Memoirs of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, by Mrs. A. T. Thomson
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MEMOIRS OF SARAH DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH, AND OF THE COURT OF QUEEN ANNE
Transcriber’s Note:
The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
BY MRS. A. T. THOMSON,
AUTHORESS OF “MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF HENRY THE EIGHTH,” “LIFE OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH,” &c.
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
MDCCCXXXIX.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY IBOTSON AND PALMER,
SAVOY STREET.
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. — CHAPTER I. 1703–4.
iii
CHAPTER I.
Character of Lord Peterborough—Of Lord Montague—Marriage of the Lady Mary Churchill with Lord Monthermer—Character and success of her husband—The violence of party spirit at this era—Conduct of the Duchess in politics—Her dislike to Lord Rochester—His character—Preferment of Harley to the secretaryship—Views originally entertained by Marlborough and Lord Godolphin—Anecdote of Lord Wharton at Bath—A proof of political rancour
Complete triumph of the Whigs—Attempts made to bring Lord Sunderland into the Cabinet—Scheme for insuring the Hanoverian succession—The Queen’s resentment at that measure
Decline of the Duchess’s influence—Her attempt in favour of Lord Cowper—Singular Letter from Anne in explanation—Intrigues of the Tories—Harley’s endeavours to stimulate the Queen to independence
1708—Vacillation of Anne—Invasion of the Pretender—Results of that event—Secret intrigues with Mrs. Masham—The death of Prince George—The Duchess of Marlborough’s affectionate attentions to the Queen on that occasion—Her disappointment
Final separation between the Queen and the Duchess—Some anecdotes of Dr. and Mrs. Burnet—Dr. Burnet remonstrates with the Queen—The Queen’s obstinacy—Dismissal of Lord Godolphin—Letter from the Duchess to the Queen
Return of the Duke and Duchess—Their reception—The Duchess’s advice to her husband—Political changes in which the Duke and Duchess were partly concerned
Third Marriage of Lord Sunderland—Calumnies against the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough—Interview between the Duchess and George the First—The result—Her differences with Lord Sunderland—Illness, death, and character of the Duke of Marlborough
Funeral of the Duke of Marlborough—His bequests to the Duchess—Immediate proposals of marriage made for her in her widowhood—Character and letters of Lord Coningsby—Character of the Duke of Somerset—His Grace’s offer of marriage to the Duchess
Anecdotes of the Duchess of Marlborough and the Duchess of Buckingham—Pope’s “Atossa”—Sir Robert Walpole—The Duchess’s enmity towards that minister—Singular scene between them—The Duchess’s causes of complaint enumerated
State of the Duchess of Marlborough with respect to her family—Henrietta Duchess of Marlborough—Lord Godolphin—Pelham Holles Duke of Newcastle—The Spencer family—Charles Duke of Marlborough—His extravagance—John Spencer—Anecdote of the Misses Trevor—Letter to Mr. Scrope—Lawsuit
The Duchess of Marlborough’s friends and contemporaries—Arthur Maynwaring—Dr. Hare—Sir Samuel Garth—Pope—Lady Mary Wortley Montague—Colley Cibber—Anecdote of Mrs. Oldfield; of Sir Richard Steele
The different places of residence which belonged to the Duchess—Holywell-house, Wimbledon, Blenheim—Account of the old mansion of Woodstock—Its projected destruction—Efforts of Sir John Vanburgh to save it—Attack upon the Duchess, relative to Blenheim, in the Examiner
Old age and decline of the Duchess—Her incessant wrangling with Sir Robert Walpole—Her occupations—The compilation of her Memoirs—Her death, and character
Character of Lord Peterborough—Of Lord Montague—Marriage
of the Lady Mary Churchill with Lord Monthermer—Character
and success of her husband—The violence
of party spirit at this era—Conduct of the Duchess in
politics—Her dislike to Lord Rochester—His character
Preferment of Harley to the secretaryship—Views originally
entertained by Marlborough and Lord Godolphin—Anecdote
of Lord Wharton at Bath—A proof of political
rancour.
Amongst those friends who hastened to pour
forth their condolences to the Duchess of Marlborough
on the loss of her son, the celebrated
2Charles Mordaunt, Earl of Peterborough, was one
of the first, and amongst the most eager to testify
his concern. This nobleman, whose enmity towards
Marlborough became afterwards conspicuous, was
at this time one of the numerous votaries of the
arrogant Duchess. Lord Peterborough’s extravagances
gave a meteor-like celebrity to his general
character. Among many of the celebrated
individuals who illumined the age, he would,
nevertheless, have been eminent, even had his
course been less peculiar, and his deportment like
that of ordinary men.
The eventful public life of this nobleman began
in the reign of Charles the Second; at the early
age of eighteen, he had distinguished himself in
the cause of patriotism by attending Algernon
Sidney to the scaffold, an act of kindness and of
courage, which was the commencement of his singular
career. “He lived,” says Horace Walpole,
“a romance, and was capable of making it a history.”[1]
At this period of his life, nature and
fortune alike combined to favour the brilliancy
of that career, which, in its eccentricities, and in
the rapid succession of events by which it was
marked, had not a parallel in the times of which
we treat. Lord Peterborough owed much to circumstances.
3Of high ancestry, an earl by birth,
and afterwards by creation, being the first Earl of
Monmouth, he graced his favoured station by the
charm of his manners, by his varied accomplishments,
and by the union of a daring courage with
the highest cultivation of the intellectual powers.
Celebrated for the wit which he delighted to display,
his enterprising character was enhanced in
the estimation of all who admired valour, by those
personal advantages which the imagination is
disposed to combine with heroism and with eloquence.
In both, he exceeded most other men of
his time. Without being worthy of challenging
a comparison with Marlborough, he dazzled, he
interested, he astonished the world. He “was a
man,” as Pope truly describes him, “resolved
neither to live nor to die like other men.”[2] In
those days, when a constellation of bright stars
threw a lustre over the annals of our country,
Lord Peterborough shone conspicuous, even
whilst Marlborough lived to pursue successive
triumphs.
The varied scenes through which Lord Peterborough
passed, contributed to form “the strange
compound” which so much amused society. He
began his warlike exploits in the naval service; and
even whilst he cultivated the Muses, “appeared
4emulous to mix only with the rough and then
untutored tars of ocean.”[3] Disgusted with a
maritime life, he became a land officer; yet
alternately assisted in the council, or dazzled the
senate with his oratory. His brilliant exploits in
Spain were the result of consummate skill, aided
by a romantic daring, which converted even the
gallantries into which the profligacy of the age
and his own laxity of principle betrayed him,
into sources of assistance to his designs. It has
been said that he employed the illusions of perspective,
which he well understood, to impose
on the enemy with respect to the number of
troops under his command. Whatever were his
arts, the results of his wonderful energy and
bravery were so effective as very nearly to
transfer the crown of Spain from the Bourbon to
the Austrian family.
The abilities of this nobleman as a negociator
were equally remarkable; nor was the celerity of
his movements a circumstance to be overlooked, in
times when such exertions as those which Peterborough
made to compass sea and land, appeared
almost miraculous. Ever on the wing, he excelled
even Lord Sunderland in the rapidity of
his migrations, and is said “to have seen more
kings and postilions than any man in Europe.”
5So singular a course could not be maintained,
nor such unparalleled dexterity acquired, without
the strong, impelling power of vanity. Lord
Peterborough, with all his attainments, after long
experience, with some admirable qualities of the
heart, was the slave of that pervading impulse,
the love of admiration. The friend of Pope and
Swift, the associate of Marlborough, delighted
to declaim in a coffee-house, and to be the
centre of any admiring circle, no matter whom
or what. The vanity of Peterborough is, however,
matter of little surprise: it was the besetting
sin of those wild yet gifted companions of
the days of his early youth, Rochester, Sedley,
Buckingham, and Wharton, who competed to
attain the highest pitch of profligacy, characterised
by the most extravagant degree of absurdity and
reckless eccentricity. To be pre-eminent in demoralisation
was not, in such times, a matter of easy
attainment; therefore it became necessary for the
aspirant for that species of fame to garnish deeds
of guilt which might be deemed common-place,
with such accompaniments of fancy as men
utterly lost to shame, without a sense of decency,
without time for remorse, without fear of hell, or
belief in heaven, could, in the depths of their infamy,
contrive and devise.
Lord Peterborough and Lord Wharton, disregarding
6all moral obligations, gave birth to
sons, who, reared under their baneful influence,
carried the precepts of their parental tempters
into an extremity far exceeding what even those
exemplary parents could have anticipated. In
Philip, Duke of Wharton, the world beheld, happily,
almost the last of that series of rich, profligate,
bold, and desperate men, who, like the
second Buckingham, gilded a few fair points of
character by the aid of resplendent talents. It
was the destiny of Lord Peterborough to reap
disappointment and chagrin from the seed which
he had sown in the mind of his eldest son and
heir, John Lord Mordaunt, whom he survived.[4]
7The regard of Lord Peterborough at this period
for the Duchess of Marlborough was as
assiduous as his enmity towards her and the
Duke became afterwards remarkable. In a letter
written soon after their common loss, he urged
upon the bereaved father the necessity of seeking
in society the solace to his mournful reflections.
In other effusions of friendship, addressed to the
Duchess, the Earl is profuse in the language of
gallantry; and, if we might believe in professions,
felt an ardour of admiration which led
him to declare, “that he feared no other uneasiness
than not being able to meet those opportunities
which might contribute to what he most desired,
the continuation of the Duchess’s good
opinion.”[5]
These expressions had a deeper meaning than
compliment; and Lord Peterborough sought
also a closer connexion than friendship with
the exalted house of Marlborough. The Lady
Mary Churchill, the youngest daughter of the
Duke and Duchess, and, at the time of her
brother’s death, the only unmarried daughter,
was one of the most distinguished of her
family for beauty, as well as for the higher
qualities of the mind and heart. Twenty-two
8years afterwards, Lady Mary Wortley Montague,
speaking of this lovely woman, described
her as still so pre-eminent in her hereditary
charms, that she might then (in 1725) “be the
reigning beauty, if she pleased.”[6] Lady Mary,
afterwards the object of her mother’s aversion,
was, in her early days, the pride and darling of
both parents, and the frequent subject of mention
in her father’s letters. Even in her sixteenth
year there were many suitors who aspired
to her hand, and amongst others the son of Lord
Peterborough, the young Lord Mordaunt, whose
suit was urged by his father, but rejected by the
Duke of Marlborough, on account of the dissolute
character of the young nobleman. It was
probably this disappointment which first chilled
the friendship of Lord Peterborough, and turned
it into rancour.
Proposals of marriage from the Earl of Huntingdon,
son of Lord Cromarty, were also made
to Lady Mary, but in vain;[7] the character of his
father, Lord Cromarty, who was, according to
Cunningham, “long looked upon as a state mountebank,”
probably operating against the young
man’s addresses; for the Duchess sought to extend
and strengthen her connexions, and not to endanger
9the stability of her fortune by an alliance
with the weak or the disreputable. Political
reasons, it has been said by historians, decided the
destiny of the fair victim, than whom “there
was not in England,” says Cunningham, “a
more acceptable sacrifice to be offered up for appeasing
the rage of parties,” and caused her
finally to become the wife of Lord Monthermer,
eldest son of the Earl of Montague. Marlborough,
as Cunningham relates, before setting out on his
latest campaign, “fearing lest Whigs and Tories
should combine together to ruin him, recommended
to his wife to propose a marriage of
one of his daughters to the Earl of Montague’s
son, as a means of their reconciliation, and the
establishment of his own power.”[8]
The projected alliance, in most important respects,
appeared to be highly advantageous. The House
of Montague, anciently Montacute, was already
connected with some of the wealthiest and most
powerful among the nobility. Resembling, in
one respect, the Churchill family, the progenitors
of the young man on whom Lady Mary’s hand
was ultimately bestowed, had been devoted to the
service of the Stuarts. There is a tradition that
one of the race, Edward Montague, who held
the office of Master of the Horse to Queen
10Katharine, wife of Charles the Second, was removed
from his post, for venturing to press the
hand of his royal mistress,—an offence not likely
to be of frequent occurrence, if historians have
not done great injustice to the amiable but ungainly
Katharine of Braganza.
The father of John Duke of Montague, who
married Lady Mary Churchill, was a singular
instance of something more than prudence,—even
cupidity,—combined with liberality and
a great mind. This nobleman enjoyed a fortunate,
if not a happy life. He was appointed
ambassador at the Court of France,
by the especial favour of Charles the Second;
and conferred on his station, as such, as much
honour as he received from so distinguished a
mission. During his residence at Paris, he secured
the hand of the Countess of Northumberland,
a rich widow, who had quitted England to
escape the disgraceful addresses of Charles the
Second. By this union he secured an income
of six thousand a year; which was farther
increased, upon his return to England, by his purchase
of the place of Master of the King’s Wardrobe,
for which he paid six thousand pounds.
The prosperity of the family was, however,
checked during the reign of James the Second,
who, in consequence of Lord Montague’s known
11enmity to the Roman Catholics, took from him
the post which he had obtained. This disgust
prepared the offended nobleman for the Revolution,
towards which he contributed by his influence
and exertions. Honours and fortune
then became abundant. The titles of Earl of
Montague and Viscount Monthermer succeeded
to that of a simple baron. A second marriage
added to his wealth; for his first wife having
died in giving birth to his only surviving son, he
resolved to acquire, by an union with the Duchess
of Albemarle, a revenue of six thousand pounds
additional to his wealth, and, moreover, to unite
his family with the house of Newcastle. The
Duchess of Albemarle, whom he for these interested
motives addressed, was the heiress of
Henry Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle, and relict
of Christopher March, Duke of Albemarle.
There was only one slight blot upon her perfections
as a wife—she was insane. In her delusion
she had resolved to marry no one but a monarch;
but her suitor soon compassed this difficulty, for
he is said, with what truth it is not easy to determine,
to have wooed and married her, in
1690, as Emperor of China, and to have cherished
the delusion, which appears to have
lasted nearly forty years; for the Duchess,
during her residence at Newcastle-house in
12Clerkenwell, where she lived until her death, in
1734, would never suffer any person to serve
her, save on the bended knee.[9] A later acquisition
of wealth to the family took place, also,
on the death of the celebrated Sir Ralph
Winwood, Secretary of State to James the
Second.
The vast fortune which had been thus from various
sources accumulated, was spent by the Earl of
Montague in a manner peculiarly befitting his lofty
station. He could sustain his rank with splendour
and dignity, and yet think his table honoured, not
encumbered, by the presence of learned men, of
no rank, but whose talents shed upon their well-judging
patron a reflected lustre which wealth
could not give. At his magnificent residence in
Bloomsbury-house, now the British Museum, the
ingenious St. Evremond, and other eminent foreigners,
were seen mingling with the wits and
artists of the time, in saloons and halls, to garnish
which the arts of painting and sculpture had been
called into requisition, and liberally remunerated.
The taste of this excellent and high-minded nobleman
for architecture, for gardening, as well
as for the other arts which embellish, was displayed
both in his abode in London and his estate
13in Northamptonshire. His style of living corresponded
with his lofty ideas, and equalled, if
it did not excel, that of the most princely of his
contemporaries.
From this noble stock sprang John Montague,
Viscount Monthermer, who became the son-in-law
of Marlborough. An intimacy had for
some time subsisted between the Earl his
father, and the Duchess, his future mother-in-law.[10]
But the Lady Mary Churchill, his destined
bride, when the match was proposed to her, proved
averse from complying with the wishes of her
parents, having already, as report alleged, “set
her eyes and her heart upon another young gentleman,
a very handsome youth.” “Yet she
must,” adds Cunningham, “have obeyed her
mother’s commands immediately, had not an
accident happened, which proved very lamentable
to the Marlborough family.” The event to
which he alludes was the death of Lord Blandford;
and the marriage of the reluctant young
lady was suspended until the period of mourning
had been duly observed. It then, however, took
place; for it was not the custom of the day to take
into account the affections, in the calculations which
were made in matrimonial contracts. Nor were the
14family of the young bridegroom likely to relax in
their efforts to promote a favourable issue. Such is
the mutability of human affections, and the folly
of our most ardent desires, that Marlborough appears
afterwards to have disliked, and the Duchess
to have despised, though without adequate reason,
the man whom she at this time preferred for her
son-in-law. “All his talents,” thus she wrote
of his lordship thirty-seven years afterwards,
“lie in things natural in boys of fifteen years
old, and he is about two-and-fifty—to get people
into his garden and wet them with squirts, and
to invite people to his country-houses, and put
things into their beds to make them itch, and
twenty such pretty fancies like these.”[11] Such
was her opinion of this son-in-law; how far it
was guided by prejudice will be seen presently.
The union, when once completed, seems to
have afforded many means of happiness to the
beautiful Lady Mary. As far as worldly advantages
were to be considered, she encountered
no disappointment. Soon after her marriage, the
father of her husband was created a duke through
the interest of her parents, and the reversion of
the post of master of the wardrobe settled on his
son through the influence of the Duchess of
15Marlborough, and, as she herself alleges, as part
of her daughter’s portion.[12]
An unbroken course of prosperity attended the
long life of Lord Monthermer, who had not
many years to wait before he attained a higher
title, on the death of his father, the Duke
of Montague.[13] The disposition and character
of the Lord Monthermer, those most important
points of all, were, notwithstanding the character
given of him by the Duchess, said, by a keen-sighted
judge, to have been truly amiable. “He
was,” says Horace Walpole, writing to his friend
Sir Horace Mann, “with some foibles, a most
amiable man, and one of the most feeling I ever
knew.” “He had,” says Lord Hailes, in reference
to the Duchess’s description of the Duke’s
childish propensities, “other pretty fancies, not
mentioned in the memoranda of his mother-in-law;
he did good without ostentation. His vast
benevolence of soul is not recorded by Pope;
but it will be remembered while there is any tradition
of human kindness or charity in England.”
The defects of this nobleman appear to have
been a thirst for gain, producing an inveterate
place-hunting, which detracted from his better
qualities. “He was,” says Walpole, “incessantly
obtaining new, and making the most of
16all: he had quartered on the great wardrobe
no less than thirty nominal tailors and arras
workers,”—employments which were dropped at
his death. This corrupt proceeding he redeemed,
in some measure, by great liberality, paying
out of his own property no less than two thousand
a year in private pensions. The Duke of
Montague’s talents fitted him indeed for better
things than the grovelling love of gain. Sir
Robert Walpole entertained so high an opinion
of his abilities, that he was very desirous that the
Duke should command the forces,—a charge which
his grace, fearful of his own experience, declined.[14]
He received, with his bride, an addition to her
portion of ten thousand pounds, presented on the
occasion by the Queen, who had conferred a
similar gift on Lady Bridgewater. What was of
still more importance, the favour of Anne was
continued to him when the Marlborough family
was disgraced, and the high offices which he held
under George the First and Second attested the
continuance of royal regard.
1703. The Duke of Marlborough passed the
summer of this year in fruitless attempts to stimulate
the timid spirit of the Dutch generals
with whom, as commander-in-chief, he was destined
to co-operate, and to unite the discordant
opinions by which his operations against the
17French were weakened, and his plans wholly
frustrated. So harassed and dispirited was the
great commander at this time, when all his persuasions
could not avail to induce the allied
armies to attack the French lines, that he looked
forward with something like pleasure to the projected
siege of Limburg, as to a sort of episode
to his weary existence amongst his friendly, but
obstinate coadjutors. One painful and inconvenient
effect of mental anxiety continually attacked
the Duke, in the cruel form of continual
and severe headache. To this, and to the harassed
frame and dejected spirits of which it was a concomitant,
he refers, when writing to the Duchess,
in terms which ought to have made an affectionate
wife careful lest she should increase his
uneasiness by any line of conduct which she
could possibly avoid.
“When[15] I last writ to you, I was so much
disordered, that I writ in very great pain. I
cannot say I am yet well, for my head aches violently,
and I am afraid you will think me lightheaded,
when I tell you that I go to-morrow to
the siege of Limburg, in hopes to recover my
health. But it is certainly true that I shall have
more quiet there than I have here; for I have
been these last six days in a perpetual dispute,
18and there I shall have nobody but such as will
willingly obey me.”
The Duchess was too much absorbed in her
own schemes, to regard the unkindness and impropriety
of adding to her husband’s perplexities,
which were already sufficiently overpowering,
and which demanded an undisturbed attention.
She was carried along, as it were, by a torrent.
Her hopes, her endeavours, centered all in one
point; the abasement of the high church party,
and the establishment of the Whigs at the head
of affairs, were the objects of her political existence.
To accomplish this purpose, she now
employed all the force of her arguments, not only
to convert the Duke, but by correspondence, and
in conversation, to sway the mind of her sovereign,
and bend it to her purpose.
The marriage between the two great families
of Churchill and Montague was intended to propitiate
the favour both of Whigs and Tories, by
adding connexions among each of those parties
to the interests of the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough.
Never was there a period in which
party spirit manifested itself with greater virulence
than at the present juncture, and the contentions
in parliament were so vehement, that a
dreadful storm seemed impending over the country.
The popularity of the Whigs was increased,
19and strong suspicions were entertained that even
the Queen’s inclinations began to be favourable
to that party. “But what was matter of
hope to the Whigs,” observes Cunningham,
“seemed to the Tories to be only a dangerous
tempest ready to break upon the church; and
the furious clergy began to prophesy and report
about the country great dangers of—the Lord
knows what! So that it was now easy to perceive
what influence there is in England in the
mere cry of religion.”[16]
The Duchess of Marlborough was not inactive
in the midst of this tempest of parties. Her dislike
to Lord Rochester, and her abhorrence of the
pretensions to superiority in spiritual affairs assumed,
according to her notions, by that nobleman
and his partisans, were the main sources of her
adoption of Whig principles. Lord Rochester
had, in the former reign, offended her pride by
urging upon the King her removal from the service
of the Princess Anne. The wound was inflamed
continually, and, at last, the enmity rose to
open hostilities. Lord Rochester was as averse to a
reconciliation with his haughty foe as the Duchess
herself; their influence bore the semblance of rival-ship;
their advice drew the compliant Queen different
20ways; Lord Rochester guided the prejudices,
the Duchess governed the affections of
her royal slave. Finally, female influence prevailed:
for when have men adequately opposed
its sway? Yet it is certain, first, that Anne long
resisted the arguments of her friend, and, secondly,
that the Duchess would never have been
completely successful, had not the violence and
arrogance of her foes blazed out, and proved the
most opportune and effectual aid that ever
plotting woman received. To “the mad conduct
of the tacking Tories,” as the Duchess termed
the ill-judged manœuvres of that party, she
owed, as she acknowledged, the temporary abatement,
for it could not be called a change, that
was effected in the Queen’s high church fervour,
and obstinate, yet honest Toryism.[17]
Lord Rochester, who, as long as he remained
in existence, was the chief object of the Duchess’s
political displeasure—the thorn which, in the
midst of her greatness, rankled in her side—was
a man highly esteemed, not only by the party
whose tenets he zealously and powerfully supported,
but by the country in general. Far from
being entirely indebted for the consideration
which he enjoyed, to “the accident,” as the
Duchess termed it, which made him uncle to the
21Queen, his earnestness and steadiness, during
a long political life, had insured him universal
respect, heightened, in the minds of
those of the old school of English politics, by his
relationship to the great historian and advocate
of their party. There is a sort of reputation, a
description of influence, which consistency, whether
it be to the most approved or the most
unpopular opinions of the time, can alone purchase.
From the time that Lord Rochester, when
Mr. Hyde, had pleaded for his father before the
House of Commons, reconciling his filial love
with his public duty, he had held an even, and,
as far as the great changes in affairs would permit,
an unequivocal line of conduct. After the
bill against occasional Conformity was rejected,
Lord Rochester first began to evince that “deep discontent
with the Queen and her administration,”[18]
which secret jealousies, and a real difference of
sentiment had long been fostering in his mind.
In the previous year, he had, in anger, declined
the lieutenancy of Ireland, upon the Queen’s
urging him to go to that country, the affairs of
which required his presence. His resignation
was followed, in 1704, by that of Lord Nottingham,
who resigned the secretaryship upon the
Queen’s refusal to dismiss the Dukes of Devonshire
22and Somerset from the council. This step
on the part of Lord Nottingham was far more
important in its consequences to the future fortunes
of the Marlborough family, than they could,
at that moment, possibly have foretold. After a
month’s delay his place was filled up, and Harley,
the prudent, the conciliating, and moderate, but
aspiring Harley, succeeded to it; holding, at the
same time, the office of Speaker of the House of
Commons and that of Secretary of State—two
appointments that had hitherto never been assigned
to the same person.[19]
This preferment Harley owed chiefly to the
favour of Marlborough and Godolphin, who considered
him as a very proper person to manage
the House of Commons.[20] They knew his talents,
but they were not acquainted with the extent of
his ambition, nor with his actual sentiments.
Towards Marlborough, this able and celebrated
minister expressed, at this time, an ardent attachment,
and a lively concern in the recent loss
which the great general had sustained in the
death of Lord Blandford. “I will not,” he
says, in a letter to the Duke on that topic, “call
it your grace’s loss, but our common misfortune.
I do feel it, that a limb is torn off; therefore I
think, for the preservation of the residue, grief
23should be moderated: time, I know, is the best
physician in this case; but our necessities require
a quicker remedy.”[21]The Duchess, who must be regarded as the
mainspring of all political changes at this period,
had now inadvertently planted an enemy in the
heart of the citadel. Whilst her husband was
in Holland, distracted by contending factions
and corroding jealousies, which, to use his own
phrase, “made his life a burthen,” she had been
diligently exerting the faculties of her ingenious
mind to displace Nottingham, Seymour, and
Lord Jersey, and to effect an union between her
husband and the Whigs. Her efforts, like
female interference generally, embarrassed rather
than aided the Whigs, to whom she extended her
gracious aid. They rendered, also, the path of
her husband through the political mazes which
surrounded him, more perplexing. Although
the Whig party had encouraged Marlborough’s
favourite schemes for the subversion of the power
of France, neither he nor Godolphin desired to
throw themselves into the hands of a party to
whose measures they were from education averse.
It was the wish and intention of these able men
to act independently of party, and to promote
the introduction of statesmen of sound morals
24and of moderate views into the cabinet, without
regarding the political distinctions which proved
so inconvenient to those who solely desired the
advancement of the public good, and the benefit,
at home and abroad, of her Majesty’s interests.
The violence of the Tories, and their determination
to obtain a complete ascendency, frustrated
this well-considered line of conduct on the
part of Marlborough and his friend. Lord Rochester
had been supported by Nottingham, in his
opposition to that line of foreign policy which Marlborough
had most at heart. Lord Godolphin
had even, at one time, purposed to send in his
resignation; for he found that he and his friend
were losing the support of the Tories, without
gaining that of the Whigs. The Queen overwhelmed
the Lord Treasurer with reproaches
whenever he hinted at the necessity of conciliating
the Whigs. Godolphin, in despair,
despatched letters to the Hague, filled with
complaints to his friend. Marlborough, though
by no means in an enviable situation himself,
regarded that of Godolphin as still more pitiable.
“I have very little rest here,” he remarks, writing
from the camp; “but I should have less quiet of
mind, if I were obliged to be in your station.” “I
do from my heart pity you,” he says, in another
place, “and everybody that has to do with unreasonable
25people; for certainly (and who will
not join in the reflection?) it is much better to
row in the galleys than to have to do with such
as are very selfish, and misled by everybody that
speaks to them, which I believe is the case of the
author of your two letters.”
The Duchess was not a person to conciliate
differences, nor to soothe the irritated passions of
the two great men over whom she had an ascendency.
She delighted to show her controul over
the Queen, and vexed the weak spirit of Anne by
reading extracts from Marlborough’s letters, complaining
of the Tories. In particular, she failed
not to transmit to her Majesty certain hints which
Marlborough and Godolphin had thrown out of
their projected resignations. Good Queen Anne
then hastened to dispel such notions, and to reassure
her beloved Mr. and Mrs. Freeman, and
their friend and confidante Godolphin, who figured
in her familiar letters under the name of “Montgomery,”
of her unabated regard. Thus the aim
of the arrogant Duchess was answered.
The Earl of Jersey, who was suspected of
a close correspondence with the court of St.
Germains, of course seconded the opposition of
Rochester and Nottingham. The Duke of Buckingham,
Lord Privy Seal, was equally devoted to
what was termed the high church party, though
26not so reputed a partisan of the exiled family as
the weak, but dangerous, Lord Jersey. These
noblemen all united in controverting, by every
possible endeavour, the designs and propositions
of Marlborough.[22]
Whilst the fervour of politics was at its
height, the Queen was advised by her physicians
to go to Bath. It was singular that Lord Wharton
and Lord Somers were at the same time
ordered to go to that fashionable resort for the
recovery of their health. Lord Wharton, exhausted
by his parliamentary exertions, and
Lord Somers, frequently an invalid, were probably
not unwilling to avail themselves of this opportunity
of combining business with pleasure. The
public, indeed, regarded the whole as a scheme
among the physicians, and considered the Queen’s
illness as only a pretext for meeting these two
great Whig partisans on the neutral ground
which a place like Bath affords. Many of the
Tories who were in that city, insulted the Whigs
in public meetings and assemblies. The Whigs
returned the insult, nor did the Queen wholly
escape some annoyances, when it was understood
that she was willing to see Lord Somers. But
the placid Anne looked on these demonstrations
of party spirit with a smiling countenance,
and “hoped to extinguish all their party flames
27in the waters of the Bath.” Those praises of
her frugality, her constancy, her “English heart,”[23]
which she had been in the habit of hearing
from her subjects, were now no longer expressed;
and the Queen returned to London from
Bath, in all the miseries of unpopularity.
Lord Wharton, the veteran promoter of Whig
principles, and father of the eccentric and infamous
Duke of Wharton, had no sooner reached
Bath than he was challenged, upon the pretence of
affront, by a Mr. Dashwood, a hot young Tory,
who was desirous of stepping forward to signalise
himself in behalf of his party. Lord Wharton in
vain offered the young man such satisfaction as a
man of honour might give, without fighting; but
neither his age nor his infirmities appeased the
ardour of Dashwood, who insisted on a duel.
The parties met, fought, as was the custom,
with swords, and Dashwood was disarmed by
the old lord, who, in consideration of the youth
and zeal of his opponent, spared his life, and
even gave him the honour of his acquaintance.
But Mr. Dashwood, unable to sustain the reproaches
of the world for his cowardice and
rude fury in challenging so old a man, died
soon afterwards, it is said, through shame and
vexation.[24]
28Such were some of the effects of that political
rancour for which this free country has been,
and probably ever will be, remarkable. The
ladies of the time, it appears, were as zealous
in those days as they often prove in this more
enlightened age.
CHAPTER II.
29
Conduct of Lord Sunderland—Influence of the Duchess
understood at foreign courts—Anecdote of Charles the
Third of Spain.—1703–4.
Lord Sunderland, at this time on terms
of confidence with his mother-in-law, the
Duchess of Marlborough, was one of the most
active agents of the Whig party, in making overtures
to Marlborough and Godolphin. Of powerful
talents, although taunted by Swift with the
imputation “of knowing a book better by the
back than by the face,”[25] and of multiplying them
on his book-shelves without caring to read them,
Sunderland, or his politics, were never wholly acceptable
to Marlborough. Yet the Earl, though
a violent party politician, knew how, in circumstances
30sufficiently trying, to prove his sincerity,
and evince a real elevation of mind, by refusing
from the Queen, upon his office of secretary being
taken from him, a pension by way of compensation.
His celebrated answer, “that if he could
not have the honour to serve his country, he
would not plunder it,”[26] must have startled less
scrupulous politicians; and, possibly, it might
even sound strangely in our own days of boasted
disinterestedness and enlightenment.
The Duke of Marlborough, in reply to advances
made in behalf of the Whig party by
Lord Sunderland, made this memorable answer:
“that he hoped always to continue in the humour
that he was then in, that is, to be governed by
neither party, but to do what he should think
best for England, by which he should disoblige
both parties.”[27] Thus ended, for the present, the
negociation on the part of the Whigs.
The cabinet, therefore, continued to be composed
of mixed ingredients. The Duke persevered
steadily in that course which he deemed necessary,
as far as foreign policy was concerned,
to crush the reviving influence of the Pretender,
whose subsequent attempts to recover the
throne of his ancestors he plainly foresaw. From
this conviction, he regarded a continued good
31understanding with the Dutch to be of paramount
importance.[28]
“May God,” he says, writing to the Duchess,
“preserve me and my dearest love from seeing
this come to pass;” alluding to a reconciliation
with the French, and consequently with the Pretender
and his family, through the medium of
that nation; “but if we quarrel with the Dutch,”
he adds, “I fear it may happen.”[29]
The influence of the Duchess of Marlborough
at the court of Anne was now well understood by
the continental powers of Europe. When England,
this year, received a foreign potentate as
her guest, the Duchess was, of all her subjects,
the object peculiarly selected for distinction.
Charles, the second son of the Emperor of Austria,
having recently been proclaimed, at Vienna, King
of Spain, in opposition to the Duke of Anjou,
completed his visits to sundry courts in Germany,
whither he had repaired to seek a wife, by paying
his respects to Anne of England. He landed in
this country about Christmas, and immediately
despatched one of his attendants, Count Coloredo,
to Windsor, to inform the Queen of his arrival.
He soon, conducted by Marlborough, followed
32his messenger to Windsor, where Anne received
her royal ally with great courtesy, and entertained
him with a truly royal magnificence. All
ranks of people crowded to see the young monarch
dine with the Queen in public, and his deportment
and appearance were greatly admired
by the multitude, more especially by the fair sex,
whose national beauty was, on the other hand,
highly extolled by Charles. The Duchess of Marlborough,
though no longer young, still graced the
court which she controlled. It was her office to
hold the basin of water after dinner to the Queen,
for the royal hands to be dipped, after the ancient
fashion of the laver and ewer. Charles took the
basin from the fair Duchess’s hand, and, with the
gallantry of a young and well-bred man, held it to
the Queen; and in returning it to the Duchess,
he drew from his own finger a valuable ring,
and placed it on that of the stately Sarah. On
taking leave of the Queen, he received, as might
be expected, assurances of favour and support—a
promise that was not “made to the ear, and
broken to the hope,” but was fulfilled by supplies
of troops and money afterwards in Spain. During
the time of the King’s visit, open house was
kept by the Queen for his reception and that of his
retinue; and the nobility were not deficient in
33their wonted hospitality, and the Duke of Marlborough
was twice honoured by receiving the
King as his guest.[30]
It was two years after this visit that Charles
sent a letter of thanks for the assistance granted
him by the Queen against the French, which he
addressed to the Duchess of Marlborough, as
“the person most agreeable to her Majesty.”
The King might have added, as a partisan most
favourable to the aid afforded him, and most
inimical to the sway of France, which, by the
will of the late King of Spain, Charles the Second,
had been unjustly extended over the Spanish
monarchy.
Hitherto the achievements of Marlborough,
however admirable, and compassed as they were
with the loss of health and the destruction of
happiness, had not contributed to effect the main
objects of the war, in the manner which he had
anticipated. At home, the Tory, or, as some
historians of the day term it, the French faction,
disseminated the notion that Marlborough and
his party were squandering away the resources
of the kingdom, in fruitless attempts against the
wealthy and powerful sovereign of France. To
combat his political foes, an union was effected
between Lord Somers and Mr. Harley; and
34Godolphin, by the directions of Marlborough,
endeavoured by every possible means to strengthen
the moderate party in both Houses of Parliament.[31]
The Duchess attacked the Queen with
never-ending counsels and arguments; but all
these exertions would possibly have been fruitless,
had it not pleased Providence to bless the
arms of Marlborough with signal success during
the ensuing year.
“The Whigs,” as the Duchess observed, “did
indeed begin to be favoured, and with good reason.[32]
For when they saw that the Duke of
Marlborough prosecuted the common cause
against the French with so much diligence and
sincerity, they forgot their resentments for the
partiality previously shown by him to their opponents,
and extolled his feats with as much
fervour as the Tories decried his efforts.”
Marlborough, in the spring of the year 1704,
embarked for Holland, with designs kept rigidly
secret, embracing schemes of a greater magnitude
than he had hitherto hoped to execute, and
sanguine anticipations which were more than
realised. The Duchess was left to combat at
home the prepossessions of her royal mistress,
as well as to repel the frequent projects which
Marlborough, dispirited and home-sick, formed
35of retiring. He had, after the last campaign,
quitted the continent with that intention; but,
on reflection, a sincere and earnest desire to complete
the great work which he had begun, and,
possibly, the counsels of Godolphin and of the
Duchess, who were both averse from his relinquishing
his command, had prevailed over feelings
of disappointment and chagrin.
Whilst affairs were in this position, the Tories
made one expiring effort for power, by reviving
the bill against occasional conformity. Until
this time, the hopes of this ever vigorous and
sanguine party had been maintained by the preference
of the sovereign, plainly manifested in the
creation of four Tory peers, after the last prorogation
of Parliament.[33] This had proved the more
alarming, since it had been hinted that an exercise
of prerogative in the Upper House was the
only means of subverting the opposition of the
Lords to the bill.
The discovery of what was called the Scotch
plot, however, checked materially the triumph of
those who secretly favoured the claims of the
Pretender. This famous conspiracy, which had
for its object the interests of the Jacobite faction,
produced a more effectual change in the sentiments
of the Queen, and made her more distrustful
36of her favourite partisans, than all the services
of Marlborough, or the laborious and steady
duty of Godolphin, or even the able arguments
of the Duchess, could possibly have rendered her.
Yet, still Anne secretly favoured the high
church party; and it was with reluctance that
she abstained from giving to the last effort for
passing the bill against occasional conformity, her
decided countenance.
The measure was introduced by a manœuvre,
and it was further designed to carry it by a stratagem.
By the contrivance of Lord Nottingham,
it was announced in the Gazette, without Lord
Godolphin’s knowledge or concurrence.[34] “It
was resolved,” says the Duchess, “to tack the
occasional conformity bill to the money bill, a
resolution which showed the spirit of the party in
its true light.”[35] The Queen, notwithstanding
that the Prince of Denmark had been prevailed
upon not to vote on the question, still had her
predilections in favour of the measure, greatly to
the irritation of the proud spirit which could not
overcome those deeply-seated notions.
“I must own to you,” observes Anne, writing to
the Duchess, “that I never cared to mention anything
on this subject to you, because I knew you
would not be of my mind; but since you have
37given me this occasion, I can’t forbear saying,
that I see nothing like persecution in this bill.”
“I am in hopes,” she adds, “I shall have one
look of you before you go to St. Albans, and
therefore will say no more now, but will answer
your letter more at large some other time; and
only promise my dear Mrs. Freeman, faithfully,
I will read the book she sent me, and never let
difference of opinion hinder us from living together
as we used to do. Nothing shall ever
alter your poor, unfortunate, faithful Morley, who
will live and die, with all truth and tenderness,
yours.”[36]
There is every reason to suppose that the
opinions of the Duchess upon the subject of nonconformity
coincided with those of Bishop Burnet,
who was the most energetic champion of the
Whigs on this occasion. Dr. Burnet considered
that measure as infringing on the principles of
toleration which he upheld; he represented it
as a design of the Jacobites, to raise such dissensions
as might impede the progress of the war.
He has declared, in a lively passage of his celebrated
history, that it was his resolution never to
be silent when the subject should be debated;
“for I have looked,” he adds, “on liberty of
conscience as one of the rights of human nature,
38antecedent to society, which no man can give up,
because it was not in his own power: and our
Saviour’s rule, of doing as we would be done by,
seemed to be a very express decision to all men
who would lay the matter home to their own
conscience, and judge as they would willingly be
judged by others.”[37]
It would be agreeable to conclude that the
Duchess of Marlborough acted on principles as
high as those which the bishop here maintains.
But it must be allowed that her general conduct
would not induce the supposition. The cherished
satisfaction of triumphing over her political adversaries,
and of exhibiting the Queen enchained
under her influence, if not convinced by her arguments,
must be regarded as the source of the steady
warfare which she maintained against the predilections
of her sovereign.
Anne wrote in a strain of humility, which proceeded
from the politeness natural to her, and
which impelled her to support the assumed character
of an equal, even when the prejudices of
the two friends came into collision, had ignited,
and caused an explosion.
“I am sure,” she writes, “nobody shall endeavour
more to promote it (union) than your
poor, unfortunate, faithful Morley, who doth not
39at all doubt of your truth and sincerity to her,
and hopes her not agreeing in everything you say
will not be imputed to want of value, esteem, or
tender kindness for my dear Mrs. Freeman, it
being impossible for anybody to be more sincerely
another’s than I am yours.
“I am very sorry you should forbear writing
upon the apprehension of your letters being
troublesome, since you know very well they are
not, nor ever can be so, but the contrary, to your
poor, unfortunate, faithful Morley. Upon what
my dear Mrs. Freeman says again concerning
the address, I have looked it over again, and
cannot for my life see one can put any other interpretation
upon that word pressures, than what
I have done already. As to my saying the church
was in some danger in the late reign, I cannot
alter my opinion; for though there was no violent
thing done, everybody that will speak impartially
must own that everything was leaning towards
the Whigs, and whenever that is, I shall think the
church beginning to be in danger.”[38]
The bill was again, by a large majority, rejected,
and the Queen and Prince George became,
in consequence, extremely unpopular with the
high church party, for the coolness with which
40they had abstained from using their influence on
this second occasion.[39]
But the triumph of the Whig party was now
fast approaching. Marlborough, after passing
the winter in military preparations proportioned
to the public danger, had, as we have seen, embarked
for Holland; “but few,” says Cunningham,
“perceived that England was about to unite
her forces to those of Germany.”
The progress of the great general through the
territories of Cologne to Colburg, where he left a
camp; his march up the Rhine, on which he carried
his sick and wearied in boats between the two
armies, marching on either side of the “abounding
river;” his encampment on a vast plain, beyond
Andernach, and his rapid progress to the
Danube, are events which demand almost a
separate and distinct history, to relate them as
they merit. It was in this campaign that the
gallant Eugene passed high compliments on the
spirit and deportment of the British army, and
requested to serve under the illustrious Marlborough
as a volunteer. It was here that the
mutual partiality of these two brave men began,
and that a friendship was contracted between
them, which proved no less delightful to themselves
41than important to the interests of the
war.
The march of the allied troops to Schellenberg,
and the encampment around its church,
on a hill, commanding a plain, bounded by the
Danube, followed this memorable meeting. The
battle of Blenheim, which annihilated the ascendency
of France, was the glorious climax of
a series of less important, yet brilliant engagements.
It destroyed, at the same time, the influence
of that party in our own country, who
had prophesied, not many weeks before the
important victory, that all would end fatally
for Holland and for England. Sir Edward
Seymour, the leader of the opposition in the
House of Commons, inveighed against Marlborough,
before the decisive action, and whilst
he lay before Schellenberg, in the bitterest terms,
and even threatened the Duke with a severe
censure of Parliament for marching his army to
the Danube.
Nor was the arrogant but able Seymour a solitary
railer against the great deliverer of his
country. There was a host of malcontents who
accused Marlborough of exceeding his commission,
and of consulting his private interests in
the steps which he had taken; and a clamour
was raised, that the British army was led away to
42slaughter, in order to serve the purposes of a
single individual.
The Duchess, in her narrative, refers to the
battle of Blenheim in one short paragraph only,
and that in reference to its effect upon the state
of politics in England.
“The church, in the meanwhile, it must be
confessed,” she writes, “was in a deplorable
condition,—the Earls of Rochester, Jersey, and
Nottingham, and the Whigs, coming into favour.”
Great were the exertions used to reanimate
the party, and also to resume the great
measure against non-conformists. “But it happened,”
says the Duchess, “that my Lord
Marlborough, in the summer before the Parliament
met, gained the battle of Blenheim. This
was an unfortunate accident; and, by the visible
dissatisfaction of some people on the news of it,
one would have imagined that, instead of beating
the French, he had beat the church.”
It might be supposed that, from this cool and
almost flippant mention of an event in which
her warmest affections ought to have been
interested, the Duchess was an indifferent
witness of those stirring and important scenes
in which John Duke of Marlborough played a
conspicuous part, and in which all Europe,
figuratively speaking, participated. But, whatever
43were her failings, the unpardonable fault of
not appreciating him; of not sharing in his lofty
hopes nor suffering in his anxieties; of not prizing
his safety, of not being elevated with an honest
pride at his success,—so great a deficiency in all
that is healthy in moral or intellectual condition,
could not be imputed to this haughty and capricious,
but not heartless, woman. Yet, notwithstanding
this vindication of the Duchess’s character,
she had parted from her husband (will it be
believed?) in anger. Amid the dangers and difficulties
to which Marlborough was exposed, he
carried with him the remembrance of other annoyances,
which, whilst it neither abated his ardour nor
weakened his exertions for the great cause, added
to the pressure of a mind overcharged, and of
faculties overtasked, a sense of chagrin which
must have aggravated every other care.
The stings which domestic quarrels always inflict,
and which sometimes can never, by any
gentle arts, be removed, were still poignant when
the Duke quitted England for the Hague. Repentance
in violent but generous tempers quickly
succeeds the indulgence of the angry taunt, or
bitter sarcasm; and when absence had cooled
down those ebullitions of irritability, which wanted,
perhaps, the accustomed object to vent themselves
upon, the Duchess appears to have suffered her
44better feelings to prevail, and to have experienced
sincere regret that she had parted unkindly, and
perhaps for ever, from him whose life was now
exposed to every possible risk, whilst she sat at
home in safety. Her restless, but not callous
mind began to be possessed with nobler resolutions
than, as it seems from his reply, the Duke
ever anticipated from his wife. Soon after his
departure, she wrote to offer to join him, to
share in the anxieties, and even in the dangers, to
which he was exposed. To accede to the request
was impracticable; but it gratified the warm and
generous heart of Marlborough to know that the
Duchess, of whose affection he seems never to
have been fully assured, should wish to resign for
him the attractions of ease and safety, and the
luxuries of home. His letter to her, in reply to
this offer, is too beautiful to be abridged.[40]
“Hague, April 24–May 5.
“Your letter of the 15th came to me but this
minute. My Lord Treasurer’s letter, in which it
was enclosed, by some mistake was sent to Amsterdam.
I would not for anything in my power
it had been lost; for it is so very kind, that I
would in return lose a thousand lives, if I had
them, to make you happy. Before I sat down to
45write this letter, I took yours that you wrote at
Harwich out of my strong box, and have burnt
it; but, if you will give me leave, it will be a
great pleasure to me to have it in my power to
read this dear, dear letter often, and that it may
be found in my strong box when I am dead. I
do this minute love you better than I ever did in
my life before. This letter of yours has made
me so happy, that I do from my soul wish we
could retire, and not be blamed. What you propose
as to coming over, I should be extremely
pleased with; for your letter has so transported
me, that I think you would be happier in being
here than where you are; although I should not
be able to see you often. But you will see, by
my last letter as well as this, that what you desire
is impossible, for I am going up into Germany,
where it would be impossible for you to follow
me; but love me as you do now, and no hurt
can follow me. You have by this kindness preserved
my quiet, and I believe my life; for, till I
had this letter, I have been very indifferent of
what should become of myself. I have pressed
this business of carrying an army into Germany,
in order to leave a good name behind me, wishing
for nothing else but good success. I shall
now add that of having a long life, that I may
be happy with you.”
46Upon the entreaty being renewed in the summer,
Marlborough again refused;[41] for he was
at that time on his march to the Danube, and,
in case of an unfortunate issue to his projects,
he had no place, as he assured the Duchess, to
which he could send her for safety.
“I take it extremely kind,” he writes, “that
you persist in desiring to come to me; but I am
sure, when you consider that three days hence
will be a month, and that we shall be a fortnight
longer before we shall get to the Danube, so that
you could hardly get to me, and back again to
Holland, before it would be time to return to
England. Besides, my dear soul, how could I be
at ease? for if we should not have good success,
I could not put you in any place where you
could be safe.”[42]
The courageous character of the Duchess was
fully requisite to sustain her during the events of
the ensuing months of this memorable summer.
August drew on, and the crisis of the war approached.
We know not how she was supported
through anxieties multiplied by rumour, and embittered
by the slanderous accusations of the
envious; but the Duke her husband had one
resource, which never failed—he trusted in Providence.
Whilst weaker minds vainly confide in their
47own strength, or in the effect of circumstances,
which are as reeds driven to and fro by a mighty
wind, the great Marlborough, humbling himself
before his supreme Creator, had recourse to prayer.
Previous to the engagement which crowned his
fame, he received the holy sacrament, and “devoted
himself to the Almighty Ruler, and Lord
of Hosts,” whom it might please to sustain him
in the hour of battle, or to receive him into
everlasting peace if he fell.[43] There are those
who will justly think that the pious ordinances
of our religion were profaned by the
cause of bloodshed; and that an all-merciful
Father would look down with displeasure upon
the deliberate destruction of thousands, even
when projected with the purest and most patriotic
motives. The better sense of our own
peaceful times has brought us to a due conviction
of the wickedness of all war not defensive:
that in which Marlborough was engaged may,
nevertheless, be considered to have borne that
character.
When the great victory was won, Marlborough’s
first thoughts were of the Queen, of the
people, of his wife. After a battle which lasted
five hours, having been himself sixteen hours
on horseback, and whilst still in pursuit of the
48enemy, Marlborough tore a leaf from his pocket-book,
and with a black-lead pencil wrote these
hasty lines:
“August 13, 1704.
“I have not time to say more, but to beg you
will give my duty to the Queen, and let her
know that her army has had a glorious victory.
M. Tallard and the other generals are in my
coach,[44] and I am following the rest. The bearer,
my aide-de-camp, will give her an account of
what has passed. I shall do it in a day or two
by another more at large.
“Marlborough.”
The battle of Blenheim silenced everything but
acclamations of joy and gratitude. The Duke,
after various other successes, returned to England
on the fourteenth of December, 1704, worn out
with hardships, rather than elated with success.
Throughout the whole of the campaign, his coolness
had been combined with an ardent courage,
which never lost sight, for an instant, of the
interests of humanity, in so far as the great
lessons of forbearance handed down to us can be
united with the profession of arms. His modesty,
as he returned, bringing with him as a prisoner
49the famous Marshal Tallard, was no less remarkable.
Abroad, he was treated as a prince, and
he consented to wear the character for the benefit
of that cause which he espoused, and for the
honour of those allies whom he represented; but,
on returning home, Marlborough became again
the subject, the least obtrusive of men; and, “in
point of courtesy,” on an equal footing with the
lowest in England.[45]
This note was written on a slip of paper torn
from a memorandum-book; it had probably been
taken from some commissary’s bill, as it was
written, along with the important intelligence, on
a list of tavern expenses, and an entry of bread
furnished to the troops. The precious despatch is
preserved in the archives of Blenheim. Colonel
Parker, who carried it to the Queen, requested,
instead of the usual donation of five hundred
pounds, to be honoured by the gift of her Majesty’s
picture. The Queen granted the permission,
and presented him with her miniature;
and the gallant officer chose to be represented
himself, by the pencil of Kneller, as wearing the
miniature, with the despatch in his hand, and
the battle in the back-ground.[46]
After innumerable honours paid to the victorious
50general, and, among others, a combat
of wild beasts for his entertainment at Berlin,[47]
the Duke was able to return to his home,
where all his real happiness was centered. He
had owned, in one of his letters from Weissemberg,
that his heart ached at the anticipation
of a journey of eight hundred miles, before
he could reach the Hague: and innumerable
obstacles delayed his return until the fourth
of December, when the wearied general sailed
up the Thames in one of the royal yachts,
landed at Whitehall stairs, and proceeded the
same afternoon to St. James’s, where he was
graciously received by the Queen and Prince
George.[48] The French prisoners, whom he was
said by his political enemies to have brought for
the purpose of adorning his triumph, were sent
to Nottingham, for the ministry did not venture
to trust these foreigners at Oxford this year; a
singular, and as some persons thought, an indecorous
respect and attention having been shown
two years before, by the Oxonians, to some
French prisoners of war who were quartered in
their city.[49]
This was a proud era in the life of the Duchess
of Marlborough. The year 1705 began with
splendid processions, in which she and her husband
51acted a conspicuous part. On the third of
January the trophies reaped in the battle of
Blenheim were removed from their first place of
deposit, the Tower, to Westminster Hall. Companies
of horse and foot-guards led the way; persons
of rank were intermixed with the troops, and
a hundred and twenty-eight pikemen, each bearing
a standard, closed the triumphal procession.
The Queen viewed the whole from the windows
of the Lord Fitzharding’s lodgings in the palace,
attended by her favourite, who heard, in the
triumphant acclamations of the excited multitude,
signals of destruction, ominous not only to
our foreign foes, but presaging the downfal of
political party opposed to her at home.
A grand entertainment at the city, in the
Goldsmiths’-hall, succeeded this interesting display.
Marlborough was conveyed to the banquet
in one of the royal carriages, and gazed
upon with curiosity and enthusiasm by the
multitude. At Templebar he was received by
the city marshals with the usual ceremonies.[50]
On the eleventh of the same month, the
House of Commons unanimously agreed to
send up an address to the Queen, humbly desiring
that she would graciously be pleased to
consider of some proper means to perpetuate the
52memory of those services which had been performed
by the Duke of Marlborough.[51]
The Queen, having returned an answer that
she would give the subject her consideration, on
the seventeenth sent a message to the House, acquainting
the members that she did incline to
grant the interest of the crown in the honour
and manor of Woodstock, and hundred of Wootton,
to the Duke of Marlborough and his heirs;
and desired the assistance of the House on this extraordinary
occasion.
The lieutenancy and rangerships of the Park
of Woodstock and Wootton, with the rent and
profits of the manor and hundreds, having
been already granted for two lives, her Majesty
thought proper that the encumbrance should be
cleared.
In compliance with her Majesty’s wishes, a bill
was immediately brought in and passed, enabling
her to carry into effect both these propositions; and
the ancient royal domain of Woodstock, under
the illustrious name of Blenheim, became the
possession of the Duke of Marlborough and his
heirs, upon the tribute of “a standard, or colours,
with three flowers-de-luce painted on them, for
all manner of rent, services,” &c., to be presented
53annually, on the second of August, to the Queen,
her heirs and successors.[52]
This munificent reward was increased soon afterwards
by an order from the Queen to the Board
of Works, to build, at the royal expense, a palace,
which was to be entitled the Castle of Blenheim.
A model of this edifice was framed for the approbation
of the Queen, and the work begun under
the superintendence of the celebrated John Vanburgh,
then considered to be one of the most able
architects of his time.
The important results of the battle of Blenheim
could not be disputed, even by the bitterest
enemies of Marlborough. The French, on their
part, attached such direful effects on their
country to this victory, that a proclamation was
published in France, making it unlawful to speak
of it;[53] nor could its consequences be concealed
from those who would have been most desirous
not to perceive them. “The power of France was,”
says the Duchess, “broken by it to a great degree,
and the liberties and peace of Europe were
in a fair way to be established on firm and lasting
foundations.”[54] Yet scandalous reports were,
nevertheless, circulated respecting Marlborough,
and the ungrateful world scrupled not still to
54say that he carried on the war for his own private
advantage, more especially for the accumulation
of wealth, to which he was generally supposed to
be addicted. But the Duke, although invited by
his friends to spend more freely the vast fortune
which he was yearly accumulating, adhered to
those habits of frugality for which he had been
remarkable even in his youth, and which, evincing
an orderly mind, may be supposed to have
conduced to the success of his plans through life.
CHAPTER III.
