this bearer by the which I am very glad to
find that things are in so good a readinesse where you are. I
intend God willing to be at Portsmouth on Wensday, and to-morrow
all the ships in the hope are to fall down except the _Charles_
whose mainemast must be changed, which will be sone done. I
shall ad no more hoping to see you so sone but that I am
entirely yours
“JAMES.”[199]
Footnote 199:
Forster Collection MSS. V. and A. Museum.
It was in the succeeding year that Prince Rupert and the Duke of
Albemarle achieved their great victory over the Dutch off the North
Foreland on St James’s Day, 25th July.[200] In that terrible and
stubborn fight the English had eighty-one ships of the line and eighteen
fireships, while the enemy, under the command of the famous De Ruyter,
had eighty-eight ships, ten yachts, and twenty fireships. After this
engagement the Prince Palatine carried fire and sword from Scheveningen
along the coast of Holland, but he was compelled to return for want of
provisions, of which neglect he complained bitterly. Secretary Pepys,
however, a second time the scapegoat, retorted that the fleet had been
brought back in bad condition, the Prince protesting that he could have
continued the campaign six months longer if his ships had been properly
provisioned. The Dutch fleet was enabled by his evasion to refit, and
were joined by the French in the Channel.
Footnote 200:
“A Royal Cavalier: Romance of Rupert, Prince Palatine”; Green’s “Short
History of the English People.”
All this while the Duke of York, detained at home, was chafing with
impatience and trying to fill up his time with such matters as came to
hand, and giving his attention to each. Once Pepys writes: “I to
Whitehall to a Committee for Tangiers where the Duke of York was, and I
acquitted myself well in what I had to do” (the worthy Samuel, in spite
of occasional fits of self-accusation, had always an excellent opinion
of himself). “After the Committee up I had occasion to follow the Duke
into his lodgings into a chamber where the Duchess was sitting to have
her picture drawn by Lilly, who was there at work. But I was well
pleased to see that there was nothing near so much resemblance of her
face in his work which is now the second if not the third time as there
was of my wife’s at the very first time. Nor do I think at last it can
be like, the lines not being in proportion to those of her face.” To the
end, ill as he behaved to and by her, Pepys was proud of his wife’s
beauty and really fond of her, and this naïve expression of his
satisfaction is almost pathetic.[201]
Footnote 201:
“Diary.” 24th March 1666.
Somewhere about this time Lady Fanshawe was returning from Spain, on the
death of her chivalrous and deeply mourned husband, to make at last her
home in England, and she was, as his merits entitled her, graciously
received by the King, whom he had served so long and faithfully. On this
occasion she presented two dozen “amber skins” and six dozen pairs of
gloves to the King, the Queen, the Duke and his little son the Duke of
Cambridge, who was, alas! destined soon to follow his brother.[202] The
Duke of York lent Lady Fanshawe the _Victory_ frigate to bring the rest
of her goods and people from Bilbao at the end of March 1667.
Footnote 202:
“Notes to the Memoirs of Anne, Lady Fanshawe.”
It was for that period, an age which set such store by signs and
portents, a strange defiance of omens that impelled the parents to give
what would seem a fatal title to three successive children, none of whom
were fated to survive infancy. Through the ten years which succeeded her
marriage, Anne’s nursery at St James’s Palace was filling only to be
emptied. One after another of the sons so eagerly and fondly welcomed
was destined to fade quickly out of this life, “to find the taste bitter
and decline the rest”; the ducal coronets were to fall from the small
heads too weak to bear so heavy a burden. Of the eight children born to
James, Duke of York, and Anne his wife, only two daughters survived to
play their parts thereafter on the great stage of history for good or
for evil. The mother, however her heart was wrung, as it must have been,
carried an undaunted front through those years of loss and bereavement,
and held her place resolutely in the very forefront of Court and
festival, a conspicuous and dominating figure always.
Her home throughout her married life, as before said, was St James’s
Palace, a house which must have enshrined many memories for James
himself. There he had been brought up as a child, there he had been in
his boyhood a State prisoner with the brother and sister, now both
passed away, there his father the martyr-king had spent the last night
of his life before the winter morning walk across the Park to Whitehall
and the block before the Banqueting House, and there his body had lain
that night, watched by a little band of faithful servants, before the
burial at Windsor. There also James and his wife always kept the
anniversary of that day, the 30th January, year by year, as it came
round, in sorrowful remembrance.
It was a goodly habitation, and indeed rivalled the great rambling
palace near the river in splendour of furniture and decoration and the
treasures it contained.[203]
Footnote 203:
Knight’s “London.” It was long known as St James’s Manor-House.
Yet another picture from Secretary Pepys’ busy pen is shown us
here.[204] One spring day, he tells us, he came thither to dine “with
some of the maids of honour at the Treasurer’s House,” and thereafter he
found “the Duke of York and the Dutchess with all the great ladies
sitting upon a carpet on the ground, there being no chairs, playing at
‘I love my love with an A because he is so and so, and I hate him with
an A because of this and that,’ and some of them but particularly the
Dutchess herself and my Lady Castlemaine were very witty.” A childish
game, it seems to us, yet the scene has a certain charm and grace,
invested too with piquancy by the ladies’ readiness. In other days at
The Hague and Breda, under the approving eyes of the “Winter Queen” and
her own Princess Mary, with Spencer Compton and Harry Jermyn to applaud,
Nan Hyde had learnt to hold her own in jest and repartee, and now that
she too was a princess, she had not forgotten the trick, but still shone
in swift retort and happy invention.
Footnote 204:
“Diary.” 4th March 1668.
There, too, in the ancient palace, when night came the tables would be
set for basset, the favourite game; and at them Duchess Anne, eager in
her imperious way, would set down broad pieces on the hazard, staking on
the cast now a thousand pounds, now fifteen hundred. One night she even
lost twenty-five thousand pounds, and it became to her an absorbing
passion, to be inherited by her second daughter.[205] Over and over
again in later days did James II. pay the debts of the Princess Anne,
himself the reverse of extravagant, being in this the antithesis of his
elder brother.
Footnote 205:
“Memorials of St James’s Palace.” E. Sheppard, D.D.
It is an unlovely side of Anne Hyde’s perplexing character, and one
displays it with reluctance. Certainly it was a strange outcome of her
narrow upbringing in her father’s careful household. Of her thirst for
gain Pepys has a word to say: “Mr Povy do tell me how he is like to lose
his £400 a year pension of the Duke of York which he took in
consideration of his place that was taken from him. He tells me that the
Duchess is a divil against him and do now come like Queen Elizabeth and
sits with the Duke of York’s council and sees what they do, and she
crosses out this man’s wages and prices as she sees fit for saving
money, but yet he tells me she reserves £5000 a year for her own
spending and my Lady Peterborough by and by tells me that the Duchess do
lay up, mightily, jewels.”[206] This was written in 1668, and it may or
may not be true. In a succeeding chapter a different and totally
contrasting aspect of Anne Hyde must be unfolded, one to be dwelt upon,
in one direction, with far greater satisfaction.
Footnote 206:
“Diary.” 27th January 1667-1668.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER VI
THE FALL OF CLARENDON
WHATEVER might be the consternation of the Chancellor at his elder and
favourite daughter’s stolen match, however great his anger and
disappointment at the failure of the duty and confidence which he felt
she owed him—and there is no reason to doubt the sincerity of the
feeling he manifested on the disclosure—it is nevertheless evident that
the affectionate terms on which father and daughter lived, suffered but
a very short eclipse.
The Duke of York himself treated his father-in-law with unvarying
respect and consideration, and to Anne the latter was always a welcome
visitor. For a time, at least, it would seem that Clarendon was on the
crest of the wave. High, and deservedly so, in his King’s favour,
reconciled to his once inveterate foe, the queen-mother, his daughter
established on the steps of the throne, his position appeared altogether
unassailable. Still, as in the days before the marriage, the Chancellor
and his daughter spent much of their time together, and at some time
during those happy days, before the breaking of the storm that was to
overwhelm the wisest head in England, we find the record of a pretended
wager between them, a piece of very innocent fooling which no doubt
served its purpose of amusement for the moment:
“Hugh May, Esq^{re} his award of arbitration in a jocular suit
pending between Edward Earl of Clarendon and his daughter Anne
Duchess of York relative to a wager between them.
“Where it was agreed between Anne Dutchess of York Plaintiffe
and Edward Earl of Clarendon Defendant that the value of twenty
pound lost in a wager between the parties aforesaid should be
paid by that party to whom Hew May Esquire Judge of the
Architects should adjudge it to be due. He the said Hew May
having examined both parties and heard their severall witness
doth hereby declare to all whom it may concern and doth order
and decree that the said summe of twenty pound should be forth
with paid by the right Honorable Edward Earl of Clarendon
Defendant to the said Anne Dutchesse of York Plaintiffe and that
it be paid within 8 daies after both parties shall have had a
sight of this decree. It is further ordered by the said Hew May
that forasmuch as the said Edward Earle of Clarendon Defendant
hath put off and deferred the hearing of this cause term after
term during the times of allmost 4 termes to the great dammage
and cost of the said Anne Dutchesse of Yorke Plaintiffe it is
therefore ordered that the said Earle of Clarendon Defendant
shall pay defraye and discharge all the costs and charges
whatsoever of this sute.
“Ordered that this decree be registered.”[207]
Footnote 207:
Clarendon State Papers (Bodleian).
Before very long, however, the heart for such things was wanting, even
if the time was available.
It is a hard task to gauge the inveterate and bitter malignity which
pursued the Chancellor to his final exile from England. Whatever were
the faults in his public service and administration, it could at least
be said of Edward Hyde that “he was in the Court of Charles II. almost
the only man who lived chastely, drank moderately, and swore not at
all,”[208] and that with his lifelong friends, Ormonde and Southampton,
he “projected into this reign” “the high-toned virtues of the old
Cavalier stock.”[209] These, and the friendship already mentioned—just
as long and steadfast—with John Evelyn, should stand the memory of
Clarendon in good stead, putting aside those brilliant gifts which he
used so unsparingly in the service of his sovereign. Of these, Horace
Walpole, no mean critic, declares that “for his comprehensive knowledge
of mankind he should be styled the Chancellor of human nature.”
Footnote 208:
_Encyclopædia Britannica._ “Clarendon.”
Footnote 209:
“Charles II.” Osmund Airy.
The dark clouds were beginning to gather about Hyde as early as 1662,
though possibly only the few persons who were conversant with all State
secrets were cognisant of the fact. In one of de Wiquefort’s despatches
he says of the Chancellor: “He has a strong party against him who will
make the King jealous, and will be favourable to the Queen in order to
oppose the Duchess of York.” If the party against Clarendon was strong,
it must have been a small one at that time, but it is instructive to see
that already two factions were in the forming, trying to establish a
rivalry between the two ladies, though they themselves were entirely
innocent in the matter, but at any rate no one was so likely to suffer
between the contending parties as Clarendon himself. In 1663, Digby,
Earl of Bristol, whose character should not have secured any particular
confidence, attacked the Chancellor, bringing against him a charge of
high treason which, however, at that period fell to the ground.[210] But
as time went on the deep-laid prejudice against him spread and spread
like a canker. He had unhappily tried the unsuccessful experiment of
hunting with the hounds and running with the hare, for he had
endeavoured to reconcile the Presbyterian malcontents by the Act of
Indemnity and the Romanists by the Act of Uniformity, thereby satisfying
neither party. In this way he had unfortunately succeeded in making
enemies in all directions. He was “steady for the Church against
Dissenters and Papists alike,”[211] and consequently both parties hated
him. His blameless life, too, was a tacit reproof of the vices of the
Court, and his chief foe, Buckingham, took full advantage of the
fact.[212] He and his boon companions were accustomed to say to the
King, with a sneer: “There goes your school master!”[213] But it was
above all the irrepressible Barbara Villiers, Lady Castlemaine,
beautiful, unscrupulous, evil in thought and deed, who joined with
others no less guilty in hounding the Chancellor to his disgrace and so
depriving the King of a minister who, if not perfect, had at any rate
done him and the realm great and lasting service. Meanwhile, while all
their discontent and malice were seething under the surface, but not yet
openly active, Clarendon, in execution of the plan he had entertained
from the time of the Restoration, set about building his new house in
1664. We have previously seen that he established himself temporarily at
Worcester House in the Strand, and that it was there that both his
daughter’s marriage and the birth of her elder son took place, but he
had never intended to remain there, and it was not very long before he
acquired a site which suited him. At the time of the public announcement
of Anne’s marriage, York House at Twickenham, originally York Place, was
given to her father, who was accustomed to stay there when the King was
at Hampton Court, and the Duchess’ daughter Anne, afterwards queen, was
born there.[214] But it was in London itself that the Chancellor
proposed to build his new house, and he received a grant from the King
of certain Crown property. It lay west of Burlington House, on the site
of Bond Street, Stafford Street and Albemarle Street, extending
eastwards to Swallow Street, its western boundary being, however,
uncertain. There, then, was built Clarendon House,[215] facing the top
of St James’s Street, and occupying the whole site of Stafford Street.