55
Complete triumph of the Whigs—Attempts made to bring
Lord Sunderland into the Cabinet—Scheme for insuring
the Hanoverian succession—The Queen’s resentment at
that measure.—1705.
The gradual removal of the Tory party from the
offices of state followed the brilliant successes of
the Duke’s arms. The privy seal was taken from
the Duke of Buckingham; and the Duchess also
prevailed on the Queen to remove from his office
Sir Nathan Wright, Lord Chancellor, a man who
was obnoxious to all parties, and of “no use to
the Crown.” The celebrated Lord Cowper, distinguished
for his abilities and integrity, was appointed
his successor.
Lord Somers, “seeing,” says Cunningham,
“that the Whigs were now united to the court,
and fearing lest the principles of our ancestors
should be subverted,” retired from all public employments;
56yet still his powerful mind swayed one
of a less solid character. Lord Sunderland, an able,
but violent, and unpopular man, who would listen
to no arguments but to those of Somers, being
in the prime of life, and a man of great vigilance
and activity,[55] was considered by the more determined
Whigs, and by the Duchess of Marlborough
in particular, as qualified to play a leading
part in the royal councils. His opinions were
no less objectionable to the nation in general
than to the Queen in particular; and she long
resisted the persuasions of her favourite, as well
as of the ministry, now wholly Whig, to appoint
this nobleman one of her secretaries of state in
the room of Sir Charles Hedges. The point was
yet undecided, when a measure was adopted by
the Tory faction, which drove her Majesty to the
resolution of throwing herself entirely into the
hands of the Whigs.
After the bill against occasional conformity
had repeatedly failed, a new scheme was, as it
were in desperation, suggested. The parliament,
which met in 1705, proved to be chiefly composed
of Whigs, or of those moderate and skilful
politicians, to whom it was convenient to appear
to belong to that party. It was now that a plan
was formed for inviting into England the Princess
57Sophia, Electress Dowager of Hanover, on whom
the succession of the crown had been already
settled.
Different motives have been ascribed for the
origin of this proceeding. The Queen’s private
feelings were vehemently opposed to such a measure.
Nothing could offend her more than any
great degree of respect offered to her successor;
and her good wishes were with sufficient reason
supposed really to centre in another quarter.
The kindly-tempered Anne had never forgotten
that she had involuntarily injured her brother.
The Hanoverian succession could not, therefore,
be secured with any hope of pleasing her; and
it was supposed rather to be a snare to her ministry,
who, if they promoted it, would incur for
ever the royal displeasure. The Duchess of
Marlborough, observing in which direction her
mistress’s affections lay, nevertheless had repeatedly
urged her to invite over the Electress, or, at
any rate, the young Prince of Hanover, afterwards
George the First, in order that he might live in
this country as her son; but to this proposal her
Majesty never would listen for an instant.[56]
The party who brought this measure into parliament,
headed by Lord Rochester and Lord
Nottingham, neither expected, nor even wished,
58it was said, to carry their motion, but either to
embroil the Whigs with the Queen, or to draw
the enmity of the bulk of the nation upon that
party for opposing the scheme; for the Electress,
although a Lutheran, was regarded as the protectress
of the Protestant church; and the safety
of the church was at that time dearer to the
populace of England than any other political
consideration whatsoever.
The stratagem, for such it must be considered,
failed entirely. It did more, it raised the Whigs
to a height, which, but for the infatuation of
their enemies, they would never, during the reign
of Anne, have attained. Notwithstanding that, in
voting against the invitation to the Electress,
they departed from their principles, the Whigs,
upon the plea that the measure was “neither
safe nor reasonable,” contrived to keep their
credit with the nation. They were split, nevertheless,
into factions, upon this delicate subject; but
those who were termed “Court Whigs” were
zealous in their opposition to the proposed invitation.[57]
“I know, indeed,” says the Duchess, “that
my Lord Godolphin, and other great men, were
much reflected upon by some well-disposed persons,
for not laying hold of this opportunity,
59which the Tories put into their hands, of more
effectually securing the succession to the crown
in the House of Hanover. But those of the
Whigs whose anger against the minister was
raised on this account, little knew how impracticable
the project of invitation was, and that the
attempt would have only served to make the
Queen discard her ministry, to the ruin of the
common cause of these kingdoms, and of all
Europe. I had often tried her Majesty upon
this subject; and when I found that she would
not hear of the immediate successor coming over,
had pressed her that she would at least invite
hither the young Prince of Hanover, who was
not to be her immediate successor, and that she
would let him live here as her son; but her Majesty
would listen to no proposal of this kind in
any shape whatever.”
The Queen, upon this occasion, gave the first
indications of anything like a real reconciliation
to the Whig party.[58] Those in the houses of
parliament, and there were many, who were
zealously attached to the Pretender, and abjured
him only in order better to serve him,[59] were infinitely
less obnoxious to her than the politicians
who dared to propose planting her extolled successor
perpetually before her eyes. Stronger
60minds than that which Anne possessed would
have shrunk from such a trial of temper. She
was childless, and no longer young; and perhaps
the determination manifested by this proposal to
ruin the hopes of her nephew aggravated her resentment.
Her self-love was deeply wounded.
For though she was not, even then, as the
Duchess expressed it, inwardly converted to the
Whigs, neither by all that her favourite had been
able to say, nor even “by the mad conduct of the
tacking Tories,” to repeat language which must
be readily appropriated by those who know the
Duchess’s style,—yet their conduct in the invitation
occasioned a change in her sentiments, which
an insult from one whom she had formerly regarded
with kindly prepossessions completed.
“She had been present,” says the Duchess,
“at the debates in the House of Lords upon that
subject, and had heard the Duke of Buckingham
treat her with great disrespect, urging, as an
argument for inviting over the Princess Sophia,
that the Queen might live till she did not know
what she did, and be like a child in the hands
of others; and a great deal to the same effect.
Such rude treatment from the Tories, and the
zeal and success of the Whigs in opposing a motion
so extremely disagreeable to her, occasioned
her to write to me in the following terms.”
61“I believe dear Mrs. Freeman and I shall
not disagree as we have formerly done; for I am
sensible of the services those people have done
me, that you have a good opinion of, and will
countenance them, and am thoroughly convinced
of the malice and insolence of them you have
always been speaking against.”
The insolent remark of Buckingham was
armed with a sting which few females could
endure with composure. The Electress Sophia,
who was to be the safeguard of the people
in Anne’s dotage, was seventy-six years of
age. The Queen had gone to the gallery of
the house with a far different expectation than
that of hearing; observations so calculated to
wound her nicest feelings. She had hoped by
her presence to restrain the violence of language,
which she had on a former occasion checked by
her royal presence; but she had not expected
that the heat of argument would be mingled up
with insinuations so audacious, which, though
pointed at the Duchess of Marlborough, were most
insulting to herself. She had indulged a desire to
hear this celebrated argument, and to judge in
person who were most her friends on this occasion;
and she was painfully chastised for her
curiosity.[60] This, and other circumstances, produced
62that acknowledgment which the “dear Mrs.
Freeman,” to whom it was addressed, treasured
up and reported.[61]
The Whigs lost both character and consistency,
whilst they gained court favour, by their opposition
to the “invitation” projected. The appointment
of Lord Sunderland, so earnestly desired by the
Duchess in opposition to her husband, was not
calculated to recover their popularity. When it
did take place, the event justified the predictions
of his enemies, and the apprehensions of his
friends. It was not long before he began to
dictate to the poor Queen, who was tolerably
inured to that sort of treatment, but who did
not expect it from his lordship. He raised
contentions among the nobility, and disgraced
himself and his station by an indifference to
moral character in those whom he took to be
his associates. The old Whigs, Lord Somers
among them, predicted that grievous confusion
would accrue in consequence of the boldness
and inexperience of this rash and scheming
politician.[62]
There was another young satellite of the Lord
Treasurer’s, whom the old-fashioned Whigs
dreaded and detested. This was Mr. James
63Craggs, an early favourite of the Duke of Marlborough,
and now a rising star on the political
hemisphere. But Harley stood on a more firm
footing than any of the courtiers who dreaded,
or who flattered, the still powerful Duchess of
Marlborough. Her influence and her arrogance
were now at their climax. It is said that, with one
glance of her eye, she banished from the royal presence
a Scottish gentleman, Mr. James Johnson, who
came to Hampton Court to treat with the Queen on
the affairs of his country.[63] And, indeed, Harley
in vain endeavoured to ingratiate himself in her
favour. He dreaded the violent temper and influence
of that “busy woman,” as she was called;
he knew that it had been exercised to the ruin of
others, and that it might affect his prospects.
Few persons understood the art of adapting his
conversation to certain ends so well as the discerning,
artful, and accomplished Harley; few
persons better understood the value of appearances.
Although educated in the Presbyterian
faith, he carefully avoided an exclusive preference
to sectarianism, as a barrier to political advancement;
and, piqued at the indifference of the liberal
party which he had originally espoused, he adhered
to that which was most likely to insure
lasting popularity—the high church party. Essentially
64a worldly man, Harley, nevertheless, failed
not to have a clergyman at his dinner-table every
Sunday, and, with characteristic temporising,
selected his weekly clerical visitants alternately
from the Episcopalian and Presbyterian faith,[64]—his
family generally following the latter persuasion.
It was Harley’s unsuccessful aim, at
this time, to ingratiate himself with the Duchess
of Marlborough, and to gain her over to his
interests. Deeply versed in literature, and a
patron of learning, it might have been supposed
that the lettered, the polite, the liberal Harley,
could have found means to gain the good-will of
one who knew well how to estimate his talents,
and to prize the deference which he paid to her
ascendant star. The Duchess, however, was not
to be blinded or misled by flattery, which she
expected as her due, and which she did not think
entitled to any degree of gratitude on her part. To
all Harley’s civilities she could scarcely be prevailed
upon to return a civil answer.[65] The
“diverting stories of the town,” with which he
afterwards solaced the Queen’s retirement, when
Mrs. Masham had superseded the lofty Sarah,[66]
were condemned to remain untold, whilst the
Duchess frowned on all he said. “She had an
65aversion to him,” says a contemporary historian,
“and with a haughty air despised all that gentleman’s
civilities, though he had never discontinued
his endeavours, by the most obliging
efforts, and all the good offices in his power, to
gain her friendship; but she, without any concern,
rode all about the town triumphant; sometimes
to one lady, sometimes to another; and
sometimes she would visit Lord Halifax, who,
in compliance with the humour of the times, was
wont to appease that lady’s spirit with concerts
of music, and poems, and private suppers, and
entertainments, for all of which he was well
qualified by the natural ease and politeness of
his manners.”[67]
The causes of the Duchess’s aversion to Harley
are fully disclosed in her “Vindication.” The
minister who afterwards effected her downfal
had been promoted by Marlborough and Godolphin,
who often saw with different eyes to those
with which the Duchess viewed the map which
lay before her, and on which she traced her
future course. Her penetrating glance detected the
deep art, the well-digested designs which lay beneath
the moderation and civility of Harley.
But she had a more particular source of enmity
towards Harley, which was that minister’s
66patronage of Sir Charles Hedges, into whose
post it was her design, or rather determination,
to introduce her son-in-law Sunderland.
The Queen had a reluctance to part with Sir
Charles Hedges, and was assisted by Harley in
raising obstacles to the change in the cabinet
which the Duchess desired. The predominating
Whig party aided the Duchess, and, as she relates,
“after the services they had done, and the
assurances the Queen had given them, thought it
reasonable to expect that one of the secretaries at
least should be such a man as they could place a
confidence in. They believed,” adds the Duchess,
“they might trust my Lord Sunderland; and
though they did not think him the properest man
for the post, yet, being my Lord Marlborough’s
son-in-law, they chose to recommend him to her
Majesty, because, as they expressed themselves to
me, they imagined it was driving the nail that
would go.”[68]
Marlborough and Godolphin, notwithstanding
the near connexion of both with Lord
Sunderland, were adverse, nevertheless, to his appointment.
Sunderland was not only conceited
and headstrong, but he was unpopular from a rash
and unbecoming practice of running down Britain,
its customs and institutions, laws and rights,
67and maintaining the superiority of other countries.
The manners of this young nobleman
were harsh, and his temper ungovernable. He
was little adapted to conciliate the favour of a
female sovereign; more especially when he came
forward in direct contrast with the bland and
accessible Harley, who did not consider it beneath
him to promote courtly gossip for the Queen’s
amusement. The Duchess, however, with less
judgment than might have been expected, urged
strongly and incessantly the appointment of her
son-in-law; and was astonished that the Queen
should be reluctant to promote the son-in-law of
Marlborough, the hero not only of Blenheim, but
of Ramilies, where a victory was gained whilst
yet this matter was in suspense.[69] She urged her
Majesty by letter not to think that she could
continue to carry on the government with so
much partiality to “one sort of men, and so
much discouragement to others.”
The Queen, it seems, had taken some offence
at the freedom of a former letter, for the Duchess
thus expostulated with her Majesty in reference
to that epistle.[70]
“By the letter I had from your Majesty this
morning, and the great weight you put upon the
difference betwixt the word notion and nation in
68my letter, I am only made sensible (as by many
other things) that you were in a great disposition
to complain of me, since to this moment I cannot
for my life see any essential difference betwixt
those two words as to the sense of my letter, the
true meaning of which was only to let your Majesty
know, with that faithfulness and concern
which I ever had for your service, that it was not
possible for you to carry on your government
much longer with so much partiality to one sort
of men, though they lose no occasion of disserving
you, and of showing the greatest inveteracy
against my Lord Marlborough and my Lord
Treasurer; and so much discouragement to
others, who, even after great disobligations, have
taken several opportunities to show their firmness
to your Majesty’s interest, and their zeal to support
you.”
She proceeded to point out to the Queen, that
if the Lord Treasurer and Marlborough found it
impossible to carry on the government, and were
to retire from it, her Majesty would find herself
in the hands of a very violent party, who, she declared,
would have “very little mercy,” or “even
humanity,” for her Majesty.
The result proved the truth of this prediction;
and when, some years afterwards, the Queen,
harassed and intimidated by turns, sank under
69the pressure, not of public business, but of party
rancour, the value and good sense of the Duchess’s
warnings became manifest.
“Whereas,” adds the plain-spoken favourite,
“you might prevent all these misfortunes by giving
my Lord Treasurer and my Lord Marlborough
(whom you may so safely trust) leave to propose
those things to you which they know and can
judge to be absolutely necessary for your service,
which will put it in their power to influence
those who have given you proofs both of their
being able to serve you, and of their desiring to
make you great and happy. But rather than
your Majesty will employ a party-man, as you
are pleased to call Lord Sunderland, you will
put all things in confusion; and at the same time
that you say this, you employ Sir C. Hedges,
who is against you, only that he has voted in
remarkable things, that he might keep his place;
and he did so in the last King’s time, till at last,
when everybody saw that he was dying, and he
could lose nothing by differing with that court;
but formerly he voted with those men, the enemies
to the government, called Whigs; and if he
had not been a party-man, how could he have
been a secretary of state, when all your councils
were influenced by my Lord Rochester, Lord
Nott, Sir Edward Seymour, and about six or
70seven just such men, that call themselves the
heroes of the church?”
The anathemas of the Duchess were not without
effect. Sir Charles Hedges, dismayed at the
vigorous opposition set up against him, deemed
it, eventually, more prudent to retire, than to be
turned out of his post; and, in the winter of
1706, Lord Sunderland was appointed to succeed
him.[71]
Queen Anne had now thrown herself, to all appearance,
wholly into the hands of the Whig
party, who, from her childhood, had appeared to
her to be her natural enemies. Yet still she
cherished a secret partiality to her early counsellors,
and exhibited a reluctance to consult with
her ministers on any promotions in the church.
“The first artifice of those counsellors was,”
says the Duchess,[72] “to instil into the Queen
notions of the high prerogative of acting without
her ministers, and, as they expressed it, of being
Queen indeed. And the nomination of persons to
bishoprics, against the judgment and remonstrances
of her ministers, being what they knew
her genius would fall in with more readily than
with anything else they could propose, they
began with that; and they took care that those
remonstrances should be interpreted by the world,
71and presented by herself, as hard usage, a denial
of common civility, and even the making her no
Queen.” Such is the account given by this
violent partisan of the secret power by which her
friends were finally vanquished.
To operate on her Majesty’s fears, and to gain
popularity among a numerous portion of the people
who deemed the Whigs inimical to the church
establishment, an outcry was raised that the
church was in danger. Marlborough and Godolphin
were regarded as deserters from the
great cause, and the press was employed in attacking
the low church party, in terms both
unscrupulous and indelicate.
That celebrated libel, entitled, “The Memorial
of the Church of England,” the author of which
has been already specified, was published at this
critical juncture; “a doleful piece,” as the
Duchess calls it, “penned by some of the zealots
of the party.” This was among the first and
most scurrilous efforts of those who hoped by
invective and slander to produce a deep impression
on the public mind. It was dedicated to
the Duke of Marlborough, as being considered
still the strength of a party which he had not
explicitly renounced: and was forwarded to
him in the midst of his campaign on the Ische.
To his great mind the aspersions of the anonymous
72party were too contemptible to merit a
moment’s serious indignation. The vehemence
of passionate indignation is, on such occasions,
the ebullition of minds of an inferior stamp.
The injustice and invective which scarcely drew
forth an angry exclamation from Marlborough,
produced a feverish heat in the warm temperament
of the Duchess.
“In this camp,” writes the Duke to Lord Godolphin,
his bosom friend and confidant,[73] “I
have had time to read the pamphlet called ‘The
Memorial of the Church of England.’ I think it
the most impudent and scurrilous thing I ever
read. If the author can be found, I do not doubt
but he will be punished; for if such liberties may
be taken, of writing scandalous lies without being
punished, no government can stand long. Notwithstanding
what I have said, I cannot forbear
laughing when I think they would have you
and I pass for fanatics, and the Duke of Buckingham
and Lord Jersey for pillars of the church;
the one being a Roman Catholic in King James’s
reign, and the other would have been a Quaker,
or any other religion that would have pleased the
late King.”
To the Duchess he calmly writes:—
73“Tirlemont, Sept. 7.
“I received last night a letter from you without
date, by which I see there is another scurrilous
pamphlet come out. The best way of putting
an end to that villany is not to appear concerned.
The best of men and women, in all ages, have
been ill used. If we can be so happy as to behave
ourselves so as to have no reason to reproach
ourselves, we may then despise what rage and
faction do.”
This wise and dignified mode of receiving
attacks to which eminent individuals have in every
age been exposed, was succeeded by the exposure
and punishment of the scurrilous writer.
Of that event, with its painful circumstances,
a detailed account has already been given in the
preceding volume.
CHAPTER IV.
74
Decline of the Duchess’s influence—Her attempt in favour
of Lord Cowper—Singular Letter from Anne in explanation—Intrigues
of the Tories—Harley’s endeavours to
stimulate the Queen to independence.—1706.
Until the period on which we are now entering,
the influence of the Duchess of Marlborough over
the mind of her sovereign was not visibly impaired,
by her own indiscretion, or by the arts
of her opponents. Yet those differences of
opinion which disturbed the singular friendship
of Mrs. Freeman and Mrs. Morley, and of which
advantage was finally taken by the enemies of
the Duchess to effect a total alienation between
her Majesty and her former favourite, continued,
and were, according to her fashion, stoutly contested
by the Duchess.
On one important point the Duchess addressed
75her Majesty with considerable earnestness. Lord
Cowper, whose friendship was an honour which
the Duchess fully appreciated, was at this time
Lord Keeper;[74] and it was the endeavour of the
Duchess to throw into his hands that patronage
in the church which, she rightly deemed, he would
exercise conscientiously and judiciously. But it
was in vain that she urged the Queen to allow
Lord Cowper to fill up various livings belonging
to the crown, which had now for some time been
vacant, and of which Anne delayed to dispose.
She addressed a remonstrance to her Majesty, representing
how safely she might place power in
the hands of Lord Cowper. The Queen returned
a kind but unsatisfactory reply; and the tone in
which it was conveyed betrayed plainly the incipient
coolness which had commenced between
Anne and her viceroy.
After apologising for the interval which had
elapsed before she had answered the Duchess’s
letter,—a delay for which Anne accounted by the
frivolous reason, that not having time to answer it
“before supper,” it was not very “easy to her to
do so after supper,”—the Queen, whilst assuring
Mrs. Freeman that she had a firm reliance on
the equity and judgment of Lord Cowper, observes,
76“that in her opinion the crown can never
have too many livings at its own disposal; and,
therefore,” she adds, “though there may be some
trouble in it, it is a power I can never think it
reasonable to part with, and I hope those that
come after me will think the same.”
“You wrong me much,” continues Anne, “in
thinking I am influenced by some you mention
in disposing of church preferments. Ask those
whom I am sure you will believe, though you
won’t me, and they can tell you I never disposed
of any without advising with them, and that I
have preferred more people upon other recommendations
than I have upon his that you fancy
to have so much power with me.” With the
assurance that there would soon be “more
changes,” and with the further declaration, to
use the Queen’s own words, “that in a little
time Mr. Morley and me shall redeem our
credit with Mrs. Freeman,” the Queen, under the
humble signature not yet abandoned, of “your
poor, unfortunate, faithful Morley,”[75] closes this
explanation:—a singular reply, manifesting
that the royal composer of the letter was now
weary of that subjection from which she emancipated
herself only to fall into other snares; but
77that she wanted courage, though not inclination,
to throw off the yoke.
The scheme projected by the Tories, of bringing
over the Electress Sophia into this country, had not
only failed, as we have seen, but had thrown the
game entirely into the hands of their opponents.
The Queen, irritated beyond her usual custom,
wrote, in the hurry of the moment, in such
terms to her favourite as to authorise the expectation
that her resentment against the Tories
would not quickly subside.
The reasons for Anne’s displeasure continued
in force until they were superseded by others,
equally feminine, arising in the royal mind of the
timid, prejudiced, and ill-judging Anne, which
renewed her innate dislike towards the opposite
faction. The decline of the Whig party was arrested
this year by the victory of Ramilies, on which
occasion the Queen wrote to Marlborough, assuring
him “that she wanted words to express the
true sense she had of the great service he had
done his country and her in that great and glorious
victory, and hoped it would be a means to
confirm all good and honest people in their principles,
and frighten others from being troublesome;”—“and
then spoke,” adds the Duchess of
Marlborough, “of the alloy it was to all her
78satisfaction, to consider what hazards he was exposed
to, and repeated an obliging request she
had often made, that he would be careful of himself.”[76]
“I cannot doubt,” adds the narrator
of this gracious message, “of the Queen’s kind
disposition to my Lord Marlborough at this time,
or of her willingness to oblige him.”
The recent introduction of Lord Sunderland to
office soon gave rise, however, to a division in
the cabinet. Harley, who was offended at the
dismissal of Sir Charles Hedges, was practising
upon the Queen’s weak mind, and endeavouring
to persuade her Majesty to “go alone,”—a notion
which had been sedulously kept down by the
reigning influence, for many years past; or, as
the Duchess expresses it, “to instil into the
Queen notions of the high prerogative of acting
without her ministers—(as she expressed it,) of
being Queen indeed.”[77]
The first proof that Anne gave of her profiting
by these doctrines, was her appointing certain
high church divines to fill two bishoprics. This
led several of the Whigs to think themselves
betrayed by the ministry; whereas the truth
was, that the Queen was secretly under the influence
of the Tories, and found it irksome to
79consult with her ministers on any promotions.
The Duke of Marlborough, who, it appears,
never lost the respect of his sovereign, represented
to the Queen the impropriety of thus acting, and
“wrote a very moving letter to her, complaining
of the visible loss of his interest with her,” and
recommending her Majesty, “as the only way to
make her government easy, to prefer none of
those that appeared to be against her service and
the nation’s interest.”
Notwithstanding the great general’s services,
it was, however, manifest that his influence, and
that of the Duchess, were now, from some cause
or other, deeply undermined. The Duke, as
well as the Duchess, suffered great vexation from
this new and unforeseen apprehension; for it is
easy to be happy without tasting power, but
difficult indeed to part with it after long possession.
It was in the answer to some communications
from the Duchess that Marlborough
wrote these touching words, betraying all the
weariness of worldly anxieties.
“When I writ my last, I was very full of the
spleen, and I think with too much reason. My
whole time, to the best of my understanding, has
been employed for the public good, as I do assure
you I do in the presence of God, neglecting
no opportunity to let the Queen see what I take
80to be her true interest. It is terrible to go through
so much uneasiness.”[78]
The state of parties was indeed such, that
“every service done to the sovereign, however
just and reasonable in its own nature,” was, as
an author justly observed, “made a job by the
minister and his tools.”[79]
The understream of faction was flowing unseen,
but deep; and the Duchess was for a time
insensible to the sure course which it had taken.
She was intoxicated with power. Her enemies,
indeed, alleged that she “considered her vicegerency
as well established as the royal prerogative;
that she might not only recommend a
point or person, but insist on either as understood
in her grant—as a perquisite of her high office;
and that she was privileged to exclude everybody
from the royal presence, who had not the happiness
of being in her good graces.”[80]
It is apparent, however, from the letters which
passed between Queen Anne and the Duchess,
that it was not without continual arguments and
remonstrances that the favourite had raised her
chosen party to royal favour; and thus maintained,
that it was accomplished only by earnest endeavours,
81and with difficulty. The Duchess, it was more
than probable, expected, and sometimes extorted,
too much for her friends and adherents. Marlborough
truly said, that “both parties were in
the wrong.”[81] To his sense of justice, his moderation,
and calm observation, the interested
views of those who alike professed the highest
motives, only affixing different names to their
boasted objects, were laid bare by a long experience
of courts, and by a deep insight into the minds of
men. “The Whigs,” it was said, and not without
justice, “acted on Swiss principles, and expected
to be paid the top price of the market, for
coming plump into the measures of the court, at
the expense of their former professions.”[82]
The Queen, the nervous Queen, was considered
as a mere property, “which was to be engrossed,
divided, or transferred, as suited best with the
mercenary views of those state-brokers who had
the privilege of dividing the spoil.”[83]
It was not, however, until Harley despaired of
achieving the Duchess’s favour, that he became
her determined, though secret foe. Even after
his enmity was in operation, the Duchess might
have retrieved her fortune by prudent attention
to her royal mistress. She came, however, seldom
82to court, a line of conduct which was considered ill
judged on her part; and, when she attended on the
Queen, performed her offices of duty, such as holding
her Majesty’s gloves, with a haughty and contemptuous
air, which Anne, who had sunk her
own dignity in a degrading familiarity, was constrained
to endure, but could not be obliged to
forgive.
The court suffered no diminution of gaiety on
account of the haughty favourite’s absence; for
she is said to have long before ceased to look
upon any but her own family with respect. Lord
Godolphin rejoiced at her remissness on his own
account; “for when she was at court, she was
always teasing him with womanish quarrels and
altercations, or continually troubling him with interruptions
in the business of the state; whereas,
now the sole direction of the thing was in his
own hands.”[84]
Mr. Harley, on the other hand, lost no opportunity
of ingratiating himself into the favour of
the Queen. Under pretence of business, he obtained
access to her Majesty in the evening, and,
disclosing matters which had been concealed from
the royal ear, he discovered her real sentiments,
and, with infinite address, generally contrived to
bring her opinions round to his own views. But
83all his efforts would have been unsuccessful without
the aid of female ingenuity. Well did
Harley know the temper and peculiarities of the
woman whom he desired to supplant. Well
could he judge the more common-place character
of the homely Anne, whose gentle nature could
dispense with respect, but could not exist without
a friend; and a friend to supply the void in the
Queen’s heart was soon discovered.
Before the schemes of Harley were ripened, the
Duke of Marlborough had returned from the victory
of Ramillies, laden with honours. He had received
addresses from both Houses of Parliament,
who also petitioned the Queen to allow a bill to
be brought in to settle the Duke’s honours on the
male and female issue of his daughters. This favour
was obtained; and the manor of Woodstock and
Blenheim-house were, after the decease of the
Duchess, upon whom they were settled in jointure,
entailed in the same manner with the honours.
The annuity of five thousand a year from the
Post-office, formerly proposed by the Queen, was
now granted; and the palace of Blenheim was
ordered to be built at the public charge. Harley
and St. John, to a profusion of flattery and of
good offices, added their advice to the Duke that
he would erect this great monument of his glory
in a style of transcendent magnificence; but with
84what motives these counsels were given, afterwards
appeared.[85]
The Queen had not only received Marlborough
graciously, and ordered a triumphal procession for
his trophies, but, to please her successful general,
or his wife, had appointed a Whig professor, Dr.
Potter, to the chair of divinity at Oxford. But
this was an expedient, by yielding one small
point, to cover a much greater design.[86]
To aid his schemes, Harley acquired an associate,
humble, pliant, needy, and in every way
adapted to perform that small work to which an
intriguing politician is constrained sometimes to
devote a mind professedly and solely embued with
the spirit of patriotism, and racked with anxiety
for his country’s welfare.[87]
Abigail Hill, a name rendered famous from the
momentous changes which succeeded its introduction
to the political world, was the appropriate
designation of the lowly, supple, and artful being
on whose secret offices Harley relied for the accomplishment
of his plans. Mistress Hill at this
time held the post of dresser and chamber-woman
to her Majesty, an appointment which had been
procured for her by the influence of the Duchess
of Marlborough, to whom she was related. The
85world assigned certain causes for the pains which
that proud favourite had manifested, to place her
kinswoman in a post where she might have easy
access to the Queen’s ear, and obtain her confidence.
The Duchess, it was said, was weary of
her arduous attendance upon a mistress whom she
secretly despised. She had become too proud to
perform the subordinate duties of her office, and
proposed to relieve herself of some of her cares, by
placing one on whom she could entirely depend,
as an occasional substitute in the performance of
those duties which even habit had not taught her
to endure with patience. Since, after the elevation
of the Duke, in consequence of the battle of
Blenheim, she had become a princess of the empire,[88]
she was supposed to consider herself too elevated
to continue those services to which she had
been enured, first in the court of the amiable
Anne Hyde, then in that of the unhappy Mary
of Modena, and since, near her too gracious sovereign,
the meek, but dissembling Anne.
According to the Duchess herself, her inauspicious
patronage of Mistress Abigail Hill, afterwards
the noted Lady Masham, had a more
amiable source than that which was ascribed to
it by the writers of the day. Lord Bolingbroke
says truly, that there are no materials for history
that require to be more scrupulously and severely
86examined, “than those of the time when the
events to be spoken of were in transaction.” “In
matters of history,” he remarks, “we prefer very
justly cotemporary authority; and yet cotemporary
authors are the most liable to be warped
from the straight line of truth, in writing on subjects
which have affected them strongly.” “Criticism,”
as he admirably observes, “separates the
ore from the dross, and extracts from various
authors a series of true history, which could not
have been found entire in any one of them, and
will command our assent, when it is formed with
judgment, and represented with candour.”[89]
In following this rule, we must not only take
into account the rumours of the day, but give
due weight to those reasons which were assigned
by the Duchess, for her endeavours to promote the
interests of the humbled and unfortunate Abigail
Hill.
The ungrateful kinswoman had been early acquainted
with adversity, which was the remote cause
of her ultimate greatness. She was the daughter
of an eminent Turkey merchant, who became a
bankrupt, with the encumbrance of a numerous
and unprovided family. Abigail was at one time
so reduced, as to enter into the service of Lady
Rivers, wife of Sir John Rivers, Bart., of Chafford;
and was rescued from her lowly situation
87by the charitable offices of the Duchess of Marlborough,
to whom she had the good fortune to
be related.
The Duchess has left a succinct account of the
degree of kindred in which her rival stood to her,
and of the manner in which she became acquainted
with her destitute condition. It would be impossible
to alter the Duchess’s narrative into any
better language than her own. The unvarnished
and uncontradicted statement which she put forth,
years after the clamour against her had subsided,
is prefaced with the following observations.[90]
“The story of this lady, as well as of that gentleman
who was her great adviser and director, is
worth the knowledge of posterity, as it will lead
them into a sense of the instability of court favour,
and of the incurable baseness which some minds
are capable of contracting.
“Mrs. Masham,” she continues, “was the
daughter of one Hill, a merchant in the city, by
a sister of my father. Our grandfather, Sir John
Jenyns, had two-and-twenty children, by which
means the estate of the family, which was reputed
to be about four thousand pounds a year, came to
be divided into small parcels. Mrs. Hill had only
five hundred pounds to her fortune.[91] Her husband
88lived very well for many years, as I have
been told, until, turning projector, he brought
ruin upon himself and family. But as this was
long before I was born, I never knew there were
such people in the world till after the Princess
Anne was married, and when she lived at the
Cockpit; at which time an acquaintance of mine
came to me and said, she believed I did not know
that I had relations who were in want, and she
gave me an account of them. When she had
finished her story, I answered, that indeed I had
never heard before of any such relations, and immediately
gave her out of my purse ten guineas
for their present relief, saying, I would do what
I could for them. Afterwards I sent Mrs. Hill
more money, and saw her. She told me that her
husband was the same relation to Mr. Harley
as she was to me, but that he had never done
anything for her. I think Mrs. Masham’s father
and mother did not live long after this. They
left four children, two sons and two daughters.
The elder daughter (afterwards Mrs. Masham)
was a grown woman. I took her to St. Albans,
where she lived with me and my children, and I
treated her with as great kindness as if she had
been my sister.”
89It appears from this statement, that Mrs. Hill
must have enjoyed considerable opportunities of
studying the character of her patroness; nor were
her means of learning Anne’s peculiarities and
defects less frequent and advantageous.
“After some time,” adds the Duchess, “a bedchamber
woman of the Princess of Denmark’s died;
and as in that reign (after the Princesses were grown
up) rockers, though not gentlewomen, had been
advanced to be bedchamber women, I thought I
might ask the Princess to give the vacant place
to Mrs. Hill. At first, indeed, I had some scruple
about it; but this being removed by persons I
thought wiser, with whom I consulted, I made
the request to the Princess, and it was granted.
“As for the younger daughter, (who is still living,)
I engaged my Lord Marlborough, when the
Duke of Gloucester’s family was settled, to make
her laundress to him, which was a good provision
for her; and when the Duke of Gloucester died,
I obtained for her a pension of 200l. a year,
which I paid her out of the privy purse. And
some time after I asked the Queen’s leave to
buy her an annuity out of some of the funds; representing
to her Majesty, that as the privy
purse money produced no interest, it would be
the same thing to her if, instead of the pension
to Mrs. Hill, she gave her at once a sum sufficient
to produce an annuity, and that by this
90means, her Majesty would make a certain provision
for one who had served the Duke of
Gloucester. The Queen was pleased to allow
the money for that purchase, and it is very probable
that Mrs. Hill has the annuity to this day,
and perhaps nothing else, unless she saved money
after her sister had made her deputy to the privy
purse, which she did, as soon as she had supplanted
me.”
Not contented with conferring these important
benefits, the Duchess, it appears, resolved to
provide for the whole family.
“The elder son was,” she says, “at my request,
put by my Lord Godolphin into a place in the
Custom-house; and when, in order to his advancement
to a better, it was necessary to give
security for his good behaviour, I got a relation
of the Duke of Marlborough’s to be bound for
him in two thousand pounds. His brother (whom
the bottle-men afterwards called honest Jack
Hill) was a tall boy, whom I clothed (for he was
all in rags) and put to school at St. Albans to
one Mr. James, who had been an usher under Dr.
Busby of Westminster; and whenever I went to
St. Alban’s I sent for him, and was as kind to
him as if he had been my own child. After he
had learned what he could there, a vacancy happening
of page of honour to the Prince of Denmark,
his highness was pleased, at my request, to
91take him. I afterwards got my Lord Marlborough
to make him groom of the bedchamber to the
Duke of Gloucester. And though my lord
always said that Jack Hill was good for nothing,
yet, to oblige me, he made him his aide-de-camp,
and afterwards gave him a regiment. But it was
his sister’s interest that raised him to be a general,
and to command in that ever-memorable expedition
to Quebec; I had no share in doing him
the honours. To finish what I have to say on
this subject; when Mr. Harley thought it useful
to attack the Duke of Marlborough in parliament,
this Quebec general, this honest Jack Hill,
this once ragged boy, whom I clothed, happening
to be sick in bed, was nevertheless persuaded by
his sister to get up, wrap himself in warmer
clothes than those I had given him, and go to
the House to vote against the Duke. I may here
add, that even the husband of Mrs. Masham had
several obligations to me: it was at my instance
that he was first made a page, then an equerry,
and afterwards groom of the bedchamber to the
Prince; for all which he himself thanked me,
as for favours procured by my means. As for
Mrs. Masham herself, I had so much kindness
for her, and had done so much to oblige her,
without having ever done anything to offend her,
that it was too long before I could bring myself
to think her other than a true friend, or forbear
92rejoicing at any instance of favour shown her by
the Queen. I observed, indeed, at length, that
she was grown more shy of coming to me, and
more reserved than usual when she was with
me; but I imputed this to her peculiar moroseness
of temper, and for some time made no other
reflection upon it.”[92]
The moroseness of temper, which might be a
constitutional infirmity incident to the family
stock, was accompanied, however, with a suppleness
of deportment, a servility, and a talent for
artifice, which are not incompatible with a deep-seated
pride, and with a contumacious turn of mind,
subdued to superiors, but venting itself with redoubled
virulence on those on whom it can with
impunity be spent. Towards the Queen, Mrs.
Hill displayed, as might be expected, a humility
and sweetness of manner which proved, doubtless,
highly acceptable to one accustomed to receive
only a lofty condescension, not to speak of frequent
exhibitions of passion, in her earlier and haughtier
friend. Mrs. Hill’s real sentiments on religion and
politics happened to be, fortunately for herself, in
accordance with those of the Queen. Anne, accustomed
to opposition and remonstrance, nay, sometimes,
rebukes, upon certain points which she had
at heart, delighted in the enthusiasm of her lowly
attendant concerning matters hitherto forbidden
93her to dwell upon. Mrs. Hill was an enemy to
the Hanoverian succession, if not a partisan of the
exiled Stuarts,—subjects on which the Queen
and the Duchess were known to have frequent
controversies, which sometimes degenerated into
angry disputes.
These bickerings had, in the sedate and
guarded Abigail, a watchful and subtle observer.
It may easily be credited that she turned them
skilfully to account. Not that she was so imprudent
as to hoist a banner on the side of Anne
whilst the redoubtable Sarah was present; but
her sympathy, her acquiescence, her responsive
condolences, when, after the storm subsided, the
Queen poured forth into her friendly ear confidential
complaints of the absent Duchess, were ever
ready, and effected their purpose. The flattering
gratitude and humility with which she listened and
soothed the Queen; their cordial concurrence on
topics which then divided the female world, whilst
they employed masculine minds; gradually worked
a way for the lady-dresser into the affections of the
Queen, and gradually, also, ejected, by a subterranean
process, the only obstacle to her undivided
ascendency which Mrs. Hill, in her
powerful kinswoman, might have to encounter.
The Duchess was the last of all the court to
perceive the dangerous influence of Abigail, and
to acknowledge the extent of the new favourite’s
94power. She depended on Mrs. Hill’s fidelity to
her; she depended on that weakest of all bonds,
a sense of obligation; she considered her cousin
as, for her sake, a vigilant observer of the Queen’s
actions, and as a lowly partisan, an attached
and useful friend.
From the time that she had known of the distress
of her humble relatives, she had, as she
alleges in her letter to Bishop Burnet, “helped
them in every way, without any motive but
charity and relation, having never known their
father:”[93] nor did the peculiar manner of the
humble bedchamber woman rouse the pride or
the suspicions of the mistress of the robes.
“She had,” writes the Duchess, recalling circumstances,
possibly, at the moment unobserved, “a
shy, reserved behaviour towards me, always
avoided entering into free conversation with me,
and made excuses when I wanted her to go
abroad with me. And what I thought ill-breeding,
or surly honesty, has since proved to be a
design deeply laid, as she had always the artifice
to hide very carefully the power which she had
over the Queen.”[94]
Affairs were in this state when a rumour
reached the Duchess, of her cousin’s marriage
with a gentleman named Masham, whom the
Duchess had likewise promoted to a place in the
95Queen’s household. This took place in the summer
of 1707, when the battle of Ramillies had propped
up the declining favour of Marlborough, and
consequently repaired, in some degree, the
breaches of confidence between the Queen and
the Duchess. The Duchess, although naturally
startled at the intelligence, acted in the direct
and candid manner which strong minds can
alone adopt on such occasions. She went to her
cousin, and asked if the report were true. Mrs.
Masham acknowledged the fact, and begged to
be forgiven for having concealed it.[95]
It was not in the power of her artful relative,
nor of her tool, the Queen, much longer to blind
the woman whom they had, with true vulgarity
of mind, gloried in deceiving.[96] The Duchess,
in an unpublished manuscript explanation of her
conduct, addressed to Mr. Hutchinson, describes
her incredulity upon the subject of the baseness
of one, to whom she had acted in “the capacity
of a mother;” whom she had preserved from
starving; and who repaid her bounty by seizing
every opportunity of undermining her benefactress.[97]
96Mrs. Masham could not assign any adequate
reason for the concealment of the marriage, for
it was at once suitable in point of rank, and
prudent in respect to circumstances. Mr. Samuel
Masham was the eighth son of Sir Francis
Masham, a Baronet, and was reputed to be a
gentleman of honour, and of worth. Already
had he risen from the post of page to that of
equerry in Prince George’s household, and from
the office of equerry had been promoted to that
of groom of the bedchamber. The Duchess had
herself, as it has been stated, assisted in his elevation;
for it was at that time understood that no
person who was not agreeable to the Marlborough
family, or supposed to be, in particular,
acceptable to the Duchess, could be raised to
any office of importance.[98] Hence Mr. Masham
could not be objectionable to the Duchess as a
97match for her cousin, except on one ground—he
was a relation of Mr. Harley.
The Duchess, notwithstanding that she felt she
had reason to be offended with Mrs. Masham’s conduct,
was willing to impute it to “want of breeding
and bashfulness,” rather than to that deceptive
and petty spirit which rejoices in mystery. She
forgave and embraced her cousin, and wished
her joy; and then, entering into conversation
with her on other subjects, began in the most
friendly manner to contrive how the bride might
be accommodated with lodgings, by removing her
sister into some apartments occupied by the
Duchess. After this point was arranged, the
Duchess, still deceived, inquired whether the
Queen were informed of the marriage, and “very
innocently” offered her services to acquaint her
Majesty with the affair. Mrs. Masham, who
had, says the Duchess, by this time learned the
art of dissimulation pretty well, answered, with an
untroubled mien, that the bedchamber women had
already apprised the Queen of it,—hoping by that
reply to prevent any further examination of the
matter. The Duchess, all astonishment, and
probably, though she does not acknowledge it,
all fury, went directly to the Queen, and inquired
why her Majesty had not been so kind as to tell
her of her cousin’s marriage; putting her in
98mind of a favourite quotation from Montaigne,
adopted by Anne, namely, that it was no breach
of secrecy “to tell an intimate friend anything,
because it was only like telling it to oneself.”[99]
“This,” to speak in the Duchess’s own words,
“I said, I thought she herself ought to have told
me of; but the only thing I was concerned at
was, that this plainly showed a change in her
Majesty towards me, as I had once before observed
to her; when she was pleased to say, that
it was not she that was changed, but me; and
that if I was the same to her, she was sure she
was so to me.” Upon this the Queen answered,
with a great deal of earnestness, and without
thinking to be upon her guard, “I believe I have
spoken to her a hundred times to tell you of it,
and she would not.”
This answer startled the Duchess very much;
and she began to reflect on the incongruity of
her Majesty’s two answers; the first asserting
that she believed the bedchamber women had
told her of Mrs. Masham’s marriage; the
second, implying that Mrs. Masham and her
Majesty had repeatedly held consultations upon
the subject.
This reserve, and the evident collusion between
the parties, roused the suspicions of the Duchess,
99and she instantly resolved to commence a strict
examination into the relative position, and the
ultimate end and object of the parties thus implicated
in what she deemed a conspiracy against
her power and peace. Fortunately for her biographers,
she has left ample explanations, carefully
preserved, of all those passages of her life
which relate to her ultimate dismissal from the
Queen’s service. In a letter which many years
afterwards she is said to have addressed to Bishop
Burnet, she gives a clear statement, which she
corroborates by copies of all the correspondence
which passed between herself and the Queen relative
to the great affair of her life.
It was not long before the Duchess, on instituting
an inquiry among her friends, discovered that
the Queen had even gone herself secretly to her
new favourite’s marriage in the “Scotch doctor’s
chamber,” a circumstance which was discovered
by a boy, who belonged to one of the under servants,
and who saw her Majesty go thither alone.[100]
The marriage had also been confided to several
persons of distinction.
It was easy to be informed of that which
every body but herself knew; and, in less than
a week, the indignant Duchess discovered that
her cousin was an “absolute favourite,” and
100that when the marriage was solemnised at
Dr. Arbuthnott’s lodging, her Majesty had
called for a round sum out of the privy
purse. To this intelligence was added the still
more startling information, that hours of confidential
communication were daily passed by
Mrs. Masham in the Queen’s apartments, whilst
Prince George, who was now a confirmed invalid,
was asleep; but who, in spite of the advantage
taken of his slumbers, had been one of the illustrious
confidants on this occasion.
The Duchess could now trace the whole system of
deception which had been carried on to her injury
for a considerable time; her relative and former dependent
being the chief agent—her sovereign the
accomplice. She could account for the interest
which Harley had now acquired at court by
means of this new instrument. She could explain
to her astonished and irritated mind certain
incidents, which had seemed of little moment
when they occurred, but which afforded a mortifying
confirmation of all that she had learned.
“My reflection,” she says, “brought to my mind
many passages, which had seemed odd and unaccountable,
but had left no impression of suspicion
or jealousy.[101] Particularly I remembered
that a long while before this, being with the
101Queen, (to whom I had gone very privately from
my lodgings to the bedchamber,) on a sudden
this woman, not knowing I was there, came in
with the boldest and gayest air possible; but
upon sight of me stopped, and immediately
changing her manner, and making a most solemn
courtesy, ‘Did your Majesty ring?’ and then
went out again.”
This behaviour needed now no further explanation.
The Duchess perceived too late that
she was supplanted; and she was resolved that
Mrs. Masham should quickly know that her injured
benefactress was undeceived. She wrote,
therefore, with her usual promptitude and sincerity,
the following candid, but at the same
time moderate letter to her rival. Godolphin,
whom she consulted upon all occasions, probably
pruned it into the following careful
form.
“Since the conversation I had with you at
your lodgings, several things have happened to
confirm me in what I was hard to believe—that
you have made me returns very unsuitable to
what I might have expected. I always speak my
mind so plainly, that I should have told you so
myself, if I had had the opportunity which I
wished for; but being now so near parting,
102think this way of letting you know it, is like to
be the least uneasy to you, as well as to
“Your humble servant,
“S. Marlborough.”
To this letter no immediate reply was returned;
for, doubtless, Mrs. Masham had, on the other hand,
her advisers. The Duchess in vain waited all the
day at Windsor, after sending her letter, in expectation
of a reply. Mrs. Masham was, however,
obliged to consult with her great director, before
she could frame an answer on so “nice a matter.”
It was, indeed, no easy point to explain, that a poor
relation, only a dresser, as the Duchess remarked,
and she a groom of the stole, should conceal from
a relation to whom she owed everything, that
affair which most concerned her; whilst the
Queen, who, for thirty years had never disguised
one circumstance from her faithful Freeman,
should be led into the plot.
The primary origin of her disgrace she imputed,
when time had cooled her resentments, to
her efforts to establish the Whigs in the Queen’s
favour. The immediate source of the quarrel was
the successful endeavour of Mrs. Hill to supplant
the cousin, to whom she professed to owe great
obligations. For, as the Duchess affirms, even
when every word she spoke had become distasteful
103to Anne, and when every step she took
was canvassed in the Queen’s closet, still the
Queen declared she was not in the least altered,
whilst Mrs. Masham professed the deepest gratitude.[102]
At length an answer was sent, the whole construction
and style of which proved it, in the
opinion of the Duchess, to be the production of an
artful man, who knew perfectly well how to manage
the affair. To Harley she imputed a deceptive and
plotting character of mind, which by others was
termed prudence. “His practices,” as the Duchess
called them, “which were deemed fair in a politician,”
were now fully understood by the two great
men, Marlborough and Godolphin, who were
their object. To him, therefore, the Duchess attributed
the cautious, polite, and submissive letter,
in which, expressing her grief at her Grace’s
displeasure, and her unconsciousness of its precise
cause, the careful Abigail sought to draw forth
an explicit declaration of the cause of the
Duchess’s chagrin, by inquiring who had been
her enemy upon this occasion. But she addressed
one whose prudence was, in this instance,
stronger than her passions. The Duchess assured
her cousin that her resentment did not
proceed from any representations of others, but
104from her own observation, which made the impression
the stronger; and she declined entering
further into the subject by letter.[103]
The Duchess of Marlborough was now, therefore,
at open variance with her cousin. Towards
her Majesty she stood in a predicament the most
curious and unprecedented that perhaps ever
existed between sovereign and subject. The
amused and astonished court beheld Anne cautiously
creeping out of that subjection in which
the Duchess had, according to her enemies, long
held the timid sovereign.
“The grand inference,” says the authoress of
the ‘Other Side of the Question,’ addressing the
Duchess in her days of almost bed-ridden sickness,
after the publication of the ‘Conduct,’
“that your grace draws from all this is, that you
are betrayed. But those of the world are rather
such as these,—that the Queen was captive, and
you her gaoler; that she was neither mistress of
her power, nor free to express her own inclinations;
that she was so far overawed by a length
of oppression, as to dread the very approach of
her tormentress; that she was forced to unbosom
herself by stealth; and that she durst not venture
upon a contest with your grace, even to set
herself free from your insupportable tyranny.”[104]
105There was, doubtless, considerable justice in
these bitter and insulting reproaches, heaped
upon the Duchess when, by a late vindication of
her life, she had drawn her enemies from their
long repose. That all the real affection which
the friendship of Morley and Freeman could
boast, existed on the side of the Queen, is probable.
Such was the opinion of their contemporaries.
It was in the decline of her influence
that the Duchess began to be querulous upon the
subject of those little omissions of attention which
pride and habit, not real, hearty attachment,
rendered necessary to her happiness. It sounds
strange to find a monarch excusing herself to a
subject for not inquiring after her health directly
upon the arrival of that lady from a sea-bathing
place; yet such apologies as it neither became
Anne to make, nor the Duchess to exact, are to
be found in their published correspondence.[105]
The Duchess, according to the opinion of one of
her confidential friends, Mr. Mainwaring, was totally
deficient in that “part of craft which Mr. Hobbes
very prettily calls crooked wisdom.”[106] “Apt,”
as she herself expresses it, “to tumble out her
mind,”[107] her openness and honesty were appreciated,
when at an advanced age, and after she
106had run the career of five courts,—by that experienced
judge, the Lady Mary Wortley Montague,
who often presumed upon the venerable
Duchess’s candour in telling her unpalatable
truths, which none but the honest could have borne
to hear.[108] It was this uprightness and singleness
of mind which rendered the Duchess unwilling
to believe in the duplicity and the influence
of her cousin. Warned of it by Mr. Mainwaring,
it was not until she found in the Queen a defender
of Mrs. Masham’s secret marriage, that
the Duchess was roused into suspicion. It was
then that she communicated her conviction to
Lord Godolphin and to Marlborough, and besought
their assistance and advice.
Marlborough, acquainted as he had for years
been with every cabal in every court in Europe,
was singularly ignorant, in this instance, of that
which was passing at home. Godolphin, better
informed, had bestowed but little attention to it,
and had placed but little importance on its consequences.
Towards the middle of this year he
received, whilst at Meldert, complaints from the
Duchess, which drew from him this laconic and
stern reply:—
“The wisest thing is to have to do with as few
107people as possible. If you are sure that Mrs.
Masham speaks of business to the Queen, I
should think you might, with some caution, tell
her of it, which would do good; for she certainly
must be grateful, and mind what you
say.”[109]
To soothe irritations was, on other occasions
besides this, the arduous office of the Duke; and
he was induced, from prior impressions, to write
in a conciliatory strain to his often offended
Duchess. When, in March, he had prepared
measures for carrying on the war, and had completed
every arrangement for his voyage into
Holland, the only thing which detained him in
England was, says Cunningham, “the quarrel
among the women about the court.” He desired
his Duchess “to put an end to those controversies,
and to avoid all occasions of suspicion and disgust;
and not to suffer herself to grow insolent
upon the favour of fortune; otherwise,” said
he, “I shall hardly be able hereafter to excuse
your fault, or to justify my own actions, however
meritorious.” To which the Duchess replied, “I
will take care of those things, so that you need
not be in any fear about me; but whoever shall
think to remove me out of the Queen’s favour, let
them take care lest they remove themselves.”
108“Such things as these,” remarks Cunningham,
“must be borne with among women; for few
persons have drawn such rash conclusions concerning
uncertain events but fortune has deceived
them.”[110] It was not long, however, before
Marlborough perceived that the Duchess was not
mistaken in her apprehensions; nor before he
became painfully aware of the fact, that services
of the greatest magnitude are often not to be
weighed against slights, and petty provocations.
CHAPTER V.
109
State of parties—Friendship of Marlborough and Godolphin—Discovery
of Mr. Harley’s practices—Intrigues of
the Court.
The Duke of Marlborough possessed at this time
the confidence and amity of the most eminent of
the Whig leaders. Notwithstanding the efforts
which, in conjunction with Godolphin, he made
to preserve a dignified, and, as he deemed it, a
salutary neutrality between the two great parties,
the Whigs had, during many sessions, regarded
him as their own; and the jealousy which they
are said to have entertained of his proceedings,
guided by a more moderate spirit than their own,
was not manifested when their appreciation of his
public character came to be put to the proof.
In Godolphin, his dearest friend, his whole
confidence was reposed. These two great men
110had but one heart, one mind. On all important
subjects they saw, they felt, in the same manner
and degree. Their correspondence breathes the
sentiments of a perfect union, and of the most
unreserved communication. Their friendship
was the handmaid to Marlborough’s glory; it
was his rock of defence, when from the camp he
turned his longing gaze to England; it was his
sure resource, when buffeted by cabals abroad.
To Godolphin, Marlborough owed much; and it
may be said that his glory was reflected upon the
honest and experienced Lord Treasurer. But
Godolphin was indebted to his union with the
Marlborough family for some obloquy, and for
much jealousy, both at court and among the
people. His close alliance with them was looked
upon ungraciously; and, by some, even the constitution
was thought to be endangered by the
overweening influence of Marlborough, and by
the fact that the army, the treasury, and the
ascendency at foreign courts, were all centered in
one family.[111]
Godolphin, however, seems to have been content
to share the downfal of his friends the Duke
and Duchess. Hitherto he had supported the
continuance of the war, by every argument which
he could suggest to the Queen, and had thus
111incurred her displeasure.[112] He had listened to
the faction, whilst consolidating the Union with
Scotland, in opposition to the counsels of Somers,
and of Chancellor Cowper, and had thus forfeited
their esteem. To this measure his ruin has been
imputed. “Though that man,” says Cunningham,
“had nothing in him that was abject,
nothing mean, nothing low, except the lowliness
of his mind, which was naturally disposed to be
humble, yet he had not spirit and magnanimity
equal to the settlement of the kingdoms;
and, with regard to posthumous fame, he was indifferent
to all posterity but his own.”[113]
Yet, perhaps, the instrument which most effectually
lowered the influence of Godolphin was
the hatred and consequent ill offices of Harley.
Between these two ministers disunion had long
since widened into entire aversion; and it was
the aim of each to disparage and almost to ruin
the other.[114] This disgust added a fresh incentive
to the thirst for power to which Harley’s ambitious
nature made him prone; whilst it was
confirmed by his dislike and dread of that
Duchess who had ever recourse to Godolphin’s
counsels in times of difficulty.
The party which supported Marlborough was
112still, however, unbroken, and still pre-eminent.
Lord Cowper, the distinguished chancellor, who
was the greatest orator of his time, owed his elevation
to the great men with whom Marlborough
was allied. Lord Somers, infirm in health, and
almost incapacitated from taking any part in
public affairs, still gave the Whigs the benefits of
his wisdom and experience.
Lord Halifax was in the vigour of his physical
strength, and of his judgment; whilst
Wharton, by his activity and industry, was ready
to probe the strength and weakness of those who
opposed his party, and generally succeeded in
obtaining a knowledge of their intrigues. These
powerful-minded men were aided by Lord Sunderland
and Mr. Boyle, the two Secretaries of
State—men in the prime of life, who with ease
fulfilled the laborious duties imposed on them by
their offices.[115]
These distinguished politicians were now, according
to the Duchess of Marlborough, the
objects of Harley’s intrigues. About the same
time that Mrs. Masham’s secret influence over
the Queen was discovered, Lord Godolphin obtained
information of Mr. Harley’s practices, both
within and without. His design, according to
this partial authority, was “to ruin the Whigs
113by disuniting them from the ministry, and so to
pave the way for the Tories to rise again; whom
he thought to unite in himself, as their head,
after he had made it impossible for them to think
of a reconciliation with the Duke of Marlborough
and Lord Godolphin.”[116]
The Duchess lost no time in acquainting the
Duke, who was still on the continent, with this discovery.
His answer to her communication bespeaks
a mind weary with the contentions of the court,
and indifferent, so far as his personal dealings were
concerned, to the ascendency of his own, or the
opposing party.
“If you have good reason,” he replies, “for
what you write of the kindness and esteem the
Queen has for Mrs. Masham and Mr. Harley,
my opinion should be, that my Lord Treasurer
and I should tell her Majesty what is good for
herself; and if that will not prevail, to be quiet,
and to let Mr. Harley and Mrs. Masham do
what they please; for I own I am quite tired, and
if the Queen can be safe, I shall be glad. I hope
the Lord Treasurer will be of my mind; and then
we shall be much happier than by being in a
perpetual struggle.”
At a later time he remarks—
“What you write concerning the Queen, Mr.
114Harley, and Mrs. Masham, is of that consequence,
that I think no time is to be lost in putting a
stop to that management, or else let them have it
entirely in their own hands.”
This, however, was an easier task for the Duke
to advise, than for the Duchess to adopt.
The Queen had still so great a portion of
regard left for her early playmate and friend,
that she might yet have relented, if the Duchess
would at least have remained passively in the
shade, or sustained her reverse of favour with
dignified equanimity. Such a part would have
been politic, and it might have been successful;
for in most quarrels it is the petty provocations
which embitter enmities, whilst the first grave
cause is comparatively but little felt.
It is evident that Queen Anne had neither the
inclination nor the courage to undertake an open
quarrel with her ministry, nor with her early, and
still dreaded, perhaps still beloved, friend. Upon
hearing from Lord Godolphin his suspicions of
the mischief that Harley intended to the party to
which he and Marlborough were attached, her
Majesty was at first incredulous; but when assured
by the Lord Treasurer that if Harley remained
in the royal favour, he and Lord
Marlborough must quit her Majesty’s service, she
became alarmed, and immediately wrote a letter
115full of affection, and indeed of submission, to her
“dear Mrs. Freeman.” These extraordinary productions,
such as were never perhaps addressed
before, nor since, by a sovereign to a subject,
were either the effect of artful advice, or of pusillanimous
caution; since they were followed by
no amendment in respect to certain matters complained
of, nor by any returning kindness for the
discarded friend whom she addressed.[117]
Lord Godolphin also touched upon private
matters, and endeavoured to enlighten the mind
of her Majesty upon the ever-recurring feuds of
Mrs. Masham and the Duchess. “I remember,”
relates the latter in her manuscript Vindication,
“he told me he had convinced the Queen indeed
that Mrs. Masham was in the wrong, but
that she showed she was very desirous to think
her in the right.”[118]
This disposition in her Majesty rendered
any hopes of a final reconciliation visionary.
But the explanation brought some symptoms
of relenting, from the haughty and elated
Abigail.
The Duchess remained some time at St.
James’s, in anxious expectation of hearing from
Mrs. Masham, who, she now supposed, would
116endeavour to clear up all uneasiness that had
arisen between her and her noble relative. But,
to her surprise, day after day passed, and not
even a message arrived, although the wrathful
Sarah and her rival slept twelve days under the
same roof. “At length,” relates the Duchess,
“she having passed by her window one night
on my return home, sent one of her maids to my
woman, to ask her how I did, and to let me
know she was gone to Kensington.”
This behaviour appeared so ridiculous, and
probably so absurdly condescending to the
Duchess, that she could not forbear speaking of
it to the Queen, the next time she saw her
Majesty. To her surprise and consternation, the
Queen defended Mrs. Masham; she looked grave,
and answered that Mrs. Masham was “mightily
in the right not to go near her grace.” Upon
this reply, a sharp altercation ensued. The
Duchess returned with spirit, “that she did not
understand that, since a clearing up of a
mutual misunderstanding had been left until
a meeting took place between her and her
cousin.” To this Anne, who had gained an
unwonted supply of resolution, returned, that
“it was very natural that Mrs. Masham should
be afraid of going near the Duchess, when she
saw that she was angry with her.” The Duchess
117retaliated by saying, “that her cousin could
have no reason to be afraid, unless she knew
herself guilty of some crime.” But she could
elicit no further explanation from the Queen; for
Anne was not fertile in argument, and had besides
a practice, when she was obstinately bent
upon any point, of repeating over and over again
the same words. This provoking custom of substituting
repetition instead of argument, which,
according to the Duke of Marlborough, the Queen
inherited from King James, she now called into
requisition, to repel the fierce interrogatories of
her exasperated and awful friend. “So she
continued,” relates the Duchess, “to say it was
very natural, and she was very much in the
right.” And all that her mortified but unsubdued
listener could glean from this conversation
was, that the new favourite was deeply rooted in
her Majesty’s heart, and that it would be more
advisable to come to open hostilities with her
ungrateful cousin, than to take any measures to
mend the breach between them. It was on one
of these occasions that the Duchess closed the
door of the closet in which she and the Queen
sat, with such violence, that the noise echoed
through the whole apartment.[119]
Incensed as she was, a visit from Mrs. Masham,
118two days afterwards, failed to soothe the offended
Duchess. She was abroad when the lowly
Abigail called; but she took care, on her return,
to give a general order to her servants, to say,
whenever Mrs. Masham came, that she “was not
at home.” But, after some time, an interview
took place by mutual appointment. The scene
was such as might have been expected. The
conversation began by the Duchess reproaching
Mrs. Masham with the change in the Queen’s
sentiments towards her, which she could not fail
to attribute entirely to Mrs. Masham’s secret influence
over her Majesty. She upbraided her cousin
for her concealment of that intimacy and confidence
with which the Queen honoured her; and
told her that she considered such artifice as a very
bad sign of the motives which dictated such conduct.
“It was certain,” the Duchess added,
“that no good intentions towards herself could
influence her actions.”
Mrs. Masham was, as it seems, prepared with
a reply full of condescension and insult. “To
this,” says the Duchess, “she very gravely
answered, that she was sure the Queen, who
had always loved me extremely, would always
be very kind to me. It was some minutes
before I could recover from the surprise with
which so extraordinary an answer struck me.
119To see a woman whom I have raised out of the
dust, put on such a superior air, and to hear
her assure me, by way of consolation, that the
Queen would always be very kind to me!” Yet
restraining the impetuous burst of passion which
might have been expected, she remained silent;
“for I was stunned,” she observes, “to hear her
say so strange a thing.”[120]
The Duchess then taunted Mrs. Masham with
carrying to the Queen tales against some, and
petitions in favour of other members of her Majesty’s
household. Mrs. Masham, on the other
hand, defended herself by saying that she only
took to her royal mistress certain petitions which
came to the back-stairs, and with which she knew
that the Duchess did not care to be troubled.
This perversion of facts did not blind the Duchess
to the actual state of affairs, and the conversation
ended in a long and ominous silence, broken
by Mrs. Masham’s rising, and saying she hoped
that the Duchess would sometimes give her
leave to inquire after her health. Notwithstanding
this condescending speech, the lady in power
never once deigned, nor dared, to visit the dejected
and deserted favourite.
Partly from policy, and, probably, partly from curiosity
to see how matters stood, the Duchess thought
120proper, when her cousin’s marriage was publicly
announced, to visit her with Lady Sunderland,
purely, however, as she alleged, out of respect to
the Queen, and to avoid any noise or disagreeable
discourse which her refusing that ordinary act of
civility might occasion. Fortunately, however,
for the peace of St. James’s, the ungrateful bride
was not at home when this undeserved honour
was paid to her, by one from whom she had
merited nothing but neglect.
The breach, however certain, and however sure
the process by which it was widened, was not, as
yet, perceptible to the court. Possibly all were
reluctant to open a battery of anecdote and scandal
against the redoubtable Sarah, who might be
restored to her long-asserted ascendency. The
Duchess was not without hopes of resuming her
influence. During the Christmas holidays, she
went to pay her respects to the Queen; but had
the misery of learning from the page, before she
went in, that Mrs. Masham had just been sent
for. The last interview in which the least traces
of friendly regard might be observed, must be
told in the Duchess’s own words. It is evident
that she had some lingering expectations that all
differences might yet be healed, and that the
Queen’s regard could be revived.
“The moment I saw her Majesty, I plainly
121perceived she was uneasy. She stood all the
while I was with her, and looked as coldly on me
as if her intention was that I should no longer
doubt of my loss of her affections. Upon observing
what reception I had, I said ‘I was sorry
I had happened to come so unseasonably.’ I
was making my courtesy to go away, when the
Queen, with a great deal of disorder in her face,
and without speaking one word, took me by the
hand. And when, thereupon, I stooped to kiss
hers, she took me up with a very cold embrace,
and then, without one kind word, let me go. So
strange a treatment of me, after my long and
faithful services, and after such repeated assurances
from her Majesty of an unalterable affection,
made me think that I ought, in justice to
myself, as well as in regard to my mistress’s
interest, to write to her in the plainest and sincerest
manner possible, and expostulate with her
upon her change to me, and upon the new counsels
by which she seemed to be wholly governed.”
The letter addressed on this occasion by the
Duchess to the Queen was truly characteristic
of the honest mind by which it was framed.
There is neither flattery nor violence, in the
simple declaration of wounded feeling, expressed
in the Duchess’s forcible language; and Queen
Anne appears to have been touched by the direct
122appeal to her best dispositions, which it contains.[121]
For some days, indeed, no notice was taken of
this remarkable epistle; but after a short time
had elapsed, an answer was presented to the
Duchess, who found in it symptoms of a relenting
spirit in her altered sovereign; and, anxious
on account of others, as well as for her own
comfort, to avoid an open rupture, “she endeavoured
once more to put on as easy an appearance
as she could.”[122]
Upon a review of the circumstances which
attended this notable quarrel, the character of
the Duchess appears in a much more favourable
light than, from the many defects of her ill-governed
mind, could reasonably have been expected.
In the first instance, she was generous to her
kinswoman, confiding, and lenient. Slow in being
aroused to suspicion, her conduct was straightforward
and judicious when the truth was forced
upon her unwilling conviction. She acted with
sincerity, but not with address; and feelings too
natural for a courtier to indulge were betrayed
in the course of those altercations in which the
character of Abigail is displayed in the worst
colours. Artful and plausible, yet daring and
insolent, according to circumstances—shameless
in her ingratitude, the mean and despicable
123tool of others, with few advantages of education,—that
abject but able woman acquired an
ascendency over the mind of Anne that was truly
astonishing.
The poor Queen is to be pitied—we dare not
say despised—for her subserviency, her little artifices,
her manœuvres in closets and the back
stairs, her degrading connivance at duplicity, her
thirst for flattery, or for what she termed friendship.
Her confidence and affection, thus extended
towards an unworthy object, henceforth weakened
rather than adorned her character.
It is remarkable, that when she learned to
dispense with the friendship of the Marlborough
family, the Queen ceased to be great abroad and
respected at home.
CHAPTER VI.
124
Vexations and disappointments which harassed the Duke
and Duchess of Marlborough—Vacillations of Anne—Her
appointment of Tory bishops.
The ensuing five or six years of the life of the
Duchess of Marlborough present little else than
annals of party rivalries and of court dissensions.
Those who once envied her had now their revenge.
To thirst still for power, and to be
bowed down ever and anon by a secret but all-pervading
influence; to witness one day the
altered countenance of her royal mistress, and to
experience, the next, relentings of her sovereign’s
weak mind; to suffer the sneers of her adversaries,
and to encounter the still more grating pity
of her friends; to be blamed by all parties, and
even reviled by almost all the Whig leaders, save
the devoted and moderate Marlborough, or the
125faithful Godolphin,—these were the trials of the
Duchess’s middle age.
That her temper was soured by these vicissitudes
of hope and fear, and by the excitement of all those
angry passions which disappointment kindles,
cannot be doubted. From the great age which
she attained, and from the clearness of her intellect
until the close of her existence, there is no
reason to suppose that her health, or even her
spirits, were eventually impaired by the everlasting
contentions of which she was the centre.
For a while, after her explanatory letter to the
Queen, and her Majesty’s reply, “the great
breach,” as the Duchess calls it, was not made
public.[123] It was some time before Marlborough
and Godolphin could be convinced of the secret
influence which Harley exercised, or that the
former, especially, could be induced to take the
matter seriously to heart. The Duchess in vain
importuned him to revenge her wrongs, and
harassed him until he was heart-sick with the details
of all that her enemies performed and projected.
“You may be sure,” writes the Duke to
her from Helchin, on Sept. 19, 1707, “I shall
never mention Mrs. Masham, either in letter or discourse.
I am so weary of all this sort of management,
that I think it is the greatest folly in the
126world to think any struggling can do good when
both sides have a mind to be angry.”[124]
Yet, in spite of this simple philosophy, the poor
Duke was constrained to acknowledge himself “not
the same man,” after vexatious and embarrassing
letters had reached him from England. It was not,
however, long before the Queen’s dispositions
were completely manifest. It was said that
Prince George was brought into the scheme to
co-operate with Harley against the Whigs, and
that his mind was worked on by representations that
he had not his due share in the government, and
that he was excluded from it by the great power
which the Duke of Marlborough and the Lord
Treasurer exercised. The Queen, it was alleged
by the new favourites, was a mere cipher in the
Duchess’s hands, whilst the Duke controlled her
affairs; and it was moreover declared to her that
there was not now a single Jacobite in the kingdom;[125]
an assertion made to dissipate her fears
of the high church ascendency—with what foundation,
the succeeding years fully evinced.
There were now three bishopricks vacant; and
the Queen quickly marked the course which she
meant to pursue, by appointing Dr. Blackhall
to the see of Exeter, and Dr. William James to
127that of Chester. These divines were, indeed,
men of excellent character, and so far the Queen
was able to justify herself to her ministry that
she would have none but such men appointed to
bishoprics. But they were likewise strong Tories,
who had submitted to the Revolution, yet condemned
it, and had objected to all the measures by
which that great event had been followed. To qualify
this proceeding, the Queen made other translations
more acceptable to the Whigs; and before
the meeting of parliament, in a conference of the
leading members of that party, they were assured
that her heart was wholly with them; yet Harley’s
industrious endeavours to convince the Tories that
such was not the case, and that the Queen was
weary of their adversaries, and knew her friends,
were calculated to counteract that impression.
Marlborough lost no time, when news of these
nominations reached him from England, of expostulating
with the Queen upon her choice of
the two bishops. A letter, addressed by him to
Lord Godolphin, being shown to the Queen,
drew from her Majesty a vehement defence of
Harley, with an explicit denial, at the same time,
of her having been influenced by him in her late
conduct.[126] “Mr. Harley,” she assured her great
general, “knew nothing of her Tory appointments,
128until it was the talk of the town.” She
disclaimed my Lady Marlborough’s imputation,
as she deemed it, that she had an entire confidence
in Harley; and wondered “how Lady
Marlborough could say such a thing, when she
had been so often assured from her that she relied
on none but Mr. Freeman and Mr. Montgomery.”
The Duke, after an earnest expostulation in
reply to this letter, suspended his remonstrances,
calmly awaiting the current of events by which
we are carried along in life, often independent
of our free wills. He remained abroad all the
summer, endeavouring to draw his affairs in
Holland to a close, and solacing his wearied and
vexed spirit with the hopes of one day enjoying
in tranquillity the shades of Woodstock. Much
of his time and thoughts was devoted to the completion
and decoration of that magnificent palace,
destined for two as gifted beings and stately inhabitants
as ever trod its banquet-hall. In the
midst of war, and, what harassed him far more,
of politics, he turned with almost youthful delight
to the minutiæ of those preparations for his
luxurious home, which had in his mind an association
with a deep-felt sentiment.
“My glasses,” he writes from Meldert, “are
come, and I have bespoke the hangings; for one
129of my greatest pleasures is in doing all that in
me lies, that we may as soon as possible enjoy
that happy time of being quietly together, which
I think of with pleasure, as often as I have my
thoughts free to myself.”[127]
And when the Duchess, in her letters, responded
to these sentiments, his pleasure was
blended with affectionate gratitude.
“I am obliged to you for your kind expression
concerning Woodstock; it is certainly a
pleasure to me when I hear the work goes on,
for it is there I must be happy with you. The
greatest pleasure I have, when I am alone, is the
thinking of this, and flattering myself that we
may then live so as to anger neither God nor
men, if the latter be reasonable; but if they are
otherways, I shall not much care, if you are
pleased, and that I do my duty to God; for ambition
and business is what after this war shall
be abandoned by me.”[128]
The Duke wrote habitually in this strain; but
of late, the hollowness of those whose personal
advancement constitutes the sole business of their
lives, had been painfully manifested to him.
Since the knowledge of the Duchess’s downfal
had become general, her failings, and the defects
of the whole “Marlburghian faction,” as it has
130been called by a contemporary writer, constituted
the subject of general conversation; “being,”
says the caustic, but not dispassionate Cunningham,
“bandied about the town by gossiping
women, and by them greedily sucked in; whilst
the inexperienced multitude, who, for the most
part, look with envy on the grandeur and good
fortune of their superiors, rejoiced at the Duchess
of Marlborough’s disgrace, and began to carry
themselves with great insolence, as if any one of
themselves were to have succeeded her in the
Queen’s favour.”[129]
The Duchess, meantime, retired to Windsor;
and, according to the same authority, “lived in
quiet, nor did she take any pains to appease the
anger of the incensed Queen;” although repeatedly
advised by her friend Mr. Mainwaryng,
not to absent herself wholly from the court,—a
line of conduct which he urged, not solely
on her own account, but for the good of her
friends. But the Duchess disregarded his admonitions;
and by this indifference the artful
Mrs. Masham gained ground, skilfully availing
herself of her rival’s absence to ingratiate herself
more and more in the Queen’s favour. Prince
George, it appears, was unfavourable to the
Masham faction. As a spectator, comparatively
131but little concerned in all that passed, he probably
dreaded the intrigues, the petty commotions,
among the female hierarchy, which disturbed
his conjugal repose. The Queen, at this
time, fell into the inconvenient habit of holding
nocturnal conferences with the Harley and
Masham confederacy, and her health suffered in
consequence. A humour in her eyes was the subject
of public concern; and Prince George remarked
in public, that it was no wonder she
should suffer, but rather that she should not
be otherwise indisposed, from late hours. This
remark is said not to have fallen from him
unawares. It was evident, in the sequel, that
the Prince deemed the removal of Harley
from the confidence of her Majesty indispensable.
The Duchess now aroused herself from her
apathy; but it was too late. She employed spies
about the Queen, and gained intelligence of all
that happened. She worked upon the minds of
Marlborough and Godolphin, and besought, if
she did not command, their interference in the
matter.
Serious thoughts of quitting her employments,
and of resigning her offices in favour of her
daughters, having received from the Queen a sort
132of vague promise that her employments should
be made over to them, now occupied her mind.
For some time, the advice of friends, and more
especially of her confidential correspondent,
Mr. Mainwaring, delayed the performance of
her intention. Yet, before finally giving up the
game, she was anxious to make one more effort
against the adverse party.
Before affairs came to a crisis, the discovery
of a treasonable correspondence between a man
named Gregg, and the Queen’s enemies abroad,
arrested the downfal of the Marlborough family,
and delayed the elevation of Harley. Gregg was
a clerk in the office of the Secretary of State, and
much in his confidence; and there were many who
hesitated not to consider the secretary as implicated
in the delinquencies of his clerk. Yet it
was by Harley that the affair was first brought to
light.[130] More especially, Lord Sunderland charged
Harley with being privy to the crime of Gregg;
nor could the asseverations of the culprit, who
was drawn in a sledge to the place of execution,
and hanged, wholly silence the bitter accusations
and unworthy suspicions of Sunderland.
The Queen, when urged to investigate the
conduct of Harley, showed considerable reluctance
133to act in the matter. She was “moved,” to use
an old-fashioned expression, when Marlborough
and Godolphin spoke to her on the subject.[131]
When, irritated by her determined though meek
opposition, they told her plainly that it was impossible
for them to do her Majesty any service
whilst Mr. Harley remained in the council, she
was still firm; and to the expressed resolution of
Godolphin to leave her, she seemed insensible.
But when Marlborough proffered his resignation,
her royal heart was touched, and she studied by
arguments and compliments to change his determination;
but both her Treasurer and her General
quitted her presence in disgust.
Anne repaired on the same day to the council,
where Harley opened some matters relating to
foreign affairs. The whole board seemed to be
infected with sullenness; and, upon the Duke of
Somerset remarking that it was impossible to
transact any business whilst the General and the
Treasurer were away, a deeper gloom overspread
the faces of those who were present. The Queen
then perceived that she must yield—a conviction
which she received with feminine wrath and perverseness.
She sent the next day for Marlborough,
and told him that Mr. Harley should
134in two days be dismissed; but she gave her
concurrence to this desired measure with a deep
resentment, which her tenacity of impressions
rendered indelible.
It might now be expected that the Duchess’s
restoration to favour would ensue; but those
who looked for such a termination of the political
broil knew nothing of human nature. Anne
never forgave being compelled to part with
Harley. Her ministers perceived that they had
lost her confidence; and Harley, through the
favour of Mrs. Masham, still enjoyed opportunities
of “practising upon the passions and credulity
of the Queen,” as Lady Marlborough
expresses it.
Among those members of the ministry who
went out of office in consequence of Harley’s dismissal,
was the celebrated Henry St. John, who
immortalised the name of Bolingbroke.[132] He at
that time held the office of Secretary at War;
but his rise to political influence had begun in
the earliest years of the Queen’s reign.
Of a most powerful natural capacity, to which
were added splendid attainments, the result of a
careful education acting upon an ardent and
grasping mind,—of great but misdirected ambition,—Lord
135Bolingbroke was one of those men
by whom Fate dealt unkindly, in subjecting
them to the temptations of a political career.
There is, indeed, no reason to conclude that
Bolingbroke, untempted by that ambition to
which he sacrificed so much, would have adorned
private life by purity and temperance,—which
were not the fashionable virtues of the day. When
even the high-minded and reflecting Somers
could tarnish his great qualities by licentious
habits, there can be little cause to wonder that
one who, like Bolingbroke, lived in a whirlwind,
could be profane without a blush, and grossly
immoral without contrition. Born not only
with strong passions, but more especially with
the most perilous of all, the passion for notoriety,
Bolingbroke had not the protecting influence of a
religious faith to temper his extravagances, nor
to chasten his erring spirit when the dark hour had
passed away, and had left his mind free to admire
and worship the beauty of virtue; and to draw
the comparison between his own conduct, and
that rule which should have been his guide. The
cable by which he was connected with that anchor
which alone can keep the frail bark firm, was cut
away. The infidelity of Bolingbroke, and his endeavours
to impress his opinions upon others, are
too well known to require further comment.
136It may be well, from his intimate connexion
with the political affairs of the day, as well as
from the regard which the Duke of Marlborough
once entertained for him, to trace the progress of
that extraordinary mind, and of that inconsistent
yet lofty character, of which Bolingbroke, both
in his works and in the history of his life, has
left us ample records.
It may seem unfair to say, that his early
scepticism and his youthful thirst for distinction
may be attributed, in some measure, to his education
among individuals of the Presbyterian persuasion.
Not that we mean, by such an assertion, to
cast the slightest reflection upon the pious and
generally conscientious body of non-conformists.
But Bolingbroke, like many other young persons
whose friends are opposed on matters of controversy,
was the object of persuasion—the innocent
cause of polemical discussion—the victim of
well-meant efforts which drew in contrary ways.
This gifted descendant of a long line of
eminent and ennobled warriors and statesmen
was born at Battersea, in Surrey, in the
year 1672, at the house of his paternal grandfather,
Sir Walter St. John. The civil commotions,
in which his grandfather had taken a prominent
part, were then, in those later days of
Charles the Second, hushed, not quelled; and the
137effects of political and polemical differences not
only still existed, but were cherished as sacred
recollections by the elder branches of the St.
John family, of whom Lady St. John, the grandmother
of Bolingbroke, was an influential member.
This excellent and zealous lady, although
a charitable benefactress to the orthodox institutions
of her village, was a steady adherent to the
Puritans, and an earnest promoter of their principles
in the mind of her youthful grandson.
Unluckily she adopted that course of instruction
which has been found to be peculiarly unsuccessful
in training the minds of youth to certain
religious impressions. It is universally remarked
how little we respect what we have been forced to
commit to memory,—however valuable may be
the subject, however attractive the form of what
we are thus compelled to receive into our rebellious
imaginations. The spiritual adviser of Lady
St. John, and the instructor of Bolingbroke,
was Daniel Burgess, one of those singular compounds
of fanaticism, shrewdness, humour, and
obstinacy, who often obtain so remarkable an influence
over the strongest intellects, as well as the
most devout hearts. This zealous man acted with
the usual blindness to the inclinations of youth,
and with the ignorance of human nature which
such persons display. “I was obliged,” says
138Lord Bolingbroke, writing almost with loathing
of his earlier days, “while yet a boy, to read
over the Commentaries of Dr. Manton, whose
pride it was to have made an hundred and
nineteen sermons on the hundred and nineteenth
Psalm.”
These spiritual exercises were, it is more than
probable, counteracted, or at least discouraged,
by his grandfather, who, after the Restoration,
conformed to the national church, and received
into his family, as chaplain, the learned Dr. Patrick,
afterwards Bishop of Chichester and Ely, who
remained many years in his family.
Henry, the object of these well-intended cares,
claimed, on his mother’s side, an alliance with the
ancient and noble family of Rich, Earl of Warwick;
from which loyal house he probably received those
predilections for the Tory party which a mother
could so easily implant; an influence which no non-conformist
divine could readily counteract. But
whilst thus he grew up, culling from different
sources contrary opinions, it is probable that
from his Presbyterian tutor he acquired that
ardour for singular distinction, which is the characteristic
mark of sectarianism of every description,
and by which, indeed, in conjunction often
with higher motives, its ramifications are extended
and maintained.
139It was not until after Bolingbroke had passed
the period of early youth, that this love of display,
not to dignify it with the name of ambition,
took a higher aim than the desire of being the
most lavish, the most fearless, the most eccentric,
and the most profane profligate of his age. At
Oxford, his powerful comprehension, his ready
wit, the subtility of his reasoning, the extent of his
memory, raised expectations of his career, which
were soon dissipated by his mad and outrageous,
rather than sensual course of pleasures. When he
moved into the sphere of fashion to which his
birth entitled him, it became his degrading
boast that his mistress was the most expensive
of her class; and that he could drink
a greater quantity of wine, without intoxication,
than any of his companions. Yet, in the
midst of such associates as envied or extolled his
supremacy, St. John never wholly lost that desire
for better things, that love of knowledge, and
value of intellectual excellence, which afterwards
raised him from debasement, and which still
ennoble his name, in spite of his unprincipled
political career, and of the obliquity of his moral
conduct.
It was not until the latter end of the reign of
William, and after his first marriage, that Henry
140St. John applied himself to politics. He was
then twenty-eight years of age. Unhappily for
him, he consulted what he deemed expediency
(his guide through life) in the first respectable
connexion that he formed. He married the
daughter and co-heiress of Sir Henry Winchescomb,
a descendant from the famous clothier, Jack
of Newbury, who entertained Henry the Eighth
and his suite. The union which St. John thought
proper to form might have been considered prudent
by his friends, but it proved adverse to all
improvement in his domestic conduct. His wife,
though commended for her personal and mental
accomplishments, yet failed in fixing the gay, inconstant
Bolingbroke. A separation ensued;
and though much of the lady’s fortune, which
amounted to forty thousand pounds, became the
portion of her husband, it was subsequently, with
the exception of some estates, given back to her
family after his attainder.
So far his worldly interests were concerned;
but it was Bolingbroke’s fate, in after life, to attach
himself strongly to the wife of the Marquis
de Villette, the niece of Madam de Maintenon,
and to be truly, passionately, and long hopelessly
attached. His jealousies, his uncertainties, the
sickness of hope deferred, were a retribution to
141his former indulgence of what are too lightly
termed the pleasant vices; in which his vanity,
perhaps his passions were concerned, but in which
the heart participated not.
Bolingbroke entered parliament in 1700, as
member for Wotton-Basset, on the Whig interest.
His wife’s connexions, as well as his own, had
considerable influence in the political world.
But the natural and acquired attributes of the
young politician were far more potent than family
influence, which can place a man in the national
assembly, as one may plant a tree, but cannot
make it grow, nor enable it to stand the wintry
blast.
It was, perhaps, not among the least of Bolingbroke’s
advantages, that he was one of the
handsomest men of his time. Notwithstanding
the dissolute life which he had led up to
the period of manhood’s prime, when he became
a noted politician, St. John retained a
sweetness of countenance which usually belongs
to innocence alone, combined with a dignity, the
outward token of a high quality of mind, and
perhaps the hereditary mark of ancient blood.
His manner was eminently fascinating; and the
awe which his acknowledged abilities might have
inspired, was dispelled by a vivacity which,
142strange as it may appear, has been almost invariably
the accompaniment of the most profound
thinkers, and of the most energetic actors on the
stage of public life.
To these personal advantages, Bolingbroke, in
the maturity of his intellect, added an astonishing
penetration into the motives and dispositions of
men. Perhaps he trusted too greatly to this
faculty, for he was often deceived, where duller
spirits might have perceived the truth. He possessed
the art of acquiring an ascendency over
all with whom he conversed. If he could not
convince, he was contented to waive contention,
and to gain his point by entertaining. His
powers of eloquence, even in that age, when
the art of rhetoric was sedulously cultivated,
were supereminent. Perhaps the greatest merit
of eloquence is perspicuity; and this Bolingbroke
displayed in a very uncommon degree. A prodigious
memory, the handmaid of oratory, did
not ensnare him into the fault of pedantry,
common to men so endowed. How admirably
he has avoided this defect in his Letters on the
Study of History, must be remembered with
gratitude by those who have perhaps sat down
to peruse the work with dread, but have arisen
from it, not wearied, but delighted and informed.
143His eloquence possessed the charm of a noble
simplicity. Yet his language, although apparently
only such as would be suggested to any person
speaking familiarly on similar subjects, was selected
with a skill the more refined that it could
not be detected. Sometimes he would pause for
a moment’s reflection, when in the midst of an
harangue; but the pause was succeeded by a full,
clear, impassioned burst of eloquence, to which
all the stores of his memory, the depth of his
logic, and the elegance of a mind never debased,
whatever might be his immoralities, contributed,
like pellucid streams flowing into the one mighty
torrent.[133]
It was in the dawn of his political career that
St. John gained the approbation, almost the affection,
of Marlborough.[134] Until after the defection
of Harley from the ministry, Marlborough and
Bolingbroke were more than political allies. The
great general admired the talents of the young
debater, and loved his society; as men who have
lived long enough to appreciate all the various
sorts of excellence, love the promise of the young,
and hail its progress with almost prophetic accuracy.
Bolingbroke, on the other hand, whatever
144were the differences of after life, whatever
the wrongs sustained by Marlborough, whatever
his own tergiversation, reverenced, almost affectionately,
the hero of Ramillies,—a victory
achieved whilst he himself was in office. His
eloquent tribute to the great hero’s memory is
well known.[135]
It has been supposed, and not without reason,
that St. John was indebted both to the Duke of
Marlborough and to Harley for his introduction
to office, in 1704, as Secretary at War and of the
Marine. That he considered himself chiefly
bound in honour and gratitude to Harley, is
evident from his resigning his post, upon the dismissal
of that minister. A friendship of some
years had, indeed, at the time of that event, subsisted
between Harley and St. John. But it was
a friendship such as worldly men could alone
avow and endure; hollow, interested, and already
verging into rivalry,—as the closest intimacies
are found to be sometimes nearest to the deadliest
hatred. Never was there an alliance, bearing
the name of friendship, so ill assorted.
Harley was a man of industry, research, method;
a statesman of no extended views, yet an adept
in the craft. His morals were, for his time, more
than respectable, his integrity unimpeachable,
145although it was not of a description suited to the
nicer notions of our modern days. It was his
aim to conciliate both Whigs and Tories; to
maintain the Protestant succession, yet to conciliate
the adverse courts of St. Germains. To
effect his ends, he scrupled not to employ any
means which appeared to him expedient. If not
actually deceptive, he was, at any rate, constantly
treading on the brink of that moral precipice,
falsehood: versed in all Parliamentary forms
and records, he was at once an able leader of the
House of Commons, as well as a consummate
manager of courts.
Bolingbroke, on the other hand, with a less
share of principle than Harley, displayed a decision
and courage which bore the aspect of consistency
and disinterestedness. His devotion to
the Tories, which proved his ruin, caused him to
disapprove the half measures of his friend and
subsequent rival. Yet he was not wholly devoid of
a deep, designing spirit; for Bolingbroke, though
in this instance he misunderstood the general
sentiments of the nation, yet was not deceived in
the real, heartfelt secret wishes of his royal
mistress, on which he relied.
At the period when the “great breach,” as the
Duchess of Marlborough called it, took place,
Bolingbroke was, however, the warm adherent of
146Harley; and in compliance with their mutual
bond, he quitted office, after three years’ enjoyment
of its dignity and emoluments.[136]
CHAPTER VII.
147
1708—Vacillation of Anne—Invasion of the Pretender—Results
of that event—Secret intrigues with Mrs. Masham—The
death of Prince George—The Duchess of Marlborough’s
affectionate attentions to the Queen on that
occasion—Her disappointment.
Not many days after the dismissal of Harley and
the resignation of St. John, and whilst the world
of politics was still occupied in discussing Gregg’s
ignominious life and courageous death, it was
announced that a French fleet, with troops, had
sailed from Dunkirk to invade Scotland.
James Stuart, or, as Queen Anne, for the first
time after this attempt upon her kingdom, permitted
him to be designated, the Pretender, was,
however, luckily for himself, prevented from embarking
with the squadron, just at the critical time,
by an ague;[137] and the fleet was put back by
contrary winds. When too late to do any good,
148James set sail. The fleet, being chiefly filled
with landsmen, was greatly distressed for want of
water; and, after being tossed about for nearly
a month in a tempestuous sea, was obliged to return
to Dunkirk. Thus was this vast project,
contrived by Louis with the design of drawing off
the troops in Flanders, frustrated; nor would the
French monarch have been inconsolable, had the
Pretender fallen into the hands of the English, of
which he ran an imminent risk; for Louis
was not particularly anxious to see the unfortunate
Prince again in France; and he would
have been reconciled to the loss of his fleet, if
he could have at the same time been relieved
of his guest.[138] The attempt, however, proved
nearly fatal to the Tory party in England: for it
was believed that Louis would not have risked
so small a fleet, and forces so incompetent as those
which he sent over, had he not been well assured
of assistance in England and Scotland.
On the other hand, the Queen, who was
alarmed, and, according to her capability, indignant,
on account of her brother’s invasion,
perceived the duplicity of those who had so recently
assured her that there was not a single Jacobite in
the nation. Never before this occurrence had her
royal lips been known to mention the Revolution.
149Her courtiers had universally endeavoured to separate
her title to the throne from any connexion
with that event; although she had no other claim
to the crown than that which was given her by
the Act of Settlement. The Queen now, as Parliament
was sitting, addressed the Houses; she
named the Revolution twice; she received addresses
in which the word ‘Pretender’ was applied to her
brother: she thus approved that designation, and
from this period he is so called in the generality
of histories.[139] She declared publicly that she
considered those who had brought about the Revolution
to be her best friends; and the Whigs as
most to be depended upon for the support of her
government. She looked to Marlborough for assistance,
and, for the first time, cordially agreed
with her general, that it was neither for her honour,
nor interest, to make the first steps towards
a peace,[140] She wrote to him in the most confidential
and affectionate terms, signing herself his
“humble servant;”[141] and she received from him
a respectful and manly answer, assuring her
Majesty that the Duke desired to serve his
royal mistress “in the army, but not as a minister.”[142]
For a while this good understanding lasted,
150and the Whigs were sanguine of their entire restoration
to royal favour; but, as the Queen’s
fears subsided, her inclinations returned to their
old channel, and her mind yielded again to the
influence of Harley.
That able and persevering courtier continued,
during the whole summer after his dismissal, to
entertain a secret correspondence with the Queen.
Anne, whose nature was quite on a level with
that of the most humble of her household, descended
so far as to encourage these stolen conferences.
The lessons which she had learned
during her depression in the court of William
and Mary were retained, when the same inducement
to those small manœuvres no longer justified
the stratagems which nothing but the dread of
tyranny can excuse. To enjoy in privacy the
gossip, for it could not be called society, of Mrs.
Masham, and the flattery of Harley, “she staid,”
says the indignant Duchess, “all the sultry
season, even when the Prince was panting for
breath, in that small house she had formerly
purchased at Windsor; which, though hot as an
oven, was then said to be cool, because, from the
park, such persons as Mrs. Masham had a mind
to bring to her Majesty could be let in privately
from the garden.”[143]
151The Duchess could not long endure this; and,
upon the occasion of a thanksgiving for the victory
of Oudenarde, and after the memorable siege of
Brussels, her wrath broke forth. She still, in spite
of her threats, held the office of groom of the
stole, which brought her into frequent, unfortunate
collision with the Queen. The efforts
to please, which the haughty Duchess now condescended
to make, were constantly counteracted by
her rival. The following letter is truly characteristic.
Pique, pride, effrontery, are curiously
manifested in its expression.[144]
“I cannot help sending your Majesty this
letter, to show how exactly Lord Marlborough
agrees with me in my opinion, that he has now
no interest with you; though, when I said so in
the church on Thursday,[145] you were pleased to
say it was untrue: and yet I think that he will
be surprised to hear that, when I had taken so much
pains to put your jewels in a way that I thought
you would like, Mrs. Masham could make you
refuse to wear them, in so unkind a manner;
because that was a power she had not thought fit
to exercise before. I will make no reflection upon
it; only that I must needs observe that your
Majesty chose a very wrong day to mortify me,
152when you were just going to return thanks for
a victory obtained by Lord Marlborough.”
The Queen thought proper to answer this epistle
in the following words. The contest had now arrived
at its climax.
“Sunday.
“After the commands you gave me on the
thanksgiving-day of not answering you, I should
not have troubled you with these lines, but to return
the Duke of Marlborough’s letter safe into
your hands, and for the same reason do not say
anything to that, nor to yours enclosed with it.”
It was impossible for the Duchess, on receiving
so extraordinary a letter, to remain silent; and,
in truth, she was one of those whom rebuke could
not abash, nor argument silence, nor invective
intimidate. She again took up the pen, not, as
she assured her Majesty, with any view of answering
the Queen’s letter, but of explaining what
she had said at church. This explanation, like
most others, tended to make the matter considerably
worse. “I desired you,” says the Duchess,
continuing to address the Queen in the character
of an equal, “I desired you not to answer me
there, for fear of being overheard; and this you
interpret as if I had desired you not to answer
153me at all, which was far from my intention.
For the whole end of my writing to you so often,
was to get your answer to several things in which
we differed, that if I was in the wrong you might
convince me of it, and I should very readily have
owned my mistakes.”
The Duchess proceeds to say, that she hopes that,
some time or other, the Queen may find time to
reflect upon the unanswerable arguments which
the Duchess had laid before her, and that her Majesty
would also occasionally listen to the advice of
my Lord Marlborough, and then she would never
more be troubled with disagreeable letters from
her. “The word command,” adds the Duchess,
“which you use at the beginning of your letter, is
very unfitly supposed to come from me. For though
I have always writ to you as a friend, and lived
with you as such for so many years, with all the
truth, and honesty, and zeal for your service that
was possible, yet I shall never forget that I am
your subject, nor cease to be a faithful one.”[146]
This correspondence appears to have had the
effect only of widening the breach. It is one peculiarity
of our sex, or, at any rate, of the least reflective
portion, that the affections once alienated, cannot,
by reasoning, by persuasion, even by concession,
be restored to their accustomed channel. At
154Anne’s side there stood a whisperer ever ready to
pour into the royal ear the antidote to all the
medicine of too wholesome truth, which the
Duchess, in her hardihood, dared to administer.
It was indeed her boast, that when, without prejudice
or passion, she knew the Queen to be wrong,
she should think herself wanting in her duty not
to tell her Majesty her opinion, “and the rather,
because no one else dares to speak out upon so
ungrateful a subject.”
The poor Queen went on, therefore, much in
the same state of indecision and mystery as that
in which her life had been passed for years;
closeted every night with Mrs. Masham and
Harley, and watched at every avenue by the
Duchess and her emissaries. When the ministry
suspected that the Queen was under the influence
of the discarded but dreaded Harley, the Duchess
despatched a letter full of remonstrances and reproaches,
written with her “usual plainness and
zeal.” But finding that by this mode she could
make no impression upon her Majesty, the
Duchess sought an interview, and begged to
know what her crime was that had produced so
great an alteration in the Queen. This inquiry
drew from Anne a charge of inveteracy and of
persecution against “poor Masham,” and a declaration
that the Queen would henceforth treat
155the Duchess as it became her to treat the Duke
of Marlborough’s wife, and the groom of the
stole; but she forbore specifying any distinct
charge against the discarded favourite.
On receiving this letter, the Duchess began a work
which it seems she had some time contemplated;
namely, a careful review of all the faithful services
which, for about twenty-six years, she had
performed towards the Queen; of the favour with
which she had been honoured, and of the use
which she had made of that favour; and of the
manner in which she had now lost it, by means
of one whom she had raised out of the dust.[147] To
savour her apology with some sacred associations,
the Duchess prefixed to it the directions given by
the author of “The Whole Duty of Man,” with
regard to friendship; and the directions in the
Common Prayer before the Communion with
regard to reconciliation, together with the rules
laid down by Bishop Taylor on the same head;
and in offering this memorial, the subdued, but
not humiliated Duchess, gave her word to her
Majesty, that if, after reading these compilations,
she would please to answer in two words that she
was still of her former opinion, she, the Duchess,
would never more trouble her on that head as long
as she lived, but would perform her offices with
156respect and decorum, remember always that
Anne was her mistress and her Queen, and
resolve to pay her the respect due from a faithful
subject to a Queen.
This despatch was sent from St. Albans, and
the Queen promised that she would read and
answer it. But ten days afterwards the paper
was unread, and the only consolation which the
Duchess received for this negligence was a kind
look and a gracious smile from her Majesty, as
she passed to receive the communion; “but the
smile and the look,” adds the Duchess, “were,
I had reason afterwards to think, given to Bishop
Taylor and the Common Prayer Book, and not
to me.”
Meantime the Queen, after more than twenty-five
years of matrimony, became a widow.
Prince George, in October, sank under the
effects of a long-continued asthma, which, during
the last few years of his life, had kept
him hovering on the brink of the grave. The
Queen, who had been throughout the whole of
her married life a pattern of domestic affection,
had never, during the last trying years of his
life, left the Prince either night or day. She
attended him with assiduity, and proffered to
her sick consort those patient services which are
generally supposed only to be the meed of females
in the humbler walks of life.
157The Prince merited her affection; his manners
were amiable, and his conduct respectable; and
he had not embarrassed the Queen by taking a
conspicuous share in politics. The “Monsieur est
il possible” of King James was neither deficient in
sense nor in information; but his powers of expression
were inferior to his capacity for gaining
knowledge.[148]
The Queen, unsentimental though well intentioned,
plunged deeper and deeper into petty
political intrigues, after the respectable occupation
of tending her invalid husband was at an end.
Her grief was as edifying as her conjugal affection
had been exemplary; yet the parliament,
not thinking it too late for such addresses, petitioned
her Majesty that she would not allow
her grief for the Prince’s death to prevent her
from contemplating a second marriage. But
Anne continued to be, or, as some said, to seem
inconsolable. She avoided the light of day, and
could not endure the conversation of her dearest
friends, but seemed, as in affliction it is natural so
to do, to revert to those companions of her earlier
years who had witnessed the felicity of her married
life.
Several weeks had elapsed since the Queen
and the Duchess had met, when the latter was
158apprised that the existence of the Prince of Denmark
was drawing to a close. The Duchess,
warm in her temper, warm in her feelings, wrote
on this occasion to her royal mistress to express
her determination to pay her duty, in inquiring
after her Majesty’s health, and to declare that she
could not hear of so great a misfortune and affliction
as the condition in which the Prince was,
without offering her services, if acceptable to her
Majesty.
This letter was scarcely penned, before further
tidings of the Prince’s danger arrived; and the
Duchess, setting off for Kensington, carried her
letter with her, and sent it to the Queen, with a
message that she waited her Majesty’s commands.
Anne could scarcely be much flattered by a
tribute of respect, which was prefaced by the
Duchess with these offensive words:—“Though,
the last time I had the honour to wait upon your
Majesty, your usage of me was such as was scarce
possible for me to imagine, or for any one to believe,”
&c. &c. She received her haughty subject
“coolly, and as a stranger.” The Duchess,
however, touched by her royal mistress’s impending
calamity, persevered. It was her lot, after
witnessing the nuptials of the Queen with the
Prince of Denmark, and after participating for
years in their sober privacy, to be present at his
159last moments. It was her office to lead the
Queen from the chamber of death into her closet,
where, kneeling down, the Duchess endeavoured
affectionately to console the widowed sovereign,
remaining for some time before her in that posture
of humiliation.
The Queen’s conduct in this peculiar situation,
and at this critical moment, was singularly
characteristic of her feeble, vacillating character,
on which no strong impression could be made.
Whilst the Duchess knelt before her, imploring
her Majesty not to cherish sorrow, by remaining
where the remembrance of the recent solemn
scene would haunt her, but to retire to St.
James’s; whilst the arrogant but warm-hearted
Duchess forgot all past grievances in her attempts
to solace a mistress from whom she had
received many favours; the poor Queen’s fluttered
spirits were affrighted by the recollection of Mrs.
Masham, and of the party who would resent this
long and private interview. She yielded, however,
to the Duchess’s remonstrances, and promised
to accompany her to St. James’s; and,
placing her watch in the Duchess’s hand, bade
her retire until the finger of that monitor had
reached a certain point, and to send Mrs. Masham
in the interval. A crowd was collected before
the antechamber, and the Duchess, emerging
160from the royal closet, determined, though the
game was lost, at least not to betray her defeat.
She behaved on this occasion with the address,
and dignity, and self command, which a knowledge
of her own well-meant intentions, and her
long experience in the world, imparted. She
ordered her own coach to be prepared for the
reception of the Queen, and desired the assembled
courtiers to retire, whilst her Majesty, amidst
her complicated feelings of grief and embarrassment,
should pass through the gallery. The Queen,
moved like a puppet to the last by the spirited
and intellectual woman who was formed to command,
came forth, leaning on the arm of the
Duchess. “Your Majesty,” said the lofty Sarah,
“must excuse my not delivering your message
to Mrs. Masham; your Majesty can send for her
at St. James’s, how and when you please.”
The Queen, apparently insensible to the spirit
of this reply, or preoccupied by fears as to what
“poor Masham” would think, moved along the
gallery, whispering some commission to Mrs.
Hill, the sister of Mrs. Masham, as she went
along, and casting upon Mrs. Masham, who appeared
in the gallery with Dr. Arbuthnot, a look
of kindness, though without speaking. She was
sufficiently composed, on entering the carriage,
to intimate to Godolphin that she wished the
161royal vaults at Westminster to be inspected previous
to the interment of the Prince, in order to
ascertain whether there would be room for her
body also,—if not, to choose another place of interment;
and in these topics the drive from Kensington
to St. James’s was occupied. It was not
thought by the Queen incompatible with the
deep feeling which she professed, to busy herself
with those minutiæ to which minds of a common
stamp affix so much importance, connected with
the disposition of the dead.—The Duchess has
commented upon the Queen’s particularities, with
the freedom natural to her. After a conference
with Lord Godolphin at St. James’s, during
which the Duchess retired, the Queen, to use her
own expression, “scratched twice at dear Mrs.
Freeman’s door,” in hopes of finding the Lord
Treasurer within the Duchess’s apartments, in
order to bid him, when he sent his orders to Kensington,
order a great number of yeomen of the
guard to be in attendance to carry the “dear
Prince’s body” down the great stairs, which were
very steep and slippery, so that it might “not
be let fall.”
The transient reconciliation which thus took
place between the Queen and the Duchess was
not of long duration. Mrs. Masham, indeed,
162retired that same evening from the supper-room,
where the Duchess appeared to attend upon her
Majesty; and Anne cautiously forbore to mention
“poor Masham’s” hateful name. But
when in private, Anne was almost continually
attended by the insidious Abigail, and the Duchess
rarely entered the royal presence without finding
her rival there, or, what was worse, retiring furtively
at her approach; and she soon ascertained
that the very closet where she had knelt in sorrow
and compassion before her sovereign—where she
had striven to act the part of consolation—was the
scene of Mrs. Masham’s influence. It seemed,
indeed, strange that Anne should select for her
daily sitting-room the closet which her deceased
consort had used as his place of retirement
and prayer, and the prying Duchess soon penetrated
behind the screen of widowed proprieties.
She has laid bare the occupations of the royal
mourner, whilst closeted for many hours of the
day in Prince George’s apartments. The Duchess,
indeed, suspected that some peculiar motive could
alone induce Anne to disregard the mournful
associations with that retreat; and resolving to
ascertain the cause, she had the mortification to
discover the true reason of Anne’s choice: this
was, that the “back-stairs belonging to it
163came from Mrs. Masham’s lodgings, who, by
that means, could bring to her whom she
pleased.”[149]
CHAPTER VIII.
164
Trial of Dr. Sacheverell—His solemn protestation of innocence—Scene
behind the curtain where the Queen sat—Fresh
offence given by the Duchess to Anne.—1709–1710.
The year 1709, which witnessed the almost final
alienation of the Queen from her early favourite,
was disgraced by the strange spectacle of Dr.
Henry Sacheverell’s trial, his punishment, and
triumph.
A celebrated female historian has well observed,
that it is difficult to say “which is most
worthy of ridicule,—the ministry, in arming all
the powers of government in their attack upon
an obscure individual, or the public, in supporting
a culprit whose doctrine was more odious than
his insolence, and his principles yet more contemptible
than his parts.”[150]
165This “trumpeter of sedition,” as Cunningham
calls him, or, according to the ladies and other
zealous partisans of his day, this persecuted
saint, was a preacher of little merit, but of great
pretensions; who, in a discourse delivered on the
fifth of November, 1709, at St. Paul’s cathedral,
attacked Queen Elizabeth, decried the authors
of the Revolution, abused the ministers of the
reigning sovereign, and upheld the doctrines of
divine right, in one “incoherent jumble,” at
once passionate, ill constructed, and, one would
have supposed, innocuous.
The subsequent trial and conviction of this
agitator of the unsettled times in which he lived,
have been copiously detailed in history. There
has doubtless been many a more solemn, but
there assuredly never was a more singular scene
than that which was exhibited in Westminster
Hall on the day of his trial. A court was prepared
exactly in the form of a tribunal in the House
of Lords, and seats were placed for the peers. The
Queen herself attended, as a private individual,
in a box placed near the throne, with a curtain
drawn between her and the assembly. The hero of
the piece, Dr. Sacheverell, came forward to the bar
with Dr. Atterbury and Dr. Smalridge, two Tory
prelates, and made his obeisance to the court,
166with all the effrontery and indifference which
marked his whole career.
The court was thronged without by an infuriated
mob, ready to wreak, in deeds of vengeance,
the excitement which they called religious
zeal, on the opposing party, should Sacheverell
suffer the penalties of the misdemeanors with
which he was charged. Within, the enclosure of
the stately pile was lined with ladies of rank,
who dreaded, says Cunningham, lest the “Observer”
or the “Tatler” should satirise their
dress and conduct; yet none who could enter,
absented themselves from a scene so full of
interest and diversion. The known inclination
of the Queen to favour the doctrines advanced by
Sacheverell, however preposterous and derogatory
to her own right, induced many fair politicians,
who went to see and to be seen, to harass
their minds with discussions upon those knotty
points, the fallaciousness of which it is far better
to leave to practical experience to prove, than to
seek to expose by arguments which only inflame
the passions.
All listened with interest to the numerous
charges, amongst which was the grave accusation
of having plainly called the Lord High Treasurer
of this kingdom “Volpone;” but, after the elaborate
167and learned speeches made in this famous
cause by the managers of the House of Commons;
when the lawyers and judges had been duly listened
to,—after the doctor’s own counsel had
spoken, he himself replied to the charges in an able
oration, stated not to be his own. After expatiating
upon the dignity of the holy order to which he belonged,
he called solemnly upon the Searcher of
hearts to witness that he entertained no seditious
designs, and was wholly innocent of the crimes
alleged against him. When he had concluded,
a general sentiment of indignation pervaded the
assembly. The Countess of Sunderland, pious,
sincere, young in the ways of a corrupt court,
was so affected by this appeal to God, that she
could not help shedding tears at what she believed
to be falsehood and blasphemy.[151]
Sacheverell, however, returned in triumph to his
lodgings in the Temple; and his sentence, which
was suspension from preaching for three years,
though not so severe as had been contemplated,
was followed by riots, both in London and in
the country, similar in spirit and outrage to the
famous disturbances which Lord George Gordon,
a fanatic less reprehensible, and of less political
importance, contrived many years afterwards to excite.
168But the Whigs, unhappily, had failed in this
trial of their power, and had foolishly betrayed
their weakness. The Duke of Marlborough, who
had recommended the prosecution of Sacheverell,
“lest he should preach him and his party out of
the kingdom,” must have repented, when it was
too late, the adoption of counsels which hastened on
the crisis that approached. Happily for the common
sense of the nation, Sacheverell, intoxicated
by the applause of the multitude, soon showed his
motives and character in their true light. He paraded
the country, intermeddling with the affairs
of others, and assuming a sort of spiritual authority
wherever he went. He performed a tour to
congratulate his party on his and their common
safety; and, as is usual, alas for womankind! his
proselytes, his confidantes, the compassionate consolers
for the contumacy which he received from
men worthy of the name, were all misled, devoted,
prejudiced women.