It stood back from Piccadilly, then newly named, having projecting wings
with a turret in the centre, and Evelyn calls it, with some probable
exaggeration “the first palace in England.”[216] It is said that 74
Piccadilly was built of a portion of the materials.
Footnote 210:
_Chalmers’ Biographical Dictionary._
Footnote 211:
_Ibid._
Footnote 212:
With reference to Lady Castlemaine it must be noted that Clarendon
would allow nothing to pass the Great Seal in which she was named. He
also opposed her appointment as Lady of the Bedchamber, and forbade
his wife to visit her. (“Samuel Pepys and the World He Lived In.”
Wheatley.)
Footnote 213:
_Chalmers’ Biographical Dictionary._
Footnote 214:
“Reign of Queen Anne.” Justin McCarthy.
Footnote 215:
Watford’s “Old and New London”; “The Ghosts of Piccadilly,” G. S.
Street.
Footnote 216:
He also calls it “without hyperbole the best contrived, the most
useful, graceful and magnificent house in England, and I except not
Audley End, which, though larger and full of gaudy and barbarous
ornament, does not gratify judicious spectatore.”
Rather later than the erection of Clarendon House, the City of London
gave the Chancellor a lease of the Conduit Mead, which is now covered by
New Bond Street and Brook Street, and from which Conduit Street takes
its name.
The building of this magnificent palace, no doubt intended by Clarendon
to be a home for his children’s children, excited a positive storm of
wrath. The sale of Dunkirk had lately been completed, and the mob chose
to believe that the house was built with Dutch money, though there is no
proof that Clarendon ever received a penny. Pennant asserts boldly that
the stones used in its erection had been intended for the rebuilding of
old St Paul’s, long in a half-ruinous state, which work had been set on
foot some time before the Great Fire made all such intentions abortive
for the moment. Nicknames were freely bestowed. Holland House, in
allusion to supposed bribes from the Dutch; Dunkirk House for the same
reason; Tangier House, because the Chancellor had obtained the town of
Tangier for England, and no one wanted it. His employment, during the
Plague, of three hundred workmen on his building operations, though done
with the best intentions, only raised another outcry.
In 1667, the unlucky year when the Dutch sailed up to Gravesend, a mob
proceeded to break the windows of Clarendon House with the usual fatuous
want of reason on such occasions, and setting up a gibbet before the
gates, inscribed on it the words:
“Three sights to be seen:
Dunkirk, Tangier, and a barren Queen.”
In fact the town was deluged with lampoons in the fashion of the day.
Another couplet put it:
“God will avenge too for the stones he took
From aged Paul’s to build a nest for rooks.”
Andrew Marvell, too, chose to take up his parable on the subject, and
dipped his mordant pen in bitterer gall than usual:
“Here lie the sacred bones
Of Paul beguiled of his stones.
Here lie golden briberies
The price of ruined families;
The Cavaliers’ debenture wall
Fixed on an eccentric basis.
Here’s Dunkirk Town and Tangier Hall,
The Queen’s marriage and all
The Dutchman’s templum pacis.”[217]
Footnote 217:
“Poems and Satires of Andrew Marvell: ‘Upon his House’” [Clarendon].
Yet again, in his “Clarendon’s House-warming” are the words:
“He had read of Rhodope, a lady of Thrace,
Who was digged up so often ere she did marry,
And wished that his daughter had had so much grace
To erect him a pyramid out of her quarry.”
The stately house which from the first attracted so much unfriendly
attention had but a short life, and its ill luck dogged it to the end.
Evelyn, who saw the first stone laid, also saw the pulling down of the
whole edifice. Clarendon’s sons, Lord Cornbury and his brother Laurence,
afterwards Lord Rochester, leased it to their father’s friend the Duke
of Ormonde, who, by the way, was driving up St James’s Street on his way
to Clarendon House when the notorious Colonel Blood made his desperate
attempt to kidnap and assassinate him. Later still, after the
Chancellor’s death, the house was sold to Monk’s son, the second Duke of
Albemarle, who called it after himself, but subsequently sold it again
to a syndicate; and it was finally demolished in 1683 by a certain Sir
Thomas Bond, “to build a street of tenements to his undoing.”[218] He,
at least, vindicated his loyalty, for having been Controller of the
Household to the queen-mother, he went into exile in after years in the
train of King James II. His name, of course, survives in the present
Bond Street, which occupies part of the site of Clarendon House, as
Albemarle Street recalls the second appellation of the Chancellor’s
house.
Footnote 218:
Clarendon’s “Correspondence.”
With regard to the rebuilding of St Paul’s, we find Clarendon’s name as
concerned in it in a letter from Henchman, Bishop of London, to
Sancroft, then Dean.
“MR DEANE,—How this evening since five a clock S^r Philip
Warwick sends me frô the Archbp of Canterburie that the Lord
Chancelour hath appointed that his Grace and I should come to
morrow to Worcester House at ten in the morning about St Paul’s
first I doubt whether you may with safety come out, next whether
Mr Webb on such a sodaine warning can be convened. If you may
without prejudice to your health come and Mr Webb can be met
with I hope J^o Tillison hath prepared all that we are to lay
before them. I intend to be there, only I seuerely charge you
that unless J^o Barwick[219] gives leave without scruple you
appeare not.
Footnote 219:
John Berwick was Prebendary of Durham and Chaplain to Bishop
Morton. He was successively Dean of Durham and St Paul’s.
(Walker’s “Sufferings of the Clergy.”)
“Your very affectionate friend,
“HUMFR: LONDON.”
“FULHAM, _March 26, 1666_.”[220]
Footnote 220:
Additional MSS. Harleian, 3785.
It will be seen that this letter is dated just six months before the
Great Fire made all plans for restoration and repair abortive, and also
that the Chancellor was still at Worcester House, his own not being
ready for him. The Bishop wrote again a month later on the same subject.
“DEARE S^R,—At Worcester Howse on Thursday morning about ten the
L. Pres^t will be with some other Lords about the business of St
Paul’s. I desire you to be there and the Deane of Canterburie.
Let not Mr Tillison fayle to attend and give notice of it to Mr
Hugh May and Mr Webb: and lett him be prepared concerning
objections agaynst the Account. I shall be at K. Henry 7th
Chappell to morrow at nine to prorogue the Convocation.
“Your affectionate friend,
“HUMFR. LONDON.”
“FULHAM, _Ap. 23, 1666_.”[221]
Footnote 221:
Additional MSS. Harleian.
It may be noted here that Sancroft’s appointment to the Deanery of St
Paul’s coincided with the battle of Southwold, as when Edward Savage
wrote his congratulations from the Cockpit on the 25th October 1664 he
added: “We shall certainely have warre with the false Dutch, and the
Duke of Yorke is presently going himselfe to sea with the gallantest
ffleete that ever England set forth.”[222]
Footnote 222:
_Ibid._
Sancroft, as we know, was to see many startling changes in Church and
State, and to experience in his own person many vicissitudes, but they
were no greater than such as fell on Edward Hyde.[223]
Footnote 223:
He had been Chaplain to Bishop Cosin, Prebendary of Durham, Master of
Emmanuel College, Cambridge, Dean of York and then of St Paul’s. He at
once began to repair the cathedral, and after the fire he set to work
to rebuild, giving £1400 for this purpose. He was Archbishop in 1677,
deprived at the Revolution.
Several reasons, as previously stated, could be given for Clarendon’s
steadily increasing unpopularity and for his final disgrace, but in 1667
he was for the second time impeached. Among the articles of this second
accusation of high treason were “The taking money for the King’s
marriage with Portugall,” “The marrying his daughter to the Duke of
Yorke,” “The obstructing all other marriages for the King.”[224]
Footnote 224:
Scudamore Papers.
As regards the second of the indictments we know that Hyde was entirely
innocent from first to last. The third seems to point at the often
suggested plan of a divorce from Catherine. The King himself wrote
privately to Ormonde that his real reason for parting with his old
servant was “the Chancellor’s intolerable temper,”[225] but it is also
said that he deeply resented the latter’s action in counteracting a
divorce by bringing about the stolen marriage of “La Belle Stuart” to
the Duke of Richmond, seeing that he (Charles) at one time contemplated
getting rid of his wife to marry the lovely, wild, childish girl who,
for the moment, imprisoned his vagrant fancy.[226] His covert irritation
and impatience were diligently fanned by those about him, headed by
Buckingham, who used his great gifts and entire want of scruple, with
deadly effect, to compass the undoing of his foe. It is possible that
Clarendon had at first displayed his personal influence too openly, for
though Charles from sheer indolence would allow himself to be governed
with fatal facility, he was nevertheless, like many people of a like
temperament, very unwilling that the fact should be known. As to the
charge of bribery urged so often, and with such bitter pertinacity,
there is absolutely no proof of any kind of its truth. Clarendon was
accused of receiving bribes right and left, of knowing that the needy
spendthrift King received them from his astute cousin Louis XIV. Of all
this, it must be repeated, Hyde’s enemies could bring no proof, and at
any rate his fall certainly heralded the worst period of the reign of
Charles II. “The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” followed fast
upon each other. Clarendon’s old friend, Lord Southampton, one of the
best and wisest of his generation, had died not long before. In August
the King sent for the Seals to be delivered up, and a few days later the
faithful Evelyn came to visit the disgraced minister, and “found him in
his bedchamber very sad.” “He was my particular kind friend on all
occasions,” adds the diarist loyally, and one can fancy that his
presence may have brought a little momentary comfort to the bruised
heart. There was a yet heavier blow to fall, and the cup of sorrow to be
filled to the brim. On 8th December, some months later, Pepys records
that he saw the Duchess of York at Whitehall “in a fine dress of second
mourning for her mother, being black edged with ermine.” To Clarendon
himself the loss of the faithful wife who had shared his poverty and
exile beyond the sea, as well as his short-lived prosperity, came as a
crushing misfortune among all the other burdens pressing upon him on
every side. A few pathetic words written in July from Clarendon House
allude to this sorrow as impending: “Being in noe good disposition the
last weeke, by reason of my Wife’s great Sicknesse.”[227]
Footnote 225:
_Chalmers’ Biographical Dictionary._
Footnote 226:
“Royalty Restored.” E. F. Molloy.
Footnote 227:
Harleian MS.
We see Evelyn again visiting his friend about this time, and finding
“him in his garden at his new-built palace, sitting in his gowt wheel
chayre and seeing the gates setting up towards the north and the fields.
He looked and spoke very disconsolately.” It was no wonder. Everything
was crumbling round him like the wall of a falling house. The fortune he
had built up through so many strenuous years was toppling over, honour
and reputation were smitten, and he sat—alone. The “new-built palace”
could yield him now but little solace, and forth from it he must go,
like Wolsey, “naked to his enemies.” Truly he must have said to himself,
as he looked round him in utter loneliness: “Vanity of vanities.”
Meanwhile in the ancient palace at the foot of the hill, not many
hundred yards away, sorrow of another kind was brooding.
To the Duchess of York herself, this year was especially marked by grief
and misfortune. In one direction there was the keen mortification caused
by the Duke’s short-lived passion for Lady Denham, whose tragic and
mysterious death has been already recorded; in another the blow
inflicted by the disgrace and final exile of her father—and this of
itself must have been a sore trouble, considering the close affection
between them. Sadder still came the death of her mother and of her young
children. Andrew Marvell’s unsparing pen was again busy, and surely no
crueller couplet was ever written:
“Kendal is dead, and Cambridge riding post,
What fitter sacrifice for Denham’s ghost?”[228]
Footnote 228:
“Poems and Satires.”
Among the many pictures of the time which its history unfolds before us,
there is one which stands out here in sombre relief.[229]
Footnote 229:
Knight’s “London.”