The Duke of Argyll, who had opposed his
sentence, hearing that Sacheverell was going to
call upon him to return him thanks, refused to receive
him or his acknowledgments. “Tell him,”
said the Duke, “that what I did in parliament
was not done for his sake.”[152]
The Duchess of Marlborough, constrained by
169the duties of her office to wait upon the Queen,
was present during the whole of the trial of
Sacheverell; and whilst the assembled throng
in court were intent upon the scene below the
bar, small intrigues for favour and secret heart-burnings
were carried on behind that curtain,
screened by which, her Majesty sat to hear the
singular proceedings in court. The Duchess has
given the following account of the new causes
of offence which she was so unfortunate as to give
to her Majesty.[153]
“This was at Dr. Sacheverell’s trial, where I
waited upon the Queen the first time she went
thither, and having stood above two hours, said
to the vice-chamberlain, that when the Queen
went to any place incognito (as she came to the
trial, and only looked from behind a curtain) it
was always the custom for the ladies to sit down
before her; but her Majesty had forgot to speak
to us now; and that since the trial was like to
170continue very long every day, I wished he would
put the Queen in mind of it: to which he replied
very naturally, ‘Why, madam, should you not
speak to the Queen yourself, who are always in
waiting?’
“This I knew was right, and therefore I went
up to the Queen, and stooping down to her as she
was sitting, to whisper to her, said, ‘I believed her
Majesty had forgot to order us to sit, as was customary
in such cases.’ Upon this, she looked
indeed as if she had forgot, and was sorry for it,
and answered in a very kind easy way, ‘By all
means, pray sit;’ and, before I could go a step
from her chair, she called to Mr. Mordaunt; the
page of honour, to bring stools, and desire the
ladies to sit down, which accordingly we did—Lady
Scarborough, Lady Burlington, and myself.
But as I was to sit nearest to the Queen, I took
care to place myself at a good distance from her,
though it was usual in such cases to sit close to
her, and sometimes at the basset table, where she
does not appear incognito; but, in a place of
ceremony, the company has sat so near her as
scarce to leave her room to put her hand to her
pocket. Besides this, I used a further caution,
of showing her all the respect I could in this
matter, by drawing a curtain behind me in such
a manner, betwixt her and me, as to appear to be
171as it were in a different room from her Majesty.
But my Lady Hyde,[154] who stood behind the Queen
when I went to speak to her, (and who I observed,
with an air of boldness more than good breeding,
came up then nearer to hear what I said,) continued
to stand still in the same manner, and
never came to sit with the rest of us that day,
which I then took for nothing else but the making
show of more than ordinary favour with the
Queen.
“The next day the Duchess of Somerset came
to the trial, and before I sat down I turned to
her, having always used to show her a great deal
of respect,[155] and asked her if her grace would not
172be pleased to sit; at which she gave a sort of
start back, with the appearance of being surprised,
as if she thought I had asked a very
strange thing, and refused sitting. Upon this I
said it was always the custom to sit before the
Queen in such cases, and that her Majesty had
ordered us to do so the day before, but that her
refusing it now looked as if she thought we had
done something that was not proper. To which
she only answered, that she did not care to sit;
and then she went and stood behind the Queen,
as Lady Hyde had done the day before, which I
took no farther notice of then, but sat down with
my Lady Burlington as we did before. But
when I came to reflect upon what these two
ladies had done, I plainly perceived that, in the
Duchess of Somerset especially, this conduct
could not be thought to be the effect of humility,
but that it must be a stratagem that they had
formed in their cabal, to flatter the Queen by
paying her more respect, and to make some public
noise of this matter that might be to my disadvantage,
or disagreeable to me.
“And this I was still the more confirmed in,
because it had been known before that the
Duchess of Somerset, who was there with her
lord, was to act a cunning part between the
Duke and Duchess of Marlborough. The
173Whigs and Tories did not intend to come to the
trial.
“As, therefore, it was my business to keep all
things as quiet as possible till the campaign was
over, and preserve myself in the mean while, if I
could, from any public affront, I resolved to do
what I could to disappoint these ladies in their
little design; and in order to this, I waited upon
the Queen the next morning, before she went to
the trial, and told her that I had observed, the
day before, that the Duchess of Somerset had
refused to sit at the trial, which I did not know the
meaning of, since her Majesty was pleased to
order it, and it was nothing more than what was
agreeable to the constant practice of the court in
all such cases; but however, if it would be in any
respects more pleasing to her Majesty that we
should stand for the future, I begged she would
let me know her mind about it, because I should
be very sorry to do anything that could give her
the least dissatisfaction. To this she answered,
with more peevishness than was natural to her,
in these words: ‘If I had not liked you should
sit, why should I have ordered it?’
“This plainly showed that the cabal had been
blowing her up, but that she could not, however,
contradict her own order. What she had now
said was still a further confirmation of it, and
174made it more difficult for the cabal to proceed
any farther in this matter, and therefore the next
day the Duchess of Ormond and Lady Fretchwell
came to the trial, and, to my great surprise,
sat down amongst the rest of us. And thus this
matter ended; only that the Duchess of Somerset
used some little arts afterwards, which are not
worth mentioning, to sweeten me again, and
cover her design, which I suppose now she was
ashamed of.”[156]
Whilst proceedings were pending against Sacheverell,
the Queen’s design, to disgust her
ministers and to induce them to resign, became
apparent. Notwithstanding the open warfare
between “poor Masham” and the Duchess,
Anne, upon a vacancy occurring, wrote to the
Duke of Marlborough to obtain the colonelcy of
a regiment for Mr. Hill, the brother of that
Abigail who had undermined all the Duke’s greatness,
and put to flight the small portion of the
Duchess’s forbearance.
Of this scion of the notable family to whom he
belonged, the Duchess has given an account in her
Vindication. Jack Hill, as she calls him, was a
younger brother of Mrs. Masham, and, like the rest
of the family, was provided for by the Duchess.
175The occupations which these dependent relations
held were suitable to their lowly conditions, and,
as the Duchess seemed to think, to the inferiority
of their condition to her own. It has been
already specified how she had provided for
them. The younger sister had, as we have
seen, been appointed by the Duke of Marlborough
laundress to the Duke of Gloucester,
and, when that prince died, had received a pension
of two hundred a year out of the privy
purse, coming directly from the Duchess’s hands.
The elder brother obtained, through the Duke’s
interest, a place in the Custom-house; and upon
security being required, previously to his being
promoted to a more responsible situation, the
Duchess persuaded a relation of the Duke’s to be
guarantee for that sum.
Thus had she laboured successfully to provide
for these indigent relations, who afterwards
proved briers in her path of life. Mrs. Masham,
the elder sister, whom she had treated as her
sister, and to whom she had given an asylum in
her house, availed herself of opportunities to supplant
her. It was the fortune of “honest Jack
Hill,” as his boon companions called him, to
bring a second humiliation upon the Duke his
patron.
Years had passed away since these favours
176had been shown to Mr. Hill, and he was now a
partisan of those who were foes to his benefactors,
having long since forgotten by whose means
he was raised from abject poverty to respectability.
It was concerning the promotion of Mr.
Hill to the command of a regiment, vacant
by the death of the Earl of Essex, that the
first open rupture between the Queen and
the Duke of Marlborough occurred. The plot
which Harley and the Masham party had woven,
appeared now, according to the opinions of the
Duchess, in undisguised colours. Already had
they induced the Queen to prefer bishops who
were not acceptable to the ministry; and it was
now their successful aim to lead her Majesty into
another snare. They therefore persuaded her to
make military appointments without the consent
of her general; and the choice of Mr. Hill for
the purpose of mortifying the Duke was, it must
be allowed, eminently successful, if they wished
to lower the authority of that great commander.
A double design was thus intended. If the Duke
permitted his relative’s promotion, the whole
army would feel the injustice done to their profession;
if he resisted it, it would lend new force
to the arguments by which the weak and credulous
mind of Anne was perpetually assailed,
177namely, that she was but a cipher in the hands
of the Marlborough family; and thus, the Duke
and his wife were by the same dexterous arrangement
equally injured, or at any rate insulted.
The wary but high-minded Duke resented
this measure loftily and stoutly. He waited at
first on her Majesty, and endeavoured respectfully
to change her resolution, by representing
the injustice which the promotion of a young
and untried officer would be deemed by the
army. He argued earnestly upon the encouragement
which would be given to the party adverse
to the ministry, by promoting Mrs. Masham’s
brother. But he could extract from the sullen
Queen no kind expression, and only the cautious
reply, “That the Duke would do well to consult
with his friends.”[157] Godolphin, at this time
writhing under the agonies of a mortal disorder,
which his cares and vexations must have aggravated,
went also to the Queen, and sought by
persuasion to change her obstinate, Stuart-like
determination; but without success.
Marlborough, indignant, left London, on the
fifteenth of January, on a council day. Her
Majesty took no notice of his absence; but the
world spoke resentfully of an injustice done to
their great and once popular general; and the
178House of Commons testified by some votes their
sense of the impropriety of Anne’s conduct.
Eventually she was obliged to yield; for her new
counsellors perceived that they had gone too far,
and her Majesty was obliged to write word to
the Duke that he might dispose of the regiment
as he thought fit, and also to order his return to
court, and to “assure him that he had no ground
for suspicion of change in her Majesty’s good
intentions.”[158]
This seeming disposition to relent in favour
of the Marlborough family was, however, the
effect of a deep policy. Anne, naturally obstinate,
and close in her expressions, had been
taught lessons of duplicity, and rendered more
than ever the tool of a faction. Mrs. Masham’s
influence was, indeed, becoming too notorious
to be endured, not only by the Whigs,
but by men of influence and popularity, who
were not especially attached to either party.
The sway of the lofty and arbitrary Duchess had
been, for many reasons, endured with a degree
of patience which the world could not extend
to her rival. The great associations with the
name of Churchill, the extensive patronage
which the Duke and his Duchess possessed, the
intermarriages of their beautiful and admired
179daughters into families of influence; and perhaps,
not least of all, the habit into which society had
grown of considering the rule of the Marlborough
family as indestructible, had lessened the disgust
which men evince towards female domination,
and had reconciled the public mind to that
of which all could complain, but of which none
could anticipate the decline. Besides, there was
something imposing in the ascendency which the
high-bred and intellectual Duchess haughtily
assumed—something almost magnificent in the
unfair, yet lofty habit of rule which suited her
so well, and to which she seemed born. The
Duke, by common acclamation the first of subjects,
seemed to merit such a companion, such
an ornament of his greatness, a star always conspicuous
in its steady brilliancy on the political
horizon.
But when the artful, humble, prudent Mrs.
Masham crept into royal favour, and planted
herself behind that throne near which the
Duchess had proudly stood, the odious features
of intrigue appeared despicable in comparison
with the fearless demeanour, and open defiance
of her enemies, which the Duchess had exhibited.
Anne, that automaton moved successively by
secret springs of different construction and
power, seemed to the world to have degenerated
180in her greatness when she fell into the meaner
hands of the lowliest of her waiting women, one
who had been a “rocker” in the royal household,
scarcely of gentle blood, and whose ready
subserviency spoke so plainly of her early initiation
into those prying, petty ways which a long
apprenticeship in the services, still menial, of the
royal bedchamber, was likely to produce.
It was during the heat of Sacheverell’s business,
and before that notable comedy had been
brought to a close, that several of the privy counsellors,
disgusted by Mrs. Masham’s influence,
consulted privately as to the expediency of
moving an address for her dismissal from the
royal confidence.[159] These conferences, which
were held late at night, were kept profoundly
secret. They were attended by Lords Somers,
Wharton, Halifax, and Sunderland, the Chancellor
Cowper, and the Lord Treasurer. Halifax
and Wharton, the most violent of the party, with
all duty to the Queen, are said to have insisted
modestly, that evil counsellors of one sex might
be as well removed from the royal councils as
those of another, by the advice of parliament.
Somers, Godolphin, and Cowper were of a different
opinion, and judged that such a remonstrance
could not be made, consistently with the
181laws of the land. Sunderland was violent and
impatient, and bitterly inveighed against the
moderation of Somers, formerly his oracle, but
now no longer able to control the rash spirit of
his once enthusiastic votary. Marlborough, also,
resisted the impetuosity of his son-in-law; and
whilst he had proved himself capable of frustrating,
by manly determination, the arch-enemy’s
plans, resolved, with Somers, to wait until a
favourable opportunity of annihilating her influence
should occur; not, unconstitutionally, to
force the Queen to abandon her favourite, as
Sunderland required. Even in his chariot, when
setting off for Holland, Marlborough is reported
to have refused the importunities of his son-in-law.[160]
The Queen, meantime, fearing, lest some motion
relative to Mrs. Masham should be made in
parliament, rallied her friends around her, and
occupied herself in sundry closetings, which included
many avowed enemies to the Revolution,
and gave, says the Duchess, “encouragement
to the Jacobites, who were now observed running
to court, with faces as full of business as if they
were going to get the government into their
hands.”
The Queen, elated with the notion infused into
182her, that she was by these preferences gaining a
victory over the Marlborough family, became
more and more estranged from one to whom
she had, in her ignorance of the meaning of the
word, professed true friendship. It was reported,
that as the peers returned out of her closet, she
said to them severally, “If ever any recommendation
of mine was of weight among you,
as I know many of them have been, I hope this
one may be specially regarded.”[161] It is difficult
to say whether, at this time, the Duke and
Duchess of Marlborough were most injured by
their professed friends, or by avowed enemies.
It is, perhaps, a problem which we may often
vainly endeavour, in our progress through life,
to solve, whether injudicious zeal or open enmity
should most inspire us with apprehension. Enthusiasm
in friendship is the parent of indiscretion;
and what is termed devotion, in a human sense,
has so often as its source a fund of selfishness, that
we are apt to consider ourselves safer when encountering
indifference, than when constrained to
bend to the persuasions of ardent attachment.
Godolphin was, undoubtedly, amongst all the
band of adherents, the only true friend whom
the Duke and Duchess possessed. His attachment
to them was genuine; their confidence in
183him was entire. No variations of temper—no
differences of opinion, seem to have disturbed
that perfect accordance in sentiment, that respectful
admiration on one side, and that reposing
of every thought or wish on the other,
which is the true elysium of affectionate hearts.
Godolphin now experienced, in the decline of
his fortunes, the mutability of all other friendships,
the hollowness and selfishness of public
men. It is easy to the interested to persuade
themselves that they really contemn those who
are not only no longer useful to them, but whose
friendship might even be prejudicial. The Duke
of Somerset, once the friend of Marlborough, as his
Duchess had been of the Duchess—a man of great
pride, and of considerable influence—now seceded
from his once intimate associates, piqued by
the Duke’s refusing a regiment to his son. The
Duke of Argyll and the Earl of Rivers had
already made a friendly compact to divide between
them the offices which they expected soon
to be vacant, on the disgrace or resignation of
Marlborough. Other noblemen were drawn in
by their necessities to desert to the opposite
party. But the most remarkable defection from
the Whig party was that of the Duke of Shrewsbury,
the early friend of Lord Somers, but now
the partisan of Harley, the associate of Swift, and
the husband of a Roman Catholic wife, an Italian
184lady, who had followed him to Augsburg from
Rome, and whose ardent passion for the accomplished
Shrewsbury had induced him to make
her Duchess of Shrewsbury.
The influence of these noblemen, joined to the
enmity of others, amply sufficed, with the Queen’s
aid, to level the fortunes of the Marlborough family.
Before the trial of Sacheverell, it was
even expected that the Duke would resign all
the offices which he held, except the command
of the army, which could not, without injury to
the cause of the continental confederates, be surrendered
to his political foes. But the Duke
could not, without a struggle, relinquish the cherished
honours which had been long the aim of
his arduous life, to which he had looked as the
reward of a career of exertion wholly unexampled.
His feelings at this crisis may be readily
conceived. Stung to the heart, sick of courts,
of princes, and of politicians, it is said that he
contemplated the resignation of all his civil offices,
yet not without a compromise; but that he could
not bring himself to give up that military command,
which, says an historian, “no good man
envied him.”[162]
Harley, meantime, was sedulously availing
himself of an opportunity to work up his way to
the ephemeral and precarious power which he
185afterwards enjoyed so little, and with so much
personal risk. During the ferment which the
trial of Sacheverell produced, he courted familiarity
with persons of all persuasions. He fasted
with the prime zealots of the different sects, or
he invited the more convivial believer. He promised
all that was asked of him; he dispersed
hopes and expectations around him; yet kept
his own designs secret, except to those whom he
could confidently trust.
The Duchess, meantime, before resigning her
offices, made one effort more to win back the
Queen’s lost regard, or at any rate to efface from
her Majesty’s mind every impression unfavourable
to her. She had heard that Anne was given
to understand that she spoke disrespectfully of
her in company; and as she knew herself to be
innocent of this charge, she waited on her Majesty
on the third of April, 1710, and entreated
to be favoured with a private interview. Three
several hours were named by the Duchess, when
she knew her Majesty to be usually alone; but
the Queen appointed six o’clock in the afternoon,
the time for prayers, when there was little probability
of finding her Majesty at home for any
private conversation. But even this appointment
was broken, and a note was sent from the
Queen, to command that whatever the Duchess
186should have to say, should be put into writing,
“and to beg her to gratify herself by going into
the country as soon as she could.” The Duchess
waited on the Queen, and used all the arguments
she could to obtain a private hearing, adding,
“that she was now going out of town for a long
time, and should perhaps never have occasion to
trouble her Majesty again as long as she lived.”
The Queen still refused her request several
times, “in a manner hard to be described,” but
yielded, so far as to appoint the next day after
dinner: yet, on the following morning, this
appointment was broken also, and another note
from her Majesty arrived, telling the Duchess
that she was going to Kensington to dinner, and
desiring her to put her thoughts in writing.
These weak pretexts either prove that Harley
and Mrs. Masham still dreaded a revival of the
long-asserted influence which they had successfully
combated, and that Anne was the undignified
tool of their manœuvres—or they betray
the Queen’s dread of again encountering the
earnest, and, doubtless, violent disputant, whose
“commands” in the chapel royal were still fresh
in the royal memory. Stouter nerves than those
of the weak and harassed Queen may have been
shaken by the lofty, and at times not very courteous
demeanour of the Duchess.
187Persevering in her attempt, the Duchess again
wrote to the Queen, and again pressed an interview,
assuring her Majesty that she would give her no
uneasiness, but only clear herself from charges
which had been wrongfully made against her;
adding, that if the afternoon were not inconvenient,
she would come every day and wait
until her Majesty would allow her an interview.
The particulars of this remarkable scene would
lose much of the diversion which they must
necessarily produce, if given in any other
language than in that of the chief actor in the
comedy.[163]
“Upon the sixth of April,” says the Duchess,
“I followed this letter to Kensington, and by that
means prevented the Queen’s writing again to
me, as she was preparing to do. The page who
went in to acquaint the Queen that I was come
to wait upon her, stayed longer than usual; long
enough, it is to be supposed, to give time to deliberate
whether the favour of admission should
be granted, and to settle the measures of behaviour
if I were admitted. But at last he came
out, and told me I might go in. As I was entering,
the Queen said, she was just going to write to
me; and when I began to speak, she interrupted
me four or five times with these repeated words,
188‘whatever you have to say, you may put in writing.’
I said, her Majesty never did so hard a
thing to any as to refuse to hear them speak, and
assured her that I was not going to trouble her
upon the subject which I knew to be so ungrateful
to her, but that I could not possibly rest until
I had cleared myself from some particular calumnies
with which I had been loaded. I then
went on to speak, (though the Queen turned away
her face from me,) and to represent my hard case;
that there were those about her Majesty who had
made her believe that I had said things about her,
which I was no more capable of saying than of
killing my own children; that I seldom named
her Majesty in company, and never without respect,
and the like. The Queen said, without
doubt there were many lies told. I then begged,
in order to make this trouble the shorter, and my
own innocence the plainer, that I might know the
particulars of which I had been accused; because
if I were made to appear guilty, and if I were
innocent, this method only could clear me. The
Queen replied that she would give me no answer,
laying hold on a word in my letter, that what I
had to say in my own vindication would have no
consequence in obliging her Majesty to answer, &c.;
which surely did not at all imply that I did not
desire to know the particular things laid to my
189charge, without which it was impossible for me
to clear myself. This I assured her Majesty was
all I desired, and that I did not ask the names of
the authors or relators of those calumnies; saying
all that I could reasonable to enforce my just request.
But the Queen repeated again and again
the words she had used, without ever receding; and
it is probable that this conversation would never
have been consented to, but that her Majesty had
been carefully provided with those words, as a
shield to defend her against every reason I could
offer. I protested to her Majesty, that I had no
design, in giving her this trouble, to solicit the
return of her favour, but that my sole view was
to clear myself, which was too just a design to be
wholly disappointed by her Majesty. Upon this
the Queen offered to go out of the room, I following
her, begging leave to clear myself; and
the Queen repeating over and over again, ‘You
desired no answer, and shall have none.’ When
she came to the door, I fell into great disorder;
streams of tears flowed down against my will,
and prevented my speaking for some time. At
length I recovered myself, and appealed to the
Queen, in the vehemence of my concern, whether
I might not still have been happy in her Majesty’s
favour, if I could have contradicted or dissembled
my real opinion of men or things?
190whether I had ever, in the whole course of our
long friendship, told her one lie, or played the
hypocrite once? whether I had offended in anything,
except in a very zealous pressing upon her
that which I thought necessary for her service or
security? I then said I was informed by a very
reasonable and credible person about the court,
that things were laid to my charge of which I
was wholly incapable; that the person knew
that such stories were perpetually told to her Majesty
to incense her, and had begged of me to
come and vindicate myself; the same person had
thought me of late guilty of some omissions towards
her Majesty, being entirely ignorant how
uneasy to her my frequent attendance must be,
after what had happened between us. I explained
some things which I had heard her Majesty
had taken amiss of me; and then with a
fresh flood of tears, and a concern sufficient to
move compassion, even where all love was absent,
I begged to know what other particulars
she had heard of me, that I might not be denied
all power of justifying myself. But still the only
return was, ‘You desired no answer, and you shall
have none.’ I then begged to know if her Majesty
would tell me some other time? ‘You desired no
answer, and you shall have none.’ I then appealed
to her Majesty again, if she did not herself know
191that I had often despised interest, in comparison
of serving her faithfully and doing right? and
whether she did not know me to be of a temper
incapable of disowning anything which I knew
to be true? ‘You desired no answer, and you
shall have none.’ This usage was severe, and
these words so often repeated were so shocking,
(being an utter denial of common justice to me,
who had been a most faithful servant, and now
asked nothing more,) that I could not conquer
myself, but said the most disrespectful thing I
ever spoke to the Queen in my life, and yet, what
such an occasion and such circumstances might
well excuse, if not justify: and that was, that I
was confident her Majesty would suffer for such
an instance of inhumanity. The Queen answered,
‘That will be to myself.’”[164]
“Thus,” observes the Duchess, “ended this remarkable
conversation, the last that I ever had with
her Majesty. I shall make no comment on it.
Yet,” she adds, with her inherent magnanimity,
“the Queen always meant well, however much
soever she may be blinded or misguided.” And
she adds to this temperate observation a passage
from a letter of her husband’s, the Duke, written
about eight months before, in which she says,
192“There is something so pertinent to the present
occasion, that I cannot forbear transcribing the
passage.”[165]
“It has always been my observation in disputes,
especially in that of kindness and friendship,
that all reproaches, though ever so just,
serve to no end but making the breach wider.
I cannot help being of opinion that, however insignificant
we may be, there is a Power above
that puts a period to our happiness or unhappiness.
If anybody had told me eight years ago,
that after such great success, and after you had
been a faithful servant for twenty-seven years, that
even in the Queen’s lifetime we should be obliged
to seek happiness in a retired life, I could not
have believed that possible.”
CHAPTER IX.
193
Final separation between the Queen and the Duchess—Some
anecdotes of Dr. and Mrs. Burnet—Dr. Burnet remonstrates
with the Queen—The Queen’s obstinacy—Dismissal
of Lord Godolphin—Letter from the Duchess to
the Queen—1710.
The Queen and the Duchess never met again.
But, in the midst of enemies, there were not
wanting friends, faithful to the Duchess, and true
to the Queen and constitution, who ventured to remonstrate
with her Majesty upon the hazardous
change in her counsels which her whole demeanour
augured.
Amongst those who privately and earnestly
pointed out the impending dangers and difficulties,
was the Bishop of Salisbury, Dr. Burnet,
who has done ample justice to the “economy
and fidelity of the Duchess to the Queen, and
justice to those who dealt with the crown,” which
194the Duchess of Marlborough manifested in her
brilliant, but arduous career.[166]
Dr. Burnet had been assimilated with the
Duchess in political, and in what was then considered
almost as the same thing, religious,
opinions. A close intimacy existed between the
Duchess and the exemplary and third wife of the
excellent prelate, the last of his three consorts,
all of whom had been distinguished either in rank,
in piety, or attainments. Mrs. Burnet took an
active part in the concerns of the Duchess, who
frequently communicated with her, and received
letters in return, discussing the topics which then
agitated the world, within the precincts of the
court. At this time a staid matron of nine-and-forty,
Mrs. Burnet could well remember the
agitated times of James the Second, during whose
reign she had retired with her first husband, Mr.
Berkley of Spetchley Castle, Worcestershire, to
Holland, to avoid the calamitous scenes which
she expected to witness, and had remained at the
Hague until the Revolution. Distinguished for
piety, benevolence, and virtue, it was the lot of
Mrs. Berkley, after a happy union with her first
husband, to be left an opulent widow, in the
prime of life. It was her choice to devote herself,
195for the seven years of that isolated, but possibly
not dreary state, to works of charity, and to
studies which would have adorned the leisure of
the learned lords of creation. By her exertions,
schools for the poorer classes, then little regarded
in general, were established in the neighbourhood
of Worcester and Salisbury. By her superior, although
not classical attainments, she obtained the
friendship of Dr. Stillingfleet, who declared that he
knew not in England a more considerable woman
than Mrs. Berkley. In his union with this amiable
woman Bishop Burnet was eminently happy.
Her influence in society tended, as that of every
woman should, to make virtue throw its beams
“far in a naughty world;” to elevate domestic,
sober qualities in the eyes of men, by proving
them to be compatible with the highest attainments;
to be the counsellors as well as the solace
of those whose vocation leads them to dive into
the troubled waters of life.
The Bishop, who proved to all his wives an
excellent husband, left to this, his last and his best,
the disposal of her own fortune, and the entire
charge of his numerous family. Mrs. Burnet,
it is evident from many passages in the Duke of
Marlborough’s letters, was not only the intimate
associate and correspondent of the Duchess, but
the object of respect and esteem to all the great
196leaders of the Whig ministry. She gained that
ascendency, doubtless, in a great measure by her
moderation—a quality which proves to the actors
in difficult times as beneficial as the mariner’s
compass to a vessel at sea. It was a quality in
which her eminent husband was peculiarly deficient,
and the want of which obscured those great
and good qualities, and that real regard for truth,
for which his contemporaries did not give him
justice, and which posterity has slowly and, as it
were, reluctantly assigned to him.
Mrs. Burnet, unhappily for those whom she
instructed by her example, or guided by her
influence, was, at this time, no more. The winter
of 1708 had witnessed her death, from a pleuritic
fever attending the breaking up of the frost
in January. With consistent attention to all her
engagements, she was buried at Spetchley, by the
side of her first husband, in compliance with a
promise made to him. And on this delicate
point she thought it proper to leave an explanation
in her will, for the consolation of her second
helpmate, Dr. Burnet.[167]
The afflicted and then aged prelate did not
survive his wife more than six years; and the close
of his eventful and laborious life was saddened
by seeing those principles which he had consistently
197contemned, triumph, and produce renewed
confusion and contention. Dr. Burnet
was, however, unhappily for his party, but little
qualified to advance its popularity by his courtesy,
or to gain proselytes by any other measures than
an earnest, sincere preference of certain principles.
His conversation was singularly deficient in the
arts of address; his sincerity was involuntary,
and in certain situations provokingly obtrusive.
His love of politics, in which he took perhaps too
great a share for one engaged in concerns of
far higher importance, was derived, according to
his own account, from the conversation of his
father, who had the same fondness for politics as
the excellent prelate himself, and whose arguments
and anecdotes engendered that taste in the
mind of his son.[168] Hence sprang up that ardent,
active, and unquiet character, adapted to do
some good, but to incur much censure, in such
times as those in which the Bishop lived. The
character of Burnet, written by the Marquis of
Halifax, and given by that nobleman himself to
the Bishop, portrays with much delicacy of
touch, and probably in not too severe a light, both
the brilliant parts and the strong shadows of
Burnet’s mind: it brings to view the singleness
of heart, the impetuosity of temper, the quickness
198to be offended, the readiness to forgive, the
disinterestedness, the christian heroism, which
were offensive to lesser men, from the high example
which they presented, and which could not, without
inconvenience to more selfish minds, be
imitated.
Qualified thus to obtain respect, and having
long exercised a considerable control over the
Queen’s spiritual concerns, Dr. Burnet now undertook,
in the crisis of her affairs, to remonstrate
with his obstinate, and as he considered, misled
sovereign. Perhaps, if certain anecdotes be true,
there could not be a person less qualified in
manner, although admirably in intention, for so
delicate a task. The Bishop had an awkward
habit of remembering any circumstance disgraceful
to an individual, and a still more awkward
practice of letting those facts escape, in conversation,
just at the moment when all the proprieties
of life required that they should be concealed.
When Prince Eugene, some time after this
period, visited England, Dr. Burnet, anxious to
see so remarkable a person, requested the Duke
of Marlborough to accomplish a meeting between
him and the Prince in society. The Duke consented,
on condition that the Bishop would be
careful to let nothing drop from him which might
offend the feelings of his illustrious guest; and
199Dr. Burnet was invited to dine, in company with
the Prince, at Marlborough-house. It was not
beyond the remembrance of most of the party
assembled, and certainly still in that of the
Bishop, that Prince Eugene’s mother, the famous
Countess of Soissons, had been imprisoned, about
thirty years previously, with several other ladies
of Paris, on suspicion of poisoning.[169] The Bishop
had assuredly no intention of reminding Prince
Eugene of this circumstance, and indeed, conscious
of his infirmity, he resolved to sit incognito
during dinner, and to listen, not to converse.
Unluckily for the rest of the party, however, the
brave Eugene, seeing a prelate at table, inquired
200of the Duke of Marlborough who it was, and
being told it was Bishop Burnet, addressed himself
to him, and inquired, by way of conversation,
when he had last been in Paris. The Bishop
answered with precipitation, “that he did not
exactly remember the year, but it was at the
time that the Countess of Soissons was imprisoned.”
As he spoke, his eye met that of the
Duke of Marlborough, himself the quintessence
of caution and courtesy; the poor Bishop was
overpowered, and, by way of making the offence
ten times greater, hastily asked pardon of his
highness for his error.
The worthy Bishop’s asking after “that wicked
wretch, the Countess of Wigton,” of her son, the
Earl of Balcarres, and his avoiding Lord Mar
because he did not like him, and knew that he
could not avoid “babbling out something which
would give him offence,” proved his involuntary
propensity of speaking his thoughts, and his consciousness
of that inconvenient propensity.
Dr. Burnet now, during the winter of 1710,
undertook to speak to the Queen on her affairs,
more freely than he had ever in his life done before.
He told her the reports that prevailed, of
her intention to favour the design of bringing
the Pretender to the succession of the crown, on
condition of her holding it during her life. He
201represented to her Majesty that her accordance
in such a scheme would darken all the glory of
her reign, and would arouse her people to a sense
of their danger, and to the necessity of securing
the Protestant succession; in which, the good
Bishop assured her, he would plainly concur.
He sought to work upon Anne’s timid temper, by
declaring to her, that if such were her plans, he
believed that her brother would not wait until
the term of her natural life for his possession,
but take some means to shorten it; and that he
doubted not, when the Pretender was on the
sea, there were “assassinates” here, who, upon
the news of his landing, would try to despatch
her. To these emphatic arguments
the Queen listened patiently, and for the most
part in silence, and, with her usual timid and
crooked policy, gave the Bishop to understand
that she thought as he did. Yet his remarks
produced no effect upon her mind; and no other
consolation was left to the Bishop than that of
having honestly and forcibly delivered his sentiments.[170]
The appointment of the Duke of Shrewsbury
to the office of Lord Chamberlain, in
room of the Marquis of Kent, who was made
a peer, was the next event talked of, after the
202last stormy interview between the Queen and
the Duchess. Godolphin, who was at Newmarket
when the staff was given to Shrewsbury,
remonstrated in vain with the Queen; and although
the most positive assurances of fidelity to
the Whigs were given by Shrewsbury, it was impossible
for the ministry not to entertain considerable
suspicions of his sincerity.
The dismissal of the Earl of Sunderland from
the post of secretary of state, in the month of
June, was the first decisive blow struck against
the power of the Marlborough family. It was
aggravated by the refusal of the Queen to listen
to the remonstrances of Marlborough, and the
epistolary arguments of Godolphin.
“No consideration proper to myself,” writes
the Duchess, “could have induced me to trouble
the Queen again, after our last conversation.
But I was overcome by the consideration of Lord
Marlborough, Lord Sunderland, and the public
interest, and wrote in the best manner I could to
the Queen, June seventh, 1710, begging, for
Lord Marlborough’s sake, that she would not
give him such a blow, of which I dreaded the
consequence; putting her in mind of her letter
about the victory of Blenheim, and adding the
most solemn assurances, that I had not so much
as a wish to remove Mrs. Masham, and that all
203the noise that there had been about an address
for that purpose had been occasioned by Lord
Marlborough’s discontents at that time, which
most people thought were just. To this the
Queen wrote a very short and harsh answer,
complaining that I had broken my promise of
not saying anything of politics or of Mrs. Masham;
and concluding that it was plain, from
this ill usage, what she was to expect for the
future.”[171]
There is little doubt but that the Duchess’s
interference in this design, as she herself says,
hastened its execution; certainly it did not
retard it; for Lord Sunderland was dismissed
from his office, greatly to the joy of the high
church party, who extolled the Queen for her
spirit in delivering herself from that arbitrary
junto by whom she had been kept in an inglorious
dependence. The Duke of Beaufort, one of this
party, on appearing to pay his respects to her Majesty,
complimented her “that he could now salute
her as Queen indeed.” But poor Anne, unfortunately,
scarcely ever enjoyed more than the
shadow of that authority which was disputed by
factions, both equally intent upon personal
aggrandisement.
Changes in the ministry were now of daily occurrence.
204Henry St. John, the eloquent advocate
of Tory principles, was made secretary of state.
The Duke of Marlborough, whose skill in discovering
the depth of any man’s capacity was
acknowledged to be most profound, had already
prognosticated that he would become an eminent
statesman; but he wanted the firm foundation of
integrity. Lord Chancellor Cowper resigned the
seals, at first much to the discomposure of the
Queen, who, with an unusual earnestness, begged
him to keep them one day longer; but the next
day, having consulted Harley and Masham, she
received them readily, and gave them to Sir
Simon Harcourt, an avowed adherent of the Pretender.[172]
Yet it was not until after other steps had been
taken that affairs arrived at that point, according
to the opinions of Godolphin and the Duchess, in
which the game might be considered as utterly lost.
For some months, indeed, the Whigs agreed to
unite more firmly on these occasions, and determined
that none of them should think of quitting,
“but should rub on in that disagreeable way as
long as they could.” Eventually, however, the
current against them proved to be too strong
even for an unanimous cabinet to contend
against.
205The most ungracious act of Anne’s reign was
her dismissal of the disinterested, the faithful,
loyal, and hard-working Godolphin. His disagreement
with the Duke of Somerset, called, in
derision, by his party, “the sovereign,” tended
doubtless to split the forces which the Whigs
could ill spare. Somerset was a proud, interested,
and equivocal politician, whose personal views
made him vacillate from side to side.[173] From
the correspondence between Mr. Maynwaring
and the Duchess of Marlborough at this time, it is
evident that the Whigs depended much on the
Duke of Somerset’s movements to decide the
balance of power, notwithstanding the opinion
entertained by the Duke of Marlborough “that he
was an ill-judging man.” It is also obvious that
the utmost persuasions were adopted, both by
Maynwaring and by Mr. Craggs, to induce the
Duke and Duchess of Marlborough not prematurely,
nor unnecessarily, to throw up their employments;
and there were even many persons
who recommended the Duchess to “live easy
with Mrs. Masham,” and who resented the
Duchess’s indignant refusals to truckle, as the
Duke termed it, to her arch-enemy.
At last the final blow against the ministry
was struck, by the dismissal of Lord Godolphin.
206The probability of this event had been asserted
ever since the removal of Lord Sunderland, but
had been positively denied by Anne,—who, through
her former secretary, Mr. Boyle, had sent assurances
to foreign courts that no more changes
would be made in her ministry. “And yet,”
relates the Duchess,[174] “in less than two months
after this, and even the very day after the Queen
had expressed her desire to my Lord Godolphin
himself that he would continue in her service,
she dismissed him; and her letter of order to him
to break his staff was sent by no worthier a messenger
than a man in livery, to be left with his
lordship’s porter,—a proceeding which in all its
parts would remain very unaccountable, if the
Queen had not, to those who expostulated with
her, made this undoubtedly true declaration, that
she was sorry for it, but could not help it. Unhappy
necessity!”
The Duchess could not view these changes
without making one more struggle. It was probably
at the united desire of the party that
she wrote a long, an able, and a characteristic
letter to the Queen, of which the precise
date (for, like many ladies, she did not always
date her letters) is unknown. It was written,
however, before the dismissal of Lord Sunderland,
207whilst yet the ministry remained entire, and
whilst the “collection,” (as the Duchess termed
those statesmen who were talked of to succeed
her friends) were in expectation only of the places
and honours which they attained.
This celebrated and extraordinary epistle,
penned with the freedom of an equal, was intended
by the Duchess, as she declared, to express
to the Queen freely those truths which no one
else appeared to speak to her Majesty. It contained
the strongest remonstrances, not only on
the injustice done to the Duke of Marlborough
by the new system of policy pursued, but on the
injury which public affairs would receive, from
the loss of credit and of confidence in the government.
With respect to the proposed dissolution
of parliament, the Duchess says—“When
once the parliament is dissolved, and the credit
of the nation lost, it will be in nobody’s power to
serve you, but the French will come upon you
unawares. I heard a comparison of our credit,
as it now stands, which I was pleased with. It
was said to be like a green flourishing tree full of
blossoms, which, upon the least change of ministry,
would be nipped and blasted, as fruit is by a
north-east wind. And I was told of a very unlikely
man to understand the matter of parties,
that is, Sir Godfrey Kneller, who, upon the news
208of Lord Sunderland’s being out, was going to sell
all he had in the stocks, but a friend advised him
to wait till it was done. If such a man as this
thinks of doing so, it is easy to imagine that the
alarm will work very far. And I cannot for my
soul conceive what your Majesty would do all
this for.”[175]
These exhortations were of no avail; and perhaps
added fresh inducements to the strong
determination of the exasperated Queen; they
certainly served to put the new favourites on their
guard. But the Duchess wrote no letters to her
Majesty without submitting them to the perusal
of Godolphin,—the Duke of Marlborough being
unfortunately abroad at this critical period.
The Duchess, in the meantime, resided chiefly
at Windsor; the works were, nevertheless, still
going on actively at Blenheim; and the Duke, in
his letters of this period, earnestly entreats her to
hasten the completion of the great court leading
to the offices, and of the north side of the house,
that he and the Duchess might have one side of
the house “quiet;” “for, one way or other,”
adds the wearied and broken-spirited Marlborough,
“I hope to be there next summer.”[176]
Early in June, however, the Duchess, it appears,
209was prevailed upon to come to London,
not entirely with the Duke’s approbation, for he
was fearful that her coming to town, and not
waiting upon the Queen, might have an awkward
appearance. He commended her letter to the
Queen, yet, in a subsequent despatch, begged her
to write no more, since the behaviour of her Majesty
did not warrant nor encourage other addresses.
The summer passed in anxious surmises on the
part of the Duchess, whose sanguine spirit was
sometimes buoyed with hope, though checked by
the experienced Marlborough’s more rational
fears of utter ruin to their cause. At length, in
the beginning of August, the dismissal of Godolphin
destroyed every prospect of recovering the
favour that had been so long actually withdrawn.
Even Marlborough was not, it appears, prepared
for this last blow, although sufficiently expecting
mortifications.[177] The event was unexpected
even by Godolphin, to whom the Queen had,
only the day previously, as has been already
stated, expressed her wish that he should continue
in office.
Mr. Harley was made one of the first of
the seven lords commissioners of the Treasury;[178]210and, in September, Lord Somers was dismissed,
and the Earl of Rochester appointed president of
the council in his place. Various other changes
were made, which sufficiently proved to the
country that henceforward a total change of measures
would be adopted; and from this time
the glory of Anne’s reign may be said to have
departed.
Whilst these occurrences were passing in
London, Sacheverell was parading the country
after the manner of a royal progress, and great
violences were committed by the mob who followed
him. Yet government took no notice
whatsoever of these outrageous and scandalous
proceedings, so derogatory to the cause of religion,
which was made a pretext for these insults
to her sacred name.
The Duchess, meantime, received the condolences
and counsels of her two friends, Mr.
Maynwaring and Dr. Hare, afterwards Bishop of
Chichester. She also still assembled about her
a little party of friends, and received without
displeasure the compliments of a certain nobleman,
Lord Lindsey, whom her friends called
“her lover,” and on whose devotion many jests
were passed by her familiar associates. The
joke was too freely used to infer any foundation for
it, even in the most scandalous chronicles of that
211scandalous day; yet was the Duchess still beautiful;
still did she surpass the four most noted
toasts of the times, her lovely daughters; still,
and even to a late age, did she retain the freshness
and vigour of youth—hair unchanged, complexion,
spirits, activity, and a sparkling wit, to
which the utmost candour gave an indescribable
charm.[179]
CHAPTER X.
212
Anecdotes of Swift and Addison—Publication of the Examiner—Charge
brought in the Examiner against the
Duchess.
It augured ill for the Whig party when men of
letters, who were not attached to any faction, took
up their position, at this juncture, under the Tory
banners. Amongst these, the most obnoxious
was the Dean of St. Patrick’s, whose intimacy
with the leaders of both parties rendered
the choice which he meant to take still a problem.
In one of his letters, he declared, that
the best intelligence he got of public affairs was
from the ladies; Mr. Addison, his friend, being
nine times more secret to him than to anybody
else, because he had the happiness of being
thought his friend.
Addison was right: for Swift’s friendship, at
this period more especially, conferred no credit
213on any public man. Like that changeable
reptile, the chameleon, he appeared of one
colour in the morning, of another in the afternoon.
Disappointed in the preceding year by
Lord Halifax, who had written to him that he
and Addison had entered into a confederacy
never to “give over the pursuit, nor to cease reminding
those who could serve him,” till his worth
was placed in that light in which it ought to
shine, Swift was now seriously undertaking to devote
his great powers to that cause which prospered
best, retaining still the friendship of
Addison, and enjoying a free admittance into the
houses of Halifax and Somers.
It was in January, 1710, that the first invitation
of Bolingbroke to Swift to dine with him,
had foreboded no good to the party whose
weakened fortresses such generals in literature
were to attack. Swift’s answer, with his wonted
assumed independence and freedom, that “if the
Queen gave his lordship a dukedom and the
garter honours, and the Treasury just at the end
of them, he would regard him no more than he
would a groat,”—meant no more than that he
intended to accept the invitation, and all the good
things that might follow this token of favour.
It was in this year that a series of attacks on
the former ministry was concerted between Bolingbroke,
214Swift, Atterbury, and Prior, in defence
of the Tory party. They were published weekly,
but were of short continuance, under the name of
the “Examiner.” The essays contained nothing
but political matter, very circumstantially and
forcibly placed before the reader, and carried on
with a subdued, but bitter irony, perhaps better
calculated to influence the public mind than
those bursts of indignant eloquence which startle
the passions, and do not always convince the
understanding.
Addison, writing to Swift at this period, declares,
after expressing his wish again to eat a
dish of beans and bacon in the best company in
the world, (meaning his friend,) that he is forced
to give himself airs of a punctual correspondence
with Swift at St. James’s coffee-house, to those
friends of Swift who have a mind to pay their
court to the then Irish secretary:[180] yet Swift at
that very time had satirised Lord Wharton, Addison’s
patron, in terms so outrageous as to meet
with the reprobation of the learned and moderate
Dr. King, Archbishop of Dublin.
Such a paper as the “Examiner” had been,
in the opinion of Swift, long required, to enlighten
the public mind, and to disabuse the ignorant of
those errors into which they had fallen respecting
215the late ministry; and, accordingly, one of its
most elaborate papers is occupied in discussing
the charge of ingratitude, made against the
Queen and her advisers, for dismissing the Duke
of Marlborough from his employments.
After a long enumeration of the benefits which
had been conferred on the Duke, and stating, in
a manner unparalleled for ingenuity and eloquence,
the unexampled rewards and privileges
he had received, he follows the attack upon the
Duke by another, still more insidious, on the
Duchess.[181]
“A lady of my acquaintance appropriated
twenty-six pounds a year out of her allowance for
certain uses which the lady received, or was to
pay to the lady or her order, as was called for.
But after eight years, it appeared upon the
strictest calculation that the woman had paid but
four pounds a year, and sunk two-and-twenty
pounds for her own pocket; ’tis but supposing
twenty-six pounds instead of twenty-six thousand,
and by that you may judge what the pretensions
of modern merit are, where it happens to be its
own paymaster.”
From this hateful insinuation the Duchess amply
cleared herself, in her Justification. Doubtless
Swift was indebted to the female politicians
who gave him such good information, for the dark
216hints which he threw out in so ungallant, so
dastardly a manner, couched in terms to which
it would be difficult to reply. Years afterwards,
when most of the actors of those days except
herself were in the grave, resting alike from political
turmoils, and from the disturbances of their
own passions, the Duchess met the accusations
brought against her, and justified her character.[182]
Her arguments, succinctly detailed in her Vindication,
include the following observations.
At the time of her first disagreements with the
Queen, she endeavoured, as she asserts, through
a friend, to remove those impressions against her
which Anne had imbibed. She wrote long accounts
of the malice of her enemies, and stated
her own grounds of justification. On one point
only did the Queen vouchsafe an observation.
“When,” says the Duchess, “I had set forth
the faithfulness and frugality with which I had
served her in my offices, and had complained of
the attempts made by the agents of her new
friends to vilify me all over the nation, as one
who had cheated my mistress of vast sums of
money, her Majesty, on this occasion, was
pleased to say, ‘Everybody knows cheating is not
the Duchess of Marlborough’s crime.’”
After seven-and-twenty years’ service, the
Queen, when the question as to her offences was
217urged by the Duchess, alleged none but that of
inveteracy against “poor Masham;” “yet,”
says the Duchess, “the ready invention of others,
who knew nothing of my conduct, but whose interest
it was to decry me, could presently find in
it abundant matter of accusation.”[183]
These gross calumnies, eagerly devoured by
the credulity of party rage, determined the object
of such unwarrantable censures, to write
and publish something in her own justification,
and produced a memorial, which for various
reasons did not at that time see the light, but
which the Duchess eventually wove into the form
of that animated narrative, her “Conduct.”
Her performance of her trust as mistress of the
robes was attacked in libels, and charges of exorbitance
and of peculation assailed her on all sides.
Her explanation of the circumstances under
which she exercised her office, completely exonerates
her from these grave accusations. But,
through her clear and business-like vindication,
few readers of our day will care to follow her.
Interspersed with inuendoes against Harley, who
“hired his creatures to misrepresent her as no
better than a pickpocket,” and interwoven with
letters, and with compared accounts, between the
expenses of Queen Mary and those of Queen Anne,
the Duchess’s defence, on these heads, will readily
218be taken for granted. It appears that in 1712
she drew up a statement, which, for certain
reasons, was not published. Horace Walpole,
looking at the close only of her Vindication, as
critics are wont to do, might well call it the
“Chronicle of a Wardrobe, rather than of a reign.”
Yet against such enemies as the Duchess encountered,
it was essential to preserve, and to insist
upon, those accounts of mourning and other
expenses, of new clothes and old clothes, sums
given for the decorous attire of the maids of
honour after the Prince of Denmark’s death,
coronation accounts, and other matters, which
the calumniated Duchess was obliged to produce,
to justify her integrity.
The following passage is curious, as showing
the accurate and close manner in which the
Duchess dealt, and the strict manner in which
she insisted upon all points of expense being referred
to herself.[184]
It was the custom, according to her account,
for the tradesmen who were employed by the
royal family, to pay immense sums to the masters
of the robes for that privilege, and to reimburse
themselves by putting extravagant prices upon
their goods. This dishonest practice, disgraceful
to the royal household, was first broken through
by the Duchess, who exacted no such perquisites
219from the tradesmen; neither would she suffer
them to charge exorbitantly, as had been their
custom. In discharging their accounts she was
equally exact. Every bill was paid when the goods
were delivered. A certain Mrs. Thomas, a confidential
agent of the Duchess, was the person to
whom the office of payment was given; and she
was remunerated “by old clothes and other
little advantages,” to the amount of between two
and three hundred a year; but never allowed to
take money from tradespeople.
The Duchess next expatiates upon her management
of the privy purse, the yearly allowance for
which was twenty thousand pounds,[185] “not,” as
she declares, “half the sum allowed in King William’s
time, and indeed very little, considering
how great a charge there was fixed upon it by
custom—the Queen’s bounties, play money, healing
money,[186] besides the many pensions paid out
of it. The allowance was augmented to twenty-six
thousand pounds before I left the office. But
in those two years Mrs. Masham was become the
great dispenser of the Queen’s money, I only bringing
to her Majesty the sums that were called for.”
But the responsibility of these places, which
was so ungraciously requited by the public,
220was soon finally closed. On the return of the
Duke of Marlborough from the Hague, in December,
he perceived that all confidence in the
Whig ministry was at an end: the Queen herself
telling him that he was not, as usual, to
receive the thanks of the two Houses of Parliament,
but that she expected he would live well
with her ministers. At first the Duke, still
anxious to carry on the war, resolved to be
patient, and to retain his command; but finding
that the Duchess had again, by express command
of the Queen, been forbidden to come to
court, he resolved, perhaps too late for his own
dignity and that of his wife, to carry to her
Majesty the surrender of all her employments.
It was readily accepted. The Duchess of Somerset
was made groom of the stole, and had
charge of the robes; and Mrs. Masham was
appointed keeper of the privy purse.
The Duchess may now be considered to have
retired for a season wholly from political life;
and, indeed, the bright but harassing course
which she had passed was never resumed.
It would be curious to inquire into the actual
nature of her feelings upon this occasion. Her
employments were, as we have seen, reluctantly,
and not without urgent reason, resigned. The
love of money has been assigned as a cause of
this tardy compliance with the evident, though
221not expressed, wishes of the Queen. But whilst
it is impossible wholly to defend both the Duke
and Duchess of Marlborough from this charge,
much may also be accorded to the hope, which
the Duchess retained to the last, of regaining the
affections of her alienated sovereign. Reproached
by the Whigs as the cause of their dismissal,
prompted by Godolphin, and perceiving that the
fame of her husband, or at least the final accomplishment
of his too extensive projects, depended
on the party being kept together, there is every
reason to excuse, on other grounds, the late surrender
of what she had so long maintained. The
promise that her employments should be bestowed
on her daughters, was now wholly neglected; for
the Queen’s partiality had become little less than
personal hatred, and it was not long before the
affections of the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough
were assailed in their tenderest point.
From Somers, who blamed her as the cause of
the misfortunes of his party, the Duchess received
but little condolence on the loss of all her
honours.[187] In Sunderland, whom she lately censured,
in language the most vituperative, as the
imprudent source of much mischief to the Duke
her husband, she now beheld a warm and fearless
advocate of the Duke, and of her own cause.
Godolphin, himself deserted by those of his party
222who had not courage to let their fortunes sink
with his, was still faithful and kind, and if he reproved,
condemned her not.
Godolphin was now, by the new parliament,
accused of having occasioned the national debt,
and of misapplying the public money. He defended
himself with the eloquence of truth. At
last, driven from every charge, the adverse party,
headed by the Earl of Rochester, accused him of
embezzling twelve thousand pounds paid by the
Duke of Queensbury into the exchequer. Godolphin,
wishing to expose the malignant temper
of his adversaries, made excuses, as one
who had forgotten, but who would call to mind
what he had done with the sum. Many of the
members inveighed against him with bitterness
at this excuse. “The old man,” says Cunningham,
“made a show of falling into a fit of the
epilepsy, and of being quite dejected: at last,
when he had sufficiently tried and discovered the
temper of the House, and how they stood affected
towards him, behold her Majesty’s warrant and
sign manual, which he produced for the twelve
thousand pounds in question.” On the sight of
this his adversaries were silenced.
In the ensuing year, 1711, the Duke of Marlborough
was dismissed from all his employments;
and with this event the Duchess’s account
of her conduct closes. The influence of the French,
223the existence of strong prepossession in favour of
the Pretender among most of the ministers, with
the exception of Harley, and the necessity of sacrificing
to the desire of a peace the general who
had always opposed that measure, were the inducements,
in the opinion of the Duchess, to this
act on the part of the Queen. It was executed
with as little feeling as could well be imagined.
Historians have compared this act of ingratitude
to the conduct of Justinian to Belisarius. The
dismissal was written by the Queen herself, and
in reply she received from Marlborough a calm,
respectful, dignified, but fruitless remonstrance.[188]
At the close of her “Vindication,” the
Duchess makes the following observation to the
nobleman to whom that work was addressed.[189]
“Thus, my lord, I have given you a short history
of my favour with my royal mistress, from
its earliest rise to its irrecoverable fall. You
have seen with admiration how sincere and how
great an affection a Queen was capable of having
for a servant who never flattered her. And I
doubt not but your friendship made some conclusions
to my advantage, when you observed for
how many years I was able to hold my place in
her regard, notwithstanding her most real and
224invariable passion for that phantom which she
called the church—that darling phantom which
the Tories were for ever presenting to her imagination,
and employing as a will in the wisp to
bewilder her mind, and entice her (as she at last
unhappily experienced) to the destruction of her
quiet and glory. But I believe you have thought
that the most extraordinary thing in the whole
fortune of my favour, was its being at last destroyed
by a cause, in appearance so unequal to
the effect,—I mean Mrs. Abigail Hill. For I
will venture to affirm, that whatever may have
been laid to my charge of ill behaviour to my
mistress, in the latter years of my service, is all
reducible to this one crime—my inveteracy to
Mrs. Masham. I have, indeed, said that my
constant combating the Queen’s inclination to
the Tories, did in the end prove the ruin of my
credit with her; and this is true, inasmuch as
without that her Majesty could never have been
engaged to any insinuations against me.”
The Duchess of Marlborough was now at
liberty to follow the bent of her own inclinations,
and to fix her residence where she pleased. She
gave up her apartments in St. James’s Palace,
immediately after the surrender of her offices of
state, but she retained that of Ranger of the
great and little parks of Windsor, one of the
225grants from her sovereign that she valued most.
The Lodge of the great park was, as the Duchess
remarks, a very agreeable residence, and Anne
had remembered, in the days of their friendship,
that the Duchess, in riding by it, had often wished
for such a place. The little Lodge, which was
only a fit abode for the under-keepers, was given
by the Duchess to one of her brothers-in-law, who
laid out some five or six thousand pounds upon it;
whilst her grace spent a scarcely less sum on the
great lodge. The office, by virtue of which the
Duchess claimed this residence, was afterwards
the source of endless contentions, and of epistolary
controversies, which, if they served no
other purpose, exhibited the powers of mind
which the Duchess possessed, in the clearest
manner.[190]
For some time after her retirement from court,
the Duchess, however, lived at Holywell House,
St. Albans: she maintained as much magnificence
as any subject ever displayed, both when
she resided in the country, and also when she
made Marlborough House, in London, her
abode.[191]
That the Duke’s popularity was still considerable
among the lower classes, was apparent from
the reception which he met with upon his last
226return from Holland, on which occasion a crowd
met and attended him from the city, and he had
some difficulty in avoiding the acclamations which
were uttered.[192] Yet it was at this time that he was
greeted by that scurrilous pamphlet entitled, “Reasons
why a certain general had not the thanks
of either of the two Houses of Parliament, &c.”
We may now presume, the storm being
over, although its fury had not been weathered,
that since their political career was for a time
closed, the Duke and Duchess might return to
private life, contented to pass together the remaining
portion of their married life. The frequent
separations, which war had rendered
necessary, had been a perpetual source of regret
to the good Duke, whose heart was framed for
domestic life. In all his letters, he expresses that
longing for home, that desire for an uninterrupted
union with one whom he idolized, which hitherto
had been precluded, both by the great general’s
arduous duties, and by the necessary
attendance at court, imposed on the Duchess
by her offices, even during the short intervals
when Marlborough was permitted to relax from
his toils.
That yearning for the fulfilment of his dearest
hopes—hopes cruelly deferred—was, at length,
227gratified. Marlborough, the slave of his country,
the instrument and the controller at once
of states and allied armies,—Marlborough, at
length, was free,—at length he was permitted,
even constrained, to return to the ordeal of private
life; for to all men who have played a conspicuous
part on the great theatre of the busy world, a
domestic sphere must prove an ordeal which few,
so situated, sustain with credit.
Since the first years of their early marriage, the
Duke and Duchess of Marlborough had scarcely
passed a year of uninterrupted conjugal enjoyment.
The youth and beauty of the Duchess
had been the ornament of the court, in the
absence of her husband, and had been the source
of his pride, augmenting his anxiety to return
home to one who was pre-eminently formed to
fascinate the imagination. They were now reunited;
but the Duchess was no longer the youthful
beauty whose very errors charmed, and whose
slightest word of kindness enraptured the doating
heart of her fond husband. She was a disappointed
woman: morose, captious, and, though not
penurious, yet to an excess fond of wealth. The
cares of a numerous family had proved temptations,
not incentives to virtue and exertion. Her
children loved her not; and her later days were
passed in family differences, which wring the
228tender heart, and bow down the feeble spirit;
but which aroused all the ardour of a fiery and
unrelenting temper, such as that which the
once lovely Duchess, now “old Sarah,” displayed.[193]
She was one of those persons whom misfortunes
chasten not. It is related of her, that even
during the Duke’s last illness, the Duchess, incensed
against Dr. Mead, for some advice which
she did not approve, swore at him bitterly, and following
him down stairs, wanted to pull off his
periwig.[194] Dr. Hoadley, Bishop of Winchester,
was present at this scene.
The violence of her temper is incontestibly
proved; her affection for the Duke has been
doubted. But, however she may have tried the
deep-felt, and, even to the last, ardent attachment
of the incomparable Marlborough, there is every
reason to conclude that she honoured, she even
loved, the husband whom she often grieved in the
waywardness of her high spirit. No man can
retain a sincere, a strong attachment for a wife
who loves him not. Conjugal affection, to endure,
must be reciprocal. There must be a fund
of confidence, that, in spite of temper, in defiance
of seeming caprice, assures a real kindness beneath
229those briery properties. Marlborough
knew that he was beloved.
To the domestic hearth he brought, on the
other hand, qualities such as few men engaged in
public life could retain; such as few men in those
days, in any sphere, could boast. Since his
marriage, a holy and high-minded fidelity to the
object of his only pure love, to his wife, had
marked invariably his deportment. He brought
home, therefore, a mind undebased, virtuous
habits, conscious rectitude; and confidence in
his wife, and self-respect, were ensured.[195]
In his love for his children, as a son, as a
brother, as a master, Marlborough was equally
amiable. “He was, in his private life, remarkable
for an easiness of behaviour, which gave an
inimitable propriety to every thing he did and said;
a calmness of temper no accident could move;[196] a
temperance in all things which neither a court
life nor court favours could corrupt; a great tenderness
for his family, a most sincere attachment
to his friends, and a strong sense of religion, without
230any tincture of bigotry.”[197] Such is the
epitome of his private character. He was, also,
endowed with that rare quality in man, patience;
his campaigns, and all their attendant hardships,
had taught him not to expect, like most
of his sex and class, that every event in domestic
life should contribute to his individual
comfort. An anecdote told by Mr. Richardson,
the painter, exemplifies this rare and super-excellent
quality.
Riding one day with Mr. Commissary Marriot,
the Duke was overtaken by a shower of
rain. The Commissary called for and obtained
his cloak from his servant, who was on horseback
behind him. The Duke also asked for his cloak;
his servant not bringing it, the Duke called
for it again, when the man, who was puzzling
about the straps, answered him in a surly tone,
“You must stay, if it rains cats and dogs, till
I get at it.” The Duke only turned to Marriot,
saying, “I would not be of that fellow’s
temper for the world.”
The Duke possessed another attribute, peculiarly
essential to the tranquillity of private life;—freedom
from suspicion. It was his superiority
to little jealousies which rendered him the rival,
without being the enemy, of those great men with
231whom he was associated;—the friend as well as
coadjutor of Eugene, the beloved of generals
and potentates, as well as of soldiers. The same
quality pervaded his calm mind in his domestic
sphere. With the strongest affections, he was
the husband of a beautiful and gifted woman, yet,
devoid of misgivings respecting the lofty and sincere
character of her whom, being constrained to
leave, he quitted without a fear, to encounter all
the adulation of courts: a perfect reliance on her
prudence, her conduct, on all but the control of
her temper, marks his letters to the Duchess.
The same feature of mind is conspicuous in the
friendships of Marlborough. Though the scandalous
world imputed to the intimacy of his wife with
his dearest friend, Godolphin, motives which it is
easy to attach to any friendship between persons
of different sex, the confidence which Marlborough
reposed in that friend, in absence, under
circumstances the most trying, was never shaken.
He knew the principles of action which actuated
his wife; principles far more adequate to keep
a woman pure, and a man faithful, even than the
strongest attachment. Integrity of purpose is
the only immutable bond.
For his generous and happy confidence,
Marlborough was well repaid. His friendship
for Godolphin, the only stay of his public career,
232and his affection for his wife, ended only with
existence.
We must recur to the question, what were the
feelings, the pursuits, the enjoyments of the Duke
and Duchess of Marlborough in private life? In
order adequately to discuss this subject, it is necessary
to draw a sketch of the state of the country,
and of parties, after the retirement of the
Duke and Duchess; and to show how, unhappily,
the leisure of these, their latter days, was disturbed
by cabals, and by schemes of ambition
with which they would have done wisely to have
dispensed; and which darkened those years which
might otherwise have been devoted to objects of
higher and more enduring interest.
Dr. King, Archbishop of Dublin, writing to
Swift, in alluding to the various factions which
had prevailed in England, remarks, “I believe I
have seen forty changes; nor would I advise my
friend to sell himself to any (government) so as
to be their slave.”[198]
This advice was not very likely to be acceptable
to the individual, nor to the age in which
the good prelate wrote. Swift, as it is apparent
in those letters which he addressed to the unhappy
and infatuated Stella—letters sufficiently
disgusting to have cured any woman of an ill-placed
233attachment—betrays with an unblushing
coarseness, characteristic of the times, his readiness
to prostitute his talents to which party soever
would be the least likely, as they had found him
“Jonathan,” “to leave him Jonathan.”[199]
The Whig party in literature, boasted, in 1710,
when faction was at its height, the names of
Addison, Steele, Burnet, Congreve, Rowe, and
others. The Tory side, those of Bolingbroke,
Atterbury, Swift, and Prior. But when Swift,
after a vigilant study of the political atmosphere,
declared himself ready to take the whole burden
of periodical warfare on his shoulders, Addison
meekly retired from the contest, leaving his friends
to be assaulted and laid low by this irresistible
champion.
A series of attacks upon all the members of
government was now carried on with vigour for
some years; but Swift, the intimate associate of
the Masham family, directed his inuendoes, and
the force of his irony, chiefly against the Duke
and Duchess of Marlborough, both in prose and
verse. Those well-known stanzas, beginning
“A widow kept a favourite cat,
At first a gentle creature;
But when he was grown sleek and fat,
With many a mouse and many a rat,
He soon disclosed his nature,”
234are attributed alike to the Dean and to Prior.
The virulent observations on eminent persons,
in Swift’s “Four Last Years of the Reign of
Anne,” excited even the indignation of Bolingbroke.
These attacks extended, of course, to the
Duchess; but after her complete retirement from
a public career, and when the total cessation of
all intercourse between her and Queen Anne
annihilated the former favourites, such animadversions
on her, in particular, became of rare
occurrence.
The retirement of St. Albans was, indeed, more
than once invaded by the scurrilous sneers of
those who, perhaps, envied the calm but not
neglected retreat of the injured Marlborough.
Contented, as he was wont to say, with his share
of life and fame, he had, at this time, doubtless
made up his mind to bid adieu for ever to
politics; but his adversaries gave even to his
amusements some peculiar meaning; and various
comments in the newspapers of the day were intended
at once to point out the party of friends
with whom he held frequent commune, and to
introduce a reflection side-ways, on the imputed
narrowness of the Duke’s conduct.[200]
The visit of Prince Eugene, in 1712, broke
235upon this privacy. Eugene became acquainted
with the dismissal of Marlborough, when on his
passage, at the Nore, receiving at the same time
a caution from Mr. Drummond, a spy of Bolingbroke’s,
who was despatched by government to receive
him, “that the less he saw of the Duke of
Marlborough the better,”—a caution which the
fine spirited Prince sedulously and openly disregarded.
The well-known and happy allusion
which he made to Marlborough’s disgrace showed
the good-breeding and amiable feeling which
subsisted between these mighty men, and was
conceived in better taste than most compliments.
When Harley, entertaining Eugene,
declared that he looked upon that day as the
happiest of his life, since he had the honour to
see the greatest general of the age in his house,
Eugene wittily replied, “that if it were so, he
was obliged to his lordship for it;”—alluding to
Harley’s dismissal of Marlborough from his command
of the army.
Stung by his country’s ingratitude, and
threatened even with a prosecution, which for the
credit of England was stopped, Marlborough was
driven on one occasion, and one occasion only,
to abandon his usually cool and dignified forbearance.
When the Earl of Poulett, in a debate
in the House of Lords, referred to him, under the
236description of a “certain general, who led his
troops to the slaughter to cause a great number
of officers to be knocked on the head, in a battle,
or against stone walls, in order that he might
dispose of their commissions,” the patience of
the Duke could endure no longer. He challenged
the Earl, and a duel was only prevented
by the interposition of the Secretary of State, and
by the express command of the Queen.[201]
The death of Lord Godolphin, an event which
took place under the Duke’s own roof, at St. Alban’s,
on the 15th of September, 1712, determined Marlborough
to quit England, and to reside abroad
until better times should return. The Duchess
fully concurred in this scheme; which became
the more and more necessary to their mutual
peace, since not even could she and the Duke enjoy
and return the ordinary courtesies of society,
without incurring observation and provoking
suspicion. Marlborough was furnished with a
passport, it is said, by the instrumentality of his
early favourite, and secret friend, Bolingbroke;
and in October the Duke sailed from Dover for
Ostend.
His request to see the Queen, and to take leave,
was refused, and they never met again. But her
Majesty is declared to have expressed her hopes
237that the Duke would be well received in foreign
parts, and some say that Lord Treasurer Harley,
not Bolingbroke, granted the passport, in opposition
to the general opinion of the ministry, who
dreaded Marlborough’s influence at the court of
Hanover.
In February, 1713, the Duchess, having remained
to settle her husband’s and her own
affairs, followed his grace, and joined him at
Maestricht, whence they went to Aix-la-Chapelle.
It was during her residence abroad
that the Duchess employed her leisure hours in
writing that portion of her vindication, which she
addressed to Mr. Hutchinson.[202]
Thus was the Duke of Marlborough, then sixty-two
years of age, and the Duchess in her fifty-second
year, driven from their country by the
machinations of a party too strong for them to
resist without the especial favour of the Queen.
Anne is said coolly to have remarked to the
Duchess of Hamilton, “The Duke of Marlborough
has done wisely to go abroad.”[203] But
no expressions of regret are recorded of her Majesty’s,
upon the occasion of two old and long
esteemed friends having thus quitted her dominions.
Notwithstanding that the passport permitted
238the Duke, with a limited suite, to go into foreign
parts, wherever he might think fit, and recommended
him to the good offices of all “kings,
princes, and republics,” he had some reason
to apprehend a plot for seizing his person, at Aix-la-Chapelle,
where he lived incognito.[204]
As if misfortune had set its mark upon him, the
death of Godolphin was followed by that of his
faithful friend, and the affectionate correspondent
of the Duchess, Arthur Maynwaring, whose death
was caused by a cold caught in walking late in
the gardens of St. Albans, with the Duchess.
The sentiments of the Duke upon the subject
of his wife’s consent to quit, for the first time,
when no longer in the prime of life, her native
country—a sacrifice in those unsettled days,—are
expressed in a letter written before the
Duchess joined him at Aix-la-Chapelle, with a
warmth of gratitude truly touching.
At Frankfort the Duke and Duchess resided
for some time, and there they heard, in security,
but in dismay, of events which affected the interests
of the country they had left behind. The
peace of Maestricht, the details of which “our
enemies will tell with pleasure,” as Bishop Fleetwood
observed, was a source of the deepest mortification
to Marlborough, who thus beheld the
239labours of his life, the blood of thousands, and
the resources of his country, utterly thrown
away.
The secession of England from the grand
alliance, and the renewed intercourse between
her court and that of France, first clandestinely,
and afterwards openly, must have added sharp
stings to the private vexations of Marlborough.
Yet the people of England, indignant at the suspected
project of altering the succession, marked
their sense of the attempt by heaping insults
upon the Duc d’Aumont, the French ambassador.
They assembled for days before the gates of
Ormond-house, where he resided; they uttered
acclamations whenever they saw him of “No
Papist! no Pretender!” and put up a bunch of
grapes at his door, in derision of his alleged sale
of French wines and other goods, free of duty,
for his own and his master’s profit.[205]
The return of several noted Jacobites who had
been outlawed, their insolence in the elections,
and the publication of popular tracts in favour of
the Pretender’s title, all contributed to this party
clamour.
In the midst of these discontents, the increasing
maladies of the Queen were the subject of
universal alarm, both to Whigs and Tories,—the
former dreading lest her death should again
240engage the country in a civil war; the latter
trembling for that power of which her life was
the sole stay.
The latter days of the once apathetic Anne
were overshadowed by the gloom of mental uneasiness,
and of corporeal suffering. Her frame
was racked by the gout, her mind by the contending
counsels of interested advisers, and by
the dread of being governed by those to whom
she gave the fair-sounding name of friends. She
was harassed with repeated applications to
strengthen the Act of Settlement by naming her
successor. Her former professions of zeal for the
Protestant religion, and the heartfelt conviction
that her brother ought, by right of inheritance,
to succeed her, created a struggle in her weak
but conscientious mind. “Every new application
to the Queen concerning her successor was,”
says an eminent historian, “a knell to her heart,
confirming, by the voice of a nation, those fearful
apprehensions which arose from a sense of her
increasing infirmities;” whilst the motion of the
Earl of Wharton, that a premium should be
offered for apprehending the Pretender, whether
dead or alive, excited an indignation in the unhappy
Queen, which caused, in her reply, a departure
from that official dignity to which she
was so much attached.[206]
241The Duchess of Somerset had first succeeded
the Duchess of Marlborough in the Queen’s
regard and confidence. This lady appears to
have been much more worthy of the trust,
either than her predecessor, or the intriguing
Lady Masham, who succeeded her. A Whig
at heart, the Duchess of Somerset acted, secretly,
as a counterpoise to the too violent tendencies
of the ministry from which her husband
was dismissed. She probably tended to preserve
Anne from an avowed predilection, that secret desire,
which lay at the Queen’s heart—the succession
of her brother; and she had the great merit of
preventing Swift from being made a bishop.[207]
But even the Duchess exercised not that ascendency
over the mind of Anne which had been
attained by her earliest companion, the Duchess
of Marlborough. The Queen, like many persons
who have been disappointed in the objects of
their regard, became suspicious, and extremely
tenacious of her free-will. She even took pleasure
in refusing those who were dearest to her,
favours which they required, lest she should be
suspected of again being governed. She became
slow and cautious in conferring obligations; differing
from her former practice, when she had been
wont to thrust benefits upon the Duke and
242Duchess of Marlborough, and to command them
to receive, “and make no more words about
it.”[208] The attention, and, as it was probably
with justice called, obsequious service of the
Duchess of Somerset, soothed the pride which
had been irritated by previous neglect. Mrs.
Masham often offended her Majesty by what the
Queen called too much party spirit; but eventually
her influence prevailed.
The consideration which the Duchess of Somerset
acquired was of slower growth than that
obtained by her artful rival. The Duchess of
Marlborough, indeed, attributed to a desire of
acquiring the Queen’s favour, a little incident, of
which she gives the following lively account, in
her letter to Mr. Hutchinson. The narrative
shows upon what a slender fabric royal approbation
is founded.
“There was one thing more that happened
about this time, in which the Duchess of Somerset
was particularly concerned, and which was
turned to a very malicious story against me.
The case was this. At the christening of the
child of Mr. Merydith’s, in which the Duchess of
Somerset was to stand godmother with me, I
was pressed very much to give the name, which
it was properly her place to do, and upon that
243account I refused it, till at last, to end the dispute,
it was agreed by all that the child was to
have the Queen’s name. After this had been
settled, I turned to the Duchess of Somerset, and
said to her in a smiling way, that “the Duke of
Hamilton had made a boy a girl, and christened
it Anne, and why should not we make this girl a
boy, and call it George?” This was then understood
to be meant no otherwise than a jest upon
the Duke of Hamilton, as it plainly was, and the
Duchess of Somerset laughed at it, as the Queen
herself, I dare say, would have done, if she had
happened to be present. But this, as I had it
afterwards from very good hands, was represented
to the Queen in as different and false a way as
possible, who was told that I said, ‘Don’t let the
name of the child be Anne, for there was never
one good of that name.’ I leave you to judge
who was the most likely to give this story this
ridiculous turn; and who was to find their account
in it.
“When some such stories as those had made
a great noise in the world, and all my friends
were much offended at the baseness of this way
of proceeding against me, in order to make a
greater breach betwixt the Queen and me, I remember
particularly Mrs. Darcay, falling upon
that subject, I suppose accidentally, would needs
244persuade me to try and set all things right again
with the Queen, by clearing up some of the false
stories which had been made of me to her, of disrespectful
things I was said to have spoke of her,
several of which she repeated to me, and said she
was sure the Queen had been told of them.
These were some of them nothing else but what
are properly called Grub-street stories; and
therefore, as it was with some reluctancy that
she had brought me to talk so much upon this
subject, so I had still less inclination to engage
in the defence of myself about these matters.”[209]
The poor Queen was not long destined to enjoy
her partialities in peace. When the preference
which Harley had received from the Queen declined,
or rather when he had offended Lady
Masham, that mercenary favourite could then
discover and disclose to others, that the “Dragon,”
as Harley was called in derision by her and her
familiar associates, had been the most “ungrateful
man” to the Queen, and “to his best friends,
that ever was born,” and had been “teasing
and vexing the Queen without intermission for
the last three weeks.”[210] The same lady draws a
mournful picture of the annoyances, importunities,
and almost unkind usage, with which the
245poor Queen was assailed, by those whose party
spirit she had fostered by her own vacillations.
The Tories beheld with dismay the undoubted
decline of the Queen, and hailed each transient
improvement in her health with undue elation.
In the latter years of her life, political tergiversation
became so common as scarcely to excite
surprise. “Lord Nottingham,” says Swift, “a
famous Tory and speechmaker, is gone over to
the Whig side; they toast him daily, and Lord
Wharton says, it is Dismal (so they call him
from his looks) will save England at last.”[211]
“The least disorder that the Queen has,” says
Swift, writing, in 1714, to Lord Peterborough,
“puts us all in alarm; and when it is over, we
act as if she were immortal.”[212] Harassed by
political rivalships, each combatant, “the Dragon,”
and Mercurialis, (Bolingbroke,) being resolved,
as it was said, to die hard, the Queen and
the Duchess of Somerset were supposed to entertain
the notion of there being no “Monsieur le
Premier,” but that all power should reside in the
one, and profit in the other.
“Never,” wrote Dr. Arbuthnot to Dean Swift,
“was sleep more welcome to a weary traveller
than death to the Queen. It was frequently her
246lot, whilst worn with bodily suffering, to be an
agitated and helpless witness of the bitter altercations
of the Lord Treasurer Harley and of her
Secretary for Foreign Affairs. It was her office,
good-naturedly to check the sneers of the former,
and to soothe the indignant spirit of Bolingbroke.
In their mutual altercations ‘they addressed to
each other such language as only cabinet ministers
could use with impunity.’[213] Yet the Dragon
held fast with a dead grip the little machine, or
in other words, ‘clung to the Treasurer’s staff.’”[214]
To the disgrace both of Harley and Bolingbroke,
if anything could disgrace politicians so
venal, they each had recourse, in their extremity,
to men of totally opposite principles to those
which they had long professed. Harley addressed
himself to Lord Cowper, and to the Duke of
Shrewsbury, whose popularity with those who
favoured the house of Hanover was greatly increased
by his late conduct in Ireland. But
neither of these influential personages would link
themselves to the equivocal measures and falling
fortunes of Harley.
Bolingbroke formed a scheme which proved
equally unavailing, to rescue him from impending
ruin. His superior influence with Lady
247Masham, and his correspondence with the Pretender,
had secured him, as he believed, the favour
of the Queen: yet he courted the Whig party,
and resolved to avail himself again of that support
which had been his earliest stay—the friendship
and co-operation of the Duke of Marlborough.
The Duke had been expected, several times
during the last year of Queen Anne’s reign, to
arrive in England. At one time it was said that
St. James’s, at another that Marlborough-house,
was in preparation for his reception.
As affairs drew on towards the crisis, both Whigs
and Tories solicited Marlborough to add his influence
to their wasting strength. The Duke had been
accused of having entered into an amicable and
political correspondence with both parties; but
from this charge he has been ably and effectually
vindicated.[215] Throughout the political conflicts
which had agitated the court of England since he
had left her shores, Marlborough had maintained a
steady correspondence with his friends, but had expressed
a firm refusal to deviate from those principles
which had occasioned his exile, or to approve of
the peace of Utretcht, or to abandon his desire for
the Hanoverian succession. Acting as a mediator
between the Electoral Prince and the party well
248affected to him in England, he distrusted the
sincerity of Harley’s pretended exertions, and
resolutely decided that he would hold no intercourse
with a minister of whose hollowness he
had already received many proofs. Nor was the
Duchess less determined never to pardon the injuries
which she conceived herself and her husband
to have received from Harley. All offers of
his aid, all attempts to lend to him the influence
which Marlborough’s military and personal
character still commanded, were absolutely rejected.
At the court of Hanover, the Duke and Duchess
saw, as it were, reflected, the cabals of their
native country.
The year 1714, marked by other signal events,
witnessed the death of the Electress Sophia, at a
moment when the Elector was hesitating whether
to accept an invitation from the Hanoverian
party in England, to repair to that country,
and to take his seat in the House of Lords as
Duke of Cambridge, the writ to which title he
had recently received. The Electress died in
May; her sudden decease having been hastened,
it was supposed, by her anxiety that Prince
George should make the important journey to
which he had been solicited. The earnest hope
of this accomplished and ambitious Princess
249had been, to have “Sophia, Queen of England,”
engraved on her tomb; and she missed this object
of her desires only by a space of two months.
The last hours of Queen Anne’s weary existence
were now drawing to an end. As she had
begun her life in a political tempest, so was it to
close. Sharp contentions between Lady Masham
and Harley permitted little of peace, and no
chance of recovery, to the easy and broken-spirited
Queen. Lady Masham had now bid
open defiance to Harley, nor could the mediation
of the Duke of Shrewsbury, from whom much
was expected, effect a truce of amity in the distracted
cabinet.
What the intentions of the dying Queen actually
were, with respect to a new ministry,
cannot now be determined. It is not improbable
but that, had she lived, Bolingbroke would have
succeeded Harley. The dismissal of Harley
took place on the twenty-seventh of July, three
days only before the Queen’s death. Her Majesty
explained to the lords of the privy council
her reasons for requiring him to resign the staff;
namely, his want of truth, his want of punctuality,
“the bad manners, indecency, and disrespect,”
with which he treated her.[216] A cabinet
council was held on the evening of the twenty-seventh
250of July, to consult as to what persons were
to be put into commission for the management of
the Treasury. Five commissioners were named;
but it is remarkable that several of those so
specified declined taking office in times so
perilous, and of a nature so precarious. The
consultations upon this matter lasted until two
o’clock in the morning, and were accompanied
by contention so bitter and violent, that the
Queen, retiring, declared to one of her attendants
“she should not survive it.”[217]
This conviction of her approaching end seemed
to be prophetic. On Thursday, the twenty-ninth of
July, the cabinet council were to have met again,
but the Queen had then sunk into a state of
stupor, which was relieved by cupping, an operation
which she preferred to the common mode of
bleeding. Her physician, Dr. Shadwell, declared
that recent agitation had driven the gout to her
head. Her case was now considered almost
hopeless, and the council was deferred; yet her
Majesty appearing to be relieved by the operation
which she had undergone, hopes were again
kindled. On the ensuing evening she rested
well, rose with an impetus of vigour sometimes
given to the departing spirit, and, after undergoing
some duties of the toilet, looked earnestly
251upon a clock which stood in the room. One of
the bedchamber women, observing that her gaze
was fixed, asked her Majesty “what she saw in
the clock more than usual?” The Queen answered
her not, but turning her head towards her,
the affrighted attendant saw death written on her
countenance. She was again bled, and again
she revived.
Meantime the privy council assembled at
the Cockpit were apprized, through the Duchess
of Ormond, of her Majesty’s condition. The
memorable scene which ensued has been often
told. The ministers immediately adjourned
to Kensington, and the physicians being consulted,
and having declared that their sovereign
was still sensible, she was recommended by the
unanimous voice of the council to appoint the
Duke of Shrewsbury Lord Treasurer. Anne,
expiring, could summon strength to approve this
choice, and to place the Treasurer’s staff in the
hands of the Duke, begging him to use it for the
good of her people. After this effort she sank
unmolested into her last slumber.
The heralds-at-arms, and a troop of the
life guards, were in readiness to mount twenty-four
hours before the Queen’s death, to proclaim
the Elector of Brunswick King of England;
so great was the apprehension of the
252Pretender. After this, even, and when despatches
had been sent to the Elector of Brunswick, the
Queen’s pulse became stronger, she began to
take nourishment, and many around her entertained
hopes. “But this,” says her historian,
“was but the flash of a dying light.” The
Bishop of London in vain stood by, ready to administer
the eucharist, which she never revived
sufficiently to receive. She died without signing
the draught of her will, in which bequests were
made to her servants. By this informality, Lady
Masham, Dr. Arbuthnot her physician, and
others, were deprived of legacies.
Thus, though long expiring, Anne’s last
offices of religion were incomplete, her wishes
unfulfilled.[218] Her subjects, expectant of her
death, were, for the most part, frightened to
the last lest she should recover. She had erred
in rendering herself the head of a faction, rather
than the impartial ruler of a free people. Yet
such was her peculiar position on coming to the
throne; so important a barrier did she constitute
against the dreaded restoration of her brother
and his line; so unoffending was her personal deportment,
so sincere her love for the church, and,
according to the extent of her capacity, so excellent
were her intentions, that Anne reigned in
253the hearts of the people. Her faults as a governor
were viewed with a forbearing and extenuating
spirit. Her errors were attributed to her advisers.
Her simplicity of character, her ignorance
of the world, and her credulity, the consequence
of these two negative qualities, were well understood.
She was easily intimidated by the notion,
diligently infused into her mind, that she should
one day experience from the Whigs the same
sort of conduct as had cost her grandfather,
Charles the First, his crown and life.[219] Her
capacity was slow in receiving, and equally slow
in parting with impressions. She had a great diffidence
in any person placed in an office of responsibility,
an unfortunate one of her own
judgment, which rendered her too yielding to the
persuasions of those whom she called her friends.
The bitter pen of the Duchess of Marlborough,
which attributes to her character unbounded selfishness,
must not be too readily credited. Her early
surrender of her superior right to William, her
attention and affection to her consort, her very
faults as a monarch, prove her to have been remarkably
devoid of that quality, when we consider
her isolated position in society. That Anne
was not blessed, nor cursed, as it may prove, with
that sensitiveness which belongs to higher minds,
254and which can only by such be turned to the
best of purposes, does not detract from her amiable
and domestic qualities, but rather heightens the
value of that principle which could render her an
affectionate wife, patient and unwearied in the
hours of sickness; a generous friend, whose partiality
caused her to overstep the landmarks of
etiquette, and to disregard the boundaries of
rank; a beneficent patron of the poor clergy; an
excellent, because a just, orderly, and economical
mistress. It has been justly said, that her conduct
to her father was the only stain upon her
domestic virtues; and she appears to have atoned
for it by a continual penitence. She died childless,
attended on her deathbed only by interested
dependents,[220] and followed to her grave by many
255who had earnestly desired her death. Her decease
was followed by the return of early friends
from whom she had been long separated, and who
awaited that event before they could cease to be
exiles.
CHAPTER XI. — SIR JOHN VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. [245]
256
Return of the Duke and Duchess—Their reception—The
Duchess’s advice to her husband—Political changes in
which the Duke and Duchess were partly concerned.—1714.
On the day before the Queen’s demise, the Duke
and Duchess of Marlborough arrived at Ostend
from Antwerp, for the purpose of embarking for
Dover. This step had been for some time in contemplation
by the Duke, although the reasons
which finally decided him to return to his country
have never been exactly ascertained. He
had refused, so late as the month of July, 1714,
to sign the Whig association, presented for his
approval by Lord Onslow, the deputy of that
party.[221] He was addressed both by Bolingbroke
and by Harley, but not claimed as an
adherent by either of these politicians. So confident
were both these ministers of his aid, that
257they ordered him to be received at the ports
with the same honours as he had met with on
returning after his victories; but these directions
were countermanded, when it was understood
that he would not participate in any of the politics
of the day.[222]
The Duchess had already announced to her
correspondents in England the project entertained
by herself and the Duke, of again residing
in their beloved England. On arriving at
Ostend, she wrote to her friend, Mrs. Clayton,
whose husband, a clerk in the treasury, was one
of the managers of the Duke’s estates during his
absence.
“July 30, 1714.
“I am sure my dear friend will be glad to
hear that we are come well to this place, where
we wait for a fair wind; and in the mean time,
are in a very clean house, and have everything
good but water. It is not to be told in this letter
the respect and affection shown to the Duke of
Marlborough, in every place where he goes,
which always makes me remember our governors
in the manner that is natural to do; and upon
this journey, one thing has happened that was
surprising and very pretty. The Duke of Marlborough
258contrived it so as to avoid going into the
great towns as well as he could, and for that reason
went a little out of the way, not to go through
Ghent; but the chief magistrates, hearing he was
to pass, met him upon the road, and had prepared
a very handsome breakfast for all that was with
us, in a little village, where one of their ladies
staid to do the honours; and there was in the
company a considerable churchman that was
lame, and had not been out of his room for a great
while, but would give himself this trouble. This
is to show you how the Roman Catholics love
those that have served them well. Among the
governors of that town there were a great many
officers that came out with them on foot; and I
was so much surprised and touched at their kindness,
that I could not speak to the officers without
a good deal of concern, saying I was sorry
for what they did, fearing it might hurt them; to
which they replied, very politically or ignorantly,
I don’t know which, sure it was not possible for
them to suffer for having done their duty. The
next day Mr. Sutton met us with other officers,
and did a great many civilities, in bringing wine
and very good fruits, but I was not so much surprised
at that, because he is so well with the ministers
he may do what he pleases. The Duke of Marlborough
259is determined to stay here till he has a
very fair wind and good weather, and not to be at
London till three or four days after he lands at
Dover, because we have so many horses and servants,
that we can’t travel fast.”[223]
After a few days of suspense as well as of delay
at Ostend, the Duke and Duchess set sail,
and, after a stormy passage, were met, and their
vessel was boarded, by a message from Sir Thomas
Frankland, the postmaster-general, who announced
the Queen’s death.[224] The Duke landed on
the first of August, memorable for the accession of
George the First, and was received by the Mayor
and Jurats of the town with all formalities, and
saluted by a discharge of great guns from the
platform, but not from the castle, which pays
such tribute to no one but the sovereign. Amid
the acclamations of the assembled crowds, the
Duke and Duchess proceeded to the house of Sir
Henry Furnese, whose hospitable roof had received
the great general, previous to his departure
for his exile on the continent.
These rejoicings were much censured, as being
indecent on the very day after the Queen’s death;
and it was affirmed in excuse, that even the
worshipful authorities of Dover were not apprised
of that event when they received the Duke with
260noisy honours.[225] But the Duchess, sincere in all
things, left in her narrative an explicit statement
that the Duke had been informed of Anne’s decease
whilst he was at sea.
Meantime, by an act of parliament passed in
the fourth and fifth years of the late reign, a
regency, consisting of the seven highest officers of
the realm, came into immediate operation: and
to these lords justices were added seventeen
other noblemen, all heads of the Whig party,
whom George the First was empowered, by the
same act, to appoint. The Duke of Marlborough
might reasonably have expected to find himself
included among the persons thus honoured; but,
on his progress to Sittingbourne, he was met by
a former aide-de-camp, with the intelligence that
neither his name nor that of Lord Sunderland
was included in this catalogue.
Marlborough received this communication with
the calmness that became a superior mind. His
exclusion is said to have been the result of pique
in the Elector, father of the King of England, on
account of some want of confidence reposed in
him by Marlborough, with respect to the operations
of the campaign of 1708. It was attributed
by others to the reported correspondence between
Marlborough and the Stuart family. Be the
261cause what it might, this ungracious conduct was
received both by the Duke and Duchess with a
becoming spirit. They continued their journey to
the metropolis, intending to enter it privately; but
their friends would not suffer that Marlborough
should thus return to dwell among them again.
A number of gentlemen had attended them to
Sittingbourne, and by them, and by others who
met him there, he was, in part, forced to permit
the honourable reception which awaited him.
Sir Charles Cox, the member for Southwark,
met him as he approached the borough, and
escorted him into the city. Here he was joined
by two hundred gentlemen on horseback, and by
many of his relations, some of them in coaches
and six, who joined the procession, the city volunteers
marching before. In this manner the
Duke proceeded to St. James’s, the people exclaiming
as he passed along, “Long live King
George—long live the Duke of Marlborough!”
At Temple Bar the Duke’s coach broke down,
but without any person sustaining injury, and he
proceeded to his house in St. James’s, in another
carriage, the city guard firing a volley before they
departed. The evening was passed in receiving
friends and relations; with what sweet and bitter
recollections, it is easy to conceive.
262On the following day the Duke was visited
by the foreign ministers, by many of the nobility
and gentry then in the metropolis, and by
numerous military men. He was sworn of the
privy council, and once more appeared in the
House of Lords, where he took the oaths of
allegiance. But, on the prorogation of parliament
to the twelfth, he retired to Holywell-house,
there to conquer the vexation and disappointment
which his exclusion from the
regency undoubtedly occasioned him. On this
occasion, the spirit of Lady Marlborough displayed
itself, with a magnanimity and sound
discretion which redeemed her many faults.
Bothmar, the Hanoverian minister, visited the
Duke in his retreat, and sought to apologise for
the omission of his illustrious name from among
the distinguished statesmen who were appointed
lords justices. The Duke listened to these excuses
with his usual courtesy, but he wisely
adopted the advice of the Duchess, and declined
at present again holding any official appointment.
“I begged of the Duke of Marlborough, upon
my knees,” relates the Duchess, “that he would
never accept any employment. I said, everybody
that liked the Revolution and the security
263of the law, had a great esteem for him, that he
had a greater fortune than he wanted, and that
a man who had had such success, with such an
estate, would be of more use to any court than
they could be to him; that I would live civilly
with them, if they were so to me, but would
never put it into the power of any king to use me
ill. He was entirely of this opinion, and determined
to quit all, and serve them only when he
could act honestly, and do his country service at
the same time.”[226]
Six weeks elapsed between the death of
Queen Anne and the arrival of her successor.
On the sixteenth of August, the King embarked
at Orange-Holder, and landed two days afterwards
at Greenwich. Every ship in the river
saluted the royal vessel as it sailed, and multitudes
thronged the banks of the Thames, uttering
loud acclamations of joy at the arrival of the
monarch. Yet George the First, a man of plain
understanding, without ambition, the romance of
monarchs, felt, it is said, that he had arrived to
claim a crown not his own, and had an uncomfortable
notion all his life, that he was somewhat
of a character to which nature had little disposed
him, an usurper. In the evening of his landing,
264the royal house at Greenwich was crowded
with nobility and gentry, amongst whom the
Duke of Marlborough (who was regarded as a
kind of martyr to the “criminals” of the last
reign, as it was now the fashion to term Queen
Anne’s last ministry) was pre-eminently distinguished
by the new sovereign.[227]
The character of King George the First was
well adapted to put an end to the furious factions
by which the court had now for many years been
disgraced, public business had been impeded, and
peace long delayed, and obtained by the sacrifice of
consistency. Of a plain exterior, simple habits,
devoid of imagination, ignorant of English, and
endowed with a vast proportion of German good
nature and German indolence, the King had
little of that propensity to favouritism which
had filled the courts of his Stuart predecessors,
and even of the just and stern William, with
cabals. It may be said, that the reputation of
George the First was far greater before he came
to the throne of England, than after he ascended
to that, in his time, uncomfortable eminence. He
had distinguished himself in military operations,
yet, when King of England, had the wisdom to
forego a desire of fame which might have proved
265ruinous to his adopted people. His career as a
warrior began and ended early. He had governed
his German subjects with regard to the
principles of the English constitution. It was the
work of a corrupt English ministry to lead him
from these honest intentions and worthy practices.
It has been wittily said by Lord Chesterfield,
that “England was too large for him.[228]” He found
the court thronged with Whigs, to whom he
showed marks of decided preference; yet not, it
was suspected, without a design of borrowing
strength to his still disputed title, by conciliating
some of the Tory party.
One of the King’s first measures was to restore
Marlborough to his post as captain-general
of the land forces, to make him colonel of the
first regiment of foot-guards, and master-general
of the ordnance. The Earl of Sunderland was
appointed Lord-lieutenant of Ireland; and a
Whig cabinet was soon completely formed.
Dr. Arbuthnot, who, in his semi-medical, semi-political
capacity, dived into the intricacies of court
intrigues, remarks, that it were worth while living
to seventy-three, from curiosity to see the changes
in this strange medley of events, the world. It
was but lately that the Duke of Marlborough had
266yielded to the solicitations of his Duchess, that he
would accept of no employment whatsoever in
the administration; he now broke through that
wise resolution, tempted, it is supposed, by the
appointment of his son-in-law to various offices
in the royal household. Lord Godolphin had
the post of cofferer to the household; and Lord
Bridgwater was appointed chamberlain to the
Prince of Wales. The Duke and Duchess of
Montague had also preferments of importance.
But, with respect to Marlborough, these marks
of royal favour availed but little: he never regained
political influence. Sunderland, whose
active spirit might have re-established the interests
of his family, was, in fact, banished
from the court by his appointment, and his great
father-in-law ceased to be consulted in matters
of state, and sank, finally, into a private station.
The routine of his office, indeed, rendered his
visits to the metropolis imperative; but it was
unconnected with any political importance.
The invasion of England by the Pretender
drew Marlborough somewhat from the state of
neutrality with regard to public affairs, in which
he reposed. Whatever might have been his previous
conduct with regard to the exiled Stuarts,
he now, with other eminent and loyal men,
contributed a voluntary loan to the Treasury, to
267meet the emergencies of the state, and, on his private
credit alone, raised a considerable sum within
the space of a few hours. With the foresight of
long experience, he foretold the disastrous engagement
at Preston, and even marked the
distinct spot on which all the hopes of the
gallant and ill-fated enemy were doomed to be
foundered.[229]
The Duke and Duchess of Marlborough retired
almost wholly to their house at Holywell,
where, assembling at times their children and
grandchildren around them, they tasted at length
of that happiness for which one of this distinguished
couple, at least, had continually pined,
in absence. The peaceful retirement, which had so
often been the theme of Marlborough’s letters,
came at last; but, like many long-desired blessings,
it came hand in hand with care. It was
not at this period that the broken health and
weakened mind of Marlborough cast a gloom
over that circle of young and old, of which he
was the life and centre. For some years after
the accession of George the First, Marlborough
continued to be a healthy and an active man;
riding on horseback or driving about, and delighting,
when he was at Blenheim, in walking
about the grounds, inspecting those beautiful
268ornate scenes which his taste and wealth had
caused to flourish around him. In the evening
he received his friends without ceremony, and
joined in the games of ombre, basset, and
picquet, or of whist, his favourite game; and the
illustrious and amiable Marlborough often descended
to a pool of commerce with his grandchildren.
It was during this season of retirement that
the Duchess began the compilation of “Memoirs
of the Duke,” a work which was not published.
That she prized his fame far more than her own
justification, is manifest from her commencing
this undertaking when her faculties were in their
full vigour, and her opportunities of consulting
living testimony were still, in most cases, to
be obtained; while she left the completion of
her own Vindication until a late period of her
existence.[230]
Amongst the more important and less peaceful
occupations which engaged the attention of the
Duke and Duchess, the building of Blenheim
formed one of the circumstances most obnoxious
to his tranquillity of mind.
The disputes, to which the management of this
269national gift gave rise, might occupy a volume;
they must, however, remain to be discussed at a
more advanced period of this work. But the erection
of that superb habitation, which the Duke of
Marlborough lived not to see completed, induced
an acquaintance with one of the most versatile
wits of the day, Sir John Vanburgh.
The character and conduct of this distinguished
dramatist and indifferent sculptor had no inconsiderable
effect upon the tranquillity of the
Duchess of Marlborough, with whose confidence
this experienced man of the world was honoured.
A very singular, and to both the writers a very
discreditable correspondence, between the Duchess
and Vanburgh, is preserved among the manuscript
stores of the British Museum. Since it
elucidates some passages of the Duchess’s domestic
life, and unfolds some material points of
character, a few extracts from this singular correspondence
may not be uninteresting, more
especially as the letters have never been introduced
in any publication, either in their original
form, or in substance. Before entering upon
the occurrences to which it refers, a brief account
of one of the parties is necessary.
Sir John Vanburgh was descended from a
family originally from Ghent; his grandfather,
270Gibes Vanburgh, or Vanburg, being obliged to
fly from that city on account of the persecution
of the Protestants. The father of Sir John Vanburgh
became a sugar-baker in Chester, where
he amassed a considerable fortune, and, removing
to London, obtained the place of comptroller of
the treasury chamber. His mother was Elizabeth,
daughter of Sir Dudley Carleton of Ember Court,
Surrey.
The future dramatist and architect was one of
eight sons, and was destined for the army. A
love of desultory reading, and a youthful acquaintance
with Congreve, led him, however,
to the stage. So early as 1698, the youth, relinquishing
a soldier’s life, produced two comedies,
the “Relapse” and the “Provoked Wife;”
both remarkable for the wit of their dialogue,
and for the licentiousness of the sentiments.
For some years the fascinations of public applause
riveted this capricious genius to the occupation
of a dramatist. During the first years of
Anne’s reign, he accomplished the erection, by
subscription, of the Haymarket Theatre, for the
building of which he had interest enough to obtain
a sum of three thousand pounds from thirty
persons of rank, each of whom subscribed a hundred
pounds. At this time the courtly Vanburgh
271paid a public tribute to the Marlborough family,
by inscribing on the first stone that was laid of
the theatre, the words, “The Little Whig,” in
compliment to Lady Sunderland, popularly
known by that designation. It was in this
theatre that, in conjunction with Congreve, he
managed the affairs of Betterton’s company, and
produced for their benefit comedies which would
not now be tolerated for a single evening, on a
stage, pure in its subjects as compared with that
of the last century.
It is said by Cibber that Vanburgh eventually
repented of the immoral tendency of his works,
and that he would willingly have sought to retrieve
his errors by more chastened publications.
Those authors, who degrade themselves, and debase
the minds of others, should remember, that
it is impossible to counteract the baneful effects
of that species of poison, which of all others is the
most easily disseminated. The envenomed shaft
of licentious wit never flies in vain, nor can its
direful progress be recalled.
It is uncertain at what time Vanburgh became
an architect; but he must very rapidly have attained
eminence, since his first great work,
“Castle Howard,” was completed before Blenheim
became habitable.
Handsome in countenance, witty, accomplished,
272and not of lowly birth, Vanburgh soon won the
favour of those with whom he was, from his occupations,
brought into contact. His cheerfulness
was never overclouded by any misfortune. Even
during a temporary confinement in the Bastile,
his spirits were unabated, and the great secret of
his composure was employment.[231]
It appears extraordinary that so inferior a
sculptor as Vanburgh should have been selected
to build a palace raised at the expense of the
nation. Although satirised by Swift, Walpole,
and Pope, Sir John Vanburgh had, however, his
admirers, and received high encomiums from Sir
Joshua Reynolds, who declares, “that in his
architectural works there is a greater display of
imagination than in any other.” “He had,” says
Sir Joshua, “great originality of invention; he
understood light and shadow, and had great skill
in composition.” These, with other commendations,
from the same great judge, might have
rescued many characters from the reproaches of
posterity; but Blenheim, massive without grandeur,
273and laboured in style, without unity of
design, stands an everlasting reproach to its
architect.
The intimacy of Vanburgh with all the leading
characters of the day accounts for the confidence
with which he was treated by the Duchess
of Marlborough, on the nicest of all points—the
disposal in marriage of those in whom she was
deeply interested. The singular correspondence
which we shall presently introduce to our readers,
marks the intimacy which subsisted between the
architect and the patron. Like many such unequal
alliances, familiarity, in this instance, produced
contempt.
The Duchess, indignant as she became at the impertinence
and assurance of Vanburgh, never assisted
him to any office; but, in 1704, Vanburgh
was, by the interest of Charles Earl of Carlisle,
promoted to the appointment of Clarencieux king-at-arms;
a proceeding which was naturally resented
by the whole college of heralds, who were
indignant at having a stranger, and one without
the slightest knowledge of heraldry or genealogy,
made king-at-arms.[232]
Sir John was appointed controller of the royal
works, and surveyor of the works at Greenwich
274Hospital. He resided at Vanburgh Fields, Maize
Hill, Greenwich,[233] where he built two seats, one
of them called the Bastile, and built on the model
of that prison, where, it is said, the whimsical
architect had once been confined and treated with
humanity.[234] Another house, built in the same
style, at Blackheath, and called the Mincepie
House, was lately inhabited by a descendant of its
first proprietor.[235]
Alluding to Blenheim, Swift observes—
“That if his Grace were no more skilled in
The art of battering walls than building,
We might expect to see next year
A mouse-trap-man chief engineer.”
Such was the opinion entertained by a contemporary
wit, of Vanburgh’s architecture. In heraldic
science he is said to have been less skilled than the
least of the pursuivants. His comedies, renowned
for the well-sustained ease and spirit of the dialogue,
are, to those who deem the gratification
of curiosity cheaply bought by an acquaintance
with all that is accounted most licentious, curious
as pictures of the manners of the times in
which they were written.
275We have seen how successfully the Duchess
of Marlborough contrived to connect her family,
by alliances of her daughters, with several of
the most exalted families in the kingdom. Her
energetic mind now devoted itself with equal
zeal and perseverance to the proper settlement
of her eldest granddaughter, the Lady Harriot
Godolphin, in whose matrimonial prospects she
took a lively interest, notwithstanding that the
Countess of Godolphin, the young lady’s mother,
was still alive. The Duchess fixed her hopes, as
a son-in-law, on Thomas Pelham Holles, maternal
nephew of John Holles, Duke of Newcastle,
whose title he obtained by creation.
Pelham Holles, at the time when the Duchess’s
speculations were first directed towards him,
was Earl of Clare, under which designation
we find, in the correspondence between her
grace and her confidential agent, that the future
Duke was mentioned.
It was in the beginning of 1714 that a marriage
treaty between the house of Marlborough
and that of Newcastle was first contemplated by
the Duchess.[236] It is needless to specify, what is
well known, that in those times, and in the rank
which the Duchess filled, marriage was seldom
an affair in which those mainly interested were
276allowed to judge, or to reject. It was usually a
contract between relations, acting, as they considered,
most effectually for the happiness of two
individuals whom they wished to see betrothed;
the condition being that the parties were well
assorted in station, the portion of the lady competent,
and the fortune of the gentleman equivalent
to what she or her friends had a right to
expect. The negociation which is unfolded in
the correspondence of the Duchess and Sir J.
Vanburgh, is a perfect specimen of this species
of contract, in which the parties had not even
seen each other, until matters had advanced somewhat
too far to be withdrawn.
Lord Clare, or, to call him by his subsequent
title, the Duke of Newcastle, appears, however, to
have had higher and juster views of the state of
matrimony than most of the noblemen of his
day, who regarded it as a mere tie of convenience,
or means of aggrandisement, and who
troubled themselves very little about the disposition
or sentiments of the family into which, for
sundry reasons, they entered. The character of
Pelham Holles, Duke of Newcastle, seems, at
the period of the correspondence of which he was
the subject, to have been singularly discreet and
amiable. He was not, indeed, a man of high
qualities, nor of such extensive and solid attainments
277as to justify the extraordinary success
which afterwards, in attaining the highest posts
in the government, he enjoyed. Devoted to
politics, and to the party of Townshend and Walpole;
a zealous promoter of the Protestant succession;
he led a life of bustle, and was constantly in
search of popularity; always in confusion, often
promising what he could never grant, yet performing
well the domestic duties of his station.
Kind, though exact, as a master, and energetic in
all his official duties, he might certainly be deemed
highly respectable.
Not foreseeing the great eminence to which
he was destined to rise, the young nobleman,
at this period of his life, earnestly desired
to connect himself in marriage with some family
suitable to his own in wealth and influence.
His views might not have been directed to the
Marlborough family, had not the Duchess, to
whom Vanburgh was at that time a willing agent,
imparted from her grace some hints that a matrimonial
connexion between her granddaughter
and Lord Clare would not be unacceptable.[237]
Vanburgh, like a true votary of the great, in
those days of patronage, took his cue from the
Duchess’s expressions; and as the dramatist
had many opportunities of sharing Lord Clare’s
278leisure hours, the Duchess could not, in some respects,
have employed any person more likely to
promote her speculations.
Vanburgh thus described the commencement
of those operations which were intended to unite
the great houses of Churchill and Pelham Holles.
Writing to the Duchess, he says—“I have
brought into discourse the characters of several
women, that I might have a natural occasion to
bring in hers, (Lady Harriott’s,) which I have
then dwelt a little upon, and, in the best manner
I could, distinguished her from the rest. This I
have taken three or four occasions to do, without
the least appearance of having any view in it,
thinking the rightest thing I could do would be
to possess him with a good impression of her,
before I hinted at anything more.”[238]
This skilful generalship for some time did not
appear to meet with the success which it merited.
Lady Harriott, unfortunately, was not handsome;
the family stock of beauty which she inherited
from her mother had been sadly amalgamated
with the flat and homely features of Sidney Lord
Godolphin, than whom a more ordinary individual,
if one may judge from his portraits, seems
not to have existed. Moreover, her portion was
undecided, and the noble suitor whom her friends
279sought for her, at first but coldly allowed her
merits; hinting, though “but very softly,” that
whilst he admired the fine qualities which Sir
John described, he could have wished her external
charms had been equal to those of her
heart and understanding.[239]
This half-disclosed objection, Sir John Vanburgh
met with the observation, that though he
“did not believe Lady Harriott would ever have
a beautiful face, he could plainly see that it
would prove a very agreeable one, which he
thought infinitely more valuable, especially when
he observed one thing in her—namely, a very
good expression of countenance.” “In short,”
added the skilful reasoner, “it was certain
Lady Harriott’s figure would be good; and he
would pawn all his skill in such matters, if
in two years time the Lady Harriott would not
be as much admired as any lady in town.”
Lord Clare did not in the least contradict what Sir
John said, but allowed “that he might very possibly
be right.” This conversation took place in
January, 1714; and two years elapsed before
the subject was formally resumed between the
Duchess’s subservient friend, and his patron,
Lord Clare. In the course of these two years,
Lord Clare became Duke of Newcastle, and the
280Duchess of Marlborough’s anxiety to hail him as
a relative was probably not diminished by that
circumstance. The Duke, meantime, had seen no
woman who exactly came up to his ideas of what
his wife ought to be, in order that he might expect
from her that domestic happiness to which he
appears to have aspired. The idea of being connected
with the Marlborough family, and the expectation
of a considerable fortune if he connected
himself with a member of that wealthy house,
added to the constant representations of Sir John
Vanburgh in favour of the alliance, maintained
the desire, which the Duke had always in some
degree cherished, of uniting himself with the Lady
Harriott. At the same time, having made many
observations upon the bad education given to
ladies of rank in that day, the Duke felt, as he
expressed to his friend Vanburgh, a much greater
anxiety to find in his wife an intelligent and
amiable friend and companion, than to carry
away what would be commonly considered a prize,
either of beauty or of fortune. But at length,
weary of delay, he wrote to his friend Vanburgh
that he had formed a resolution of marrying
somewhere before the winter was over, and again
entered upon the subject of Lady Harriott.[240]
This cessation of the treaty is explained by the
281Duchess of Marlborough, in the curious correspondence
from which this narrative is taken.
The original proposal, on her side, to Lord Clare,
was to be so managed as to save him the pain of
sending her grace a refusal, if he declined it: a
negociation, with respect to fortune, was carried
on between Vanburgh and a mutual friend of Lord
Clare and of the Duchess.
As it might be expected, the treaty had gone on
very smoothly, until the conversation turned upon
money. Some “civil things about the alliance,”
to use the Duchess’s phrase, had been said; but the
dowry required to make the plain Lady Harriott
saleable was no less a sum than forty thousand
pounds. Upon this demand the Duchess had
broken off the negociation, concluding, as she
afterwards declared, that the Duke of Newcastle
or his friends must think such a demand the most
effectual way of breaking off the affair; “since,”
as she added, “Lady Harriott was neither a
‘monster nor a citizen,’ and she had never heard
of such a fortune in any other case, unless it were
an only child.” Yet to show, as she states, that
she was not mercenary, she had afterwards refused
a most considerable offer for her granddaughter,
where she could have had her own conditions.
In such business-like and bartering terms did
the custom of the day lead the Duchess to express
282herself upon a matter of no less importance than
happiness, or unhappiness, the utmost bliss or the
most hopeless misery.