Across the Park, which he has already done much to improve, having laid
out the Mall and planted avenues, comes King Charles at his usual swift
pace. He has been, according to his custom, feeding the ducks, of which
he is very fond. Two or three courtiers keep up with him as best they
may, and a crowd of little dogs run and dance round him, snapping at
each other. Now and then the King throws a careless word or two to his
attendants, who laugh dutifully, or try to cap them, as the case may be.
Down another path from the direction of Spring Gardens,[230] where he
now lives—it used to be in the Barbican[231]—advances a tall figure
carrying himself with a certain stately swing. Those keen quick eyes and
high aquiline features can only belong to Prince Rupert, fresh perhaps
from some of his experiments, the transmuting of silver, and the like.
As he takes off his wide plumed hat in a sweeping salute and bows
profoundly, the King nods cheerfully, glad of the meeting, glad of any
distraction. A few desultory words—he has shot a duck, it seems, and one
of the dogs retrieved it; then he seems suddenly to remember that his
brother’s boys are ailing. “Let’s go and see Cambridge and Kendal,” he
says with a stifled yawn, as he passes his arm through that of his
cousin. It reads callously, but Charles is a man of strange and
unexpected reserves, and he may feel more than he allows to be seen. So
the pair walk on under the spreading trees, while the King’s attendants
fall back to a more respectful distance. The Prince Palatine somehow
always inspires something like awe. It is but a little way, and they
come to the ancient grave palace, above which the standard with the
leopards and lilies, and the crescent for difference, hangs its heavy
folds in the still air.
Footnote 230:
“Old Royal Palace of Whitehall.” E. Sheppard, D.D.
Footnote 231:
“Diary of Dr Edward Lake.” (Camden Miscellany.)
Another and greater King is entering the door unseen—for two dying
children lie under that goodly roof. Kendal and Cambridge are indeed
“riding post” to the edge of the dark river into whose waters those
small feet are already almost plunged, and over them, tearless for all
her bleeding heart, hangs the mother. Is it for sin of hers—is it a
judgment on ambition—that no living son of her blood may carry on the
line of English royalty? Can she give nothing, do nothing, to avert the
coming doom?[232]
Footnote 232:
The poor Duchess was in doubt which would die first. (Pepys.)
Someone, no doubt, tells the King that his errand is vain. The frail
little lives are passing out of sight, and he turns away silent. He is
moved and sorry. He is good-natured, even kind-hearted, when he
remembers to be, but Prince Rupert’s noble face is clouded and the
luminous eyes are misty, for no sorrow appeals to him in vain.
But worse evils are coming on England than even the loss of the
seed-royal. The Dutch fleet is in the river, and coming up to Gravesend,
intent on vengeance.
Charles II. has been unsparingly blamed for this disaster, but he was
not altogether guilty. After the terrible visitations of the Plague and
the Fire, he greatly impoverished himself to help the many destitute
sufferers, refusing to press the Parliament to pay the sums voted for
supplies, when those disastrous years made them fall short.[233] This
led to the necessity of laying up ships which should have been kept in
commission, contrary to the advice of the Duke of York and the emphatic
warnings of Prince Rupert. No doubt the King had also yielded to the
persuasions of Louis XIV., backed by Henrietta Maria, whose advice was
always unlucky, and France was at this time but too ready to pull the
strings in the background. Meanwhile another division of the Dutch,
advancing up the Medway, had forced the boom laid across it for
protection, and had actually burnt three men-of-war.
Footnote 233:
Green’s “Short History of the English People.”
In the great palace of Whitehall all is in uproar, and wild confusion is
reigning.[234] Rumours of fire and sword lose nothing by transmission
from one to another. Some of the maids of honour believe anything and
everything, even an immediate sack of London. Beautiful, brazen
Castlemaine, carefully dishevelled like a Bacchante, is bewailing
herself and hysterically protesting that she will be the first to be
torn in pieces. Probably the person most unmoved by the clamour and its
cause is the King himself, looking on cynically from the outside, as it
were, with the quality of aloofness which has always stood him in good
stead. And now, as we know, the mob, always prejudiced, always fickle,
just because the Dutch are in the Thames, streams off tumultuously to
Clarendon House and breaks the windows with great enthusiasm. To the
builder and owner of that ill-omened mansion such an incident was
probably but a slight and momentary aggravation. Clarendon himself
writes from Whitehall on 14th June: “I had writt this farr, the case is
much altred by the Dutch Fleete entring into the Ryver and tryumphing
there to our great damage and how farr it may extend farther we yett
know not; the particulars I leave to others (but upon the whole) matters
not though a peace may be bought deare and usually when an unreasonable
price asked for it it is an infallible sign that it is not to be had yet
a peace in this conjunction would be very reasonable.”[235] This letter
was originally partly written in cypher. The Chancellor’s signature is
very tremulous, testifying possibly to agitation of mind easily
conceivable.
Footnote 234:
“A Royal Cavalier: The Romance of Rupert, Prince Palatine.” Mrs
Steuart Erskine.
Footnote 235:
Harleian MS.
Thus for the Chancellor the end had truly come. A career of singular if
varying brilliance was closing, alas! ingloriously. At his impeachment,
his son-in-law, the Duke of York, who had never failed to stand by him
since their connection, and who now wished to soften the blow, sent his
old friend Bishop Morley to the fallen minister to say that the King
wished him to leave the country. It needed only this. He over whose
youth Edward Hyde had watched so faithfully, to the utmost of his power,
had done with him. He did not want to see his face any more, and he
never did see it. Clarendon bent his head to the storm, and submitted.
Perhaps his strong heart broke then, and nothing else mattered very
much. At any rate he obeyed the royal mandate, the last he was to
receive, and before the year was out he had left England, as it proved,
for ever.
He went first to Calais, then to Rouen, covering ground that must have
been very familiar to him in earlier days. At Evreux, where he stayed
for a time, his life was actually attempted by some English sailors, on
the grounds that he had sold his country and robbed them of their
pay.[236] This danger he escaped, and later, with the restlessness born
of despondency and lack of occupation, he wandered south to Montpellier,
proceeding thence to Moulins. Finally, however, he retraced his steps to
Rouen. It was nearer, after all, to England; and there, at no great
distance from the country he loved so well, he died in December
1673.[237]
Footnote 236:
_Chalmers’ Biographical Dictionary._
Footnote 237:
He was buried in Westminster Abbey, on the north side of the Chapel of
Henry VII.
[Illustration:
EDWARD, EARL OF CLARENDON
]
It is a pitiful story. Whether Clarendon was entirely blameless of all
the accusations against him, it is useless to speculate, but at least it
must be conceded that from the first he had set before him high ideals,
and if he fell short of these, it was no more than many—nay most—had
done. It was an age, pre-eminently, when it was said that every man had
his price. If so, then Edward Hyde’s was a very high one; but it is much
pleasanter and indeed more reasonable to believe in his innocence, as
such belief is far more consonant with his character as it is presented
to us by his contemporaries. And at least he knew heavy griefs.
Estranged more and more as time went on from the daughter he loved so
deeply, severed altogether from her and from his sons, driven in
disgrace from his country to spend in exile a lonely old age, the close
of Clarendon’s story presents a very sorrowful picture, and if one were
inclined to moralise, preaches an eloquent sermon on the vanity of human
greatness. But it is not likely that the ex-Chancellor himself needed
any such reminders. He had seen too much of the mutability of all things
here, to be quite unprepared for vicissitudes, and he had at last learnt
how to face with dignity the trials which he was destined to suffer. For
one thing we certainly owe him a debt of gratitude, namely, for his
“History of the Rebellion.” In that noble record he has painted for us,
as no other hand could have done it, the actors in that great drama,
perhaps the greatest ever presented on the stage of English history, and
has made them live for all time to his readers.
This great and important work Clarendon wrote at a house in Swallowfield
in Berkshire, which was the home of his eldest son’s second wife,
Flower, the widow of Sir William Buckhouse. Lord Cornbury’s first wife
had been Theodosia, the daughter of the gallant and hapless Arthur, Lord
Capel, one of the most perfect heroes of a time which produced not a few
such.[238]
Footnote 238:
Evelyn’s “Correspondence.” To Mr Sprat, Chaplain to the Duke of
Buckingham, afterwards Bishop of Rochester.
As before said, if Clarendon was indeed guilty of himself receiving
bribes, or of the knowledge that the King’s hands were not clean in this
respect, there exists no proof of either, and if he needed or desired
any revenge for his disgrace and broken fortunes, he might have found it
in the decadence of the government of his country which immediately
followed. He had at least one satisfaction—that his royal son-in-law had
voted against his sentence of banishment, but it was probably only an
aggravation of his trials that Bishop Morley, whom he had been wont to
call “the best man alive,” was involved in his disgrace. On this account
the bishop was removed from his post of spiritual director to the
Duchess of York, an office which he had filled with little intermission
since the Flemish days when he had found a shelter under Hyde’s
hospitable roof.[239] But such a reverse was inevitable. The great tree
in its fall was destined to drag down with it the lesser ones whose
roots were twisted with its own. “None of us liveth to himself,” are
words which hold good of more than Clarendon and his friends.
Footnote 239:
When Morley was translated to Winchester he took Izaak Walton and his
son with him, and the former died there in 1683. Winchester House at
Chelsea was bought by Morley, and belonged to the See until Bishop
Tomlin’s day. (Dean Plumptre’s “Life of Ken.”)
So Edward Hyde passes out of the arena of his day and country, a
conspicuous figure through many stormy years, and his place knows him no
more. His rival, Buckingham, remains to hold the stage a little longer,
and in some eyes he may be all-sufficient, since Reresby can call him
“the finest gentleman of person and wit I think I ever saw”; and King
Louis, against whose judgment there can surely be no appeal, pronounces
him “the only English gentleman” he had ever seen. In the light of such
shining attributes, the sombre colours wherein Chancellor Hyde is
invested retire altogether into the shade; yet perhaps when the two
figures are placed side by side in the estimation of a later age,
opinions may be reversed as to which is after all the finer gentleman.
The blood of the Hydes was to the full as ancient as that of the
Villiers, and for the rest who can doubt which served with the stancher
devotion God and the king, or lived the more blameless and unstained
life? Many great names stand out from the record of the England of that
day, names of which she has reason to be proud—Falkland, Hopton, Bevil
Grenville, Southampton, Capel—yet to his honour it may be said that
Edward Hyde is not unworthy of a place among them.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER VII
THE TURNING-POINT
WE come now, in the course of her story, to the most momentous epoch in
the life of Anne Hyde, the period, namely, of her conversion to the
Church of Rome. And here it must be noted that she was in no respect
ignorant, nor uninstructed in the dogmas of her own Communion. It has
been shown that in her early youth she was placed by her father under
the teaching of Morley, during the time when he lived, an honoured
guest, in Hyde’s household in the days of exile at Breda.[240]
Footnote 240:
Burnet’s “History of His Own Time,” ed. 1766. “She was bred to great
strictness in religion.”
He, as we know, had been in other days a friend of such great and noble
souls as Hammond and Sanderson, Chillingworth and Falkland. He had
ministered to Charles I. in his captivity at Newmarket, and had stood on
the scaffold with Capel. At The Hague he became an honorary chaplain to
the Queen of Bohemia, who knew merit when she saw it.
From the time when Morley assumed the spiritual directorship of the
twelve-year-old daughter of his protector Hyde, he taught her to use
regular confession, which she seems to have done unswervingly, and her
confidence in him may be gauged from the fact that as soon as her
position as Duchess of York was firmly established, she chose him to
continue her guide “in those things that concerned her spiritual and
everlasting condition.” It has been already noticed that at one time
Morley had been suspected of Calvinism, on which account he was disliked
by Laud; and the story is told of him, that when asked what Arminians
held, he answered with some acerbity that they held but bishoprics and
deaneries. But his later close friendship with the saintly Ken seems to
establish his orthodoxy, and we find him preaching against
Presbyterianism.[241] He, for his part, describes his pupil Anne as
being “as devout and charitable as ever I knew any of her age and sex.”
After her marriage she carefully kept the canonical hours of the “Public
Service of God in her Chapel with those of her family.” Besides this,
she was a regular and devout communicant. “And always,” says the
bishop,[242] “the day before she received she made a voluntary
confession of what she thought she had offended God in, either by
omission or by commission, professing her sorrow for it, and promising
amendment of it, and kneeling down she desired and received absolution
in the form and words prescribed by our Church. This for her devotion.