Two years, therefore, had elapsed before anything
more was done; and Lady Harriott, meantime,
had been introduced by her grandmother into
the fashionable circles of Bath; and that circumstance
again aroused the apprehensions of the
cautious Pelham Holles. Whether he dreaded
that she would there have formed some acquaintance
which might have produced an entanglement
of the heart—whether he fancied
that the influence which her grandmother exercised
over her might induce the young lady to accept a
desirable match when her affections were elsewhere
bestowed; or whether he was merely desirous of
ascertaining how far the scenes of dissipation had
power to elicit foibles and failings in the young
Lady Harriott—does not appear. From the strict
inquiries which he anxiously and repeatedly made
when the treaty was renewed, of her conduct at Bath,
we must however conclude that the peer, in spite of
his determination to marry before the winter was
over, was not so indiscreet in his haste as to
rush into bonds, unless he were well satisfied that
they would produce a happy union. Such were
his notions of the sex at this time, that, to use
his own words to Vanburgh, he almost despaired
283of meeting with a woman whose ideas of conjugal
duty would accord with his own expectations.
Impressed with the difficulty of a
choice, he earnestly and emphatically entreated
Sir John Vanburgh to inform him if he knew
anything of the lady, that could abate the extraordinary
impression that he had received of
her merits.
Sir John could add nothing disparaging to the
high encomiums which he had passed on Lady
Harriott, and a fresh negociation was accordingly
entered upon with the Duchess, who expressed
herself delighted with the renewal of a
treaty which she had considered as finally abandoned.
Sir John, meantime, was very zealous, and
the affair proceeded flourishingly, and ended, eventually,
in the marriage of Lady Harriott and the
Duke of Newcastle.[241]
So far Vanburgh seems to have acted well his
part of a friend and mediator; but he soon
found that matchmaking was by no means the
most desirable occupation in the world. Although
he had, by successful arguments, brought the
Duke of Newcastle “into the mind to marry
284Lady Harriott,” the Duchess appears to have
acted towards him unhandsomely and ungratefully.
It seems to have been her grace’s mode
for avenging Sir John’s errors of taste and miscalculations
at Blenheim, to remove her confidence
from him in the nice affair which he had had her
commands to bring about to another useful friend.
Whilst the architect and his patroness were together
at Bath and at Blenheim, she never mentioned
a syllable of the projected marriage to him,
but, by transferring the negociation to one Mr.
Walter, implied that Vanburgh was no longer
worthy of the trust she had reposed in him. It
was not long before Vanburgh, indignant at her
conduct, addressed to her grace a letter, explanatory
but respectful, excepting when, in the
conclusion, he declares that he should be surprised,
but not sorry, to find that she had imposed
her commands and entrusted her commission
to some other person.[242]
The Duchess, in her reply to Sir John Vanburgh,
entered distinctly into the whole process
by which the match had been revived and perfected.
She acknowledged her obligations to
Sir John Vanburgh; she explained her conduct,
if not satisfactorily, at least graciously; and concluded
285by declaring, “that if any third person
should say that she had behaved ill to Sir John,
she should be very sorry for it, and should be
very ready even to ask his pardon.”[243]
Before this temperate letter reached him, Sir
John Vanburgh, not to his credit, had sent a very
abusive, coarse, and insolent epistle. It appears
that he had discovered that the Duchess had
devolved the completion of Blenheim into other
hands. Under the excitement produced by this
discovery, he gave vent to a torrent of invective,
which seldom accompanies a good cause.
The Duchess, as it happened, received this
singular ebullition from her former confidante
before her own letter was despatched; whereupon
she took up her pen, and, in the excess of her
wrath, added a postscript; concluding in these
words:—“Upon the receiving of that very insolent
letter, upon the eighth of the same month,
’tis easy to imagine that I wished to have had
the civility I expressed in the letter back again,
and was very sorry that I had fouled my fingers
in writing to such a fellow.”[244]
Sir John Vanburgh’s reply had called forth
this elegant conclusion; he appears to have been
resolved to prove that he could equal her grace
in vituperation. In order clearly to understand
286the merits of the case, it is necessary to give at
length the letter which the Duchess “fouled her
fingers” to answer. It would be a pity to garble
so characteristic a document.
“Whitehall, Nov. 8th, 1716.
“Madam,—When I writ to your grace on
Thursday last, I was much at a loss what could
be the ground of your having dropped me, in the
service I had been endeavouring to do you and
your family with the Duke of Newcastle, upon
your own sole motion and desire. But having
since been shown, by Mr. Richards, a large
packet of building papers sent him by your grace, I
find the reason was, that you had resolved to use
me so ill in respect of Blenheim, as must make it
impracticable to employ me in any other branch
of your service.
“These papers, madam, are so full of far-fetched
laboured accusations, mistaken facts,
wrong inferences, groundless jealousies, and strained
constructions, that I should put a very great
affront upon your understanding if I supposed it
possible you could mean anything in earnest by
287them, but to put a stop to my troubling you any
more. You have your end, madam, for I will
never trouble you more, unless the Duke of Marlborough
recovers so far to shelter me from such
intolerable treatment.
“I shall in the mean time have only this concern
on his account, (for whom I shall ever retain
the greatest veneration,) that your grace
having, like the Queen, thought fit to get rid of
a faithful servant, the Tories will have the pleasure
to see your glassmaker, Moor, make just
such an end of the Duke’s building as her minister
Harley did of his victories, for which it
was erected.
“I am your Grace’s
“Most obedient servant,
“J. Vanburgh.
“If your grace will give me leave to print
your papers, I’ll do it very exactly, and without
any answer or remark but this short letter attached
to the tail of them, that the world may
know I desired they might be published.”
The Duke of Marlborough, it appears, was
kept in ignorance of all the missiles of abuse
which were passing between his Duchess and
her once faithful servant. But, observing that
Vanburgh absented himself from Marlborough-house
288and Blenheim, the kind-hearted Marlborough
inquired into the cause of that circumstance.
Throughout the whole affair he seems
to have been moderate, unoffending, and just,
as it was his nature to be; but eventually he
coincided with his wife, and the building of
Blenheim was transferred to other hands.
Upon hearing that the Duke had inquired for
him, Vanburgh wrote a long explanation, in
which some traces of regret are discoverable.
Since it is, in the main points, merely a recapitulation
of the whole affair, we must refer the
reader, who may be curious to judge for himself
upon this amusing controversy, to the Appendix
of this volume.
Severe and real trials awaited the Duchess,
and ought to have bowed her head in humility,
and softened her vindictive feelings to others.
But the discipline of events appears to have
effected but little change in her proud and
fierce disposition.
Whilst wealth and undisputed honours might
procure a cheerful retirement, it was the will of
Providence that the decline of these two celebrated
persons into the sear and yellow leaf
should be visited by those bereavements which
anticipate Time in his devastations upon the
frame of man, and aid him of his privilege in
289furrowing the brow, and making the cheek wan.
From the period when they could discern the
opening characters of infancy in their children,
the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough had considered
themselves peculiarly blessed in two of
their daughters—Elizabeth Countess of Bridgewater,
and Anne Countess of Sunderland. The
world corroborated by its testimony the good opinion
of the parents. Lady Bridgewater was
domestic in her habits, affectionate, dutiful, and
religious. She appears to have taken less
part in political affairs than her sisters, Lady
Rialton and Lady Sunderland, who were evidently
esteemed by the Tory party to be the
chief female supporters of their adversaries.[246]
Yet Lady Bridgewater, in common with the rest
of her family, had evinced her displeasure at the
dismissal of her mother, and the change of the
ministry in 1711–12. When, at that time,
it happened that the presentation of Prince
Eugene took place, and all the Tory courtiers,
“monstrous fine,” as Swift described them,
thronged to see the Queen present him with a
diamond sword, the Countess of Bridgewater is
thus mentioned among the “birth-day chat”
with which Swift consoled Stella for his absence.
290“I saw Lady Wharton, as ugly as the devil,
coming out in a crowd, all in an undress; she
had been with the Marlborough daughters and
Lady Bridgewater in St. James’s, looking out of
the window, all undressed, to see the sight.”[247]
This is one of the few instances in which we
find Lady Bridgewater mentioned in public;
and, in March 22nd, 1714, her brief career
closed, the small-pox proving fatal to her, as it
had done to her brother. She was only twenty-six
years of age at the time of her death.
Lady Sunderland had a more distinguished, and,
as far as we may judge, a more arduous part in
life to act, than either of her sisters. Unlike Lady
Rialton, afterwards Lady Godolphin, and the
Duchess of Manchester, she retained the affection
of her imperious mother, even through political
turmoils, in which the Duke of Sunderland often
differed from the Duchess, and displeased the
Duke of Marlborough. The Countess was one
whom remarkable worldly advantages could not
withdraw from a consciousness that this state,
however blessed, is only a preparatory process by
which the human heart is to be purified. She
lived in the world uncorrupted; uninjured by admiration,
which pursued her, from friend or foe;
untainted by ambition, the besetting failing of
291her family; beautiful, but nobly aspiring to be
somewhat more than the beauty paramount of the
day; accomplished, yet humble; of a lively imagination,
yet of unimpeached prudence, and
of sound judgment. Station, fashion, and, yet
more, the conscious influence of her fascinating
qualities, were enjoyed by her in safety; for she
had that within, a pure and devout heart, which
kept her unspotted from the world.
Lady Sunderland had been much at court,
until, upon the Queen’s dismissal of her mother,
she resigned her offices. Her social reputation was
such, and her power in consequence so acknowledged,
that Swift, who stood watching which
way the gales of royal favour blew, was not
ashamed to own his adulatory advances towards
her, on one occasion when the Queen’s indecision
left him in considerable doubt as to which party
would prevail.
“I was to-day at court,” writes the double and
obsequious divine, in 1711, “and resolved to be
very civil to the Whigs, but saw few there.
When I was in the bedchamber talking to Lord
Rochester, he went up to Lady Burlington, who
asked him who I was, and Lady Sunderland and
she whispered about me. I desired Lord Rochester
to tell Lady Sunderland, I doubted she was not
292as much in love with me as I was with her, but
he would not deliver my message.”[248]
After the return of the Duke and Duchess to
England, it was the arduous office of the Countess
of Sunderland to interpose her mild influence between
the hasty temper of her husband and the
overbearing spirit of her mother. She was the
only one of “Marlborough’s daughters” who
could brook the maternal authority, exercised
even over her grown-up children with unsparing
rigour; and Marlborough regarded this dutiful and
forbearing child with peculiar affection, on that
very account. Yet it was evident, after her decease,
that she both respected and loved her
mother, since to her care she confided those whom
she herself most loved.[249]
In her husband’s temper and propensities,
Lady Sunderland found that counterbalance to her
many worldly advantages, which those who enjoy
the happiest lot must in this world experience.
Lord Sunderland, from the account of historians,
appears to have been of a factious, unhappy spirit;
to have quarrelled with his best friends; to have
failed in his ambition, not from want of abilities,
but from want of conduct, and to have been
293alienated, by his rash and conceited deportment,
from those who could alone save and serve him.[250]
He had also a turn for extravagance, and a passion
for gaming; and the last years of his more
discreet wife were embittered by anxiety respecting
a suitable provision for his children, an
anxiety which events fully justified in the imprudent
marriage which the Earl formed after
her death.
Yet was the Countess sincerely devoted to this
uncongenial being, to whom political interests
had caused her to be united at an age when she
was too young to form a judgment upon such
matters. When he was absent in Vienna, on an
embassy, she composed a prayer, found among
her papers after her death, dictated by the most
ardent attachment to her husband, and by the
purest and most exalted devotion to her Maker.[251]
One would be apt to think highly of that man
who could inspire such a woman with such an
affection, but that daily and hourly we witness
how the most disinterested and warmest feelings
are bestowed by female hearts on unworthy objects,
and how they are perpetuated by a sense of
duty, by habit, by gratitude.
Lady Sunderland had long suffered from the
294approaches of a mortal disorder, which she sustained
with the spirit that became her. In her
patience and christian resignation, she was consistent
to the rest of her conduct. On the 15th
of April, 1714, very shortly after the death of her
sister, she was removed to a happier state; a fever,
with which her impaired constitution could not
struggle, closing, thus abruptly and mercifully, a
life which might have lingered underneath the
less violent attacks of a chronic disease.
Her death was a severe blow to both her
parents. In her, the Duchess lost the only solace
which filial duty could supply; for her remaining
daughters loved her not, and even from her
grandchildren she failed to experience comfort.
Among her mother’s papers was found the following
letter, eloquent in its simple beauty, and
deeply affecting to the parents, who could trace,
in its touching requests, the pure but fretted
spirit of their anxious child. The Duchess, according
to her usual custom, had endorsed it with
these words: “A copy of what my dear daughter
wrote to her Lord, not to be given to him till
after she was dead.”[252]
“Altrop, Sept. 9, 1716.
“I have always found it so tender a subject
295(to you, my dear,) to talk, of my dying, that I
have chose rather to leave my mind in writing,
which, though very, very insignificant, is some
ease to me. Your dear self and the dear children
are my only concern in the world; I hope in
God you will find comfort for the loss of a wife,
I am sure you loved so well, not to want a great
deal. I would be no farther remembered, than
what would contribute to your ease, which is to
be careful (as I was) not to make your circumstances
uneasy by living beyond what you have,
which I could not, with all the care that was
possible, quite prevent. When you have any
addition, think of your poor children, and that
you have not an estate to live on, without making
some addition by saving. You will ever be
miserable if you give way to the love of play.
As to the children, pray get my mother, the
Duchess of Marlborough, to take care of the girls,
and if I leave any boys too little to go to school;
for to be left to servants is very bad for children,
and a man can’t take the care of little children
that a woman can. For the love that she has
for me, and the duty that I have ever shown her,
I hope she will do it, and be ever kind to you,
who was dearer to me than my life. Pray take
care to see the children married with a prospect
of happiness, for in that you will show your kindness
296to me; and never let them want education
or money while they are young. My father has
been so kind as to give my children fortunes, so
that I hope they won’t miss the opportunity of
being settled in the world for want of portions.
But your own daughter may want your help,
which I hope you will think to give her, though
it should straiten your income, or to any of
mine, should they want it. Pray let Mr. Fourneaux
get some good-natured man for Lord
Spencer’s governor, whom he may settle with him
before he dies, and be fit to go abroad with him.
I beg of you to spare no expense to improve him,
and to let him have an allowance for his pocket
to make him easy. You have had five thousand
pounds of the money you know was mine, which
my mother gave me yearly; whenever you can,
let him have the income of that for his allowance,
if he has none any other way. And don’t be as
careless of the dear children as when you relied
upon me to take care of them, but let them be
your care though you should marry again; for
your wife may wrong them when you don’t mind
it. You owe Fanchon, by a bond, twelve hundred
pounds, for which I gave her four score pounds a
year interest. Pray, whenever it is in your
power, be kind to her and to her children, for she
was ever faithful to me. Pray burn all my letters
297in town or in the country. We must all die, but it
is hard to part with one so much beloved, and in
whom there was so much happiness, as you, my
dearest, ever were to me. My last prayers shall
be to the Lord Almighty, to give you all blessings
in this world, and grant that we may meet
happy in the next.
“A. Sunderland.”
“Pray give Lady Anne my diamond earrings;
the middle drops are my mother’s; and give Dye
my pearl necklace and watch; and give Lady
Frances Spencer my diamond buckle; and give
Mr. Fourneaux the medal of gold which you
gave me when I was married; and the little
picture I have of yours and of Lord Spencer’s.”
This letter was immediately forwarded by Lord
Sunderland, through his steward, to the Duchess,
who lost no time in announcing to him her ready
compliance with her daughter’s last request; and
she is said to have conscientiously performed the
important duties which, from maternal affection,
she had undertaken. Her zeal, and her real
though unaffected and unsentimental grief for her
daughter’s loss, are naturally exemplified in the
following letter.[253]
298“May 13, 1716.
“I send you enclosed that most precious letter
you sent me yesterday by Mr. Charlton. You
will easily believe it has made me drop a great
many tears, and you may be very sure that to
my life’s end I shall observe very religiously all
that my poor dear child desired. I was pleased
to find that my own inclinations had led me to
resolve upon doing everything that she mentions
before I knew it was her request, except taking
Lady Anne, which I did not offer, thinking that
since you take Lady Frances home, who is
eighteen years old, she would be better with you
than me, as long as you live, or with the servants
that her dear mother had chose to put about her,
and I found by Mr. Charlton this thought was
the same that you had. But I will be of all the
use that I can to her, in everything that she
wants me, and if I should happen to live longer
than you, though so much older, I will then take
as much care of her as if she were my own child.
I have resolved to take poor Lady Anne Egerton,
who, I believe, is very ill looked after. She
went yesterday to Ashridge, but I will send for
her to St. Albans, as soon as you will let me have
dear Lady Dye; and while the weather is hot, I
will keep them two and Lady Harriot, with a little
299family of servants to look after them, and be
there as much as I can; but the Duke of Marlborough
will be running up and down to several
places this summer, where one can’t carry children,
and I don’t think his health is so good as
to trust him by himself. I should be glad to
talk to Mr. Fourneaux, to know what servants there
are of my dear child’s you do not intend to keep,
that if there is any of them that can be of use in
this new addition to my family, I might take them
for several reasons. I desire, when it is easy to
you, that you will let me have some little trifle
that my dear child used to wear in her pocket,
or any other way; and I desire Fanchon will
look for some little cup she used to drink in. I
had some of her hair not long since that I asked
her for, but Fanchon may give me a better lock
at the full length.”
The children thus entrusted to their maternal
grandmother became a solace to the Duke and
Duchess, and were nurtured with attention, both
to the elegance of their minds and to their happiness.
There is nothing more touching than the
affection of the old for infants, nothing more consolatory
than to observe how beautifully Providence
renews the greatest of all pleasures, in restoring
300to the grandfather the tenderness, and the
consequent parental joys, of the father. Those
who have represented Marlborough as of a narrow
spirit, and a cold, designing heart, should have
beheld him gazing with delight upon his youthful
granddaughters, when taking lessons in music
and dancing, or performing such parts as were
suited to their capacity in certain dramas, which
turned often upon the exploits of the grandfather,
and on the gifts and graces of the grandmother.
In the decline of life, Marlborough listened, with
a pleasure which he cared not to conceal, to the
recital of his own deeds from infantine lips; and
there were others, distinguished in their way, who
deemed it not beneath their high vocations to aid
such entertainments as were the recreations of the
beloved grandchildren at Holywell House, or at
Windsor Lodge.[254]
Dr. Hoadley, at this time Bishop of Bangor,
and afterwards of Winchester, was the intimate
associate, and, as it seems from certain anecdotes,
the spiritual friend of Marlborough in his latter
days. He was a controversialist of the first order,
had signalised himself in an intellectual combat
of this kind against Atterbury, and also, on
a later occasion, in the noted Bangorian controversy,
301in which his adversary, the celebrated William
Law, is said to have gained the ascendency.
The Bishop, with all his learned acquirements,
was formed to enliven society by his cheerfulness,
as well as to elevate its tone by his superior intellect.
He entered, with the kindness that becomes the
learned so well, into the amusements and pursuits
of the young favourites of his illustrious friend.
Though not a dramatist himself, he was the father
of two very celebrated dramatists, at this time children;
the one, Dr. Benjamin Hoadley, physician to
George the Second, and the author, among other
plays, of the “Suspicious Husband;” and the other,
Dr. John Hoadly, a clergyman, whose most
serious composition was the oratorio of Jephtha,
but who thought it not inconsistent with his
sacred character to write humorous farces, and to
perform with Garrick and Hogarth a parody upon
the ghost scene of Julius Cæsar.[255]
Dr. Hoadley, though the father of dramatists,
302was not, if we may believe Pope, the most lively
writer among the many noted controversialists of
the day. He dwelt in long sentences, to which
Pope alluded when he wrote
Yet the younger performers in the play of “All
for Love,” to which the good-natured Bishop wrote
a prologue, thought his effusions, no doubt, of the
highest merit; and they turned upon a subject
which they could both comprehend and enjoy,
the great exploits of Marlborough. Perhaps it was
the Bishop’s elaborate verses which occasioned the
Duchess’s aversion to poetry, when so employed,
and which produced the clause in her will, bequeathing
to Glover and to Mallet one thousand
pounds, upon condition of their not inserting a
single line of verse in the biography which they
had engaged to write of her husband.[257]
“All for Love”[258] was enacted with all the proprieties,
the Duchess “scratching out some of
the most amorous speeches, and no embrace allowed.”[259]303“In short, no offence to the company,”
Miss Cairnes, daughter of Sir Alexander Cairnes
of Monaghan, and afterwards married to Cadwallader,
eighth Baron Blayney,[260] was domesticated
in the Marlborough family at the request of the
Duchess, who, esteeming her mother, Lady
Cairnes, took the daughter into her family and
brought her up with her granddaughters, under
the care of a governess, Mrs. La Vie, a relation of
Lady Cairnes, and the daughter of a French refugee.
Both these ladies were important additions to the
social enjoyments of Holywell, or the Lodge.
Lady Blayney, who lived to the age of eighty,
became and continued an attached friend to the
family. Her recollections furnished the descendants
of the famed Duke with several anecdotes
304of their ancestors, and amongst others with the
foregoing account of the play.
Mrs. La Vie, the other inmate of the family,
was a woman also of considerable attainments.
She translated into French a letter addressed by
the Duchess to George the First, on one occasion,
in order to clear up some suspicions of her loyalty.
Mrs. La Vie was also a frequent visitant amongst
the select parties given under the agreeable form
of suppers, by Lady Darlington, to George the
First, where, excepting his Majesty, persons of
taste and distinguished talent were alone admitted.[261]
Surrounded by this agreeable domestic society,
the Duke and Duchess might have expected to
pass serenely into an old age of peace. But both
public and private events occurred, which depressed,
though they could not render morose, a
mind so kindly and amiably constituted as that
of Marlborough, whilst certain circumstances
aroused once more the fiery spirit of the Duchess,
who rejoiced in the whirlwind.
She had lived to see, among other strange
vicissitudes, her former foe, Harley, deprived not
only of power, but of liberty; he had been imprisoned
two years in the Tower, when his impeachment,
305and the sudden abandonment of that
contested measure, excited public curiosity as to
the cause of so unaccountable an affair.
The Duke of Marlborough was present at
several of the debates which related to this
singular business. He voted with the minority
who were opposed to Harley. The Duchess was
reported, also, to have been “distracted with disappointment,”
when the proceedings against
Harley were quashed by some secret influence.
Yet, notwithstanding her well-known hostility to
Harley, and her equally well-known adherence
to Whig principles, there have been distinct
statements of her having intrigued with the Jacobite
party, at that time justly formidable to the
King of England.
Before the acquittal of Lord Oxford took place,
report at that time, and tradition has since,
alleged, that Mr. Auditor Harley, the unfortunate
statesman’s brother, waited privately on the
Duchess of Marlborough, and showed her a
letter which had been written formerly from the
Duke to the Pretender. Mr. Harley, after reading
this letter, declared to the Duchess that it
should be produced at Lord Oxford’s trial, if that
proceeding were not instantly abandoned. The
Duchess, it is stated, seized the letter, committed
306it to the fire, and defied her foe. Mr.
Harley then thus addressed her:—“I knew
your grace too well to trust you; the letter you
have destroyed is only a copy; the original is
safe in my possession.”[262] This is one anecdote,
unsupported by any authority, implicating the
Duchess in the charge of a treasonable correspondence.
It may be remarked, that the previous
vacillating and crooked course which Marlborough
had pursued with respect to the exiled
family, in the time of William the Third, may
have given rise to this imputation.
Another statement, bearing an aspect of greater
probability, was communicated by Mr. Serjeant
Comyns, afterwards Chief Baron of the Exchequer,
to the late respected and gifted Benjamin
West, Esq., President of the Royal Academy.
Mr. West transmitted the circumstance to Mr.
Gregg, a barrister, from whose handwriting the
anecdote was noted down in the Biographia
Britannica.
Lord Harley, the eldest son of Lord Oxford,
attended by Mr. Serjeant Comyns, waited, it is
said, on the Duke of Marlborough, to request his
grace’s attendance at the trial of the attainted
peer. The Duke, somewhat discomposed, inquired
307what Lord Oxford wanted of him, and
was answered by Mr. Comyns, that it was only
to ask his grace a question or two. The Duke
became more and more agitated, and walked
about the room for a quarter of an hour, evidently
much embarrassed; but at length he inquired of
Lord Harley on what account his attendance at
the trial was required. Lord Harley answered,
that it was only for the purpose of certifying his
handwriting; and, to the still further questions
of the Duke, informed him that Lord Oxford had
in his possession all the letters which he had ever
received from the Duke since the Revolution.
Upon this, Marlborough became extremely perturbed,
pacing the room to and fro, and even
throwing off his wig in his passion; and to the
further interrogatories of Mr. Comyns, as to what
answer they should carry back to Lord Oxford,
he returned for answer, “Tell his lordship I shall
certainly be there.” “This,” adds the retailer of
this anecdote, “is the true reason why Lord Oxford
was never brought to trial.”[263]
This strange story has been refused credit by
the able biographer of Marlborough, who has
dismissed the imputation with contempt. It appears,
indeed, on several accounts, not to be
308worthy of credit. Harley might have produced
such letters long before, if he had it in his
power, in order to weaken the party opposed to
him, amongst whom the most violent was Lord
Sunderland, son-in-law of Marlborough, who
was greatly incensed when the trial of Harley was
stopped. Yet Sunderland, it afterwards appears,
was not devoid of suspicions regarding the
Duchess’s fidelity to the ruling powers; or, probably,
domestic differences caused him, at a subsequent
period, to imbibe, with unfair readiness,
prejudices which were diligently inculcated to
her disadvantage. There were, also, other public
events which aggravated dissensions already begun,
and widened differences of opinion, even
among the few who could remain dispassionate
observers of the greatest of all national infatuations,
the South Sea scheme.
The pernicious policy of William the Third,
in borrowing money from the public, and paying
the interest of those sums by means of
certain taxes, has been justly blamed as the origin
of much embarrassment and calamity to the
country.[264] A species of gaming, new to the nation,
and arising out of the uncertain state of public
credit, became fascinating to the commercial
309world, and a spirit of adventure pervaded all
ranks and conditions of society.
The anxiety of both Houses of Parliament to
reduce the national debt fostered a scheme,
brought to bear in the eleventh year of Queen
Anne’s reign, of forming a fund for paying the
interest of the debt, in an annuity of six per
cent. All taxes upon wines, sugar, vinegar, tobacco,
India silks, and other goods, were appropriated
to the aid of this fund, and to the
shareholders was granted the monopoly of a trade
to the South Sea, or coast of Peru, in Mexico;
and proprietors of navy bills and other securities
were incorporated into a company which, under
the name of the South Sea Company, was soon
regarded by the public as a community possessing
the most enviable privileges. The first scheme
of this notable project was framed by Harley.
Sunderland afterwards carried it on, and by this
means sought to strengthen his parliamentary
interest. A wild spirit of speculation inflamed
the minds of innumerable suitors to the ministers,
through whose influence shares were alone obtained;
and even the prudent and experienced
Marlborough was tempted, upon the revival of
the scheme in the present reign, to increase the
share which he had originally held in the
stock.[265]
310Sir John Blount, a scrivener, who matured,
if it could be so called, the South Sea scheme,
had formed his plan upon the Mississippi scheme,
which in the preceding year had failed in France,
and had ruined whole families. Undeterred by
this warning, even the wary Duchess of Marlborough
sought and obtained from Lord Sunderland
subscriptions for herself, and her friends
and connexions, as the greatest boon that ministerial
power could grant.
But to her sound, shrewd mind the fallacy of
all the expectations which a greedy public formed,
was very soon apparent. The Duchess was not
one of those stars of our later days, before whom
an astonished world bends with adoration.
Mathematics and logic had never directed her
powerful understanding. She was no political
economist; her speculations on all such subjects
arose out of the great practical lessons which she
had witnessed. Her education had been limited.
To arithmetic as a science she was a stranger.
“Lady Bute,” says the ingenious writer of recently
published anecdotes of Lady Mary Wortley
Montague, “sat by her (the Duchess) whilst she
dined, or watched her in the curious process of
casting up her accounts—curious, because her
grace, well versed as she was in all matters relating
to money, such as getting it, hoarding it,
311and turning it to the best advantage, knew nothing
of common arithmetic. But her sound,
clear head could invent an arithmetic of its own.
To lookers-on it appeared as if a child had scribbled
over the paper, setting down figures here
and there at random; and yet every sum came
right to a fraction at last, in defiance of
Cocker.”[266]
Yet it was this untaught mind, disturbed
often by bursts of passion, and in love with wealth
and all other worldly advantages,—it was the
Duchess of Marlborough, who, of all her class,
was the first to detect the fallacy of that scheme
by which a whole nation had been ensnared.
When the value of the stock rose to an unprecedented
height, and the public were more than
ever infatuated by false hopes, she saved her husband
and her family from ruin, not only by her
foresight but by her firmness. Let those who
would wholly preclude women from any participation
in masculine affairs, remember how often
their less biassed judgment, their less employed
hours, have been made available to warn and to
save. The Duchess happily had sufficient influence
over her husband to rescue his disposable
property from any further investment in the
312South Sea Stock. She resisted all the entreaties
of Sunderland to employ any further portion of
capital in the scheme; she foresaw that no profit
would now satisfy the public mind, excited to an
unnatural degree, and predicted that the fall of
the stock would be as rapid as the rise. She
not only withheld the Duke’s hand, but persecuted
him to sell out his shares, by which prudent
step he realised, it is said, a hundred thousand
pounds;[267] and this clear-sightedness on the
Duchess’s part was the more admirable that it
was wholly singular. It was the age of speculation
and of companies; and many of the nobility
were at the head of some new ephemeral speculation.
The Prince of Wales was made governor
of the Welsh Copper Company; the Duke of
Chandos, of the York Buildings; and the Duke
of Bridgewater formed a third for building
houses in London.[268]
Whilst these bubbles were engaging the public
mind, the blow which severed Marlborough for
ever from public life, and rendered even his beloved
home cheerless, was struck whilst he was
yet mourning at Holywell-house the death of his
beloved daughters, more especially of the Countess
of Sunderland. Throughout the whole of
his life the Duke had suffered from intense headaches
313and giddiness,—warnings disregarded, as
they often are, in the feverish pursuit of power,
in the race for worldly honours, which the exhausted
mind and irritable nerves permit not,
ofttimes, even the most successful to enjoy.
On the twenty-eighth of May, 1716, not two
months after his beloved daughter Anne had been
removed from him, the Duke was attacked by
palsy, which for some time deprived him of
speech and of recollection. He was attended on
this occasion by Sir Samuel Garth, who not only
managed his disease with skill, but attended him
with the devoted zeal of a partial friend.[269] The
Duke slowly recovered to a condition not to be
termed health, unless a man on the edge of a
precipice can be said to be in safety. As a
public man he was, indeed, no more; but it is
satisfactory to the admirers of this great man to
recollect that his last military counsels had been
as judicious and as effective as those which he
had originated on former occasions. His latest
act as commander-in-chief was to concert those
measures for defeating the rebellion which proved
so successful; his latest prognostic with respect
to public affairs was, that that rebellion would be
crushed at Preston.[270]
From the first attack of the Duke’s disorder, to
314his release from a state of debility, though not, as
it has been represented, of imbecility, a gloom
hung over his existence. His bodily and mental
sufferings are said to have been aggravated by
the Duchess’s violent temper, and petulant attempts
to regain power.[271] The assertion cannot
surprise those who have observed, under various
circumstances, characters which are not regulated
by high and firm principles. The Duchess had
kind and generous impulses, but no habit of
self-government. The arbitrary spirit of an indulged
wife had now become an unlimited love
of sway; her affection for the Duke was not
strong enough to teach her to quell for his sake
the angry passions, or to check the bitterness of
her satirical spirit, because the stings which she
inflicted might wound the enfeebled partner of
her youthful days.
After some weeks of indisposition, Marlborough
was enabled to remove to Bath, where he was
recommended to try the waters. When he entered
that city, he was received with honours
which he was little able to encounter. A numerous
body of nobility and gentry hailed his
approach, and the mayor and aldermen came,
with due formalities, to greet him. It appears
that he must very soon have recovered some portion
315of his former activity, if the following anecdote,
related by Dr. William King, a contemporary,
and principal of St. Mary Hall, Oxon, be
credited.
“That great captain, the Duke of Marlborough,”
says Dr. King, “when he was in the
last stage of life, and very infirm, would walk
from the public rooms in Bath to his lodgings, in
a cold, dark night, to save sixpence in coach-hire.
If the Duke,” he adds, “who left at his
death more than a million and a half sterling,
could have foreseen that all his wealth and
honours were to be inherited by a grandson of
my Lord Trevor’s, who had been one of his
enemies, would he have been so careful to save a
sixpence for the sake of his heir? Not for his
heir, but he would always have saved a sixpence.”[272]
Whilst thus retaining what was more in him a
habit than a passion, the Duke left Bath, to view
with peculiar pleasure the progress of the great
palace at Blenheim, where he expressed satisfaction
on beholding that tribute to his former
greatness. But the enjoyments of Marlborough’s
declining years were few and transient, whether
they consisted in the exalting contemplation of a
316noble structure, the suggestion, though not the
gift, of a nation’s gratitude; or in the small,
the very small gratification of saving a sixpence,
imputed to him by his contemporary; though it
is possible, and to the good-natured it may appear
probable, that to the humbled invalid,
conscious of decay, the satisfaction of being able to
resume old habits of activity, the habits of military
life, may have been one source of the pleasure.
During November, however, in the same year
of his first attack, the Duke was threatened with
immediate death. The remaining members of his
family hastened to bid him what they expected
would prove a last farewell. Their parent, however,
was for the time spared to them. Again he recovered
his health sufficiently to remove to Marlborough
house. His reason was happily restored to him,
but the use of speech for some time greatly impaired.
He recovered it, however, and conversed,
though he could not articulate some words. His
memory, and the general powers of his mind,
were also spared. The popular notion of his
sinking into imbecility is, therefore, unfounded,
and in this respect it is unfair, and erroneous,
to couple him with Swift.
“From Marlborough’s eyes the streams of dotage flow,
And Swift expires a driveller and a show,”
are lines so familiar, that it is difficult to dispossess
317the imagination of the ideas which they
have lodged there. Both of these celebrated men,
indeed, suffered from the same mortal and humiliating
disease; and the dire malady, which is
no respecter of persons, afflicted the kindly, the
humane, the pure, the religious Marlborough,
and abased also the vigorous intellect of the
coarse, selfish, and profane Swift. Both suffered
from the same oppressing consciousness of diminished
mental energy. The lucid intervals of
Swift were darkened by a cruel sense of present
powerlessness, and of past aberrations; and
Marlborough is said, when gazing upon a portrait
of himself, painted in his days of vigour, to
have uttered the affecting exclamation, “That
was a man!”[273] But here the similitude of the
two cases ends. Marlborough was never reduced
to that last degree of human distress, insanity;
it appears by the journals of the House of Lords
that he attended the debates frequently for several
years after the commencement of his illness, and
he performed the functions of his public offices
with regularity. Marlborough was permitted by
his Creator the use of reason, the power of reflection,—time,
therefore, to arrange complicated
worldly concerns, and to prepare for a happier
sphere. Venerated by his friends, domestics,
318and relatives, Marlborough was permitted to his
latest hour to share in the hallowed domestic
enjoyments which by no immoral courses he had
forfeited, by no disregard of others destroyed.
The very different termination of Swift’s career—the
retributive justice which, if we believed in
spirits, poor Stella’s ghost might have witnessed—the
joyless close of an existence which no affectionate
cares sought to cheer; the consignment of
the wretched and violent lunatic to servants and
keepers; the moody silence of the once eloquent
and witty ornament of courtly saloons; the deep
despair to which medicine could not minister,
but which a moral influence might have alleviated,
but which no son nor daughter’s tender
perseverance, with untaught, but often, perhaps,
effectual skill, sought to solace;—these, with all
other gloomy particulars of Swift’s awful aberrations
and death, on which not one light of
consciousness was shown, must be by all remembered.
Unloved he died; the affection which
could, for the gentle Cowper, brave the desolating
sight and company of hopeless insanity, was not
the portion of one who, in this world of great
moral lessons, had ever sacrificed others to his
own gratification.
It was one of Marlborough’s first acts, after his
partial recovery, to tender to the King, through
319Lord Sunderland, then in power, the resignation
of his employments; but George the First, with
a delicacy of feeling which could scarcely have
been expected from his rugged nature, declined receiving
it, declaring that “the Duke’s retirement
from office would excite as much pain as if a
dagger should be plunged in his bosom.” Marlborough,
therefore, reluctantly, and certainly to
the injury of his health, remained in office; and
that accordance with his Majesty’s wishes was
attributed by the Duchess to Lord Sunderland,
who stood in need of his father-in-law’s assistance,
in the administration which he had lately formed
to the exclusion of Walpole and Townshend.
CHAPTER XII.
320
Third Marriage of Lord Sunderland—Calumnies against the
Duke and Duchess of Marlborough—Interview between
the Duchess and George the First—The result—Her differences
with Lord Sunderland—Illness, death, and character
of the Duke of Marlborough.—1721–22.
The Duchess of Marlborough tasted at this time
sufficient of the real troubles of life to chasten
a spirit less elastic than that which she possessed.
Amongst various mortifications, Lord Sunderland
inflicted a bitter pang, by marrying for the
third time. His last wife, Judith, the daughter
of Benjamin Tichborne, Esq., was not only of an
unsuitable age, but inferior in rank, property,
and connexions, to the Earl’s station and circumstances.
He aggravated this affront to the family
of his former wife, by settling on her successor a
portion of his property, to the injury of his children.
No remonstrances on the part of the
Duchess could prevent this annoying union, and
321subsequent arrangement; but her letters to Lord
Sunderland teemed with invective, whilst his
lordship’s replies were filled with bitter recriminations.
A mind so constituted as Lord Sunderland’s
was not calculated to rise above the littleness of
revenge, when opportunity occurred. A report,
which became current among the higher circles,
that the Duchess favoured the Pretender, gave
him probably less concern than it would at a
former period have imparted. The Duchess,
from consideration for her husband, concealed
the rumour from him; but Sunderland summoned
his father-in-law suddenly to his house,
and acquainted him, in a coarse and unfeeling
manner, with the calumny. The Duke returned to
the Duchess greatly disturbed, and, in answer to
her inquiries, informed her that she was accused
of favouring the Pretender, and assisting him
with a sum of money in his designs upon the
throne.
The Duke, shattered in nerves, was greatly
agitated by this abrupt disclosure; but it was received
by the Duchess with disdain, and by an
endeavour to soothe his irritation. But when
her husband informed her that the King had
heard the report, and that even the Duke was
322supposed to share her treasonable practices, she
resolved, with her wonted courage, to appear at
the drawing-room, in order to ascertain how
deeply the poison of calumny had worked.
On her first appearance she was received
coldly; and when on a second occasion she repaired
to court, a reception equally chilling, and equally
contrasted with the marked attention which had
formerly been paid to her, confirmed her fears;
and upon this demonstration of displeasure she
resolved to make her wrongs and her innocence
known to the King.
The person through whose mediation the
Duchess did not think it unseemly to address his
Majesty, was the Duchess of Kendal, formerly
Madame Schulemberg, the mistress, or, as some
supposed, the left-handed wife of George the
First; a lady whose mental and personal qualities
were not, fortunately for the safety of virtue,
such as to cast a lustre over the equivocal, if not
disgraceful position in which she stood.
The Duchess of Kendal was at this time a
“tall, lean, ill-favoured old lady,” who had lived
for forty years in all the contentment which
virtue merits, and without the usual attractions
of vice; mistress to a King, unimpassioned, inert,
and respectably vicious—an “honest, dull German
323gentleman,”[274] to whose darkened conscience
habitual profligacy offered no offence.
The Duchess of Kendal, when she arrived in
England, was destined to learn a lesson new to
her; and the desire of political influence which
she acquired, led to an interference of which she
had never before dreamed. Her hatred to the
Walpole family, whom the Duchess also detested,
might probably account for their making common
cause together, on the occasion which must
now be described.
It was through the persuasion of the Duchess of
Kendal that the Duchess of Marlborough obtained
an interview with the King, at the apartments of
his mistress in St. James’s palace, in the same
suite of rooms which were afterwards inhabited
by the Countess of Suffolk, the favourite of his
equally profligate and equally uninteresting
son.
The Duchess of Marlborough, when thus introduced
to the sovereign, delivered to his Majesty
a letter containing a distinct denial of the
charges against her. The plain and homely
German monarch seems to have received her
address favourably, nor was he a man to daunt,
by his stern dignity, one who had been formerly
324often in the presence of the cold, repulsive William
of Orange. George was one who could
scarcely offend or be offended, and who never
sought to awe, and rarely to repulse. His manners
and appearance were those of an elderly
gentleman, rather of the middle than of the
higher class, and his temper resembled that of
other elderly gentlemen arrived at a comfortable
period of life, when the composure, though not
the apathy and weakness of age, begins to be
manifested. The King required importunity to
rouse him to exertion.[275] He has been described,
from recollection, as a tall personage, somewhat
pale, with an aspect rather good than august, and
dressed in a style equally unobtrusive with his
character: a dark tie-wig, a plain coat, waistcoat,
and breeches, of snuff-coloured cloth, with stockings
of the same colour, and a blue ribbon over
all, constituted an attire widely different from
the gay and costly habiliments of the gallants
of his court, amongst whom the fantastic and
studied style of dress of the Stuart days had
not yet subsided into the mediocrity of modern
days, which has gradually departed more
and more widely from the models of former
times.
325The address delivered by the Duchess to his
Majesty expressed in strong terms her surprise
that any person “should, after all the trouble
and danger she had been exposed to from her
zeal for his Majesty and his family, suppose her
capable of holding a correspondence with the
King’s greatest enemy, and that she should
have been represented guilty of so black and
foolish a crime.” She entreated, in conclusion, to
be allowed “to justify herself in such a manner
as should seem possible to his Majesty’s great
wisdom.”
After presenting her petition, the Duchess retired,
and though pressed by the Duchess of
Kendal to return, she refused to do so. It is
remarkable, that notwithstanding the period of
her exile, and her frequent intercourse with distinguished
foreigners, the Duchess could not
speak French;[276] any conversation, therefore, with
the King was impracticable, for his Majesty
neither understood English, nor ever took the
slightest pains to acquire the language.
The reply of his Majesty to her grace’s petition
fully evinced the coolness of his sentiments
326towards her, however he might respect and confide
in the Duke.[277]
“St. James’s, Dec. 17, 1720.
“Whatever I may have been told on your
account, I think I have shown, on all occasions,
the value I have for the services of the Duke,
your husband; and I am always disposed to
judge of him and you by the behaviour of each
of you in regard to my service. Upon which I
pray God, my Lady Marlborough, to preserve
you in all happiness.
“George R.”
The Duchess was deeply disappointed upon
the receipt of this letter. It was, she doubted
not, dictated by the ministry at that time in
power, of whom Horace Lord Walpole, Lord Sunderland,
and Mr. Secretary Craggs, formed the
most influential members.
Lord Walpole, the younger brother of the
great minister, to whom the dislike of the
Duchess extended, had been the early friend and
fellow collegian of her deceased son; and what,
perhaps, occasioned a greater bond of union in a
mind so constituted, during the whole course of
327his political career, a genuine Whig, and, in
conjunction with Newcastle, Addison, Pulteney,
Craggs, and others. He was, also, a member of
the Hanover club, who had gone so far, in 1713,
as to show their hatred of the Jacobite cause, by
parading effigies of the Devil, the Pope, and the
Pretender, in solemn procession from Charing
Cross to the Exchange, and back to Charing
Cross, where they were burnt.[278] But, notwithstanding
the similarity of their political opinions,
that administration from which the Duchess
had once expected great results, had failed to
secure her regard; probably from the little attention
which they proffered to that vanity which,
like some weeds, grew more vigorously in the
shade.
The Duchess was not only already at variance
with Lord Sunderland, another ministerial friend,
but Mr. Craggs had fallen under her severe displeasure.
Upon this statesman of equivocal character
the suspicions of the Duchess now rested,[279]
of having some years previously sent her an
328anonymous letter of an offensive kind. She,
therefore, in her reply to the King’s laconic
letter, gave vent to her suspicions, that since
there was only one person in all the world whom
she knew capable of calumniating her, that person
“who might, perhaps, have malice enough
to her, and dishonour enough in himself to be
guilty of it, is Mr. Secretary Craggs.”[280]
Her charge, daring as it was, fell to the ground.
No notice was taken of this epistle, except a brief
answer referring to the King’s former reply; but
the painful consequence of the Duchess’s surmises
was a total alienation from her son-in-law,
Lord Sunderland; an alienation which lasted
nearly until his death, which took place in 1722.
So singular was the fate of this extraordinary
woman in private life, that scarcely did she
possess a tie which was not severed, or embittered,
by worldly or political considerations.
The affair of the South Sea bubble, as it was
called, a scheme designated by Lord Walpole as
“weak in its projection, villainous in its execution,
and calamitous in its end,”[281] was, in part,
the cause of the coolness which thus severed Lord
Sunderland from the family with whose interests
his own had been so long bound up, and with
329whom he held an hereditary alliance of affection,
cemented by his happy marriage with one of its
best and purest ornaments. Scheming and ill
judging, but not venal, Lord Sunderland, during
the height of the national infatuation, availed
himself of that singular crisis, and made use of
the South Sea bubble only as a political engine,
and not to benefit his own embarrassed
fortunes.
The frenzy of this memorable scheme is said
to have aided the settlement of the house of Hanover
on the throne, by drawing off the attention
of the people from the delirium of faction, to the
almost equally dangerous mania for speculation.[282]
As an aid to his party designs, Lord Sunderland,
weakly, and with shortsighted policy, encouraged
its transient influence. He incurred the deepest
displeasure from his mother-in-law the Duchess;
who might, perhaps, have forgiven him his share
in the great imposition, had her family and his
lordship’s own children not have suffered in the
general crash. His neglect of the interests of his
children formed one of her greatest grounds of
complaint; yet she received, supported, and
educated several of those children, when, from
his lordship’s improvidence and his death, he
330left his numerous family to suffer from his embarrassments.
Amongst other debts, he owed
ten thousand pounds to the Duke of Marlborough;
but his library, which, says Dr. Coxe,
“was only rivalled by that of Lord Oxford in
rarity and extent, was one of the items of his
personal property, and now forms the basis of
the noble collection at Blenheim.”
It may appear reasonable to suppose that the
Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, having now
tasted of the enjoyments, or endured the annoyances,
of four successive courts, would gladly retire
from all such scenes, thankful to escape to
the quiet possession of leisure, and to the participation
of such blessings as were spared to their
old age. Vast riches were superabundantly
their portion. Yet even wealth, which becomes
a blessing or a curse according to the quality of
that nature to which it is attached, has its inconveniences;
and the immense accumulation of
ready money appears to have caused the Duke
considerable embarrassment.
“I beg pardon for troubling you with this,”
he wrote about this time, to a friend, “but I am
in a very odd distress—too much ready money.
I have now one hundred thousand pounds dead,
and shall have fifty more next week; if you can
331employ it in any way, it will be a very great
favour to me.”[283]
Surely so strange a dilemma as that of having
a hundred and fifty thousand pounds too much
for one’s peace of mind, and of being able to
dispense with the interest of such a sum, is of
rare occurrence.
The Duchess, it appears, was not only averse
to speculations in the South Sea scheme, but
dreaded, at times, lest the national debt should
be cancelled by a “sponge,” as she frequently
expressed it;[284] though that phrase relates to
a later period, when the hated Walpole was in
power.
The mere possession of wealth could, however,
only have satisfied a mind far less grovelling
than that of the Duchess. Power was her
aim, her delight; a little brief authority her
332foible; intrigue her element, faction her recreation.
It was impossible that the habits of a long
life could be laid aside, and nothing could pacify
her busy spirit. Accordingly, we find her
just as much devoted to the acquisition of court
favour in the decline of life, as she had been, before
death had deprived her of those bright
ornaments of society for whose sake she may
have been supposed to have coveted royal favour
with peculiar avidity. Neglected by the King,
she received with eagerness the attentions of the
Prince and Princess of Wales, who were at
variance with the court, and who consequently
cherished the malcontents. The Princess, afterwards
Queen Caroline, was eventually a favourite
with the Duchess; but, at an earlier period, it
was perhaps sufficient that George the First
habitually called his daughter-in-law “cette
diablesse Madame la Princesse,”[285] to render the
Duchess, who was affronted by the small account
made of the Duke, and of her own influence, a
warm partisan of the Princess of Wales.
Eager to pay her utmost court to the Princess,
in June, 1720, the Duchess wrote to her friend
Mrs. Clayton[286] a glowing description of a visit
to Richmond, which she had paid to their
333royal highnesses the Prince and Princess of
Wales, whose reception, as she declares, “of
the Duke of Marlborough and poor me” would
fill more than the paper on which she wrote.
Not only was she graciously received by the
Prince and Princess, but by the Lord Chamberlain
and attendants, even to the pages of
the bedchamber; so that the Duchess, long unused
to receive such certain demonstrations of
favour, fancied herself in a new world. Music
of a superior kind gave gaiety to the entertainment;
but the shrewd Duchess could very
plainly see that the Princess was more charmed
with the “music of the box and dice” than with
any other instrument. Their royal highnesses
had, at that time, a charming residence at Richmond,
with beautiful walks, and woods wild and
charming, but with a house scarcely handsome
enough, as the Duchess thought, for the heir
apparent.
The fashionable amusement of the day was
ombre, a game in which the Duchess delighted,
and in which she freely indulged with one Mr.
Nevill, her companion on this occasion, whilst
she acknowledged that listening to Mr. Nevill’s
singing, in which he excelled, was almost as
good an amusement, and a qualification that
334pleased her grace mightily, at no expense. Yet
ombre riveted her, in spite of its ruinous expenses;
and, what was more, she enjoyed her
visit to Richmond greatly, notwithstanding that
she lost a considerable sum of money. Royal
condescension could gild over the unpleasant
features even of that incident, although, as the
Duchess humorously remarked, “she lost a
great deal of money for one who is not in
the South Sea!” Yet she came away, nevertheless,
with the intention of playing at ombre
as long as she could keep my Lord Cardigan
and Mr. Nevill at Woodstock, considering
that there were but few now in whom she had
any interest after her death to induce her to
save.
Such were some of the reflections of the
Duchess, in quitting the lovely and cheerful
scenes of Richmond Park. She came away, delighted
with little and great things, full of
commendations of the Princess, who had enchanted
her, more especially by calling back
one of her grandchildren and bidding her hold
up her head; a thing of which the Duchess
was telling Lady Charlotte every day; and
reflecting how well princes might govern without
bribing parliament, and be as absolute as
335they pleased, if they chose ministers of good
reputation, who had the interest of their country
at heart.[287]
It is evident, from these comments, that the
Duchess expected to resume her influence, when
the heir apparent should succeed to the throne
of his father. Her daughter, the Duchess of
Montague, was, indeed, appointed mistress of the
robes to Queen Caroline. But the Duchess of
Marlborough discovered that her influence was
but little appreciated by the Walpole party, from
whom she expected so much. It could not even
obtain a commission for her grandson; it
could not prevent constant broils with Queen
Caroline, which engendered hatred in the mind
of the Duchess towards that eulogised Princess.
Seventeen years after the pleasant day at
Richmond, when age and infirmity had soured
her temper, and time had plainly proved to her
that her importance in the society of the great
was for ever fled, the Duchess altered her opinion
of Queen Caroline.[288] So mutable are opinions
336in this world; and so transitory those fashions
which capriciously hold up to public favour, or
to general execration, the characters of royal
personages.
The Duke of Marlborough had continued
for some years in the same precarious state of
health, to which his first attack of disease had
reduced him. He had lingered six years
after the first stroke of palsy, suffering repeated
attacks of the formidable disorder. His mind,
though not totally enfeebled, must, in all probability,
have been affected in some degree
by those visitations which shackle the limbs,
impede the motions of the tongue, and usually
337render the nervous system cruelly susceptible.
Yet still the Duke retained many of
his usual habits, underwent the fatigue of journeys,
entered into society, and occupied his latter
days in arranging the testamentary disposition
of that vast wealth which he had laboured so
long and so eagerly to accumulate.
The Duke of Marlborough is vaguely stated,
by his biographer, Dr. Coxe, to have died “immensely
rich;” others have declared his fortune
to have amounted, at his death, to nearly a million
sterling. It therefore became a matter of much
solicitude with him, and it appears to have been so
with the Duchess, that his grace should make such
a will as should prevent any of those harassing
and destructive litigations which are sometimes
entailed upon a family to whom great wealth is
bequeathed. It was, in this instance, more particularly
requisite that every precaution should
be adopted. The Duke left a numerous posterity
of grandchildren, some of whom might, if so disposed,
represent their illustrious progenitor as
incapacitated by his infirmity from making an
adequate disposition of his effects. The Duchess,
with her usual acuteness, foresaw that such obstacles
to the administration of his affairs, after
his death, might arise; and she adopted the plan
of writing a detailed account of her husband’s
338condition, and of his last actions, from which
narrative the following extracts are taken.[289]
“I think it proper, in this place, to give some
account of the Duke of Marlborough’s distemper,
and how he was when he signed his will. The
Duke of Marlborough was taken very ill at St.
Albans, in May, 1716, with the palsy; but he
recovered it so much as to go to Bath. He lived
till June the sixteenth, 1721; and though he had
often returns of this illness, he went many journeys,
and was in all appearance well, excepting
that he could not pronounce all words, which
is common in that distemper; but his understanding
was as good as ever. But he did not
speak much to strangers, because when he was
stopped, by not being able to pronounce some
words, it made him uneasy. But to his friends
that he was used to, he would talk freely; and
since his death, Mr. Hanbury, the dowager Lady
Burlington, and many others of my friends, have
remarked to me, with pleasure, the things that
they had heard him say, and the just observations
he had made upon what others had said to
him; and he gave many instances of remembering
several things in conversation that others
had forgot.”
A year or more after this time, the Duke found
339it necessary to alter his will, and gave directions
to Sir Edward Northey and Sir Robert Raymond
to that effect. These gentlemen kept the
will a long time, but, after it was returned to his
grace, in 1721, it was formally signed by him,
in the presence of Lord Finch, of General Lumley,
and of Dr. Samuel Clarke, the celebrated divine,
Rector of St. James’s. All of these gentlemen
had read the will, at the request of the Duchess,
before it had been signed. They were invited,
on this occasion, to dine at Marlborough-house.
The Duchess, in her plain, straightforward manner,
gives the following account of the Duke’s
deportment in this, almost the last effort of his
weakened understanding and sinking frame; the
closing scene of that drama of many acts, in
which he had played the parts of General, Statesman,
and Diplomatist.
“As soon as dinner was over,”[290] writes the
Duchess, “he asked if Mr. Green was come, (he
was Sir Edward Northey’s clerk;) and as soon
as he came into the room he asked him how his
mother did. Upon Mr. Green’s being come to
put the seals to the will, the Duke of Marlborough
rose from the table, and fetched it himself
out of his closet; and as he held it in his
hand, he declared to the witnesses that it was his
340last will, that he considered it vastly well, and
was entirely satisfied with it; and then he signed
every sheet of paper, and delivered it in all the
forms. After this the witnesses all sat at the
table, and talked for some time. Lord Finch
and Dr. Clarke went away first, about business;
and when General Lumley rose up to go, who
staid a good while longer than the others, the
Duke of Marlborough rose up too, and went to
him and embraced him, taking him by the hand
and thanking him for the favour he had done
him.”
Some months after this occurrence, the Duke
made his last appearance in the House of Lords,
leaving London in the spring, according to his
usual custom.
On the sixteenth of June, 1722, this great,
brave, and good man was removed from a
world which probably would have ceased to be
to him a scene of enjoyment, had not the benevolence
of his disposition, and the strong
nature of his domestic affections, secured to
him a serenity which disease could not, with all
its pangs, entirely destroy. Repeated attacks of
palsy had shaken his once powerful frame. His
intellect was weakened, but not wholly darkened.
He had the blessing of being able, on his deathbed,
to receive the consolations of prayer. Whilst
341he lay for several days exhausted by disease,
but aware that the great change was at hand, the
Duchess, who remained with her husband until
the spirit had passed away, inquired of her
lord whether he had heard the prayers which
had been read to him. “Yes, and I joined in
them,” were the last intelligible words which the
dying Marlborough uttered. He was removed
from a sofa to his bed, at the suggestion of his wife,
and remedies were fruitlessly applied to assuage
the sufferings which were soon to terminate.
The Duchess, and the Duke’s usual attendants remained
near him; the rest of his family withdrew,
as no symptoms of immediate danger were
apparent. About four o’clock in the morning of
the sixteenth of June, 1721, his soul returned to
his Maker.
Thus sank to rest one of the bravest, and
one of the most kindly-tempered of men. It were
useless to descant at length on the character of
one whose actions are indelibly engraved on
every British heart, and with some of whose personal
qualities we are rendered familiar from
infancy. Yet, notwithstanding the able delineation
of his intellectual and moral qualities, which
has been at no remote period given to the world
by Archdeacon Coxe, sufficient justice has not
342hitherto been done to the amiable and respectable
attributes which characterised Marlborough
in private life.
It is remarkable, that of three biographers who
were selected by the Duchess or her family to
write the history of the hero, all died successively,
before the task was even commenced. An
impartial biography, if such a work be compatible
with the weakness and prejudices of
human nature, by a contemporary, a friend, an
associate of Marlborough, would have been invaluable.
The well-weighed opinions and careful
narratives of those who knew him not, can
but ill supply the deficiency.
Of the early education which was bestowed
upon the great general, we know but little, except
that it was extremely limited. He may be
termed self-educated; necessity first—ambition
afterwards, being his preceptresses. Yet the disadvantages
of early neglect were never, even by the
assiduous and gifted Marlborough, wholly overcome.
To the close of his life, after his extensive
commerce with the continental world, after serving
under Turenne, and enjoying the intimacy
of Eugene, he could not speak French without
difficulty. He was probably wholly unacquainted
with the dead languages: it was said that he
343never could master even the orthography of his
own.[291] With this disadvantage he rose to be
one of the most accomplished courtiers, and one
of the ablest diplomatists, in Europe. The energy
and compass of a mind which could thus overcome
difficulties of such vital importance as those
which he must have encountered, when, from
the pursuits of a mere soldier, he was compelled
by his rapid elevation to enter into the arduous
duties of despatches and correspondence, demand
our admiration.
The moral character, as well as the intellectual
powers, of Marlborough, underwent a remarkable
change in the course of his chequered
career. Few of those men, perhaps erroneously
called heroes, could ever look back upon their
progress to military fame with so little cause for
remorse as John Duke of Marlborough. He left
a name unsullied by cruelty. A remarkable combination
of strong affections, with a natural suavity
of temper, rendered him the beloved friend of men
whose nature was not disposed to friendship. The
crafty Sunderland and the unimaginative Godolphin
loved him, after a fashion not of the world.
To his own family he was peculiarly endeared,
and, considering the effect of circumstances, singularly
affectionate. His devotion to his wife,
344his love of his children, were not the only proofs
which he gave of a kindly nature: his affections
extended to all his numerous relatives.
In one of his letters to the Duchess, he begs her
to speak two kind words to his brother George,
“as brother to him that loves you with all his
heart;” and he is incessantly interceding for his
sister, Mrs. Godfrey, whilst, at the same time,
he owns that she was very indiscreet.[292]
Those graces of manner which, in Marlborough,
are said to have disarmed his disappointed
suitors, and to have conciliated men of all pursuits
and all stations, proceeded from the kindliness
of a happy temper, on which the habit
and necessity of pleasing engrafted a dignified
courtesy, of a higher quality than mere good
breeding. His respect for himself and for others
appeared alike in his conduct to his soldiers, and
in his forbearance to the factious courtiers who
forsook him when, on his dismissal from his employments
in the reign of Anne, to know him
was to know disgrace. He was, in the thorough
sense of the phrase, as far as outward deportment
was concerned, the kindly, high-bred English
gentleman. Upon this fair picture some
shadows must appear.
As a man of strict principle, and as a statesman
345of unsullied integrity, the character of Marlborough
cannot so readily be delineated, as in
his domestic sphere. The principle of self-advancement
grew with his growth, and soiled
those beautiful attributes of a nature so brave
and benignant, that we are unwilling to believe
he could indulge a selfish passion, or even cherish
a weakness. From the days when he was a page
in the court of the second Charles, permitting,
to say the least, the disgraceful mediation of the
Duchess of Cleveland, to the hour when, for the
last time, he carried the sword of state on New
Year’s day before George the First, the ruling passion
of Marlborough was gain—gain of
patronage, of money, of fame, of power. For
patronage he forbore to spurn the loose preference
of a debased woman; for objects of less immediate
acquisition he deliberately abandoned the
interests of a sovereign and of a master at whose
hands he had received unbounded favours. But
it may be pleaded, that in deserting the cause of
James the Second he adopted, in accordance with
the first men of the day, the only measures by
which his country could be rescued from the
tyranny and bigotry of that wretched ruler. The
plea may hold good, but no similar excuse can
palliate his resuming a correspondence with the
346exiled King, whose cause he had upon such just
grounds relinquished.
The conduct of Marlborough in prosecuting
the war so long, and, as it was urged, without
adequate necessity, is even more open to censure
than the previous passages of his public career.
His success was intoxicating, even to his calm
temper, and well-poised mind. But the man who
could kindly familiarise himself with his soldiery,
share their hardships, so as to obtain the name
of the “Old Corporal,” and inculcate the necessity
of religious observances upon those who
looked up to him with enthusiastic respect, was
not likely to sacrifice those troops to a wanton
desire for fame, unconnected with some signal
public good. The letters of Marlborough plainly
show that such was his conviction, and the treaty
of Utrecht seemed to justify the conclusion that
peace had arrived too soon,—if ever, except at the
expense of future tranquillity, it can arrive too
soon.
The tenderness of Marlborough towards the
lowest in degree; his piety, which led him
never to omit the duty of prayer before and after
a battle; the sinking health which rendered his
later campaigns severe trials to his harassed frame;
his pining for home, and for her whom he regarded
347as the day-star of his existence; all tend to
encourage the opinion, that concerning the much-contested
question of the war, he was, if in
error, a sincere believer in the necessity of its
continuance, and a sanguine expectant of
much good to be derived from its ultimate
success.
In moral conduct, the Duke of Marlborough,
after the early period of his youth, gave to the
world an edifying and an uncommon example.
Numerous as his enemies were, they could not,
even with the assistance of Mrs. Manley, bring
home one accusation of gross immorality to his
charge, after his early, and it must be allowed for
many years, happy marriage. His foes, at a loss for
subjects of invective, passed on to another theme,
regarding which one would gladly be silent: the
charge of avarice. This is one of his failings, respecting
which we would gladly say with Lord Bolingbroke,
when checking a parasite who sought to
please him by ridiculing the penuriousness of the
Duke of Marlborough; “He was so very great a
man, that I forget he had that vice.”[293] His enemies,
indeed, took care that it should not be forgotten.
It became proverbial in their mouths. “I take it,”
says Swift, in one of his letters, “that the same
grain of caution which disposeth a man to fill his
348coffers, will teach him how to preserve them at
all events; and I dare hold a wager, that the Duke
of Marlborough, in all his campaigns, was never
known to lose his baggage.”[294] The story of the
Duke’s chiding his servant for his extravagance
in lighting four candles in his tent when Prince
Eugene came to confer with him,[295] is of that
species of anecdote to which no one can attach
either credit or importance.
That anecdote, so generally in circulation, which
describes Marlborough creeping out of a public
room at Bath, with sixpence that he had gained
at cards, and walking home to save the expense
of a chair, we would willingly, with Lord Bolingbroke,
forget. His taste, and the good sense
which characterised his mind, led him, in an age
of extravagance, to avoid ostentation. His table
was in the old English style, which by many
persons was considered too plain for his
rank.[296] His attendants were few; and his dread
of increasing the necessary evils of a numerous
retinue appears, from some portion of the correspondence
between him and Sir John Vanburgh,
to have been very great. His dress was habitually
simple, except on state occasions, when its
349magnificence is referred to by his contemporary,
Evelyn.
With those habits of care, not to say penuriousness,
which have been universally ascribed to
the Duke, he joined a willingness to relieve the
destitute, for whose sake he forgot, when occasion
required it, the objects which would have been
dearest to a selfish man.[297]
“This great man,” John Duke of Marlborough,
say the newspapers of the day, “was completely
under the management of his wife, as the following
story, well known in the family, evinces.
The Duke had noticed the behaviour of a young
officer in some engagement in Flanders, and
sent him over to England with some despatches,
and with a letter to the Duchess,
commending him to her to procure some superior
commission in the army for him. The
Duchess read the letter and approved of it, but
asked him where the thousand pounds were, for his
increase of rank. The young man blushed and
said, that really he was master of no such sum.
‘Well, then,’ said she, ‘you may return to the
Duke.’ This he did very soon afterwards, and
told him how he had been received by the
Duchess. The Duke laughingly said, he thought
350it would be so; but he should, however, do better
another time; and presenting him with a thousand
pounds, sent him over to England. This
last expedition proved successful.”
We may be assured that the petty penuriousness
which was ascribed to Marlborough has at all
events been greatly exaggerated,—as such errors
are always magnified by report. His early narrowness
of fortune produced notions of exactness,
into which men of business-like habits are prone
to fall; and when wealth flows in, it is not
easy to discard the small practices which have
crept in upon us, step by step, imperceptibly,
and which originated in a virtuous principle.
Marlborough, however, had one great attribute,
possessing which, no man ought to be severely
deprecated for penuriousness. He was just. If,
unlike Turenne, he had not the greatness and disinterestedness
to neglect, in his campaigns, opportunities
of amassing wealth, he encroached
not upon others in private life; he economised,
when economy was needful to preserve him from
debt; he spent freely on a large scale. It was
in trifles that his “regina pecunia,” as Prince
Eugene called it, was his household deity. He
maintained many noble establishments, and expended
upon Blenheim sums which the nation
refused to pay. And finally, immense as it was,
351he left his wealth in the right channel. No disgraceful
connexions, no propensities to gaming,
nor to destructive speculations, impaired his fortune,
or entailed disgrace upon his name.
CHAPTER XIII.
352
Funeral of the Duke of Marlborough—His bequests to the
Duchess—Immediate proposals of marriage made for her
in her widowhood—Character and letters of Lord Coningsby—Character
of the Duke of Somerset—His Grace’s
offer of marriage to the Duchess.—1722.
All that funereal honours could add of splendour
to the great hero’s memory, was duly executed.
His Majesty George the First, and the nation in
general, how divided soever in their tributes to his
name when living, were unanimous in paying
such honours to it as the vulgar prize. The
King himself offered to defray the expenses of the
funeral, but the Duchess, with the Duke’s executors
and relations, declined accepting this gracious
proposal.
We spare the reader the entire enumeration of
those revolting details which accompany the barbarous
custom of a body lying in state; the bed
of black velvet, as Collins describes it with true
353heraldic pleasure, “properly adorned;” the
coffin, with its water-gilt nails; the suit of armour
placed upon that mournful symbol, decorated with
all the honours of the great defunct; a general’s
truncheon in the hand; the garter, the collar, the
pendant George, and the now useless sword, in
a rich scabbard fastened to the side. These,
with the ducal coronet, the cap of a prince
of the empire, the banner, the crest, were
all duly examined and appreciated by the
nobility and others who thronged to Marlborough-house,
where this sad and absurd pageant
was performed. Suites of rooms were likewise
opened, and adorned with escutcheons, with
ciphers and badges interspersed, all lighted by
silver sconces and candlesticks, with wax tapers,
prepared for the crowds who were obliged to
wait, previous to penetrating into the room of
death.
On the sixth of August, the solemn procession,
one of the most imposing that the metropolis of
England had ever witnessed, took place, Garter
King-at-arms directing the whole ceremony. The
coffin, with the suit of armour, as on the bed of
state, lying on an open bier, was preceded by
horse-guards, foot-guards, and artillery, all in
military mourning, amongst whose still gorgeous
array, detachments of forty riders, at intervals, in
354mourning cloaks, added to the solemnity of the
scene, whilst a band of out-pensioners of Chelsea
Hospital, seventy-three in number, corresponding
to the age of the Duke, constituted an interesting
portion of the attendants. Many of these poor
men doubtless remembered the great general in
the day of his fame.
The Duke of Montague, as chief mourner, followed
the bier, in the coach belonging to the
Dowager Duchess of Marlborough; whilst the
Earls of Sunderland and Godolphin, as supporters
to the chief mourner, succeeded in that of the present
Duchess of Marlborough. Then came eight
Dukes and five Earls, amongst the former of
whom was the Duke of Somerset, who at no very
remote period proposed to the Dowager Duchess
of Marlborough to change her illustrious name to
that of Somerset. The coaches of the King and
of the Prince of Wales preceded a long line of carriages
in the procession, which drove along Piccadilly,
and through St. James’s, Pall Mall, and
Charing Cross, to the west door of Westminster
Abbey. The body was deposited in a vault at the
foot of Henry the Seventh’s tomb. Amid the
sound of anthems, and the solemnities of our
beautiful church service, were the remains of
Marlborough lowered to the dust.
The Bishop of Rochester, Dean of Westminster,
355in his cope, read, “Forasmuch as it hath pleased
Almighty God,” &c.; and the choir sang, “I
heard a voice from heaven.” Then Garter King-at-arms
advanced, and recalling the spectators
to the vain honours of the world, enumerated the
titles of the deceased, proclaiming, “Thus hath
it pleased Almighty God to take out of this
transitory world, into his mercy, the most high
and noble prince, John Duke of Marlborough,”
&c. The attendant officers broke their staves of
office, and delivered them to Garter, who threw
them into the grave. Thus the vain ceremonials,
most exacted at the period when they can least
avail to elevate and honour the poor fragile dust,
were terminated.
The body was afterwards removed to the
mausoleum at Blenheim, erected by Rysbach,
under the superintendence of the Duchess.[298]
And now was Sarah Duchess of Marlborough
left alone, for the only relative who truly
loved her was in the tomb; her grandchildren
were young, and in her surviving daughters she
had little or no consolation.
What were her feelings on the final separation
with the partner of so many years, we can but
conjecture. It is said that there were certain
traits of his conduct to her that she could not,
356long after the Duke’s death, recal without tears.[299]
She had attended him sedulously, and even devotedly,
during his long illness;[300] and that the
Duke appreciated her devotedness, is obvious
from a passage in one of the numerous codicils to
his will.
The Duchess’s personal comforts, as far as they
depended on her pecuniary interests, were carefully
considered in the Duke’s disposal of his property.
On the first arrangement of his affairs,
he bequeathed to her the income of ten thousand
a year, free from all taxes and charges, with the
option of changing five thousand pounds a year
which his grace received from the post office,
for an annuity on his property, reflecting that
the public grant ought to devolve on the person
who should bear his title. But, some years after
this bequest was made, the Duke, in the following
terms, added another, to mark more forcibly his
affection and gratitude to the Duchess.
“And whereas in and by my said herein-before
recited will, I gave to my said wife and her assigns,
during the term of her natural life, the
sum of ten thousand pounds per annum, clear of
taxes; and whereas my personal estate is since
greatly increased, and my said wife has been very
357tender and careful of me, and had great trouble
with me during my illness; and I intending, for
the consideration aforesaid, and out of the tender
affection, great respect, and gratitude which I
have and bear to her, and for the better increase
of her title and honour, to increase her said annuity
five thousand pounds a year,” &c.[301]
The title and the honours of the dukedom of
Marlborough descended upon his daughter
Henrietta, Countess of Godolphin, with a reversionary
entail upon the male issue of any of her
sisters. The Countess’s son, Lord Rialton, was to
receive, in consequence, a more ample allowance
than his cousins, together with various heirlooms
of great value. Amongst these, the service of
gold plate presented to the Duke by the Elector
of Hanover, and the diamond sword given to
him by the Emperor Charles, are particularly
enumerated.
To the Duchess of Marlborough were left the
plate and jewels belonging to the Duke. She
was permitted to dispose, by will, of the estate at
Sandridge, which the Duke had purchased; but
was requested to leave Marlborough-house, the
site of which had been granted to her by the
crown, to the successor in the title. She was
also appointed one of the trustees to the Duke’s
358will, in conjunction with his three sons-in-law,
and with several gentlemen.
The Duchess was likewise entrusted with a bequest
of much importance, as matters then stood.
This was the sum of fifty thousand pounds to be
expended in equal instalments, in five years, for
the purpose of completing the palace and other
works at Blenheim, under the sole control of the
Duchess. Wealthy, independent, and still agreeable
in her person, the Duchess had not been
many months a widow before endeavours were
made to induce her to change that state, and to
enter once more into matrimonial life. Those
who thus sought to ensnare her, were, however,
but little acquainted with the Duchess’s real
sentiments.
The earliest, and not the least ardent suitor to
her grace, was Thomas Earl of Coningsby, whose
admiration of the Duchess appears to have
commenced even before Marlborough was committed
to the tomb. Lord Coningsby was a politician
of a sort peculiarly acceptable to the
Duchess; and, as was her habit with other friends,
she had maintained an occasional correspondence
with this active Whig peer, who had always expressed
the most sincere devotion to her husband.
This attachment appears to have been returned
by Marlborough, who professed, in writing of
359Lord Coningsby, to place considerable reliance
upon his judgment; whilst Coningsby, on occasion
of the Duke’s leaving the kingdom in 1712,
went so far as to say, that “he had now not a
friend in the country.”
Such were the terms on which the subsequent
suitor stood with the husband of his “dearest,
dearest Lady Marlborough,” for so he repeatedly
calls her in his letters.
Lord Coningsby, when he offered his hand
and fortunes to the Duchess, did not degrade
her by the addresses of a man unknown to distinction.
Not only their old friendship, and a
correspondence bordering all along upon the line
which separates friendship from love,[302] but a high
reputation for courage and abilities, might authorise
his lordship not, at least, to expect a contumacious
rejection. Early in life he had signalised
himself at the battles of Aughrim and the Boyne;
and, upon the latter occasion, had the honour
to be near his Majesty King William the Third,
when slightly wounded in the shoulder, and the
good fortune to be the first to apply a handkerchief
to his Majesty’s hurt.[303]
For his services on this occasion, Coningsby
was elevated by William to the peerage of Ireland;
360and in 1715 the honour was extended by
George the First, and he was created Earl of Coningsby,
with his title in remainder to his eldest
daughter Margaret.
Lord Coningsby having thus graced an ancient
name by well-merited distinction, acquired the
confidence and good-will of his political friends by
his consistency as an advocate for the Protestant
succession, and by the solidity of his judgment
upon all parliamentary affairs. It appears to have
been the desire of Godolphin and Marlborough,
frequently, to consult one who had taken an active
share in the settlement of the great national question
at the time of the Revolution. “Upon all parliamentary
affairs,” says Godolphin, writing to
Marlborough in 1708, “I value very much Lord
Coningsby’s judgment and experience.”
Lord Coningsby, at the time of Marlborough’s
death, having been twice married, his eldest
daughter by his second marriage[304] was created, in
her father’s lifetime, Baroness and Viscountess
Coningsby of Hampton Court, in the county
of Hereford. Besides this favoured daughter,
Lord Coningsby had four others, two of whom
appear still to have been unmarried, and residing
under his parental care, at the time of
his lordship’s singular correspondence with the
Duchess of Marlborough.
361Scarcely four months after the death of the
Duke,[305] we find, by a letter preserved among the
Coxe Papers in the British Museum, that the
Earl of Coningsby had begun his invasion upon
the Duchess’s new state of independence, and had
commenced his siege like a skilful pioneer. He
begins by expressing the most poignant apprehensions
on account of her grace’s health. The
letter is dated London, Oct. 8, 1722.[306]
“When I had the honour to wait on your
grace at Blenheim, it struck me to the heart to
find you, the best, the worthiest, and the wisest
of women, with regard to your health, and consequently
your precious life, in the worst of ways.
“Servants are, at the best, very sorry trustees
for anything so valuable; and that which terrified
me, and which has ever since lain dreadfully
heavy on my thoughts, was the coolness I
imagine I observed in yours, when you lay, to my
apprehension, in that dangerous condition which
it was my unhappiness to see you in.
“Think, madam, what will become of those
two dear children which you, with all the reasons
in the world, love best, should they be (which God
in heaven forbid) so unfortunate as to lose you.
“I can preach most feelingly on the subject,
having been taught, from the ingratitude of the
362world, the want of true friendship in it; and,
from the most unnatural falsehood of nearest relatives,
how uneasy it is, upon a bed of sickness,
to think of leaving helpless and beloved children
to merciless and mercenary (and it is ten million
to one but they prove both) trustees and
guardians; and had I not trusted in God, in my
late dangerous indisposition, that he would not
bereave my two dearest innocents of me their
affectionate father, such thoughts had killed me.
But God has been merciful to me, and so I from
my soul pray he may be in preserving you to
them.
“I could give many more reasons for your
grace’s being in this place at this time; but these
will prove sufficient to one so discerning,” &c.
Lord Coningsby’s children appear, indeed, to
have been the objects of his tender solicitude;
and it seems to have been his aim to have interested
the heart of the Duchess in behalf of
these little innocents, as he calls them; to whose
newly acquired rank, doubtless, some portion of
the courted lady’s wealth would have been an
agreeable addition. It must have been, indeed,
no easy task to address in terms of passion the
Duchess, whose shrewd mind would instantly
dispel the colouring which was so coarsely dashed
over the real purpose of the valiant lord. The
Duchess, be it remembered, was now in her sixty-second
363year, at which age women may be
venerable, but never attractive. It would be well
if our sex would learn discrimination, and remember
the difference.
In November, the Earl gained courage to write
a still more explicit letter to his beloved friend;
and his letter contains something like an intimation
that the subject of a more intimate union
than that of friendship had already been broached
between himself and the Duchess. The reader
may judge for himself, from the following extracts,
since it is difficult and dangerous to take
the interpretation of love-letters entirely into one’s
own hands. The letter is so extremely characteristic
and absurd, that since it has never before
been published, we are disposed to give it almost
ungarbled to the reader.
After premising that he found the innocent glee
of his children his great and only solace, when
returning tired, and more heartless than ever, on
account of the dismal state of the country, from
the House of Lords, his lordship observes—[307]
“Albemarle-street, Nov. 20, 1722.
“And these little innocents have been my
only comforters and counsellors, and, under God,
my support, from the most dismal day I was so
364unfortunate to be deprived of the most delightful
conversation of my dearest, dearest Lady Marlborough,
to whom alone I could open the innermost
thoughts of my loaded heart; and by whose
exalted wisdom, and by a friendship more sincere
than is now to be met in any other breast among
all the men and women in the world, I found
relief from all my then prevailing apprehensions,
and was sometimes put in hope that the great
and Almighty Disposer of all things would, out
of his infinite goodness to me, at his own time
and in his own way, establish those blessings
(which he then showed me but a glimpse of, and
suffered me to enjoy but a moment,) to me for
the term of my happy life.
“How these pleasing expectations were frightfully
lessened by the ill state of health I found
you in at Blenheim, I need not tell you, because
you could not but see the confusion the melancholy
sight put me into. And it was no small
addition to my concern to see (as I imagined at
least) so much indifference in the preservation of
a life so precious amongst those entrusted with it;
and had I not been deluded to believe that I
should soon have the honour to see your grace
here, I had, before I left Woodstock, sent to you
to know by what safe method I might communicate
to you any matter necessary for you to be
365informed of, relative to my dear country, or your
still dearer self.
“But I was not only disappointed of these intentions
by the long progress you have made,
and during which time, by inquiring every day
at your door, I learnt from your porter that he
knew not how to send a letter to you till you returned
to St. Albans, and where, the moment I
knew you were arrived, I presumed to send you
the letter to which you honoured me with an
answer by the post, but likewise by your letter
coming in that way; and now I am altogether at
a loss to tell my dear Lady Marlborough whether
the pleasure that dear letter brought me, or the
terrors it gave me, had the ascendant in me, and
of this doubt you, and you alone, must judge.
“First, then, the pleasure was infinite to hear
that your health was restored to you.
“But then the terror was unutterable when
you took so much pains to let me know how little
you valued a life that I thought inestimable.
“Again, the pleasure was vastly great in reading
those delightful words which so fully expressed
sincere Lady Marlborough’s regard to me, and
concern for me and my dearest children.
“But then the terror was insupportable upon
me, when I found you were unalterably determined
not to see this place this winter, but likewise
366your letter being sent by the post, and
which was opened by the miscreants of the office,
seemed to be a sort of dreadful indication to me
that you designed to put an end to all future correspondence
with me.
“And when I had the additional mortification
of being assured that you had been in town, and
at your own house, for a day and a night, and
would not allow me or mine the least notice of
it, which, with the dismal thoughts that it brought
into my head and heart, I will for my own ease
strive for ever, for ever to forget.
“Your commanding my dearest Peggy to show
me the letter your most beloved writ to her will
help me to this happiness, and makes me hope I
shall receive an assurance, under your dearest
hand, that you designed it for that purpose.
“Though I desire above all things in this
world to see you for a moment, yet so much do
I prize Lady Marlborough’s safety above my own
satisfaction, that I would not have you in this
distracted place, at this dismal juncture, for any
consideration under heaven. I intend, by God’s
permission, to leave it myself soon; but whither
to go, or how to dispose of a life entirely devoted
to you, I know not till I receive your orders and
commands.
“But I live in hopes that the great and glorious
367Creator of the world, who does and must
direct all things, will direct you to make me the
happiest man upon the face of the earth, and
enable me to make my dearest, dearest Lady
Marlborough, as she is the wisest and the best,
the happiest of all women.
“I am, your grace knows I am, with the
truest, the sincerest, and the most faithful heart,
“Your Grace’s
Most dutiful and most obedient
Humble Servant,
Coningsby.
“There is no such cattle or sheep as your
grace desires, to be had till July next.”
Such were the terms in which the devoted
Lord, devoted certainly to some fascinating object
personified in her form as its representative, addressed
the venerable Duchess. Her reply, most
unfortunately, is not preserved; and with this
remarkable letter the correspondence, as far as
we can glean, closes. Dr. Coxe, whilst with tantalising
brevity he has described Lord Coningsby’s
letters as “the rapturous effusions of a
love-sick swain,” has not deemed it important, nor
perhaps correct, to leave us any further details
of these singular addresses, which so grave an
368historian, as he who has commemorated the fortunes
of John Duke of Marlborough, has considered
as impertinent in so serious a narrative.
Lord Coningsby did not long survive his
disappointment. He died in 1729; and his
daughter, Lady Coningsby, leaving no issue,
the title, in 1761, became extinct.
The Duchess was, at the time of the Duke’s
death, sixty-two years of age. Her health appears
to have been still unbroken; her beauty
far less impaired than that of many much younger
women. Her income was more than ample,
since she found means, even when maintaining a
princely establishment, to accumulate sums, and
to purchase lands, which she left to her grandchildren.
Her wit, her experience, her consequence
in society as the widow of Marlborough, all contributed
to give her a proud distinction in that
gay world to which she was devoted.
After the Duke’s decease she resided principally
at Windsor Lodge, employing herself chiefly in the
management of the affairs which had devolved
upon her, and in the superintendence of those cares
which she had bound herself to bestow upon her
grandchildren. But there were those who thought
that Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, her wealth,
or her former influence, might add dignity even
369to those already exalted in their own estimation
above the majority of their fellow creatures.[308]
Charles, sixth Duke of Somerset, at this time
a widower, proposed, within a year or little more
after the death of the Duke of Marlborough, to
the Duchess to unite herself to him. He pleaded
even a long and respectful passion, and addressed
her grace with a humility which only
the fashion of those times could have extracted
from one who bore the appellation of the “proud
Duke.”
This nobleman had long been acquainted with
the widowed Duchess of Marlborough. In former
days, before the Duchess of Somerset had supplanted
the proud Sarah in the affections of Queen Anne,
the Duchess of Marlborough appears to have
occasionally employed her talents and address in
soothing the offended pride of the Duke of
Somerset, whom it was necessary for the Whig
party to conciliate.[309] Lord Godolphin, however,
could not be brought to enter into the Duke’s
scheme “of being a great man at court.”[310] For
the “proud Duke” did no injustice to the quality
370of his intellect by the absurd state, and wearisome
self-importance which he affected, even to
the annihilation of natural feelings. He was a
man of no talent, but of unbounded pretensions.
Mr. Maynwaring justly observes, in writing to
the Duchess, speaking of the Duke’s desire to
exalt his importance as a party-man, “For a man
that has no talents to do any one thing in the
world, to think that he is to do everything, and
to have all preferments pass through his hands,
is something so much out of the way, that it is
hard to find a name for it.”
The Duchess of Marlborough had, in former
days, thoroughly understood, and as thoroughly
despised, the shallowness of his grace of Somerset’s
understanding, and the unbounded arrogance
of his pretensions. The Duke was one of those
beings, of whom a simple delineation in works of
fiction would be called exaggeration. Holding
his exalted station by a disputed right,[311] he took
precedence in his degree, in consequence of the
first Duke of the nation being a Catholic. This
pre-eminence, hazardous to one of limited capacity,
was maintained by the Duke almost in
a regal style. He intimated his commands to
his servants by signs, not vouchsafing to speak to
371them. When he travelled, the roads were cleared
of all obstruction, and of idle bystanders. His
children never sat down in his presence; it was
even his custom, when he slept in the afternoon,
to insist upon one of his daughters standing on
each side of him during his slumber. On one
occasion, Lady Charlotte Seymour, being tired,
ventured to sit down, and he left her, in consequence,
twenty thousand pounds less than her
sister. He gave precedence to no one but the
Duke of Norfolk.
Notwithstanding these absurdities, the Duke
possessed some fine qualities. His pride was accompanied
by a sense of honour, and his conversation
graced by a nobleness of sentiment, which, in spite
of a hesitation in his speech, must have well become
a man who aimed at so much. He was a
firm and generous friend; patronised the fine arts,
and, what was perhaps of some importance to a
widower disposed to marry again, possessed a fine
exterior. At the time when he made proposals
to the Duchess of Marlborough, he had, however,
passed his prime, and was sixty-five years of age.
Already had he linked himself to one of the
noblest families in the land by his marriage with
his first Duchess, the Lady Elizabeth Percy, the
heiress of the Percys, and the widow successively
of two husbands, Lord Ogle, and Thomas
372Thynne, Esq., the last of whom was shot in his
coach by Count Coningsmark, in hopes of carrying
off the heiress of the Percys. This Duchess of
Somerset had been on apparently friendly, but
actually, scarcely on good terms with the Duchess
of Marlborough, who perceived, through the veil of
courtesy and submissive sweetness, the ambitious
designs of the “great lady,” as Swift termed her.
She fixed her eyes, as the Duchess discovered,
upon the place of groom of the stole, an office
which proved a temptation to many; “but
covered the impertinence of her ambition and
expectation within, with the outward guise of lowliness
and good humour.”[312] Such was the Duchess
of Marlborough’s opinion of the Duke’s first
wife; and when she further discovered that the
Duchess of Somerset was secretly undermining her
at the very time that she pretended to lament the
misunderstandings between her and the Queen,
it is not to be supposed that the pretended good-will which was still maintained, was anything
but a very hollow alliance.
To the Duke, however, the Duchess of Marlborough’s
conduct had been friendly. She gave
him timely notice, through the Duchess, of a
resolution of a “certain great man,” probably
373Harley, to dismiss the Duke from the post of
master of the horse, for telling cabinet council
secrets. Eventually the Duke was dissatisfied
with the conduct of the Queen, and retired from
court, but his Duchess remained, to gain unbounded
ascendency over the weak Queen’s
mind, and to continue her attendance on her, until
her demise.
Notwithstanding the difference of their political
career, the Duke of Somerset never forgot that
his first Duchess was a Percy, and, as such,
entitled to devotion and respect. Possibly he
thought that he could alone pay her a suitable
compliment in soliciting the Duchess of Marlborough
to succeed her, and to console him for the
loss of his first Duchess.[313] But she to whom he
addressed himself answered his proposal in a
manner worthy of her superior understanding,
becoming her years, and admirable as addressed
to the “proud Duke.” She declined a second
marriage as unsuitable to her age; but added,
that were she addressed by the emperor of the
world, she would not permit him to succeed in
that heart which had been devoted to John Duke
of Marlborough.[314]
The Duke received this refusal with submission,
374and even consulted the Duchess respecting
the choice of a wife. At her grace’s recommendation,
he married the Lady Charlotte Finch,
second daughter of Daniel Earl of Nottingham
and Winchilsea.[315] The Duke, it is said, never
forgot the distinction between a Percy and a
Finch. “The Duchess,” says Granger, “once
tapped him familiarly on the shoulder with her
fan;” he turned round, and with an indignant
countenance said, “My first Duchess was a Percy,
and she never took such a liberty.” Whatever
had been the early opinion entertained of the
Duke by the Duchess of Marlborough, she became,
in the latter part of her life, extremely
friendly towards this absurd nobleman of the old
school, and consulted him frequently on the management
of her affairs.[316]
The Duchess, notwithstanding such temptations
to her resolution, formed no second marriage.
The Duke of Somerset survived her
grace, and lived to attend the funeral of George
the Second, as he had done that of Charles the
Second, James the Second, Queen Mary and
William the Third, of Anne, and of George the
First. The long period of twenty-two years, during
which the Duchess of Marlborough survived her
375husband, if they proved less eventful than her
youth and middle age, are not wholly devoid
of interest, when considered in conjunction with
the eminent characters who figured at the same
era.
CHAPTER XIV.
376
Anecdotes of the Duchess of Marlborough and the Duchess
of Buckingham—Pope’s “Atossa”—Sir Robert Walpole—The
Duchess’s enmity towards that minister—Singular
scene between them—The Duchess’s causes of complaint
enumerated.
Extraordinary as the displays of violent passion
in the Duchess of Marlborough may appear in
modern days, when every exhibition of natural
feeling, whether good or bad, is carefully suppressed
by the customs of society, there were not
wanting, in her own sphere, ladies of high rank,
equally arrogant though less gifted, between
whom common report hesitated on which to
bestow the distinction of being the most absurd,
outrageous, and repulsive.
Among those ladies who, in the reigns of
George the First and George the Second, formed
a link with the times of the Stuarts, was the
Duchess of Buckingham, natural daughter of
James the Second by Catherine Sedley, Countess
377of Dorchester—a parentage of which the Duchess
was shamelessly proud. Possessing the arrogance
of her contemporary Duchess, without her masculine
sense, and exhibiting equally a love of display,
pertinacity, and violence of temper, the Duchess
of Buckingham laboured with unceasing pains to
procure the restoration of her half-brother, the
Pretender. She frequently travelled to the Continent
in hopes of furthering that end; she stopped
ever with filial devotion at the tomb of James,
shedding tears over the threadbare pall which
covered his remains; but her filial duty extended
not to replace it by a newer and more sumptuous
decoration.
These two Duchesses both possessed, from the
same cause, some influence in the sphere of
politics. Around them gathered the malcontents
of the two parties: both were in enmity to
the court—both detested Sir Robert Walpole.
Tories and Jacobites thronged the saloons of
the Duchess of Buckingham; the malcontent
Whigs, those of Marlborough-house. The anecdotes
related by Horace Walpole must always be
adopted with much caution. He states that the
Duchess of Buckingham, passionately attached
to shows and pageants, made a funeral for her
husband as splendid as that of Marlborough.
She wished afterwards to borrow for the procession
378at her son’s interment the car which conveyed
the remains of Marlborough to the tomb.
“It carried my Lord Marlborough,” was the
Duchess of Marlborough’s angry reply, “and it
shall never carry any other.” “I have consulted
the undertaker,” retorted the Duchess of
Buckingham, “and he tells me I may have the
same for twenty pounds.” The same authority
informs us, that when the illegitimate daughter
of James the Second received Lord Hervey as a
suitor to her granddaughter, she appointed the
day of her royal grandfather’s martyrdom for the
first interview, and appeared, when he entered,
seated in a chair of state, of deep mourning,
in weeds and weepers, with her attendants in
similar suits.[317]
Her rival Duchess, Sarah of Marlborough,
suffered from the satirical castigation of Pope, in
one of those epistles which Bolingbroke pronounced
to be his best.[318] The famous and certainly in
their way unequalled lines on Atossa were
shown to the Duchess of Marlborough, as if they
were designed for her grace of Buckingham.
But the shrewd Sarah knew the faithful, though
highly-coloured portrait. She checked the person
who was reading to her, and called out aloud,
“I see what you mean; I cannot be so imposed
379upon.” She abused Pope violently, but was
afterwards reconciled to the great satirist, and is
said to have given him a thousand pounds to
suppress the character.[319] Such is the statement;
but it would have been more like the Duchess
to have braved the world, and to have permitted
the inimitable satire to see the light. She could
scarcely be rendered more unpopular than she
had hitherto been.
The death of George the First produced no
change in the station held as first Lord of the
Treasury by Sir Robert Walpole; a minister who
seems to have been, as a man, peculiarly obnoxious
to the Duchess of Marlborough, and with
whom she was, at various periods of her life,
at variance.
Since the death of Lord Sunderland, Sir
Robert Walpole had been making rapid advances
to the office of prime minister. He resumed that
office, on the accession of George the Second,
with an accumulated national debt amounting to
fifty millions.[320] Although coinciding with Sir
Robert in what she termed her Whig principles,
the Duchess could never assimilate with a character
so unlike the statesmen whom she had
known and revered; so opposite in his nature to
the disinterested Godolphin, whom she had seen
placed upon a similar eminence, and whose
380fidelity and honour she constantly extols. Even
the popular qualities of this noted minister were
repulsive to her aristocratic notions; and with
the Duchess prejudice was ever more powerful
than reason. Sir Robert was, in her estimation,
one of “the worst bred men she ever saw;” and
coarse as the Duchess has been represented, no one
had more insight into character, nor had greater
experience of those manners which charm the
fancy and elevate the tone of social life. Sir Robert
Walpole’s most popular qualities were beneath
her praise. His good-nature she might admire,
but it was accompanied by freedom of manners,
vulgarity of language, and profligacy in
conduct. The dignity of station was never understood
by him. He had neither elevation of
mind to compass great designs, nor depravity to
conceive schemes of wickedness. Yet he injured
virtue daily, by ridiculing that nice sense of her
perfection which we call honour. “When he
found,” says Lord Chesterfield, “anybody proof
against pecuniary temptations—which was, alas!
but seldom—he laughed at and ridiculed all
notions of public virtue, and the love of one’s
country, calling them the chimerical schoolboy
flights of classical learning, declaring himself, at
the same time, no saint, no Spartan, no reformer.”[321]
His demeanour thoroughly corresponded
381with these professions. Of very moderate
acquirements, he entertained no value for
the higher branches of literature, a knowledge of
which might have redeemed his common-place
mind from vulgarity. Higher tastes might have
rendered that flattery revolting, in which he
found such delight, that no society in which it
was enjoyed could be too low, no characters too
reprobate for this minister’s familiar intercourse,
whilst they administered to his vanity. With
assumed openness of manners, he kept, nevertheless,
a careful guard over his real sentiments,
whilst he possessed, beyond every other man, the
art of diving into those of others. He lowered
the attributes of ministerial power, by converting
the degeneracy of the times to his own advantage,
by his connexion with the monied interests
and with stock-jobbing, the only science to which
he seems to have applied his mind. His corrupt
administration must ever be remembered
with disgust by those who wish to see the national
character continue on the high footing
which it has generally, with some melancholy
interruptions, preserved.[322]
The Duchess of Marlborough, be it however
remembered, could endure the freedom and ill-breeding
of Sir Robert Walpole until personal
382wrongs roused her resentments. Sir Robert
owed to her, if we may believe her uncontradicted
statement, the appointment of treasurer to the
navy, which she procured for him, not much to
her credit, since he had at that time been expelled
the House of Commons for peculation.[323] She prevailed
with difficulty in his behalf, and received
acknowledgments from Sir Robert for this service.
“Notwithstanding which,” she adds, “at the beginning
of his great power with the present
family, he used me with all the insolence and
folly upon every occasion, as he has treated
several, since he has acted as if he were king,
which it would be tedious to relate.”[324]
The “folly” of which the Duchess complains
might be a trait of Walpole’s habitual manners;
from the “insolence” which she attributes to him
he was generally free, except when irritated beyond
endurance in the House of Commons. No
man was more liked and less respected. His disposition
was not vindictive. His raillery proceeded
from a kindly temper, of which refinement formed
no feature. His conduct in the domestic relations
of life has been greatly extolled, but surely
by those who have forgotten his licentiousness of
383character, which tainted his conjugal life, and
the impure example which he gave to his children.
It was about a year before the death of George
the First that the Duchess and Sir Robert Walpole
came to an open rupture. Her influence,
and the obligations which he had acknowledged
to her grace, had hitherto delayed the hostilities
which now commenced.
The Duchess, it appears from the Private
Correspondence lately published, had lent the
government a very considerable sum of money
for several years, on which account Sir Robert
Walpole was particularly desirous, as he told her
grace’s friend, Dr. Hare, to serve and oblige the
Duchess.[325] Upon this, and other matters, a
variance having arisen between the Duchess and
Sir Robert, Dr. Hare, afterwards Bishop of Chichester,
who appears to have been really attached
to the Duchess, and to have had more influence
over her than any one else, perceiving a great
degree of bitterness and resentment to have been
excited in her grace’s mind, addressed her by
letter on the subject. This excellent man availed
himself of the best privilege of friendship, that
of speaking the truth. He did not disguise from
her grace that he perceived and lamented the
384violence of her passions; but he began his mild
and just remonstrances by an appeal to her best
feelings. “I hope and believe, madam, that I
need not tell your grace that I have the most
affectionate esteem for you, and not only esteem,
but really admire you for your fine understanding
and good sense, and for the just and noble sentiments
which you express on all occasions in the
best language, and in the most agreeable manner,
so that one cannot hear you without the greatest
pleasure; but the more I esteem and admire
what is excellent in your grace, the more concerned
am I to see any blemishes in so great a
character.”
Dr. Hare understood well the person to whom
he addressed his well-meant remarks. “Ill-grounded
suspicions,” he observes, “violent passions,
and a boundless liberty of expressing
resentments without distinction from the prince
downwards, and that in the most public manner,
and before servants, are certainly blemishes, and
not only so, but attended with great inconveniences;
they lessen exceedingly the influence
and interests persons of your grace’s fortune and
endowments would otherwise have, and unavoidably
create enemies.”[326]
The Duchess’s reply to this admirable advice
385was worthy of a disposition candid and upright
beyond dispute. Far from resenting Dr. Hare’s
good counsels, she declared herself of Montaigne’s
opinion, that a greater proof of friendship could
not be given than in venturing to disoblige a
friend in order to serve him. She entreated Dr.
Hare to believe that she regarded him the more
for his sincerity. “I beg of you,” she added, in
her own natural way, “never to have the least
scruple in telling me anything you think, for I
am not so partial to myself as not to know that I
have many imperfections, but a great fault I
never will have, that I know to be one.” Having
thus premised, she proceeded to explain how
affairs stood between herself and Sir Robert
Walpole, and to justify herself in Dr. Hare’s
opinion.
The Duchess had not, as she declared, sought
an interview with Sir Robert, but Sir Robert had
sent to speak to her. She found it was the old
subject, the trust-money, and she listened to him
patiently. Sir Robert wanted to borrow two
hundred thousand pounds, which he owned
would be of great service to him. But when he
pretended that he requested this loan from the
Duchess and her family in preference to others,
for their advantage, the high-spirited lady was
not to be deceived. Her anger rose at the attempt
386to delude her. Lord Godolphin, her son-in-law,
had lost by lending to Sir Robert at such
low interest, and the Duchess was aware, how
“impossible it was for Sir Robert to have the
appearance of sinking the public debt, if she
had not consented to lend him the trust-money.”[327]
It is scarcely necessary to recal to the reader’s
recollection, that before this period the formation
of the sinking fund had taken place; and, as
of this treasure the nation was to be relieved
from the national debt, members of both houses
were solicitous individually to raise large sums
upon the people, not only on account of the
credit they acquired by aiding a scheme then
popular, but also because they exacted from
government a large share of the dividend.[328]
The Duchess despised and distrusted Sir Robert
Walpole; and his anxiety to obtain the sum,
and his duplicity in pretending that it was for
the advantage of those for whom the Duchess
held the money in trust that his disinterested advice
proceeded, irritated his shrewd, and irritable,
and experienced listener; and after much formality
and great coldness, a warm explanation
between Sir Robert and the Duchess took place.
387The interview might have ended with the ceremony
in which it began, but for one expression of
the minister, namely, “that he should be always
ready to serve her.” This was the first time, since
he had been a great man, that Sir Robert had offended
the Duchess by such condescension, and it
produced, what possibly he desired, a scornful
enumeration of all the favours which the Duchess
had ever required from him, and of the manner
in which those demands had been received. Sir
Robert laughed—laughed either with anger or
contempt, the Duchess knew not which; but she
knew that his laugh was expressive of one or
other of those passions. However, he would not
allow that her grace had anything to complain
of; and said that she had enumerated trifles, and
provoked, of course, a burst of invective. “Great
men,” retorted the Duchess, “seldom heard the
truth, because those who spoke to them generally
wanted their favour; and when anybody told
them the truth, they always thought that person
mad. Whenever,” added the Duchess, “Sir
Robert should wish to hear the truth, she should
be happy to see him again; that she had now
vented her anger, and she could talk to him
easily on other subjects.” Sir Robert proved to
be patience itself; he had a little more discourse
with his fiery friend; they parted civilly, and
388she lent him the money he desired, not so much
in accordance with her own opinion, but in
compliance with the desire of her grandson,
Lord Godolphin, for whom she held it in trust,
as the future Duke of Marlborough, and who
particularly wished that it should be so applied.
Eventually the Duchess extremely regretted
that she had been enticed into this compliance;
and felt, perhaps, as enraged that Sir Robert had
outwitted her, as she was vexed that her heir
should lose, as he actually did, by so appropriating
the sum; for Sir Robert, far from being grateful
to the Duchess, gave Lord Godolphin a lower interest
than he had done before, and saved the public
money for once at the expense of a friend. With
the ready wit of an unprincipled man, he played
the Bank off against Godolphin, and Godolphin
against the Bank. When his lordship demurred,
and stipulated, through his grandmother, it may be
presumed, for a larger interest, Sir Robert told
him, if he hesitated, he could have the money
from the Bank. When the governors of the Bank
of England (established 1693) held back from
granting the loan, demanding a higher rate of
interest, the minister assured them he could
have the money from Lord Godolphin.[329] Certainly
one cannot pity the Duchess, nor any individual
389who, comprehending, as she undoubtedly
did, the character of the minister with whom she
dealt, could have any transactions with such a
man. We must compassionate a dupe; but that
title cannot be applied to one equally wary with
the ensnarer, and conscious that he with whom
she negociated possessed not one honourable sentiment,
nor was capable of a single hour of
remorse.
The “trifles” of which the Duchess also complained
to Sir Robert, were trifles indeed; but
they were such affairs as generally move the
minds of women in no ordinary degree. It is
observed, that women are much more tenacious
of their rights than men; those who have fortunes,
generally take better care of it than men, under
the same circumstances, would employ. It is
seldom that, amid the changes and chances of the
world, one hears of a single lady of good fortune
being ruined by her own extravagance; and it is
remarkable that widows, from the habit of self-dependence,
often become more careful after the
decease of their husbands, than before they were
left to move alone in society. Hence the opinion
given by Dr. Johnson, that women of fortune,
being accustomed to the management of money,
are usually more exact, even to penuriousness,
390than those whose means are either very moderate,
or who have no means at all to depend
upon.
The Duchess of Marlborough defended her
rights, and guarded her possessions, with the undaunted
demeanour of an imperious, managing,
clever woman. She generally had reason, and
sometimes law, on her side. Litigation was not
disagreeable to her.
One of the complaints which she addressed to
Sir Robert was, that an attempt was made to
compel her to pay taxes upon her house in
Windsor Park, and that the officers were perpetually
threatening to seize her goods, which she
believed could not be done, as the lodge stood in
the old park. Sir Robert had suggested her
applying to the Treasury to be repaid such charges,
and had complained of her not submitting to do
business in the usual mode. But the Duchess
resisted, and gained her point. “I make,” she
writes to Dr. Hare, “no advantage of the park,
but to eat sometimes a few little Welsh runts, and
I have no more cows than I allow the under-keepers,
which are to each six, but I have laid
out a good deal of money, which is called being
a great tenant, and I never was so mean as to
bring any bills, like other great men on such occasions,
391for what I did for my own satisfaction.”[330]
Subsequently the matter was settled by a proposal
of her grace, which was accepted; this
was, “that she should deposit such a sum of money
as should be thought reasonable, in proper hands,
for the benefit of the poor of the parish,” and so
be exempted from all further claims for taxes.[331]
The more important of the “trifles” with which
Sir Robert taunted the Duchess, is yet to be
described. The Duchess of Buckingham, or, as
the Duchess of Marlborough significantly calls
her, “the Duke of Buckingham’s widow,” assumed
and maintained the privilege of driving
through St. James’s Park whenever and however
she liked, whilst the Duke of Marlborough’s
widow was prohibited even “from taking the
air for her health,” though allowed, in former
reigns, to drive through that privileged enclosure.
This refusal, which the Duke of Marlborough’s
widow traced, as she thought, to Walpole,
was the more unjust, as the arrogant daughter
of Catherine Sedley had written a very impertinent
letter to the King, and ought to have
been forbidden the park. The Princess of
392Wales, afterwards Queen Caroline, had proffered
a request on the part of the Duchess of Marlborough
to the King, and it had been refused.
It was therefore urged by Sir Robert, that the
Princess would be offended, if the boon were subsequently
granted to another applicant.[332] How
the matter ended, it does not appear; nor at what
period Marlborough’s widow was enabled to pass
Buckingham’s widow in her airings along the
stately promenades.
Such were some of the altercations which disturbed
the Duchess in her widowhood. She was likewise
generally on indifferent terms with the court.
Queen Caroline, though much commended by the
Duchess as Princess of Wales, became, in process
of time, everything that was disagreeable in the
eyes of the Duchess; and as her grace “could
not deny herself the pleasure of speaking her
mind upon any occasion,” to use her own words,
and as there are always a number of people who
trade in retail upon the speeches of others, Queen
Caroline, that pattern of prudence and forbearance,
and her very uninteresting consort, were
soon aware of the animosity, for to that it at
last amounted, that the Duchess bore to them,
and to their court and administration.
393For this dislike there was, it must be allowed,
considerable reason on the part of the Duchess;
and in her letters to Mr. Scrope, secretary to the
minister, Mr. Pelham, she unfolds her wrongs,
and reflects great discredit on the character of
the Princess.
Years afterwards, when the Duchess was so
aged and infirm that she had forgotten the dates
of the occurrence, she thus writes to her polite
correspondent, Mr. Scrope.
“You have not,” she says, “forgot the time
that his Majesty’s name was made use of to pay
no more six hundred pounds a year: this was
done by Queen Caroline, who sent me word, if I
would not let her buy something of mine at
Wimbledon, that would have been a great prejudice
to my family, and that was settled upon
them, I was in her power, and she would take
away what I had for Windsor Lodge.”
This threat, equally ungracious and fruitless,
roused all the Duchess’s spirit of resistance. In
the first place she did not believe that the Queen
had the power to do what she threatened, or if she
had, she would, as she declared, have valued a
smaller thing of her own much more than one
which depended on the crown; and she sent her
Majesty a respectful refusal.[333]
394The affairs of Windsor Park occupied much of
her time. As ranger, she could not but lament,
as well as remonstrate against, the pitiful economy,
if such a word can be applied to Walpole, or the
shameful neglect of that source of pride to our
country which was permitted during his administration.
She wrote, perhaps, as much for the
purpose of annoying Sir Robert, as of getting repairs
done to the park; and, as her custom was,
as she said, “to tumble out the truth just as it
came out of her head,” her manner of stating her
opinion was not the most gracious that could be
adopted.[334]
Another object of the Duchess’s wrath and
aversion was Charles, second Duke of St. Albans,
who had been constituted, in 1730, governor of
Windsor Castle, and warden of Windsor Forest.[335]
This nobleman was not the greater favourite with
the Duchess, from his being one of the lords of
the bedchamber at that time. He had the misfortune
to come into very frequent contact with
her grace, in the discharge of his duties in
Windsor Park. No one is so offended by a
vain show as the ostentatious; it seems to harrow
up all the pride in their nature. The
Duchess was outrageous when she saw the Duke
395of St. Albans coming into the park with coaches
and chaises whenever he pleased, under pretence
of supervising the fortifications, a term which
she thought very ridiculous, unless he meant by
it “the ditch around the Castle.” No one, except
the royal family, or the ranger, had ever been
allowed, during her experience of fifty years,
such a liberty before. But that was not all the offence.
The Duchess, in addressing her complaints
to Pelham Holles, Duke of Newcastle, who had
married her granddaughter, Lady Harriot Godolphin,
assured his grace that the Duke of St.
Albans had, to use a military phrase, “besieged
her in both parks, and been willing to forage in
them at pleasure.” Having got the better of him
in some points, he had pursued her to the little
park; and her only resource was to address her
relative, then secretary of state, to intercede with
the Queen that the intrusive warden might not
be permitted to have a key. Which of the belligerent
powers prevailed, does not appear.
Such were some of the Duchess of Marlborough’s
annoyances, perhaps to her spirit occupations
only, in what may be called her official
life. In the next chapter we shall discuss the
subject of her domestic and family troubles, after
the Duke had left her the charge of numerous
396and important concerns; in discharging the care
of which, the government of her own temper was
one of the most difficult and most material
points.
CHAPTER XV.
397
State of the Duchess of Marlborough with respect to her
family—Henrietta Duchess of Marlborough—Lord Godolphin—Pelham
Holles Duke of Newcastle—The Spencer
family—Charles Duke of Marlborough—His extravagance—John
Spencer’s anecdotes of the Miss Trevors—Letter
to Mr. Scrope—Lawsuit.
It was not the happy lot of the Duchess of Marlborough
to assemble around her, in the decline
of life, children and grandchildren, affectionately
attached to her, who would seek to soothe her
mortifications, and to repair the losses which she
had sustained in the early death of their brother
and sisters, and in the still severer calamity with
which she had since been visited. A woman
who is not beloved by her own children can have
very little claim to the affection of others. The
fault must originate in herself, however odious
the consequences appear in those, who, if they
could not bestow upon her the filial love which
398her temper had blighted, ought never to have
omitted that filial duty which no differences
ought to destroy.
Henrietta Countess of Godolphin, who now,
by an act of parliament passed in 1706, succeeded
to the title as Duchess of Marlborough,
was long at variance with her mother, and, according
to some accounts, was never reconciled.[336]
She was beautiful, it is said, but in her disposition
her parents appear to have found but little comfort.