And as for Charity, she did every time she received the Sacrament,
besides five pounds in gold she gave at the altar, she gave me twenty
pounds to give to such as I thought had most need of it, and did best
deserve it. This was her ordinary and constant way of expressing her
charity. But that which she did at other Times and upon extraordinary
Occasions I believe was very much more, especially in the Time of the
Great Plague. To conclude I remember she told the late Archbishop of
Canterbury (Sheldon) and me when we were both together with her that if
she did not so much in point of Charity as it was fit for her to do, it
should be his fault and mine, and not hers.”[243]
Footnote 241:
Izaak Walton was also much with him, probably owing to his connection
with Ken.
Footnote 242:
“Register and Chronicle,” by Kennet, Bishop of Peterborough. (Morley.)
Footnote 243:
Burnet was very bitter against Sheldon, who he declared “seemed to
have no great sense of religion” (“History of His Own Times”). “He
{Sheldon} belonged to the school of Andrewes and Laud, and at one time
was almost the sole support of Jeremy Taylor. He, by the way,
fearlessly remained at Lambeth throughout the Plague” (_Dictionary of
National Biography_).
It is strange and perplexing to read this obviously honest testimony
side by side with the dismal tales of light conduct, of avarice, of
gluttony, of reckless gambling, which were freely told; and it is
impossible to refrain from, at least, trying to discount some of these
scandals, knowing as we do the age and state of society which gave birth
to them. It may be objected that the King, whose way of life was so
unhappily notorious, steadily communicated, himself, in the Chapel Royal
on the great festivals; but from the account just quoted, it seems
evident that Duchess Anne’s reception of the Divine Mysteries was no
perfunctory act. For the rest, impossible as it is to reconcile apparent
contradictions, one can only fall back on the truism of the
contradictions of poor human nature itself.
With regard to the change of faith presently to be traced, as late as
1667, at the time therefore of her father’s banishment, Bishop Morley
persists in describing Anne as still “a zealous Protestant,” “and
zealous to make Protestants,” though this assertion may be coloured by
the writer’s prepossessions. Her relations with Morley and also with
Sheldon brought her into contact with the mysterious adventurer
Ferdinand de Macedo.[244] Sir John Bramston, Clarendon’s old friend, had
been accused by this person, prompted by Henry Mildmay, Bramston’s
political enemy, of having changed his religion. Macedo himself (a
Portuguese), who had declared himself a convert from the Roman Church,
was recommended to the Duchess as an object of charity. She forthwith
allowed him a yearly pension of thirty pounds, and spoke for him to her
two advisers, who, in their turn, each made him an allowance of ten
pounds, the Bishop of Winchester, moreover, placing him at Christ Church
and even advancing a further sum of thirty pounds to buy necessaries.
However, the man for whom so much was done was found to be utterly
unworthy, for he drank and gambled, and even had a discreditable brawl
with a Frenchman whom he threw downstairs. The Dean of Christ Church and
Canon Lockey, at the end of their patience, very naturally appealed to
Morley to remove him, as a cause of grave scandal. The latter, as well
as Sheldon, promptly withdrew the allowance aforesaid, but out of good
nature said little or nothing of the matter to the Duchess, who,
however, hearing something of it from others, questioned the bishop
closely, and being satisfied that her bounty was misapplied, took it
away. Macedo, who probably traded on the fact that he was a Portuguese,
and thus a fellow-countryman of the Queen, was quite unabashed at being
unmasked, and with great effrontery announced that he had been turned
out of the university for testifying against Popery and the Prayer Book.
The exasperated Morley called him, with apparently only too much reason,
“a counterfeit pretended convert” whom “Maimbourg magnifies so much,
tho’ he knows he proved himself to be an arrant impostor and profligated
wretch.”[245]
Footnote 244:
“Autobiography of Sir John Bramston.”
Footnote 245:
“Register and Chronicle,” by Kennet, Bishop of Peterborough.
A year or two earlier, a letter from Anne to the Bishop of Durham, dated
10th September 1665, expresses her attitude with regard to the Anglican
Church at that period.
“RIGHT REVEREND FATHER IN GOD,—Though you might assure yourselfe
that you should alwaies find that reception with mee which is
due to your quality and merits yet I should have been sorry that
your respect to mee should have induced you to a journey
injurious to your health the preservation of w^h for the good of
the Church I have great reason to wish and doe desire you to be
perswaded that I should be glad of any occasion whereby I might
show you that I am
“Your affectionate friend
“ANNE.”[246]
Footnote 246:
Rawlinson MS. (Bodleian).
This was written from York where the writer was with her husband on one
of their “progresses,” and the prelate to whom it was addressed was no
other than the saintly Cosin. During his exile at Charenton, near Paris,
he had been much engaged in controversy, on one occasion, with the Prior
of the English Benedictines, whom he had defeated by the force of “much
learning and sound reasoning.”
At the Restoration he had returned to his deanery of Peterborough, where
he was the first person to use the Restored Prayer Book in the
cathedral, but the same year was consecrated Bishop of Durham, where he
died in 1672,[247] in the seventy-eighth year of his age. He displayed
extraordinary munificence throughout his episcopate, and one of his
bequests recalls a very real need of that period, for he left a sum for
the redemption of Christian slaves.
Footnote 247:
“Sufferings of the Clergy.” Walker.
For some time after the incident of Macedo’s exposure, the Duchess of
York seems to have been to all intents and purposes a loyal churchwoman,
and indeed to Morley himself she never owned the change in her faith,
even though she stayed at the episcopal palace at Farnham after she
wrote the letter of recantation which will be noticed later.
Moreover Blandford, Bishop of Worcester, succeeded Bishop Morley in her
household after the latter’s resignation when involved in Clarendon’s
disgrace; therefore up to that time she had certainly not severed her
connection with the Church of her baptism.
There now comes the difficult task of seeking the motive for so grave a
resolution.
Burnet, who is never apt to attribute the best motives for any action,
declares that Anne took the step in the desperate hope of winning back
her husband’s affections, alienated from her by the affair with Henry
Sidney. She, so says Burnet, “lost the power she had over him so
entirely that no method she could think of was likely to recover it
except one.”[248]
Footnote 248:
Burnet’s “History of His Own Time.”
But to this assertion Anne’s own avowal, which carries the stamp of
conviction, gives the lie; and besides, as the Duke of York had not
then, nor did for some time after, openly abjure the Anglican Church,
his wife’s strong common-sense must have told her that her own apostasy
could only have a disastrous effect on the future fortunes of both. That
she did not renounce her Church lightly is certain. She had read much on
the subject, and among other books she was conversant with Heylin’s
“History of the Reformation.”[249] There is no evidence that the Duke’s
sister-in-law, the Queen, influenced her in any way. Indeed, poor
Catherine was not a person to exercise such a quality, nor to bring
pressure to bear on anyone, devout and conscientious though she was from
first to last. Besides, Duchess Anne was too strong willed and resolute
to bow to any one’s ruling, least of all to that of one so yielding,
placable and self-effacing as the neglected wife of Charles II.
Footnote 249:
“Adventures of King James II.,” by the author of “Life of Sir Kenelm
Digby,” introduction by F. A. Gasquet, D.D.
It is impossible to lay a finger on the precise period when Anne first
began to waver in her allegiance to the Church, but the falling off was
first suspected in 1669, and not before. When her neglect of the Holy
Eucharist was first noticed by him, Morley spoke to her plainly and
faithfully on the point, when she gave him an evasive answer, alleging
as deterrent reasons the state of her health and the claims of business,
and at the same time declared that no Roman priest had ever spoken to
her of these questions. She also voluntarily promised the bishop, that
if any scruples should occur to her, she would at once tell him of them.
This, however, so he afterwards told Burnet, she never did. It is
strange and sad that, after so many years of complete confidence, Anne
should shrink from consulting this faithful adviser, but there were
reserves in her character which were manifested to the end. Possibly a
certain pride had something to do with it, a reluctance to own herself
capable of change in any direction, and she preferred to wrestle with
her perplexities unaided and unthwarted. At last the King became
conscious of his sister-in-law’s continued abstention from Holy
Communion, and questioned his brother on the subject.[250] The Duke at
once owned the fact of his wife’s conversion, and her intention of being
received into the Roman Communion.[251] On this he was peremptorily
charged to keep the momentous secret, at all hazards, for the King,
always astute and, when he chose to be, far-seeing, was too well aware
of the temper of the English people to run the risk of making public a
matter of such importance. It was in August 1670 that Anne was formally
reconciled to the Church of Rome by Father Hunt, a Franciscan, who with
Lady Cranmer, her lady-in-waiting, and one Dupuy, a servant of the Duke,
were for a time the sole depositaries of this matter; for it does not
appear that even the Queen was at this time, at any rate, a party to the
secret. It must be borne in mind as giving weight to the King’s
prohibition, that Anne was the wife of the heir presumptive to the
Crown, and the mother of his apparent successors, and this rendered her
faith, in the eyes of the nation, of the last importance.
Footnote 250:
“Life of James II.” Rev. J. S. Clarke, from original MSS. in Carlton
House, 1816. “A suspicion the Duchess was inclined to be a Roman
Catholic. She that had all her life been very regular in receiving
once a month the Sacrament in the Church of England’s way, and upon
all occasions had shown herself very zealous in her profession.”
Footnote 251:
Macpherson’s “Original Papers,” 1775 ed.
In that same month of August[252] the Duchess of York wrote the
confession now transcribed, which was published by James after his
accession to the throne “for his Household and Chappel” in 1686.
Footnote 252:
It is dated the 20th of the month.
“It is so reasonable to expect that a person always Bred up in
the Church of England, and as well instructed in the Doctrine of
it, as the best Divines, and her capacity could make her, should
be liable to many censures for leaving That, and making herself
a member of the Roman Catholic Church, to which, I confess, I
was one of the greatest enemies it ever had; That I chose rather
to endeavour to satisfy my friends by reading this Paper then to
have the trouble to answer all the questions that may dayly be
asked of me. And first, I do protest in the presence of Almighty
God, That no Person, Man or Woman, Directly nor Indirectly, ever
said anything to me (since I came into England) or used the
least endeavour to make me change my Religion. It is a blessing
I wholly owe to Almighty God, and I hope the hearing of a Prayer
I dayly made Him, ever since I was in France and Flanders, Where
seeing much of the Devotion of the Catholicks, (though I had
very little myself) I made it my continual request to Almighty
God: That if I were not, I might before I died be in the true
Religion: I did not in the least doubt, but that I was so, and
never had any manner of scruple till November last, when reading
a book called the History of the Reformation, by Doctor Heylin
which I had heard very much commended, and had been told, if
ever I had any doubt in my Religion, that would settle me:
Instead of which, I found it the description of the horridest
Sacriledges in the World: and could find no reason why we left
the Church, but for Three the most abominable ones that were
ever heard of amongst Christians. First, Henry the Eighth
Renounced the Pope’s Authority because he would not give him
leave to part with his Wife and marry Another in her life time:
Secondly Edward the Sixth was a Child and govern’d by his Uncle
who made his Estate out of Church Lands: and then Queen
Elizabeth, who being no Lawful Heiress to the Crown could have
no way to keep it but by renouncing a Church that could never
suffer so unlawful a thing to be done by one of Her Children. I
confess, I cannot think the Holy Ghost could ever be in such
Counsels and it is very strange that if the Bishops had no
design but (as they say) the restoring us to the Doctrines of
the Primitive Church, they should never think upon it how Henry
the Eighth made the Breach upon so unlawful a Pretence. These
scruples being raised, I began to consider of the difference
between the Catholicks and Us, and Examin’d them as well as I
could by the Holy Scriptures, which though I do not pretend to
be able to understand, yet there are some things I found so
easie that I cannot but wonder I had been so long without
finding them out. As the Real Presence in the Blessed Sacrament,
the Infallibility of the Church, Confession, and Praying for the
Dead. After this I spoke severally to Two of the best Bishops we
have in England, who both told me, there were many things in the
Roman Church which (it were very much to be wished) we had kept.
As Confession, which was no doubt commanded by God; That Praying
for the Dead was one of the Ancient Things in Christianity. That
for their parts they did it Daily, though they would not own it;
but afterwards pressing one of them very much upon the other
Points, he told me That if he had been bred a Catholick he would
not change his Religion, but that being of another Church,
wherein he was sure were all things necessary to Salvation, he
thought it very ill to give that Scandal, as to leave that
Church, wherein he had received his Baptism. All these
Discourses did but add more to the desire I had to be a
Catholick, and gave me the most terrible Agonies in the World,
within myself. For all this, fearing to be rash in a matter of
that Weight, I did all I could to satisfie myself, made it my
Daily Prayer to God to settle me in the Right, and so went on
Christmas Day to receive in the King’s Chappel, after which I
was more troubled than ever, and could never be in quiet till I
had told my desire to a Catholick who brought a Priest to me,
and that was the First I ever did Converse with upon my Word.
The more I spoke to him, the more I was Confirm’d in my design,
and, as it is impossible for me to doubt of the words of our
Blessed Saviour, who says the Holy Sacrament is his Body and
Blood, so I cannot Believe, that He who is the author of all
truth and who has promis’d to be with His Church to the End of
the World would permit them to give that Holy Mystery to the
Laiety but in one kind, if it were not Lawful so to do.
“I am not able, or, if I were, would I enter into Disputes with
any Body, I only in short say this for the changing of my
Religion, which I take God to Witness I would never have done if
I had thought it possible to save my Soul otherwise. I think I
need not say, it is any Interest in this World leads me to it;
it will be plain enough to every body, that I must lose all the
Friends and Credit I have here by it; and have very well weighed
which I could best part with, my share in this world or the
next; I thank God I found no difficulty in the Choice.
“My only Prayer is, that the poor Catholicks of this Nation
may not suffer for my being of their Religion; That God would
but give me Patience to bear them, and then, send me any
affliction in this World, so I may enjoy a Blessed Eternity
hereafter.”[253]
Footnote 253:
Harleian MSS.; also “Copy of a paper written by the late
Dutchess of York. Published by His Majesties command. Printed
by Henry Hills, Printer to the Kings most Excellent Majesty
for His Household and Chappel. 1686.”
The inherent weakness and insufficiency of the arguments put forward by
the writer in this paper are manifest at once, but her sincerity can
scarcely be impugned. Indeed, throughout her career this quality was
always conspicuous in Anne Hyde, to an extent which often, in her
relations with those about her, made for unpopularity.
It must be mentioned in this place that John Evelyn disbelieved the
authorship of this letter. Writing to Bishop Morley as early as 1681, he
says:
“Father Maimburg has had the impudence to publish at the end of
his late Histoire du Calvinisme a pretended letter of the late
Duchess of York intimating the motives of her deserting the
Church of England, amongst other things to attribute it to the
indifference, to call it no worse, of those two bishops upon
whose advice she wholly depended as to the direction of her
conscience and points of controversy. ’Tis the universal
discourse that your Lordship is one of these bishops she
mentions, if at least the letter be not suppositious, knowing
you to have been the most domestic in the family, and one whom
her Highness resorted to in all her doubts and spiritual
concerns, not only during her former circumstances, but all the
time of her greatness to the very last. It is therefore humbly
and earnestly desired (as well as indeed expected) amongst all
that are concerned for our religion and the great and worthy
character which your Lordship bears, that your Lordship would do
right to it, and publish to all the world how far you are
concerned in this pretended charge and to vindicate yourself and
our Church from what this bold man would have the world believe
to the prejudice of both. I know your Lordship will be curious
to read the passage yourself and do what becomes you upon this
signal occasion, God having placed you in a station where you
have no great one’s frowns to fear or flatter, and given you a
zeal for the truth and for his Glory. With this assurance I
humbly beg y^r Lordship’s blessing.”[254]
Footnote 254:
“Diary and Correspondence of John Evelyn.”
We have already seen that Morley distinctly stated to Burnet that his
pupil the Duchess had never asked his counsel in her difficulty,
therefore he could not have been either of the bishops whom she cited,
and a marginal note to Anne’s letter states, moreover, that the bishops
referred to were Sheldon and Blandford. Evelyn, it is true, does not
give the ground for his scepticism in the authenticity of the letter. He
may or may not be right, but the fact of James’ order for its
publication would seem to stamp it as genuine, even if the writer had
been prejudiced, or mistaken, in her references to the bishops.
Anne’s dutiful and regular attendance on religious observances naturally
drew attention to the neglect of them which she manifested in later
years, but the secret was well kept, and though suspected in some
quarters, did not leak out to the world in general in her lifetime.
We can, without much difficulty, picture the bitter heart-searchings,
the doubt, the reluctance, intensified by failing health, which must
have accompanied this momentous change; but we must at least give her
credit for the absolute candour of her convictions.
There was one person who was deeply and specially affected by this
departure on her part.
On her father, the exiled Chancellor, the news of his daughter’s change
of religion inflicted a crushing blow, stanch as he had always shown
himself to be to the Anglican Church.[255] His recollections of the
great civil strife in which he had been so deeply involved were
inextricably bound up with loyalty and devotion to that Church, as well
as to the master who had undoubtedly suffered for her, and thus by that
sacrifice secured her continuity. To Hyde, as to many others of his time
and circumstances, the scaffold at Whitehall stood as a witness to the
faith, invested with the glory of that most sacred memory. And now from
the hand that was best beloved to him, came the wound that must rankle
till the end.
Footnote 255:
Burnet’s “History of His Own Time,” ed. 1766. “Her father was more
troubled at her uncertainty than his own misfortunes.”
It is quite probable that the Chancellor had already suspicions of
leanings towards Rome on the part of the Duke of York, and had to a
great extent trusted in his daughter’s strength of character and
influence as a deterrent; so that the unexpected defection on her part
would be regarded by him as a disaster for the country no less than for
herself.
At this unhappy juncture Clarendon therefore took up the pen, which in
his hand was so trenchant a weapon, and addressed both husband and wife,
separately, in words which deserve the strongest admiration and respect.
“S^R,—I have not p’sumed in any matter to approach yo’ Royall
p’sence Since I have been marked with the Brand of Banishment,
and I should still with the same awe forbear the p’sumption if I
did not believe myselfe bound by all the Obligations of Duty to
make this address to you. I have been acquainted to much with
the p’sumption and impudence of the times in Raising false and
scandalous Imputations and reproaches upon Innocent and worthy
persons of all qualities to give any credit to those loud
whispers which have been long scattered abroad concerning your
Wives being shaken in her religion. But when those Whispers
break out into noise most publick Persons begin to report that
the Dutchess is become a Roman Catholick. When I heard that many
worthy Persons of unquestionable Devotion to your Royall
Highness, are not without some fear and apprehension of it, and
many Reflections are made from them to the prejudice of your
Royal Person, and even of the King’s Majesties, I hope it may
not misbecome me at what distance soever to cast myself at your
Feet, and beseech you to look to this matter, and to apply some
Antidote to expel the Poyson of it. It is not possible your
Royall Highness can be without zeal and Entire Devotion for that
Church for the Purity and Preservation whereof your blessed
Father made himself a Sacrifice and to the Restoration whereof
You have contributed so much yourself, and which highly deserves
the King’s Protection and Yours since there can be no possible
defection in the hearts of the People whilst due Reverence is
made to the Church. Your Wife is so generally believed to have
so perfect Duty and Intire Resignation to the Will of your
Highness, that any defection in Her from Her Religion will be
imputed to want of Circumspection in you and not using your
Authority, or to your connivance. I need not tell the ill
consequences that such a mistake would be attended with, in
reference to your Royale Highness, and even to the King himself
whose greatest security (under God) is in the affection and Duty
of his Protestant subjects, your Royall Highness well knows how
far I have always been from wishing that the Roman Catholicks
should be prosecuted with severity but I less wish it should
ever be in their power to be able to prosecute those who differ
from them since we well know how little moderation they would or
could use. And if this which People so much talk of (I hope
without ground) should fall out, it might very probably raise a
greater storm against the Roman Catholicks in general than
modest Men can wish, since after such a breach any Jealousies of
their presumption would seem reasonable. I have written to the
Dutchess with the freedom and affection of a troubled and
perplexed Father. I do most humbly beseech your Royall Highness
by your Authority to rescue Her from bringing a Mischief upon
You and herself that can never be repaired; and to think it
worthy your wisdom to remove and dispell those reproaches (how
false soever) by better Evidence than Contempt, and hope you do
believe that no severity I have or can undergo, shall in any
degree lessen or diminish my most profound Duty to His Majesty
or your Royall Highness, but that I do with all imaginable
Obedience submit to your good Pleasure in all things.
“God preserve Your Royall Highness and keep me in your favour.
“Sir,
“Your R. H. most Humble and obedient Servant,
“CLARENDON.”[256]
Footnote 256:
Lansdown MSS.; also State Tracts, 1660 to 1689.
So much for the letter of remonstrance to his son-in-law. Through all
the stately, measured, elaborate phraseology and studied deference the
writer’s deep anxiety may be traced quite distinctly, but in the words
addressed to Anne herself, sorrow, affection, warning, reproof speak, as
is natural, with undisguised warmth. The father is yearning over the
child who is passing beyond his ken, and from the place of his lonely
exile he gathers up his utmost powers, to lead, if it may be, the
wandering lamb home to the fold.
“You have much reason,” so run the words, “to believe that I
have no mind to trouble you or displease you, especially in an
argument that is so unpleasant and grievous to myself; but as no
distance of place that is between us, in respect of our
Residence or the greater distance in Respect of the high
condition you are in, can make me less your Father or absolve me
from performing those obligations which that Relation requires
from me, So when I receive any Credible Advertisement of what
reflects upon you, in point of Honour, Conscience or Discretion,
I ought not to omit the informing You of it, or administering
such advice to You as to my understanding seems reasonable, and
which I must still hope will have some Credit with You, I will
confess to You that what You wrote to me many Months since, upon
those Reproaches which I told you were generally reported
concerning your defection in Religion, gave me so much
satisfaction that I believed them to proceed from that ill
Spirit of the Times that delights in Slanders and Calumny, but I
must tell you, the same report increases of late very much, and
I myself saw a Letter the last week from Paris, from a person
who said the English Embassador assured him the day before, that
the Dutchess was become a Roman Catholick, and which makes great
Impression upon me, I am assured that many good men in England
who have great Affection for You and Me, and who have thought
nothing more impossible than that there should be such a change
in You, are at present under much affliction with the
observation of a great change in your course of Life and that
constant Exercise of the Devotion which was so notorious and do
apprehend from your frequent Discourses that you have not the
same Reverence and Devotion which You use to have for the Church
of England, the Church in which You were Baptized, and the
Church the best constituted and the most free from Errors of any
Christian Church this day in the world, and that some persons by
their insinuations have prevailed with You to have a better
Opinion of that which is most opposite to it, the Church of
Rome, than the integrity thereof deserves. It is not yet in my
power to believe that your Wit and Understanding (with God’s
blessing upon both) can suffer you to be shaken further than
with Melancholick reflections upon the Iniquity and wickedness
of the Age we live in, which discredits all Religion, and which
with equal license breaks into the Professors of all, and
prevails upon the Members of all Churches, and whose Manners
will have no benefit from the Faith of any Church. I presume You
do not intangle Yourself in the particular Controversies between
the Romanists and us, or think Yourself a competent Judge of all
difficulties which occur therein; and therefore it must be some
fallacious Argument of Antiquity and Universality confidently
urged by men who know less than many of those you are acquainted
with, and ought less to be believed by you, that can raise any
Doubts or Scruples in you, and if You will with equal temper
hear those who are well able to inform You in all such
particulars it is not possible for you to suck in that Poyson
which can only corrupt and prevail over you by stopping Your own
Ears and shutting Your own Eyes. There are but two persons in
the World who have greater authority with You than I can pretend
to, and am sure they both suffer more in the Rumour, and would
suffer much more if there were ground for it, than I can do, and
truly I am as likely to be deceived myself or to deceive you as
a man who endeavours to pervert You in Your Religion; And
therefore I beseech You to let me have so much Credit with You
as to perswade You to Communicate any Doubts or Scruples which
occur to you before You suffer them to make too deep an
Impression upon You. The common Argument that there is no
Salvation out of the Church and that the Church of Rome is the
only true Church is both irrational and untrue; there are many
Churches in which Salvation may be attained as well as in any
one of them, and were many even in the Apostles time otherwise
they would not have directed their epistles to so many Severall
Churches in which there were different Opinions received and
very different Doctrines taught. There is indeed but one Faith
in which we can be saved; the stedfast belief of the Birth,
Passion and Resurrection of our Saviour; and every Church that
receives and embraces that Faith is in a state of Salvation, if
the Apostles Preach true Doctrine, the reception and retention
of many errors do’s not destroy the Essence of a Church, if it
did, the Church of Rome would be in as ill, if not in a worse
Condition than most other Christian Churches, because its Errors
are of a greater Magnitude and more destructive to Religion. Let
not the Canting Discourse of the Universality and Extent of that
Church which has as little of Truth as the rest, prevail over
You, they who will imitate the greatest part of the World, must
turn Heathens, for it is generally believed that above half the
World is possessed by them, and that the Mahometans possess more
than half the remainder; There is as little question that of the
rest which is inhabited by Christians, one part of four is not
of the communion of the Church of Rome, and God knows that in
that very Communion there is as great discord in Opinion, and in
matters of as great moment, as is between the other Churches. I
hear you do in publick discourses dislike some things in the
Church of England, as the marriage of the Clergy, which is a
point that no Roman Catholic will pretend to be of the Essence
of Religion, and is in use in many places which are of the
Communion of the Church of Rome, as in Bohemia, in those parts
of the Greek Church which submit to the Roman; And all men know,
that in the late Council of Trent, the Sacrament of both kinds,
and liberty of the clergy to marry, was very passionately
press’d both by the Emperor and King of France for their
Dominions, and it was afterwards granted to Germany, though
under such conditions as made it ineffectual; which however
shows that it was not, nor ever can be look’d upon as matter of
Religion. Christianity was many hundred years old, before such a
restraint was ever heard of in the Church; and when it was
endeavoured, it met with great opposition, and was never
submitted to. And as the positive Inhibition seems absolutely
unlawful so the Inconveniences which result from thence will
upon a just disquisition be found superior to those which attend
the liberty which Christian Religion permits. Those Arguments
which are not strong enough to draw persons from the Roman
Communion into that of the Church of England, when Custom and
Education, and a long stupid resignation of all their faculties
to their Teachers, usually shuts out all reason to the contrary,
may yet be abundant to retain those who have been baptized, and
Bred and Instructed in the Grounds and Principles of that
Religion which are in truth not only founded upon the clear
Authority of the Scriptures, but upon the consent of Antiquity
and the practice of the Primitive Church, and men who look into
Antiquity know well by what Corruption and Violence and with
what constant and Continual Opposition, those Opinions which are
contrary to ours, crept into the World, and how unwarrantably
the Authority of the Bishop of Rome, which alone supports all
the rest, came to prevail, who hath no more pretence of
Authority and Power in England, than the Bishop of Paris and
Toledo can as reasonably lay claim to, and is so far from being
matter of Catholick Religion, that the Pope hath so much and no
more to do in France or Spain or any other Catholick Dominion,
than the Crown and Laws and Constitution of several Kingdoms
gave him leave, which makes him so little (if at all) considered
in France, and so much in Spain; And therefore the English
Catholicks which attribute so much to him make themselves very
unwarrantable of another Religion than the Catholick Church
professeth and without doubt they who desert the Church of
England, of which they are Members, and become thereby
disobedient to the Ecclesiastical and Civil Laws of their
Country and therein renounce their Subjection to the State as
well as to the Church (which are grievous sins) had need to have
a better excuse than the meeting with some doubts which they
could not answer, and less than a manifest evidence that their
Salvation is desperate in that Communion cannot serve their
turn; and they who imagine they have such an evidence, ought
rather to suspect that their Understanding hath forsaken them,
and that they are become mad, than that the Church which is
replenished with all Learning and Piety requisite, can betray
them to Perdition. I beseech you to consider (which I hope will
overrule those ordinary Doubts and Objections which may be
infus’d into you) that if you change your Religion, you renounce
all Obedience and Affection to your Father, who loves you so
tenderly that such an odious Mutation would break his heart, you
condemn your Father and your Mother (whose incomparable Virtue,
Piety and Devotion hath plac’d her in Heaven) for having
impiously Educated you; and you declare the Church and State, to
both which you owe Reverence and Subjection, to be in your
Judgment Antichristian; you bring irreparable dishonour, scandal
and prejudice to the Duke your Husband to whom you ought to pay
all imaginable Duty, and whom I presume is much more precious to
you than your own life, and all possible ruine to your Children
of whose company and conversation you must look to be depriv’d,
for God forbid that after such an Apostacie, you should have any
power in the Education of your Children. You have many Enemies,
whom you herein would abundantly gratifie, and some Friends,
whom you will thereby (at least as far as in you lies) perfectly
destroy; and afflict many others who have deserved well of you.
I know you are not inclined to any part of this mischief, and
therefore offer those Considerations, as all those particulars
would be the infallible Consequence of such a Conclusion. It is
to me the saddest Circumstance of my Banishment that I may not
be admitted in such a season as this, to confer with you, when I
am confident I could satisfie you in all your Doubts, and make
it appear to you that there are many Absurdities in the Roman
Religion inconsistent with your Judgment and Understanding, and
many Impieties inconsistent with your Conscience; so that before
you can submit to the Obligations of Faith, you must divest
yourself of your Natural Reason and Common Sense, and captivate
the distastes of your own conscience to the Impositions of an
Authority which hath not any pretence to oblige or advise you.
If you will not with freedom communicate the Doubts which occur
to you, to those near you of whose Learning and Piety you have
had much experience, let me Conjure you to impart them to me,
and to expect my answer before you suffer them to prevail over
you. God bless you and yours.”[257]
Footnote 257:
Lansdown MS.
It is a long, stilted, tedious letter, read under present-day
conditions, and the methods used by the writer in argument hardly
commend themselves, but, especially towards the end, the anxiety of the
father’s heart is made quite evident. The great lawyer marshals all the
force of controversy at his command in the vain hope of influencing his
daughter and reversing the decision so dreaded by him. He appeals to her
heart, no less than to her head.[258] Husband, children, friends—he
places before her the possible loss of all, the harm that may accrue to
them; he leaves, as far as may be, nothing unsaid, nothing untried. It
is curious and significant that one sentence reveals the fact that
Clarendon was aware of his daughter’s unpopularity in certain quarters.
“You have many enemies,” he says, as he points to the triumph which her
change of faith would afford them as one reason, if an unworthy one,
against it. The pathetic significance of this last letter is driven home
all the more forcibly for this reason—that she to whom these weighty
words were addressed, doubtless with many prayers that they might
prevail, was destined never to read them. Death stepped in, and for ever
sealed the page.
Footnote 258:
“It is well known that when Kings and Princesses of the Blood make an
alliance with a subject, their arms are not put into the Royal
Escutcheon, nor did ever the late Duchess of York call the Lord
Chancellor father, nor did ever the late King James call the Earls of
Clarendon and Rochester brothers, nor the Princesses Mary and Anne
term them as uncles. Indeed the late Chancellor, when he wrote letters
of advice to the late Duchess in relation to her changing her religion
made use of the style of Daughter, which indeed he ought not to have
done” (“Aylesbury Memoirs.” Roxburghe Club).
“At Queen Anne’s accession, the second Lord Clarendon, her uncle, came
to see her, and simply said, ‘I wish to see my niece’—which meant that
her brother was now King, and she but a usurper. He had also rebuked
her for her flight to Nottingham at the time of her father’s reverses.
On her part Anne would not receive her uncle without the oath of
allegiance, and this he refused” (“Queen Anne and her Court.” P. F.
Williams Ryan.)
As already mentioned, the fact of the Duchess of York’s conversion was
not known for some time later, though suspicion was soon busy on the
subject, and the Court, in high excitement, buzzed with the matter.
It was probably a trial to any one so outspoken and downright as Duchess
Anne to conceal a fact of which she was certainly not ashamed, but the
commands of the King conveyed to her through his brother, were
peremptory and stringent, and she consented to hold her tongue for the
present. As things turned out there was soon no reason for silence,
except in so far as her change might have affected others. So the royal
convert practised her new faith in silence. The chaplains shook their
heads as Sunday after Sunday the Duchess turned away from “God’s Board.”
Morley was no longer at her right hand, and the others spoke only aside
to each other—not to her. Anne was never very approachable, and she had
long learned the value of her position in checking inconvenient
inquiries. Sweet-faced Margaret Blagge grieved silently, but she was
very young, and dared not speak, even if the exigencies of her post
would have allowed it.
The Duke of York, after his exercise of authority and the message he had
transmitted from the King, said nothing. The time for confidence between
those two was long past, and though he secretly sympathised with his
wife in the step she had taken—his own subsequent action is warrant
sufficient for that—estrangement had become a habit, and the party wall
dividing husband and wife needed a stronger force still to throw it
down. Perhaps a word or two may have passed between the new convert and
Queen Catherine. It is more than likely, indeed, but the latter, timid
and shrinking, was not constituted to uphold any one, and besides, she
was far too much in awe of the King, too pathetically anxious to please
him, to be capable of running counter to any commands he might choose to
enforce. She could, and probably did, give approbation, sympathy, for
what they were worth, but of these Anne stood in no need, then nor at
any other time. Her position was one of “lonely splendour,” and she had
long learnt to stand alone and carve out her own path. No doubt the
lesson had been a bitter one, but she had learnt it once for all. During
this year, moreover—1670—the Duke was seriously ill,[259] and this fact
may have aided in the estrangement from his wife, or at any rate in the
withholding of complete confidence from him.
Footnote 259:
“Adventures of King James II.,” by the author of “Life of Sir Kenelm
Digby.”
It was in other respects a momentous year for the whole royal house in
England, and that in a way to be presently described. An unexpected and
sinister development was to change in some degree the aspect of things.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER VIII
THE END
AS one writes these two simple words “The End” across the heading of
this final chapter, one is reminded to pause and reflect upon them.
The end—of what? Of a brief but splendid pageant—of a heavy burden of
sorrow—of a life of resolute, indomitable pride?
_Respice finem_—Consider the end. Surely, of all who have attained to
high places, or have longed after them, Anne Hyde should have taken for
her own this motto, should have read and marked and inwardly digested
it.
And yet, would it have availed anything? Does it ever avail?
When our eyes are dazzled by the light that for the moment seems
all-pervading, they cannot see the shadows that lie beyond, nor would
they even if they could.
Here, then, we look on at the removal of a figure, concrete enough in
her own time and to her own contemporaries, but to us curiously elusive,
even visionary. It is strange, because for one occupying the position
she did for ten years of English history, Anne, Duchess of York, had
left personally a very slight impression on that position. The place
that knew her was so soon content to know her no more, the gap she left
was so quickly filled.
It is not to her but to her children that we must look for any
consideration of her life as important. No doubt in the early days in
Flanders Edward Hyde watched the unfolding of his daughter’s keen
intelligence with hope and confidence as a factor in her future. It was
afterwards that her “vaulting ambition” was destined to “o’erleap
itself,” and so weigh her down under “the burthen of an honour into
which she was not born.”
It does not need much reflection to point the moral here, it is obvious
enough and sorrowful enough.
During the summer of the year 1670, the same year which saw the Duchess
of York’s conversion to the Church of Rome, the King’s only remaining
sister, the Duchesse d’Orléans, paid what proved to be her last and also
her most momentous visit to her native country, a visit that might have
been fraught with such disastrous consequences to England. It is not
quite apparent whether Henrietta herself fully appreciated all that her
mission entailed—the mission she accepted so light-heartedly at the
hands of her magnificent brother-in-law, the French king. She had never
displayed any great aptitude for diplomacy, nor indeed much interest in
such questions, but had been content to float on the surface of life
like an airy butterfly, a creature of sun and shower. This being so, it
was a very easy task indeed for Louis to use her as his tool and
complaisant go-between. Madame and her elder brother, we know, loved
each other very deeply; he—Louis XIV.—probably loved nobody at all, at
least this is the conclusion which seems forced upon us, therefore he
stood in the far stronger position. Madame believed, as it was easy to
make her believe, that in carrying out King Louis’ instructions she was
doing great things for France; that for her sake Charles II. must agree
to proposals of which possibly she did not fully grasp the magnitude,
but which tended to place England under the heel of her neighbour. It
must also be here borne in mind that Henrietta was to all intents and
purposes a Frenchwoman. She had been brought up from infancy in France,
and that country commanded all her sympathies and prejudices. Most
likely she regarded England as an alien country, which had slain her
father and driven her family into exile for years, and which would be
all the better for drastic treatment, if it happened to be inflicted.
Moreover, it was the excuse for a welcome excursion, a visit to her
brothers, a short respite from the society of Monsieur, which was now
always an infliction, a fact which can scarcely be wondered at.
Therefore Madame started on her journey in high spirits, in consonance
with the season of summer which was just now flinging its gifts over the
earth and shedding beauty in its path, the beauty of serene skies, of
waving grass, of radiant flowers.
This visit of Madame’s was, it is true, to be but a flying one. She was
not even to come to London at all, and a plea was put forth for this
marked abstention which carries us back to the year of the Restoration,
and her mother’s bitter attitude towards the marriage of the Duke of
York. It seemed very evident that even now, at the distance of ten years
after that marriage, the haughty Stuart princess could not bring herself
to meet her English sister-in-law on equal terms. It was clearly
impossible, so we are told, that Madame should now come to London, “for
she will not yeild ye place to ye Dutchesse of Yorke, nor can it be
allowed that the Dutchesse of York should yeild it unto her.”[260] It
was the question fought for years before, to be revived anew, it is hard
to see why, on this occasion. However, on consideration a compromise was
finally arranged by certain wise counsellors, the method adopted being
that of transferring the place of meeting to Dover, where, fortunately,
it seemed that matters of precedence might, in a measure, be
conveniently waived, to the satisfaction of all parties therein
concerned. It was furthermore settled for the nonce by the decision that
the Duchess of York should yield the “pas” to Madame in “this Kingdome,”
because it was remembered that the Duke of Orleans had always taken care
to give it to his cousin the Duke of York when in France.
Footnote 260:
“Verney Memoirs.”
So, this point being finally decided, the King and his brother set out
for Dover, there to meet their sister, and they were followed thither
later by the Queen and the Duchess of York.
All the town proceeded there as well; that is, everybody who was
anybody. The wits and the beaux, the beauties of the Court, “the King’s
musicke” and the Duke’s players, “all the bravery that could be got on
such a sudden,”[261] grave statesmen and people who had nothing grave
about them, besides those who went frankly for amusement and no more.
The Dover road, the most famous road in the kingdom, which had known
through the far-back centuries the possessors of the most honoured names
passing in long procession to and fro, which had seen the victors and
vanquished of the hundred years’ war, was alive with travellers of all
conditions. Coaches, horsemen, pack-horses, waggons with provisions,
waggons with fine clothes, tramping beggars, itinerant musicians, broken
soldiers ready for any fray or wrangling for a groat. It was a
seventeenth-century Canterbury pilgrimage which yet lacked a Chaucer for
its worthy chronicler.
Footnote 261:
“Verney Memoirs.”
Although Monsieur could not be said to display at this time any
overweening attachment to his wife, he apparently entirely disapproved
of this visit to England, the real object of which was concealed from
him, as he could not be trusted with any matter of importance, and it
was afterwards remembered that he said to some of his intimate friends
that he did not think the Duchess would live very long. Moreover an
astrologer is reported to have said that he (d’Orléans) would have
several wives, which prophecy was probably highly agreeable to him. He
accompanied Henrietta for part of her journey, however, joining her
before Dunkirk, from which port she embarked on the 24th May.[262] It is
pleasant to record that when Madame did meet the despised sister-in-law
at Dover, she was kind to her, in spite of the difficulty as to
precedence before noticed.[263]
Footnote 262:
Madame—Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady).
Footnote 263:
_Ibid._
Many plans of pleasure were set on foot, possibly to divert attention
from the political business which was the real reason for Madame’s
visit.
One day King Charles took his sister for an expedition to Canterbury,
where they saw a ballet and comedy, and were entertained at a collation
in the hall of St Augustine’s Abbey. Other diversions followed in due
course, helped by the radiant summer season which shed its own influence
on such merry meetings.[264]
Footnote 264:
_Ibid._
To many it was, no doubt, a halcyon time. The pomp and splendour, the
sparkle and gaiety of Whitehall were transferred to the ancient castle
on the beetling white cliff for the moment, and the centre and core of
everything, the chief luminary among many stars, was the fair princess
whose short life, even now drawing swiftly to its close, had known such
strange vicissitudes. Cradled in the very vortex of civil strife during
Essex’s siege of Exeter; brought up as a child, for a time, at any rate,
in grinding poverty, when she shared her mother’s dreary life of exile;
then, in early youth, the supreme jewel of the most brilliant Court in
Europe, its splendid king at her feet, she was now, though none could
have foreseen it, at the very threshold of her mysterious doom. Only a
few days in England, a few happy days to be remembered hereafter fondly
and regretfully by those who saw her then, and, her mission fulfilled,
the mission which, as has been said, she possibly did not fully
comprehend, Madame set sail on her return.[265] For the last time, if
either could have known it, she bade farewell to the brother whose
affection for her was perhaps the strongest and purest feeling of his
cynical, careless, insouciant nature. The letters he wrote to her
testify to this fact, invested as they are with a charm all their own,
and endorsed with a certain pathos, for “my deare, deare sister.” This
final parting off Dover was a sorrowful one to both. The King and the
Duke of York sailed for some distance with their sister before they
could summon resolution to tear themselves away, and when the moment of
farewell could no longer be delayed, the King held Henrietta long in his
arms, embracing her again and again, while she clung to him, weeping
passionately.[266] Alas for them! Only a week or two are to pass, and
she, the beloved princess, the English rose, as she might well be
termed, is cut down in her prime of beauty. The sombre picture of that
scene unveils itself before us, dark and portentous. Out of the agonised
death chamber at St Cloud comes the great Bossuet, who has borne the
Last Sacraments to the dying girl, and exhorted her to the very end. As
he sweeps past the shrinking, horror-struck crowd without, he surveys
them with unsparing contempt, but his funeral sermon in the Chapel Royal
rings down the centuries: “O nuit désastreuse, O nuit effroyable, où
retentit tout-à-coup comme un éclat de tonnerre, cette étonnante
nouvelle: Madame se meurt! Madame est morte!”[267] The suspicion of
poison always raised in those days on the occasion of an unexpected
death may be unfounded in this case; we cannot tell, but the attendant
circumstances were sad and ominous enough without that. The crass
stupidity of the doctors, the callous indifference of Monsieur, the
decorous sorrow of King Louis—once it would have been something more—all
make up the setting of a grim tragedy, only relieved by the courage and
resignation of Henrietta herself.[268] Over in England there was deep
and bitter grief at the news: Charles himself broke down into passionate
tears, but after a while the memory of Madame remained only as a fair
dream in the recollection of those who had known her. Nevertheless she
had performed the work which King Louis had given her to do in England,
and the secret treaty was concluded.[269]
Footnote 265:
“Histoire de Madame Henriette d’Angleterre,” par Marie de la Vergne,
Comtesse de la Fayette. “Madame étoit revenue d’Angleterre avec toute
la gloire et le plaisir que peut donner un voyage causé par l’amitié
et suivi d’un bon succés dans les affaires.”
Footnote 266:
“Charles II. and his Court.” A. G. A. Brett.
Footnote 267:
“Madame de Brinvilliers.” Hugh Stokes.
Footnote 268:
“Histoire de Madame Henriette d’Angleterre,” par Dame Marie de la
Vergne, Comtesse de la Fayette, 1742. “Dieu aveugloit les Médecins
. . . on la voyoit dans des souffrances cruelles, sans néanmoins
qu’elle parût agitée. . . . Le Roi voyant que selon les apparences il
n’y avoit rien a esperer, lui dit adieu en pleurant.”
Footnote 269:
“Histoire de Madame Henriette d’Angleterre,” par Marie de la Vergne,
Comtesse de la Fayette. “Elle se voyoit à vingt-six ans le lien des
deux plus grands Rois de ce siècle . . . . Le plaisir et la
considération que donnent les affaires se joignent en elle aux
agrémens que donnent la jeunesse et la beauté.”
Charles was, when expedient, to profess the Roman Communion; he was to
join France, when so required, in a war against the United Provinces,
and for these services he would receive two million livres, and six
thousand men in case of any insurrection at home. Here, then, was the
kernel of the matter. Money was always lacking, the hunger for it
altogether unsated; even the portion of Zealand which was promised out
of the future conquest of the Dutch was little in comparison, and the
English King might have been induced to make further promises for a
corresponding amount of hard cash.
The tragic death of the Duchess of Orleans was also destined at the time
to affect the family of her brother the Duke of York in quite another
direction.
[Illustration:
HENRIETTA, DUCHESS OF ORLEANS
]
Duchess Anne has been accused, among other failings, of the unlovely
propensity of eating too much, and this habit was certainly inherited by
her younger daughter and namesake.[270] Whether from this, or from some
other cause, the Lady Anne of York very early contracted a weakness of
the eyes, a complaint, moreover, which lasted to the end of her life.
For the cure of this disorder the parents had taken the precaution of
sending the child to France, to the care of her grandmother the
queen-mother, who was then at Colombes.
Footnote 270:
“Lives of the Queens of England.” Agnes Strickland.
Henrietta Maria, however, died there on 10th September 1669,[271] to the
deep grief of Madame her daughter, to whose family her young niece was
next transferred; and she remained with her for many months. Anne was
still at St Cloud at the time of her aunt’s sudden and tragic death, but
the small English princess became, on this event, a somewhat
inconvenient visitor in the disorganised household of Monsieur. She was
therefore sent back to England, after spending a considerable time in
France, a visit which was kept more or less a secret at home, on account
of the strong prejudices which existed in England against all French
influences. The experiment does not seem to have materially benefited
the child’s health, but at any rate back she came. Her parents
despatched Colonel Villiers and his wife to bring home their little
daughter, and the pair accordingly embarked at Rye for Dieppe on 2nd
July, thereafter reaching the former port on their return journey on the
23rd of the same month, but whether the weather was unfavourable or not,
the party did not land on English shore till the 28th.[272] There is a
piece of information which reads oddly in the light of subsequent
events: “Lady Anne was presented on her departure from France with a
pair of bracelets set with great diamonds, valued at ten thousand
crowns, by the French King.” One can fancy the child bridling over her
magnificent ornaments, and thinking how kind and splendid was the
stately, gracious King, with the long, dark eyes and perfect manner, who
clasped them on her chubby wrists as if she were a woman grown.
Footnote 271:
Madame—Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady). Macpherson’s “Original Papers.”
Footnote 272:
“Calendar of Domestic State Papers.” 27th June 1670: “Their Royal
Highnesses have sent Col. Villiers and his lady to France to fetch
their daughter.” Colonel Villiers was of the Duke’s bedchamber, and
his wife governess to the children.
Neither he nor any one else could have foreseen the fierce struggle of
forty years later, when the old feud would be revived, when the armies
of each were to be face to face on many a stricken field, when Blenheim
and Malplaquet and Ramilies were to bear a bitter significance in French
ears, and when the splendid Roi Soleil of these early days of glory
would perforce veil his lofty crest before the stubborn, invincible
troops of the little stolid English cousin.
It was in the August following Madame’s aforesaid visit to England that
the Duchess of York wrote the paper setting forth the reasons for her
change of faith which has been previously given, but already it appears
that her health was declining. She had never really recovered from the
birth of her son Edgar,[273] as far back as 1667, and she gradually
became the victim of a complication of disorders. Probably the unwieldy
size of which her contemporaries speak was merely one symptom of failing
health, as she was only thirty-three. But the malady to which she
finally succumbed was the terrible scourge of cancer, which strangely
enough was destined many years later to carry off her successor, Mary of
Modena.[274]
Footnote 273:
“Lives of Queens of England,” Agnes Strickland. “Royalty Restored,” J.
F. Molloy. “She was ill for fifteen months.”
Footnote 274:
Burnet’s “History of My Own Time,” edit. 1766. “A long decay of health
came to a quicker crisis. All on a sudden she fell in agony of death.”
Some time during this year James himself was seriously ill.
All through the autumn months of 1670 and the succeeding winter she was
ailing, often seriously, but her indomitable will upheld her to the very
end. She was, there is no doubt, brave and resolute, and through her
“long decay of nature” she contained herself with silent courage, for
she was never given to confide in those about her.
Early in the winter a general suspicion of her new religious opinions
began to be circulated. She rejected the services of her chaplains[275]
without, however, giving any explanation of this conduct, further than
the state of her health “and business,” and it was in the month of
December, some months, therefore, after her actual reception into the
Roman communion, that the King spoke, as we have seen, on this subject
to the Duke of York.
Footnote 275:
“Life of James II.,” Rev. J. S. Clarke, from original Stuart MSS. in
Carlton House, 1816. “During all her indisposition of which she dyed
she had not prayers said to her by any of the chaplains.”
Burnet says that the latter had by this time himself seceded, though not
formally, from the Anglican Church,[276] before his wife did so, and
that she had “entered into discourse with his priests.” But who these
could be is not apparent, and the story is improbable on that account.
Footnote 276:
Burnet’s “History of My Own Time.” (Supplement.) “He [the Duke of
York] was bred to believe a mysterious sort of Real Presence in the
Sacrament so that he thought he made no great step when he believed
Transubstantiation, and there was infused in him very early a great
reverence for the Church and a great submission to it; this was done
on design to possess him with prejudice against Presbytery.”
And so we come to the last act of a brief drama, when the curtain was to
ring down for good. Much had been woven into that fabric, the warp of
sorrow and the woof of joy, but the gilded strands were parting asunder
now, and there would be no knitting together of them any more.
The autumn after Madame’s untimely death passed over, and in the midst
of the growing rumours that the Duchess of York was tending towards
Rome, there arose another whisper to the effect that her bodily state
was daily growing more and more precarious. Margaret Blagge, as we know,
waited on her with tender and unswerving devotion, sorrowfully
recognising the lonely and forlorn condition of the proud princess who
had achieved so much—and so little.[277] Still, to their chagrin, the
chaplains were held at arm’s length by Morley’s once docile and obedient
pupil, and the Court wondered and discussed the question with growing
relish and excitement.[278] Christmas came and went, but for one at
least there could have been little question of the revelry belonging to
the season. The month of March drew on to its close, and Anne must have
been feeling at any rate somewhat better, for on the 30th we find her
dining at Lord Burlington’s house in Piccadilly and enjoying the good
cheer there provided for her (poor Anne!), for she “dined heartily,” but
after her return home she was taken suddenly and alarmingly ill. It is
possible, from the contemporary evidence, that the immediate attack was
some form of internal inflammation, but at any rate the gravity of the
situation was at once realised.[279] She had spent, as was her custom,
some three-quarters of an hour “att her own accustomed devotions,” but
in this extremity it seems that she did call for her chaplain, Dr
Turner. After a night of agony her director, Blandford, Bishop of
Worcester, to whose spiritual care Morley on his own retirement had
committed her, was also sent for, but of what really took place during
the next few hours the accounts given present many discrepancies. Over
from Whitehall came Queen Catherine, timid, gentle and compassionate,
and Burnet declares that as she arrived before the bishop, and would not
leave the sick room, the latter lacked sufficient courage and presence
of mind to begin prayers, and only “spoke little and fearfully.”
Footnote 277:
“Life of Mrs Godolphin.” John Evelyn, edit. by E. W. Harcourt, 1888.
Footnote 278:
Macpherson’s “Original Papers,” 1772.
Footnote 279:
Arlington, writing to the English Ambassador in Spain, said she was
afflicted with a complication of disorders.
In the ante-room without, the Duke of York had awaited the bishop, and
there alone with him confided to his ears the secret so long concealed.
His wife, he said, had been reconciled to the Church of Rome, and had
entreated of him, that if any bishops should come to her in her
extremity, they would not disturb her with controversy.[280]
Footnote 280:
“Memoirs of the Court of England during the Reign of the Stuarts,”
John Heneage Jesse. “Life of James II.,” Rev. J. S. Clarke, from
original Stuart MSS. in Carlton House, 1816. “During all her great
indisposition of which she dyed, she had not prayers said to her by
either of the chaplains.”
Blandford can scarcely have been surprised at the announcement,
considering the surmises which had for so long been afloat, and the
manner in which he himself and his colleagues had been kept at a
distance, but he collected himself to answer gravely and
compassionately. He said that he believed the Duchess, in spite of what
had occurred, to be in the fair way of salvation, seeing she had not
changed her religion for any hope of worldly gain nor advantage, but
from honest conviction. After these words, with the Duke’s permission,
the bishop passed quietly into the stately, beautiful room, where amid
the pomp of royalty, with brocaded curtains round her bed, the flicker
of wax lights in silver sconces only throwing the figures of the Gobelin
hangings on the walls into darker relief, lay Duchess Anne. By her side
sat Catherine the Queen, the golden beads of her rosary slipping one by
one through her shaking fingers, tears slowly stealing down her
cheeks.[281] Beyond stood Lady Cranmer, and leaning over the dying
woman, ready with the draught for the fevered lips, was Margaret Blagge,
her beautiful face alight with infinite love and pity. Bishop Blandford
drew near, and stood for a moment silent. Then as Anne’s dark eyes,
unclosing, met his, he said gently but distinctly:
“I hope you continue still in truth?”
Footnote 281:
Burnet’s “History of His Own Time.”
Possibly only the one word reached her failing senses, but she answered
brokenly with Pilate’s question:
“What is truth?”
“And then,” so the chronicle continues, “her agony increasing, she
repeated the word ‘Truth, truth, truth’ often.”[282] In that wild March
morning, when the wind beat and clamoured round the ancient palace of
the kings, those hoarse whispers fell awfully on the ears of the
watchers, though most likely she herself was unconscious of them. Of her
own kindred only her younger brother, Lord Rochester, came to bid her
his last farewell, refusing to believe in her change of faith, but the
elder, Cornbury, unable to forgive her apostasy, remained away. Of her
sister Frances there is at this time no record.
Footnote 282:
Burnet further says that the Queen stayed in the room of the Duchess
to prevent the prayers of the Church of England being read, but this
is improbable.
But she who lay there was past all such things now, and the presence or
absence of kinsfolk was alike of little matter.
Blandford “made her a short Christian exhortation suitable to the
condition she was in, and so departed.”[283]
Footnote 283:
“Memoirs of the Court of England under the Reign of the Stuarts.” J.
H. Jesse.
Perhaps she received the last rites of Rome from Father Hunt, the
Franciscan, who a few months back had admitted her into that fold, but
even this is uncertain.[284] Another authority declares that there was
“noe Preest,” but that Father Howard and Father Patrick, who had come to
St James’s in attendance on the Queen,[285] were waiting in the
ante-room without, and they were probably praying for the parting soul.
Footnote 284:
James himself declares: “She died with great resignation, having
received all the Sacraments of the Catholic Church.”
Footnote 285:
“Verney Memoirs.” Sir William Denton to Sir Ralph Verney.
Out of consideration for the King’s wishes, and in deference to public
opinion, the Duke of York, to whom it is impossible to deny some amount
of sympathy in this supreme moment, and the difficult part he had to
play, sent for the Bishop of Oxford, though by the time the latter
arrived, the Duchess was already unconscious.
But in the interval there had been a last appeal, not indeed of
controversy, but of human affection, a spark from the fading embers of
the old, half extinguished fire, the love which had dared and risked so
much in other days. From the ante-room where throughout those dark hours
he had perforce to interview one and another, English bishop and Roman
priest, courtier and emissary of state, to answer inquiry, to dictate
fitting replies, James came quietly in once more, and mounting the dais,
stood looking down on the face which had once—yes, once—been so dear to
him, the face for which he had braved his mother’s wrath, his brother’s
arguments, the scorn of his followers. Anne’s eyes were closed, the long
dark tresses tangled over the laced pillow. The world was slipping
silently away, or rather it was she who was drifting out upon the waves
of death. The long-drawn breaths were growing fainter. A great longing
came over him, a longing for at least a final recognition—a word, a
look. He stooped over her, and spoke in hushed, unsteady accents from
dry lips.
“Dame, doe ye knowe me?”
There was no reply at once, and he repeated the appeal more than once
before, seemingly, it reached the deafened ears and failing
comprehension. At last she collected herself.
With much strivings she said faintly “Aye.” After a little respite she
took a little courage, and with what vehemency and tenderness she could,
she said: “Duke, Duke, death is terrible—death is very terrible!”[286]
Footnote 286:
“Verney Memoirs.” Dr Denton to Sir Ralph Verney: “By ye best and
truest intelligence she did not dy a Papalina, but she made no
profession or confession either way.” _Cf._ “Sir John Reresby:
Memoirs,” ed. 1734: “This day dyed Anne, Duchess of York, with her
last breath declaring herself a Papist.”
The voice, so greatly beloved in the past, if not in the present, had
for the moment summoned her back, but if it was only to utter those last
most pitiful words, it surely had been better speechless. The breathing
grew shorter—stopped.
Then silence—and so vanished away Anne Hyde.
Margaret Blagge, who as we know had nursed her “with extraordinary
sedulity” and had stood by her to the last, has set down this sorrowful,
awestruck record: “The Duchess dead, a princess honoured in power, had
much witt, much money, much esteeme. She was full of unspeakable
torture, and died (poore creature) in doubt of her religion, without the
Sacrament or divine by her side, like a poore wretch. None remembered
her after one weeke, none sorry for her; she was tost and flung about
and every one did what they would with that stately carcase.”[287]
Footnote 287:
“Life of Mrs Godolphin,” by John Evelyn, edit, by E. W. Harcourt,
1888.
This irreverent and revolting neglect must be ascribed to the ill
conduct of the servants and apothecaries, who according to custom were
responsible. Neither the Duke himself nor the ladies of the Duchess can
be blamed, for they would at once have left the room.
The foregoing testimony, by the way, would seem to establish the fact
that Anne did not receive the consolations of religion from any priest;
and for the rest, Margaret’s words “none sorry for her” are borne out by
those of Burnet, who says she “died little beloved. Haughtiness gained
many enemies” and her “change of religion made her friends think her
death a blessing at that time.”
It is a dreary epitaph to place on the tomb of Anne, Duchess of York.
Alas for her! The goodly fruit which her aspiring hand had plucked so
eagerly had long ago turned to ashes in her very grasp, and she had
drained to the utmost dregs the cup of disillusion. And thus we leave
her, as all must be left, to the infinite mercy of God.
She died on Friday, 31st March 1671, in the thirty-fourth year of her
age. On the Sunday following, her body, being embalmed, was privately
buried in the vault of Mary Queen of Scots, in Henry the Seventh’s
Chapel of Westminster Abbey.[288]
Footnote 288:
“Memoirs of the Court of England during the Reign of the Stuarts.”
John Heneage Jesse.
Her little son Edgar, Duke of Cambridge, the last of her boys, followed
her on the 8th of June succeeding, and thus of her eight children only
Mary and Anne, both destined to be successively Queens of England,
survived their childhood.
In the memoirs of his own life, written years subsequently, James II.
paid a full and generous tribute of respect to the memory of his first
wife, though, as we have seen, the early, passionate, imperious love had
so soon died out.
Long afterwards, in the grey, weary days of exile at St Germain, when
there remained to him only the luckless heir to a vanished inheritance
and the winsome child Louisa, whom he called with such sad significance
his “douce consolatrice,” the thoughts of the banished King must
sometimes at least have travelled back to the storied past, to the days
of his strenuous if stormy youth, to his English wife, to the fair
little brood of children, of whom but two lived on to become the Goneril
and Regan of this later Lear.
When his time came, and he, too, lay down to die in the hunting palace
of King Louis, the last Stuart king was laid to his rest, unburied, in
the Church of the English Benedictines in Paris, in the vain, pathetic
hope that some day he might yet repose among his kindred in the England
he loved so well.
In the mad upheaval of the French Revolution ninety years later, his
bones, like those of the great lines of Valois and Bourbon, were cast
out in dishonour, and no man knows the place of his sepulture; but Nan
Hyde sleeps undisturbed in Westminster, among the kings to whose company
the passion of a prince had raised her.
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_By the Author of_ “THE ADVENTURES OF JOHN JOHNS.”
1s. net.
Imbued with some of the principles of Machiavelli, possessed of enormous
wealth, distrustful of all passions that limit the pursuit of power,
courted by many women for his affluence and beauty, but courting rarely,
a legislator and controller of opinion through his organs in the Press,
ingenious, forceful, esoteric, humorous and shrewd, deserving the
venality of his contemporaries, developing a morality out of his
distaste for current conduct, helpful to those whom his _mæstria_
defeats; Ames is a figure which is probably unique in fiction.
=THE KING AND ISABEL=
_By the Author of_ “THE ADVENTURES OF JOHN JOHNS.”
1s. net.
=THE WEANING=
By JAMES BLYTH
1s. net.
An exciting motor story, in which Mr Blyth presents a careful study of
the birth, development, and termination of one of those attacks of Calf
Love, or Sentimental Fever, to which every large-hearted boy of
education is subject.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text that:
was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_);
was in bold by is enclosed by “equal” signs (=bold=).
○ The use of a caret (^) before a letter, or letters, shows that the
following letter or letters was intended to be a superscript, as
in S^t Bartholomew or 10^{th} Century.
○ Superscripts are used to indicate numbers raised to a power. In
this plain text document, they are represented by characters like
this: “P^3” or “10^{18}”, i.e. P cubed or 10 to the 18th power.
○ Variables in formulæ sometimes use subscripts, which look like
this: “A_{0}”. This would be read “A sub 0”.
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