The Duchess survived this daughter, who died
in 1733. Her son, Francis Earl of Godolphin,
appears, from the letters lately published, to have
been an especial favourite of his grandmother.
She complains, indeed, of “his not being so
warm in some things as he should be,” (possibly
in her quarrels,) but commends his truth and
goodness, and declares she never forgot anything
that his lordship said to her. By Dr. Hare, also,
Lord Godolphin is described as one of the most
reasonable and dispassionate creatures in the
world. But this amiable character, unhappily for
the mother and grandmother, whose asperities he
might have softened, was, like most of the promising
members of this ill-fated family, removed
at an early age: he died in 1731, two years before
399his mother, Henrietta Duchess of Marlborough.
One daughter of the Godolphin branch of the
Marlborough family remained. This was Harriott,
married, as we have seen, in 1717, to the
extolled and favourite minister, Pelham Holles,
Duke of Newcastle, one of the most liberal statesmen
of those venal days. To his grace the
Duchess had, as we have already seen, addressed
her complaints of the Duke of St. Albans, and
his siege in Windsor Park; and she could not
have bespoken the interest of any one more able
to promote her wishes. The Duke had been a
steady promoter of the Hanoverian interests.
Consistency in those days was uncommon, and
he was rewarded with honours and places innumerable;
yet, far from enriching himself by his
public services, or by no services at all, according
to the mode then in fashion, the Duke retired
from his posts, according to Lord Chesterfield,
at least four hundred thousand pounds
poorer than when he began life; at any rate,
with an income greatly reduced.[337]
The character of this amiable, and, in some respects,
high-minded nobleman, which gained, it
may be presumed, upon her grace’s affections, after
400she had with much pains and anxiety achieved
that connexion which has been alluded to,—has
been ably, but perhaps unfairly, drawn by his
relation and contemporary, Lord Chesterfield.
Satire was not only the natural propensity of
Lord Chesterfield’s mind, but the delight and
practice of the day. The pungent remarks of
Horace Walpole, as well as those of Chesterfield,
must be taken with reservation. Neither
friend nor foe was to be spared, when a sentence
could be better turned, or a witticism improved,
by a little delicate chastisement, all done in perfect
good humour, and with unspeakable good-breeding,
by these not dissimilar characters.
Lord Chesterfield depicts in the Duke of Newcastle
an obsequious, industrious, and timorous
man, whom the public put below his level, in
not allowing him even mediocre talents, which
Chesterfield graciously assigns to him; a minister
who delighted in the insignia of office; in the
hurry, and in the importance which that hurry
gives, of business; as one jealous of power, and
eager for display. “His levées,” says the Earl,
“were his pleasure and his triumph;” and, after
keeping people waiting for hours, when he came
into his levée-room, “he accosted, hugged, embraced,
and promised everybody with a seeming
cordiality, but at the same time with an illiberal
401and degrading familiarity.”[338] The world, however,
forgot these weaknesses, in the generosity,
the romantic sense of honour, and the private
virtues of this respectable nobleman.
Anne Countess of Sunderland, the second
daughter of the Duchess, left four sons and one
daughter, with a paternal estate greatly impoverished.
It was, amongst all his faults, a
redeeming point in Lord Sunderland’s character,
that his patriotism aimed not at gain. We have
already referred to a fact not to be forgotten:
when, on being dismissed from the ministry in
Queen’s Anne’s reign, he was offered a pension,
he nobly refused it, with the reply, that “since
he was no longer allowed to serve his country,
he was resolved not to pillage it.”[339] His children
were, however, amply provided for by the
will of their grandfather. The eldest son, Robert
Earl of Sunderland, the object of his mother’s peculiar
solicitude on her deathbed, perhaps from
being more able to comprehend the characters of
both of these distinguished parents before he lost
them, displayed symptoms of the same aspiring
mind that his father possessed. The aversion
which George the Second had imbibed towards
his father, prevented the spirited youth
402from obtaining any employment. At last, in
despair, and wishing to bring himself before the
notice of men in power, the Earl entreated Sir
Robert Walpole to give him an ensigncy in the
guards. The minister was astonished at this
humble request from the grandson of Marlborough,
and inquired the reason. “It is because,”
answered the young man, “I wish to ascertain
whether it is determined that I shall never have
anything.”[340] He died early in 1729,[341] and the
Duchess appears, from a letter addressed to Lady
Mary Wortley Montague, to have very deeply
lamented the loss of this scion of the only branch
she could “ever receive any comfort from in her
own family.” On this occasion the poor Duchess
remarks, “that she believes, having gone through
so many misfortunes with unimpaired health,
nothing now but distempers and physicians could
kill her.”[342] She is said to have, indeed, loved
Lord Sunderland above every other tie spared to
her by death.
Two sons and a daughter now remained of
this beloved stock. Charles, who succeeded his
brother Robert, and became afterwards Duke of
Marlborough, was never, according to Horace
Walpole, a favourite of his grandmother, although
403he possessed many good qualities. He was not,
however, endowed with the family attribute of
economy; neither could he brook the control of
one, who expected, probably, far more obedience
from her grandchildren than young persons are
generally disposed to yield from any motive but
affection. Unhappily, the Duke’s sister, Lady Anne
Bateman, whom the Duchess had, in compliance
with her mother’s wishes, brought up, was but ill
disposed to soothe those differences which often
arose between her grandmother and the young
Duke. She introduced her brother, unhappily for
his morals, to Henry Fox, first Lord Holland, one
of those unprincipled, but agreeable men, whose
conversation soon banishes all thirst for honour,
and sense of shame. By Fox, a Jacobite at
heart, but an interested partisan of Sir Robert
Walpole, the young Duke was won over to the
court party; upon which occasion was uttered
the Duchess’s sarcasm, “that is the Fox that has
won over my goose;” a remark which, like every
thing that she said, was industriously circulated.
Fox considered public virtue in the light of a
pretext in some, as an infatuation in others:
self-interest was, in him, the all-prevailing principle;[343]
Sir Robert Walpole being, in that respect,
his model.
404Lady Anne Bateman, intriguing and high-spirited,
exercised over her brother an ascendency
which was shared by the “Fox.” Influenced
by dislike to her grandmother, she
introduced the Duke into the family of Lord
Trevor, one of whose daughters he married.
The Duchess had a peculiar antipathy to
Lord Trevor, who had been an enemy of her
husband, and with her usual violence she
banished the Duke from Windsor Lodge, and
then, in derision of the new Duchess, who had,
she alleged, stripped the house and garden, she
set up eight figures, to personate the eight Misses
Trevor, cousins of the young Duchess, representing
them, in a puppet-show, as tearing up
the shrubs, whilst the Duchess was portrayed
carrying away a hen-coop under her arm. This
anecdote originates with Horace Walpole, and,
from its source, it must be regarded with caution:
there are other exhibitions of passion in this extraordinary
woman, which rest upon better authority.
The Duchess never forgave Lady Anne Bateman;
and whilst we acknowledge the wickedness
of that vindictive spirit, it must be owned that the
Duchess had much provocation from this grandchild.
In addition to the ingratitude of Lady
Anne, she had the vexation, when Lord Charles
405succeeded to the Marlborough estates, to see him
and his younger brother, Lord John, squander
away their patrimonial property, and vie with
each other in every wild and mad frolic. At
length their complicated quarrels ended in what
was professedly an amicable lawsuit between the
heir and his grandmother, for the settlement of
some disputed portion of the property. To the
amusement of the world, and certainly not to the
annoyance of those of her relatives who rejoiced
in exposing her eccentricities, the Duchess, who
was capable of any act of effrontery, appeared
in court to plead her own cause. The diamond-hilted
sword, given by the Emperor Charles to
the great Marlborough, was claimed by Lord
Sunderland. “What!” exclaimed the Duchess,
indignantly, “shall I suffer that sword, which my
lord would have carried to the gates of Paris, to
be sent to a pawnbroker’s, to have the diamonds
picked out one by one?”[344] Harsh and revolting
as this exhibition of passion was, her prognostic
was somewhat verified in the career of Charles
Duke of Marlborough. His life presents a
history of embarrassments, which, as the Duchess
truly asserted, nothing but prudence on his own
part could have prevented. To her correspondent,
Mr. Scrope, for whom she appears to
406have imbibed a sincere regard, she unfolds all
her troubles respecting her grandson in the subjoined
paragraph. The tenor of the letter
from which this passage is taken, places the
Duchess’s character, as a grandmother, in a very
different light from that in which the popular
writers of her day have chosen to place it. The
world, judging, as it often does, most erroneously
when it takes up family quarrels, had condemned
the Duchess as hard-hearted and relentless.
The following simple statement of facts is
calculated to mitigate that sentence.[345]
“When I saw you (Mr. Scrope) last, you
said something concerning the Duke of Marlborough,
which occasions you this trouble, for you
seemed to have a good opinion of him, and to
wish that I would make him easy. This is to
show you, that as to the good qualities you imagine
he has, you are mistaken, and that it is
impossible to make him easy. I will now give
you the account of what has happened not long
since.
“When he quitted all his employments, he
wrote me a very good letter, saying that he had
heard I liked he had done it; there are expressions
407in this letter full as strong and obliging
to me as those in this, dated from Althorpe,
October 26th, 1733. I answered this civilly,
saying, that as his behaviour to me had been so
extraordinary for many years, I thought it necessary
to have a year or two’s experience how
he would perform his great promises, and that I
wished him very well. This was giving him
hopes, though with the caution of a lawyer.
Soon after this he treated with a Jew to take up
a great sum of money. He wanted my assistance
to help in the security, for Lamb has secured all
in his power, and would not lessen his own securities
on any account. To this letter I gave
him a grandmother’s advice, telling him the
vast sums he had taken up at more than twenty
per cent. were as well secured as when the people
lent the money; that I thought he would make a
much better figure if he lived upon as little as
he possibly could, than ever he had done in
throwing away so much money, and let his creditors
have all that was left out of his estate as
far as it would go, and pay what more was due
to them, when accidents of death increased his
revenue, for I could not join in anything that
would injure myself, or the settlement of his
grandfather. I should have told you this before,
but in this last professing letter to me, he tells
408me that he would rather starve than take up
money that I did not approve of: notwithstanding
which, in a very few days after my letter, I am
assured that Lamb has found a way to help him
to a great sum of money; and without saying
one word to me, the Duke has mortgaged my
jointure as soon as I die, which he certainly may
do for his own life; and if he lives till his son is
twenty-one, he may starve him into joining with
him, and destroy his grandfather’s settlement
upon the whole family; for when the settlement
was made, there were so many before him, that
the lawyers did not think of giving his son any
allowance in his father’s lifetime; and I can
think of but one way to prevent all this mischief,
which I have a mind to do, and that is, when he
is of a proper age, to settle out of my own estate
such a sum to be paid yearly by my trustees
which will hinder him from being forced by his
father, upon condition that if he does join with
him to sell any of the estate, that which I gave
him shall return back to John Spencer, who I
make my heir. Whether this will succeed or not,
as I wish it, I cannot be sure, but it is doing all
I can to secure what the late Duke of Marlborough
so passionately desired. He has a great
deal in him like his father, but I cannot say he
has any guilt, because he really does not know
409what is right and what is wrong, and will always
change every three days what he designed, from
the influence and flatteries of wretches who think
of nothing but of getting something for themselves;
and if I should give him my whole estate
he would throw it away as he has done his
grandfather’s, and he would come at last to the
Treasury for a pension for his vote. But I believe
you have seen, as well as I, that pensions
and promises at court are not ready
money.”
The Duke died in 1758, having, according to
Horace Walpole, greatly impoverished his estate;
so that his death, before his son came of age, was
considered to be an advantage to the property, since
the young man might have been induced to join
his father in the last mournful resource, according
to the same writer, “to sell and pay.”[346]
On the honourable John Spencer, commonly
called by the writers of those days Jack Spencer,
the affections of the Duchess were, after the death
of his eldest brother, chiefly centered. Not all
his extravagance, nor the low-lived pranks in
which he figured; not even the prospect of seeing
him squander away every shilling which he possessed,
could alienate from him this fantastic and
unjust partiality on the part of his grandmother.
410He died, after a profligate and disgraceful career,
at the age of six or seven and thirty, “merely,”
says Horace Walpole, “because he would not be
abridged of those invaluable blessings of a British
subject, namely, brandy, small-beer, and tobacco.”[347]
Notwithstanding these propensities,
the Duchess left him in her will a clear income
of thirty thousand a year, to the enjoyment of
which was annexed a condition, characteristic
enough, that he should not accept any place or
pension from any government whatsoever. Whilst
she thus enriched her unworthy grandson, she
disinherited Charles Duke of Marlborough of
all the property which was vested in herself to
bequeath.
Lady Diana Spencer, the youngest of the
Sunderland family, was also a favourite of her
grandmother. She appears to have been an
object of solicitude to the Duchess, who, it may
be remembered, expressed much satisfaction
when the Princess of Wales, afterwards Queen
Caroline, called “her Dy” back to bid her hold
her head up, which, added the Duchess, “was
what I was always telling her.” She also quoted
“her Dy,” with much satisfaction, in her letter
to Dr. Hare, when she extenuated her behaviour
to Sir Robert Walpole.
411In 1731, the Duchess was much gratified
by the marriage of “her Dy” with Lord
John Russell, afterwards third Duke of Bedford.
Writing from Blenheim to Lady Mary
Wortley Montague, the Duchess, in speaking
of this wedding, declares to her gifted correspondent,
that it is very much to her satisfaction.
“I propose to myself more satisfaction
than I thought there had been in store for me.”
These were the expressions of hope; but, alas!
like almost every other object of the Duchess’s
regard in her own family, Lady Diana Russell
died early, surviving her marriage only four
years. It is impossible to note these successive
deprivations without feeling sincere compassion
for the harassed and bereaved old Duchess, who
beheld, one by one, her only comforts taken from
her old age.
Lord John Russell, when Duke of Bedford,
became Secretary of State, and Lord Lieutenant
of Ireland. The well-known strictures on his
character by Junius, though not historically just,
were not without foundation; but, whatever were
his faults, he attained eminence as a statesman;
and to see her favourite grace the high station
in which this alliance would have placed her,
would, doubtless, have gratified the heart, already
too proud, of her aged but worldly grandmother.
412“Her Torrismond,” as the Duchess termed John
Spencer, indeed survived her, though not many
years. His marrying suitably was an event
which she had much at heart. “I believe you
have heard me say,” writes her grace to Lady
Mary Wortley, “that I desired to die when I had
disposed well of her, (Lady Diana,) but I desire
that you would not put me in mind of it, for I
find I have a mind to live till I have married
my Torrismond, which is a name I have
given long to John Spencer.”[348] Unhappily,
Torrismond was too frequently to be found in the
watchhouse, in company with other young noblemen,
to think of domesticating according to the
Duchess’s desire.
Lady Anne Egerton, the only child of Lady
Bridgewater, was also undutiful, according to the
Duchess’s notions, and to be derided and insulted
accordingly. She had been brought up by her
grandmother, who, finding that she was neglected
after the death of her mother, took charge of her
when her other grandchildren were left to her
care. Lady Anne married Wriothesley Duke of
Bedford, the elder brother of Lord John Russell,
to whom his title descended.
In Lady Anne the grandmother’s spirit was
413apparent. Their quarrels were continual and
violent; and the Duchess, charmed, one must
suppose, with her conceit of the eight puppet
Misses Trevor, invented the same sort of vengeance
in effigy for Lady Anne. She had procured her
granddaughter’s picture, of which she blackened
the face over, and writing on the frame in large
letters, “She is much blacker within,” placed it
in her own sitting-room, for the edification and
amusement of all visiters.[349]
The Duchess of Montague, (Lady Mary
Churchill, the youngest of her grace’s daughters,)
like her eldest sister Henrietta, lived in constant
altercation with her mother, whom she survived;
the only one of her children whom the Duchess
did not follow to the grave. The character of
the Duke of Montague, and the honours which
he received, have been before mentioned. The
Duchess mingled greatly in the world; her concerts
and assemblies are mentioned frequently in
the letters of Lady Mary Wortley. Her daughter
Isabella, Duchess of Manchester, by her sweetness
of temper and superior qualities, fastened
herself upon the affections of that heart where
so few could find a place.
414Such are some of the details which relate to
the domestic troubles of the aged Duchess. Her
frequent absence from her children when they
were young; the absorbing nature of political
pursuits, for which she sacrificed the blessings
of affection, and the enjoyment of a peaceful
home; the consequent necessity of consigning her
children wholly to instructors and servants; perhaps,
too, the manners of the times, which conduced
to banish love between parent and child
by a harsh, unnatural substitution of fear as the
principle of conduct;[350] all contributed to alienate
those young minds from her, whilst yet the angry
passions which maturity draws forth were unknown.
Consistency, impartiality, and a freedom
from selfishness, are the qualities essential to win
back the filial affection of which nature has implanted
the germ in every bosom if, unhappily, it
be destroyed. The Duchess was not only totally
deficient in these attributes, but she possessed not
that easy and kindly temper which can secure
affection, even if it fail to command respect. In
her family, notwithstanding all their advantages
of person and fortune, she was singularly unfortunate;
415and she affords a striking instance of
the incompatibility of a political career with the
habits and feelings of domestic life. It cannot
be, therefore, a matter of surprise that her latter
days were clouded by depression; that she
found herself neglected, and that she hovered between
a state of irritated pride, and that condition
of low spirits in which we fancy ourselves of no importance
to the world, and as well out of it as cumbering
the ground. Often, describing herself as
generally very “ill and very infirm,” she declares
that life has ceased to have any charms for her;
that she only wishes “to make the passage out
of it as easily as possible.” To her correspondent,
Mr. Scrope, from whom she declares she received
more civility than she had met with for years, the
Duchess partially discloses her feelings. He seems
kindly, and we hope with no interested motive,
to have entered into the feelings of a morose old
woman, who had placed all her felicity in a consciousness
of importance, and who found herself
“insignificant.”[351] A few short years previously,
and who would have anticipated such a confession?
Yet the mortifications of an unhonoured
old age appear, if we may trust Mr. Scrope’s
charitable version of the case, to have improved
the chastened character on whose tenderest points
416they bore. In reply to one of her low-spirited
letters, he thus addresses her: “I hope your grace
will excuse the freedom with which I write, and
that you will pardon my observing, by the latter
part of your letter, that the great Duchess of
Marlborough is not always exempted from the
vapours. How your grace could think yourself
insignificant, I cannot imagine. You can despise
your enemies, (if any such you have;) you can
laugh at fools who have authority only in their
own imaginations; and your grace hath not only
the power, but a pleasure in doing good to every
one who is honoured with your friendship or
compassion. Who can be more insignificant?”
And he concludes this well-meant expostulation
with professions of respect and regard.
CHAPTER XVI.
417
The Duchess of Marlborough’s friends and contemporaries—Arthur
Maynwaring—Dr. Hare—Sir Samuel Garth—Pope—Lady
Mary Wortley Montague—Colley Cibber—Anecdote
of Mrs. Oldfield; of Sir Richard Steele.
There must have been, undoubtedly, some attaching,
as well as admirable qualities in the
Duchess of Marlborough, when we consider the
number and quality of those friends whom she
found it possible to retain until their death; for
most of them she survived.
The Duchess’s earliest political friend, Lord
Godolphin, was never, as far as we can learn,
replaced in her confidence and regard by any man
in power. Shortly before his lordship’s death, she
had the misfortune to lose another intimate
though humbler friend, her accomplished correspondent,
Arthur Maynwaring.
Mr. Maynwaring, like the Duke and Duchess
themselves, had set out in life a zealous Jacobite.
418Early in life he had even exercised his pen in
favour of King James’s government; and it was
only after becoming acquainted with the chiefs
of the Whig party, that he wholly changed his
opinions. After mingling for some years in the
literary society of Paris, Maynwaring, returning
to London, was made one of the commissioners
of Customs, and afterwards, by Lord
Godolphin, appointed auditor of the Imprests, a
place worth two thousand pounds per annum
during a pressure of business. Thus provided for,
Mr. Maynwaring became the firm and confidential
friend of the Duke and Duchess, and of Godolphin;
and his judicious advice was often resorted
to by his illustrious friends. In return for his
zeal and friendship, those by whom he was so
much valued, sought to turn him from a disgraceful
and unfortunate connexion, into which
Maynwaring’s literary and dramatic tastes had
involved him. This was a connexion with the
celebrated Mrs. Oldfield, to whom he became
attached when he was upwards of forty, and
whom he loved, says his biographer, “with a
passion that could not have been stronger, had it
been both his and her first love.” This gifted actress
owed much of her celebrity to the instructions of
Maynwaring, who wrote several epilogues and prologues
for her benefits, hearing her recite them
419in private. By his friends, Maynwaring was so
much blamed for his connexion, that Mrs. Oldfield
herself, frequently but ineffectually, represented
to him that it would be advantageous for
his interests to break it off; but for this disinterestedness
Maynwaring loved her the more.
He died very suddenly, from taking cold whilst
walking in the gardens of Holywell-house, in
1712. He divided his personal property, and an
estate which came from a long line of ancestry, between
Mrs. Oldfield and his sister. For this he
was greatly blamed by the “Examiner,” but
vindicated in a paper supposed to be written by
his friend Robert Walpole, afterwards the great
minister.
Maynwaring was a man of considerable attainments.
His style of writing was praised
even by the “Examiner;” his memory is preserved
by Steele’s dedication of the “Tatler”
to him. He was honoured by the entire confidence
of the Duchess of Marlborough, and he
accorded to her his warmest admiration of her
talents, and a partial appreciation of her motives.
And he proved himself to be, what she most
liked, a sincere friend, not an indiscriminate
panegyrist. He told her grace freely what he
thought; strove to moderate her resentments;
and, whilst he lived, contributed to maintain a
420good understanding between her and the Queen,
by seeking to mollify the hasty judgments of the
often irritated Mrs. Freeman.
Possessing an intimate knowledge of the dispositions
of all the actors in that busy scene,
Mr. Maynwaring, nevertheless, foresaw that the
reign of Queen Sarah, as it was called, would
not be of long duration. With the sincerity of a
true friend, he strove to warn her of this probable
issue of the “passion,” as he justly called it,
with which the Queen regarded her spoiled
friend.[352] He appreciated her Majesty justly,
when he hinted that she had not “a very extraordinary
understanding,” and that she would, in
all probability, eventually prefer the servant who
flattered and deceived her, to the one “who told
truth, and endeavoured to do good, and to serve
right.” Sometimes his sincerity displeased the
Duchess; and, according to the fashion of most
of her grace’s correspondents, we find him writing
to justify his “poor opinion,” which had, he
feared, been too hastily expressed. If he wrote
from the heart, Maynwaring was, nevertheless,
a true admirer of the Duchess’s good qualities.
He constantly expressed his conviction of the
openness and truth of her disposition. Of cunning,
or that part of craft which, says Maynwaring,
421“Mr. Hobbes very prettily calls crooked wisdom,”
he declares her to be entirely exempt.
And the advice which he was at times eager to
press upon her grace, to conceal her discontent,
and to return to court “with the best air that
she could,” proved that in this view of her character
Maynwaring was sincere.[353] He died at a
critical moment, and in him the Duchess lost one
of those assiduous and attached adherents, whom
it is sometimes the fate of impetuous, but generous
characters, to secure as personal friends.
Amongst her advisers and correspondents, Dr.
Hare, Bishop of Chichester, performed a grave
and conspicuous part. It was his office, seriously
though kindly, to admonish her grace; to point
out to her the inexpediency of indulging violent
passions, upon higher grounds than those defined
by her indulgent, and, in some cases, too lenient
husband, or by her partial friends Lord Godolphin
and Mr. Maynwaring. Yet Dr. Hare, if we may
believe the slanderous pen of one of the party
writers of the day, was not, in his conduct or
opinions, free from a degree of laxity which
bordered upon heterodoxy. Having been tutor
to the Marquis of Blandford, the deceased and
only son of the Duchess, he had acquired a peculiar
422interest in the regard of those chastened
and bereaved parents. By their aid, chiefly, he
had obtained, first, the appointment of chaplain-general
to the army, and afterwards the deanery
of Worcester and bishopric of Chichester. To
Dr. Hare’s conversation, the free and decided
opinions of the Duchess upon matters connected
with the church, and upon some religious subjects,
may, in all probability, be traced. Like
herself, the bishop was even accused of scepticism,
a charge so monstrous as not for an instant to be
entertained in either case. He held, however,
opinions of a very questionable nature; and in
a work which he published upon “The Difficulties
and Discouragements which attend the Study
of the Scriptures in the way of Private Judgment,”
his style appeared to the convocation so
irreverent and absurd, that he thought it best to
attempt to conceal his being the author. He
translated the Book of Psalms into the original
Hebrew metre, which he pretended to have
discovered; and employed much of his time in
the Bangorian controversy with Dr. Hoadly,
another intimate friend of the Duchess of Marlborough.
Upon the accession of George the
First, the bishop had the mortification of being
dismissed from his chaplaincy to that monarch,
423on account of his irregular and obnoxious opinions.[354]
That the Duchess should entertain peculiar
feelings towards this singular man, feelings
which led her to receive meekly from him
counsels which few others would have presumed
to offer, is not a matter of surprise. Those who
have lost a tenderly beloved child, know with
what an enduring regard even the lowest menials
who have shared our offices of affection, and
hours of affliction, are naturally considered;
how much more must the instructor who formed
the mind of a promising son, be endeared to the
parents from whom it had pleased the Creator to
summon away those early budding virtues, the
combination of mental and corporeal superiority!
The Duchess, it appears, was so much affected
upon her first interview with Dr. Hare, after the
death of her son, that he thought it necessary
to write an apology to her grace for his too early
intrusion into her presence.[355] Eventually the
Duchess appears to have derived considerable
comfort from the frequent correspondence of
Dr. Hare, who accompanied the Duke of Marlborough
in several of his campaigns.
424After the decease of his distinguished patron,
Dr. Hare performed an important and friendly
duty to the widowed Duchess. He gave her
sincere and disinterested counsels; and in so
doing evinced his gratitude to the memory of
one who loved, with all her faults, the irascible
and discontented woman whom he had left to
buffet with storms of her own creation. Not all her
possessions, nor her rank, nor the acknowledged
purity of her conduct in an immoral age, nor even
the influence of her husband’s great name, could
procure the Duchess mental repose, nor ensure
to her good-will. She lived, to imitate her own
military simile, in constant hostilities. Nor was
the garrison of her home faithful and friendly.
Mutinies broke out, conspiracies were hourly
framed against her dominion, and foreign auxiliaries
called in to quell her power and abate her
pride. Dr. Hare alone, of her surviving friends,
as far as her published correspondence enables
us to judge, found courage to point out to his
warlike friend, that the sources of these skirmishes
existed in her own “ill-grounded suspicions and
violent passions.” With what candour and
right-minded gratitude the Duchess received
these admonitions, has already been remarked.
Another friend, whom the Duchess of Marlborough
survived, was the amiable Doctor Garth,
425author of the “Dispensary,” and the intimate associate
and physician of the Duke. Garth
had the good fortune to retain his popularity
at court, and to be appointed the King’s physician,
when the Duke and Duchess were regarded
with coldness. Yet a signal compliment,
it was thought, was paid to this humane
and accomplished man, when George the First
knighted him with the Duke of Marlborough’s
sword. Dr. Garth was of decided Whig opinions,
as were most of the Duchess’s associates;
and he was of suspected scepticism, as were also
many of those in whom she placed confidence.
It was, however, so prevalent an imputation in
those days, that few eminent men escaped the
charge. It must also be allowed, that it was a
species of fashionable affectation, for affectation
it most probably was, to express, for the poor
credit of belonging to a certain philosophical
order, a degree of doubt concerning the great
truths upon which every hope of human nature
depends. Sir Samuel Garth was, says Pope, “a
good Christian without knowing himself to be
so.” It is to be regretted that he did not know
it, for he has bequeathed to the members of his
profession the imputation to which, at all events,
he thoughtlessly contributed, of being averse
to the religious belief of our church, as they are
426often obliged to be aliens to its observances.
This charge, notoriously unjust in the present
day, was not, however, fairly urged against Dr.
Garth, who died, according to the somewhat partial
evidence of Pope, in the communion of the
Roman Catholic church.
Whilst he afforded the relief of his art, and the
enjoyment of his conversation, to patients of the
higher classes, Dr. Garth was not, as the prosperous
are apt to be, unmindful of the lowly and
suffering. His character appears to have presented
a rare compound of bland and conciliating
manners with an independent spirit. His labours
at the College of Physicians were directed
to purposes of charity, which then engaged the
attention of that body. His literary talents were
applied to satirize the unworthy members of his
profession, and to elevate its character. He
was an uncommon instance of a man possessing
literary attainments and acquiring professional
eminence. In those days, and even so late
as the time of Darwin, the pursuit of the belles
lettres was not inimical to the extension of a
medical practice, and Garth’s celebrated satire on
a portion of his professional brethren introduced
him into all that a physician most prizes. Finally,
when the corpse of the illustrious Dryden
lay neglected and unburied, Dr. Garth brought
427the deserted remains to the College of Physicians,
raised a subscription to defray the expenses of the
funeral, and, following the body to Westminster
Abbey, had the office, peculiarly honourable to
him under such circumstances, of pronouncing
an oration over the grave in which the rescued
clay was deposited.
Such was the physician and friend of Marlborough.
It appears an endless task to enumerate
and to portray the numerous literary characters
who poured forth their tribute to the greatness
of the Duke, or who shared the favour of the
Duchess of Marlborough. Devoid as they both
were of any decided literary bias, they were
nevertheless, in various ways, so much connected
with some writers and wits of the day, that it
may not be deemed irrelevant to bring forward
a few of those who were thus distinguished.
The offensive lines written by Pope upon the
character of the Duchess, as Atossa, could not
have been the production of a friend. That the
Duchess, in her intercourse with the great and
gay, encountered frequently the master-spirit of
the day, whose religious and political prepossessions
led him to write her attributes in characters
of gall, cannot be doubted. Pope, however,
was not, it appears, one of her correspondents;
and subsequently, in her intimacy with
428Lady Mary Wortley Montague, the Duchess
cherished his bitterest enemy. That gifted woman,
indeed, found in the Duchess a kindred
spirit. The collision of such minds must have
been remarkable. Lady Mary was yet in her
prime, when the Duchess, morose, and a cripple,
delighted to visit her, and to entertain her brilliant
friend, and be in turn entertained. The
great world, its hollowness, and its consequent
disappointments, were sufficiently unveiled to both,
to render the confidence of social life comparatively
delightful. Yet both still loved the
world too well; both were essentially worldly in
their natures. The one turned her calculating
mind to power; the other to admiration. The
career of their youth, brilliant in each, was in
each succeeded by a joyless, an unloved, almost a
despised old age.
It was the pleasure of the Duchess, in her
later days, to receive, without ceremony, Lady
Mary and her daughter Lady Bute, who frequently
sat by her Grace while she dined, or
went through the process of casting up her accounts.
Both Lady Mary and her daughter were
especial favourites, and enjoyed, accordingly, the
rare fortune of never quarrelling with her grace.
To them she unfolded the events of her long and
harassing life; to them she communicated, with
429tears, the anecdote, so often quoted, of her cutting
off the fair and luxuriant hair of which she was
even, at that age, proud, to provoke her stoical
husband, when he had one day offended her.
The mode in which the provocation was offered,
and was received, was characteristic of both
parties. The Duchess placed the tresses which
the Duke had prized in an antechamber, through
which he must often necessarily pass, in order
that they might attract his view. The Duke
showed no symptoms of observation and vexation,
appeared as calm as was his wont, and the
Duchess thought that her scheme had failed: she
sought her ringlets, but they had disappeared.
Years afterwards, she discovered them in a cabinet
belonging to the Duke, after his death, amongst
other articles which she knew he prized the most of
all his precious collections. And at this point of
her story, the Duchess, as well she might, melted
into tears.[356] The noble, kind heart which had
been devoted to her was cold in the grave, and
those of her family who remained, were worse
than indifferent to her joys or her woes.
The Duchess’s early admirer, Colley Cibber,
must not be omitted in the list of those who have
contributed to exalt her fame. Cibber, as we
have seen, wrote with enthusiasm of her personal
430charms, which with equal liberality he alleged to
have outlived the days of her youth. And not
only from the custom, at that time fashionable, of
admitting actors and actresses, even of doubtful
character, into the society of the great, but in the
practice of his profession as a player, Cibber must
have had frequent opportunities of marking the
gradual ripening to perfection, and the less gradual
process of decay of those charms which riveted
his faculties. The company of comedians to
whom Cibber belonged were called the King’s
servants, and styled gentlemen of the great
chamber. They wore a livery of scarlet and gold,
and were made the peculiar concern of the court,
the King frequently interfering in their concerns
and management. This company performed at
Drury Lane, except when by royal command it
was transported to Hampton Court, or to Windsor,
to entertain the assembled court.[357] On such occasions,
the Duchess must frequently have encountered
the sculptor’s son, who, elated with a commission
in a regiment of horse, had had, when first
they met, indulged brighter day-dreams than his
future existence realised. The stage, nevertheless,
was at that time at its height of prosperity: all
classes contributed to honour and support its ornaments.
The original Lady Townly and Lady Betty
431Modish, the beautiful but the frail Mrs. Oldfield,
is said to have acquired her inimitable art of representing
the manners of aristocratic females, from
the number of high-born ladies whom she visited,
whilst yet under the acknowledged protection of General
Churchill, and, afterwards, of Arthur Maynwaryng.
Bolingbroke, with all his Jacobite notions,
thought himself not degraded by an intimate
friendship with Booth. The spirit of the age was
dramatic, as Steele’s “extravagant pleasantry”
exemplifies. Being asked, by a nobleman, after the
representation of Henry the Eighth, at Hampton
Court, how the King, George the First, liked
the play, “In truth,” answered the accomplished
manager, “so terribly well, my lord, that I was
afraid I should have lost all my actors; for I was
not sure the King would not keep them to fill the
posts at court, that he saw them so fit for in the
play.”[358]
Cibber, nevertheless, was, in the commencement
of his career, after he had exchanged the show
and uniform of the cavalry for the sock and
buskin, not only contented, but delighted, with a
salary of ten shillings a week. It is well known,
also, that he kept back his play of the “Careless
Husband,” in despair of not being able to find an
actress to personate, as in those critical days it
432would be necessary to personate, the woman of
fashion, that Lady Betty Modish whom Mrs.
Oldfield improved afterwards to perfection, by
the society and connexions of her accomplished
and high-born admirers. She is acknowledged,
indeed, by Cibber, to have been the prototype of
that lively being of the dramatist’s fancy; “the
agreeably gay woman of quality, a little too conscious
of her natural attractions;” or, in less
courtly language, a well-bred coquet.[359]
Originally of the same profession that Cibber
had adopted when he waited upon the Duchess of
Marlborough at Derby, Sir Richard Steele, afterwards
appointed to be the head of the royal company
of comedians, deserves to be noticed, from his
projected connexion with the fame of the Marlborough
family. For Steele, in his paper called
“The Reader,” has left an account of his intention
to write a life of the Duke of Marlborough,
confining himself to the Duke’s military career:
433a project which, unhappily, was never executed,
but the materials for which were, according to
Steele’s assertion, in his possession.
The conduct and the conscience of Steele were
incessantly at variance. His natural disposition
was amiable, but so incautious, that his famous
parallel between Addison and himself must be
admired equally for its candour and its truth.
“The one,” says Steele, speaking of his friend,
“with patience, foresight, and temperate address,
always waited and stemmed the torrent; while
the other often plunged himself into it, and was
as often taken out by the temper of him who stood
weeping on the bank for his safety, whom he
could not dissuade from leaping into it.” This
beautiful description of true friendship is indeed
characteristic of him who found it inconvenient
to have written the “Christian Hero,” from the
comparisons between his practice and his precepts
which were incessantly drawn by his associates.
Steele had all the brilliancy, and many
of the failings, of his gifted countrymen. That
his mind was never debased by the irregular pursuits
and dissolute society to which he gave his
time, is apparent from the beautiful sentiments
which pervade that exquisite comedy, the “Conscious
Lovers,” one of the most elegant delineations
of that species of love which borders on
434romance, in the range of our dramatic literature.
Those who remember the most pathetic and elevated
strain of reflection which is displayed in a
certain paper of the Spectator, in which this feeling
writer describes his introduction suddenly into
the apartment of a dying friend, must allow
Steele to have possessed infinite power over the
passions of the human heart. Devoted to the
House of Hanover, reviled by Swift, and expelled
from the House of Commons for his paper, the
Englishman, in which he advocated principles
congenial to those of the Duchess of Marlborough,
Steele was doubtless an approved acquaintance,
though perhaps not on the footing of an intimate
friend.
A strange contrast to the preceding characters
whose peculiarities have been faintly touched, was
the celebrated William Penn, who appears among
the list of the Duke of Marlborough’s correspondents;
and, if slight expressions may be trusted,
was among the number of the Duchess’s privileged
acquaintance. Penn, in a letter to the great general,
whom he addresses as “my noble friend,”
in 1703, speaks of sending a letter under “my
Lady Duchess’s cover,” and mentions the Lord
Treasurer Godolphin, whose correct judgment
he commends in the incidental manner of one,
intimate with the circle to which he refers.
435This singular and high-minded personage,
whom Burnet severely calls “a vain, talking man,”
came into constant collision with the
Duke and Duchess at the court of James the Second,
where, in spite of his refusal to uncover
in the King’s presence, he was received with
distinction. Penn was perhaps not the less acceptable
to the Duchess from his non-conformist
principles. His fearlessness, and the persecutions
which, for conscience sake, he sustained in
the early part of his life, perhaps redeemed, in her
eyes, the visionary nature of his religious impressions,
the absurdity, to her strong mind, of his
secret communications from God, and the suddenness
of his conversion. At all events, the
sterling character of Penn, and his contempt of
worldly advantages, must have formed an agreeable
variety among her numerous, and dissimilar
associates.
CHAPTER XVII.
436
The different places of residence which belonged to the
Duchess—Holywell-house, Wimbledon, Blenheim—Account
of the old mansion of Woodstock—Its projected
destruction—Efforts of Sir John Vanburgh to save it—Attack
upon the Duchess, relative to Blenheim, in the
Examiner.
Having given a short sketch of those associates in
whose conversation the Duchess delighted, or on
whose aid, public or private, she depended, it remains
now to describe those stately abodes where
she lived in sober grandeur, but the splendour
of which could not procure her peace of mind,
nor ensure her even the attentions due to her
rank and years.
The earliest, and perhaps the favourite residence
of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, was
Holywell, the spot where she first saw the light,
and the scene with which her youthful associations
were connected. The site of the house in which
Richard Jennings of Holywell, as he is designated,
437resided, when his daughter Sarah was
born, has already been described. The dwelling
was, in modern days, inhabited by Dr. Predy,
rector of St. Alban’s Abbey, but now, like some
other traces of its celebrated inmate, it is levelled
to the ground.[360]
Near the tenement, comparatively humble,
in which the Duchess was born, the Duke
of Marlborough built a mansion of many
rooms, and of handsome external appearance.
Its extensive gardens, laid out in the old-fashioned
style, are well remembered by the inhabitants
of St. Albans; and Holywell was endeared
to them, not only by revered associations
with the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, but
by more recent recollections connected with a
respected descendant by marriage of the Spencer
family, who long dwelt at Holywell. Travellers
who passed near the pile which John Duke of
Marlborough erected, regarded that early abode
with interest. Of infinitely less elegance than
Wimbledon is reputed to have been, of far less
splendour than Blenheim, it presented the true
features of a respectable and substantial English
mansion; it bore the aspect of comfort; it appeared
438like an emblem of the Duke’s early prosperity—a
sort of stepping-stone to Wimbledon
and Blenheim. Perhaps, had he rested there,
his lot in life might have been more peaceful,
though less distinguished.[361]
At all events, Holywell was a spot replete with
interest, and the boast of St. Albans, for there the
Duke of Marlborough lived as a private gentleman;
sufficiently near to the town for its inhabitants
to claim his grace as a neighbour, yet
distant enough for dignity, and, if desirable, even
for seclusion.
That the Duke and Duchess felt no small pride
and pleasure in St. Albans is evident; and probably
at one period of their lives, the height of
their ambition, as far as residence was concerned,
was to build a house at the place where
their humble fortunes could be progressively
439traced. A spacious and costly pew in the
Abbey, adorned with beautiful carving, still
attracts admiration on entering that venerable
edifice.
These remarks might induce the traveller through
St. Albans to search with some interest for Holywell-house.
Unfortunately it exists no longer.
Several years ago it passed from the Spencer
family into other hands; and although the
house was not in a dilapidated state, and appeared
to be a fitting residence for a gentleman
of a good establishment; although even higher
considerations might have had some weight with
the parties concerned; who must, one would
suppose, have deeply regretted the expediency
of destroying the old place; yet it was destroyed.
The work of devastation terminated with
a sale; and the materials were disposed of by
auction.[362]
The House at Wimbledon, in which the
Duchess lived, has also perished, though from a
different cause. The manor of Wimbledon is of
440considerable celebrity. Sir Thomas Cecil purchased
it from Sir Christopher Hatton, whilst
he was in possession under the grant from Queen
Elizabeth, and in 1588 rebuilt it in a most magnificent
manner.
In 1599, Queen Elizabeth is said to have visited
the Lord Burghley here, and to have staid three
days; after which she proceeded to Nonsuch.[363]
In 1628, the house received considerable
damage by the blowing up of some gunpowder.
It was afterwards repaired and beautified.
The outside was painted in fresco by Francis
Cleyne. Fuller calls Wimbledon-house “a daring
structure,” and says that by some it has been
thought to equal Nonsuch, if not to exceed that
far famed royal residence.[364]
The estate was afterwards purchased for Henrietta
Maria, Queen of Charles the First, and
here the King and she sometimes resided. “The
mansion at Wimbledon,” says Mr. Lysons, in
his work on the Environs of London, “is mentioned
among the houses as belonging to the
441crown, in the inventory of the jewels and pictures
of King Charles the First. It is remarkable that
that monarch was so little aware of the fate preparing
for him by his enemies, that, a few days
before he was brought to trial, he ordered the seeds
of some melons to be planted in his garden at Wimbledon.
It was afterwards sold to Baynes, and by
him probably to Lambert, the parliament’s general.
When he had been discarded by Cromwell,
he retired to this house, and turned florist, having
the finest tulips and gillyflowers that could be
got for love or money. He also excelled in
painting flowers, some specimens of which remained
for many years at this house.”
A fate seems to hang over certain estates and
houses. The Restoration gave back Wimbledon
to Queen Henrietta, who sold the house to Lord
Bristol, and he to the Marquis of Carmarthen,
whose trustees sold it to Sir Theodore Janseen.
Sir Theodore, for what reason does not appear,
pulled down the magnificent house in which
Charles and his Queen had resided, and began to
build a new one, probably on a smaller scale than
the old building. The South Sea business involving
Sir Theodore in the general ruin, the
estate was purchased by the Duchess of Marlborough.
She, in her turn, destroyed what Sir
Theodore had built, and erected a new house on
442the north side of the knoll on which the present
house stands, after a design of the Earl of Burlington.[365]
This fabric was not doomed long to stand, for
the Duchess, not approving of the situation, desired
his lordship to give her a design for a
house on the south side; and having obtained
a plan, she pulled down her partly-erected
house, and constructed another. But this mansion
was destined to destruction also; it was bequeathed
by her to John Spencer, Esq., from
whom it came to his son, Earl Spencer, in whose
time, and on Easter Monday, 1785, it was almost
entirely burnt down by accident. The ruins
were cleared away, and the grounds levelled and
turfed, so that scarcely a trace even of the foundation
was left. Such was the fate of this abode
of the Duchess, which, in her later days, she
preferred to all others. The present house was
built in 1798. It stands in a park seven miles
in compass, containing about twelve hundred
acres, (laid out by Browne,) which affords a beautiful
home prospect, with a fine piece of water
towards the north, and an extensive view over
Surrey and Kent to the south.
The Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, could
443they have foreseen these occurrences, might have
been excused if superstitious fears had assailed
them, when on the eve of devoting a portion of
their wealth to some new structure. The desire
of Marlborough, so feelingly expressed, that
he might live at Blenheim in peace, was
not to be gratified. The progress of that structure
was attended by difficulties and vexations
truly inimical to quiet; and various accounts
have been given of the cause and details of those
wearying disputes and disappointments which
embittered Marlborough’s associations with Blenheim.
Upon the proposal of Queen Anne, and the
vote of Parliament, it had been determined, in
1704, that the British nation should build the
Duke of Marlborough a structure suitable to the
residence of their great and wealthy general, and
emblematic of national gratitude and of royal
munificence. Half a million was voted for the
building, and on the eighteenth of June, 1705,
the first stone of the Castle, as it was called, was
laid.[366]
444Notwithstanding the vote of parliament, the
Duke of Marlborough, considering, as he well
might, the uncertainty of public favour, and the
slender nature of that cobweb entitled public
honour, deemed it prudent never to issue any
orders for the building except through the Treasury.[367]
There is a manuscript letter of his extant,
which expressly enforces this caution. The
architect selected for the great work was Sir
John Vanburgh, probably appointed from interest,
when we reflect that Sir Christopher
Wren was in all his strength and fame, and
actually made a plan of one side of the building,
of which Lord Godolphin approved much more
445highly than of anything that was subsequently
done by Vanburgh; adding to his commendations,
that he was sure nothing that was designed by
Vanburgh or Hawkesmoor would please him so
well. Wren was afterwards employed in the
construction of Marlborough-house.
No sooner was the work commenced, than we
find, by the manuscript letters, that the Duchess
took a considerable share in the management of
the works, combating stoutly against the extravagances
and impositions of Sir John Vanburgh
in detail, though she was wholly unable to check
the gross amount of his charges.
On a contract for lime to build Blenheim,
made, in 1705, between the Duke and Vanburgh,
the Duchess wrote these characteristic words:
“Is not that, sevenpence-halfpenny per bushel, a
very high price, when they had the advantage of
making it in the park? besides, in many things
of that nature, false measure had been proved.”[368]
It is no wonder that Sir John Vanburgh, very
soon afterwards, began to call the Duchess very
“stupid and troublesome,” and ended by venting
upon her grace the coarsest terms of abuse
that anger, unmitigated by good breeding, could
devise.
In 1709, the works at Blenheim had progressed
446so far as to enable Vanburgh to flatter
the Duke with a hope that the house would be
ready for his grace’s reception soon after his return
from the continent, where Marlborough
then was. In the same letter in which this intimation
was given, a minute detail of all the
offices was also set forth; so that notwithstanding
the difficulty of procuring stone, of which Vanburgh
complained, and other hindrances, there
seemed to be every prospect of a favourable termination
to the long-deferred hopes of the noble
owners of Blenheim.[369]
And now a question arose, in which, without
any partiality to Sir John Vanburgh’s conduct,
we must acknowledge that his taste and judgment
were conspicuously displayed, and that to
him we owe an effort (fruitless, unfortunately,) to
preserve and restore one of those remains, truly
of English character, which are so fondly prized
by all British hearts.
The manor-house, or ancient palace of Woodstock,
was, in 1709, before the ravages of improvement,
and the chimeras of the landscape
gardener, attacked and laid it low, still standing
in tolerable repair. It appears, from an old
print,[370] to have been a picturesque building, with
447a quadrangular court, and towers at each corner.
It occupied a slightly elevated spot near the river
Glyme, then a narrow stream, at a short distance
from the grand bridge now thrown across the
lake. The situation was extremely beautiful, for
art had not then lowered the rugged hill, of
which Vanburgh in his letters complains. Rich
coverlets of wood concealed the old house, whilst
in front flowed the gentle stream on whose banks
Chaucer wandered. The manor was not only distinguished
as the scene of several parliaments
which were held there, but had still more romantic
claims to respect and preservation. It was within
its precincts that a bower, or retired dwelling,
was erected by Henry the Second for his Rosamond,
in whose gentle name, seclusion, and misfortunes,
we are apt to forget her error, and the
cause of her fate. The fabled labyrinth is said to
have derived its origin from being confounded with
the structure of the palace gardens, which were
formed of the Topiary work—twisted alleys resembling
a maze. A gate-house in front of the
palace gave dignity to the whole tenement, and
enclosed at one time Elizabeth of England, the
captive inmate of the manor, from a window of
which she is said to have viewed with envy a
milkmaid, and to have written on a shutter,
with some charcoal, those beautiful lines expressive
448of her wishful desire for freedom, which are
extant.
These legends are familiar to us all; yet it is
impossible, in describing the fate and fall of the
manor, to revert to them without regret. Such
associations, combined with the recollection of
Chaucer, who resided in an old house at Woodstock,
and who, in his “Dream,” has described
the Bower, must be called up with pleasurable
though melancholy sensations. In later days,
the manor formed an abiding place for those
daring Roundheads, whose concealments, and
the stratagems of which they made use to maintain
their privacy, have been woven into a tale
of such powerful interest, that it requires few
other arguments to enhance regret for the old
manor, than that it has been a subject for the
pen of Walter Scott.
In 1709, the manor became the subject of
correspondence between the Duchess of Marlborough
and Vanburgh. The Duchess had, it seems,
repeatedly visited Blenheim in company with Lord
Godolphin, who represents her as “extremely
prying,” and not only detecting many errors
in that part of the building of the Castle which
was finished in 1706, but as well mending such as
could be rectified without waiting for the Duke’s
opinion. “I am apt to think,” adds the Lord
449Treasurer, “that she has made Mr. Vanburgh a
little +,[371] but you will find both pleasure and
comfort from it.”[372]
It is worthy of remark, however, that the
friendly Lord Treasurer dwells much upon the
forward state of the garden and the grounds, but
passes no opinion upon the building.
When the subject of taking down or leaving
the old manor came to be debated, Sir John
Vanburgh temperately, and to his credit, explained
his reasons for wishing to retain so beautiful
an object within view of Blenheim. The
arguments which he advanced were excellent
and such as would readily present themselves to
any intelligent mind. But he addressed himself
to one who had far more pleasure in adding up
a sum of compound addition in her own curious,
but infallible way, than in gazing upon any
beautiful ruins. To her the recollection of fair
Rosamond was a vain fancy; the notion of Sir
John’s keeping the old manor in preservation, a
whim; and besides, there was a yet more cogent
reason for sacrificing, than for preserving the ruins.
Already had an attempt made by Vanburgh, to convert
the manor into an habitation, caused an expenditure,
according to the Duchess, of three thousand
450pounds; from the acknowledgment of Vanburgh,
eleven hundred pounds; and the shrewd Sarah
began to suspect, when the architect became
anxious upon the subject, that he designed the
manor as an habitation for himself, and had
some sinister motive for the perseverance which
he showed on the subject. After many discussions,
in the course of which Godolphin, on being
applied to for his opinion, said “that he might as
well hesitate about removing a wen from his face,
as delay taking down so unsightly an object from
the brow of the hill,” the old manor was demolished;
and the work of devastation was finished
with the chapel, which Vanburgh made one final
struggle to save, but which was condemned.[373]
Several curious relics were found when the ground
was levelled, for the hill behind it was of a rugged,
intractable shape, as Vanburgh described it.
Amongst other things, a ring, with the words inscribed
on it, “Remember the Covenant,” was
given by the masons to Lady Diana Spencer.
The main work at Blenheim proceeded very
slowly. In 1710, it was very abruptly, and as Vanburgh
thought, very unceremoniously, stopped by
the Duchess, who sent directions to the workmen
that the orders of the architect were to be wholly
451disregarded. The Duchess’s disgrace at court
had possibly, however, some share in this unexpected
proceeding. During that year Vanburgh’s
estimate of the expenses of the house was,
that they would not exceed two hundred and
fifty thousand pounds. In October, 1710, he
had received two hundred thousand pounds from
the Treasury. Letters between him and the
Duchess, the one remonstrating, the other justifying
the enormous sums which were laid out,
are to be found in the Manuscript Correspondence.
By a warrant from Godolphin, Sir John Vanburgh
was authorised to make contracts, &c., and to
lay them before the Lord Treasurer.[374] Every
expectation might reasonably be formed, that the
government would complete the building at its
own cost. In October and November, 1710, it
appears that Vanburgh received, in addition to
the assistance of eight thousand pounds, the sum
of one thousand pounds weekly to pay the workmen.[375]
In 1712, the building expenses were
put a stop to by the Queen, who alleged, among
other reasons, the puerile excuse that the Duchess
of Marlborough having taken away slabs and
locks from her rooms at St. James’s, she would
not build her a house. The fact was, the Queen,
as well as the Duke’s enemies, were startled at
452the immense sums which had been spent,
without the interminable structure being nearly
completed.
In 1714, a statement being sent in by Sir John
Vanburgh, two hundred and twenty thousand
pounds were found to have been received from
the Treasury, and the debts due by the crown for
the building amounted to sixty thousand pounds.[376]
After this crisis in the affairs of Blenheim, the
Duke of Marlborough took the completion of the
work into his own hands, and desired that an
estimate of the expense might be given by Vanburgh.
At this time even the shell of the building
could not, it was calculated, be completed
without many thousand pounds more. It was
also necessary to get an act of parliament passed,
devolving the responsibility of the debts already
incurred, on the crown; a measure which was,
happily for the Duke and his heirs, carried in the
first year of George the First. Affairs now
seemed to be placed on a safe footing; but Blenheim
was never, at that period, likely to be
finished for Marlborough to inhabit. “Besides,”
adds the Duchess, writing to her friend Mrs.
Clayton, “all without doors, where there is nothing
done, is a chaos that turns one’s brains
453but to think of it; and it will cost an immense
sum to complete the causeway, and that ridiculous
bridge in which I counted thirty-three
rooms. Four houses are to be at each corner of
the bridge; but that which makes it so much
prettier than London Bridge is, that you may sit
in six rooms, and look out at window into the
high arch, while the coaches are driving over
your head.”[377]
The Duchess, as it may be perceived by this
satirical description, was not very well pleased
with Vanburgh. In fact, upon a previous examination
of the accounts, many charges grossly
extravagant were detected; as well as abundant
errors of design.
In the course of the fabrication of the palace,
nervous fears seem to have assailed the Duke and
Duchess, concerning the immense income requisite
to maintain an establishment in such an overgrown
palace. It is amusing to find Sir John Vanburgh
thus consoling the Duchess by his parallel of
Castle Howard, respecting the size of which the
noble owners had had the same fears. After discussing
some other matters, he writes, in 1713,
thus:—[378]
“He (Lord Carlisle) likewise finds that all
his rooms, with moderate fires, are ovens, and
454that this great house does not require above one
pound of wax and two of tallow candles a night
to light it more than his house at London did;
nor, in short, is he at any expense more whatsoever
than he was in the remnant of an old house;
but three housemaids and one man to keep the
whole house and offices in perfect cleanliness,
which is done to such a degree, that the kitchen,
and all the offices and passages under the principal
floor, are as dry as the drawing-room; and
yet there is a great deal of company, and very
good housekeeping. So that, upon the whole,
(except the keeping of the new gardens,) the expense
of living in this great fine house does not
amount to above a hundred pounds a year more
than was spent in the old one.
“If you think the knowledge of this may be
of any satisfaction to my Lady Marlborough,
pray tell her what you hear; and (if you think it
proper) as from yourself, I could wish you to
say what you know to be true, that whether I
am quite convinced or not of my having been so
much in the wrong in my behaviour to her as
she is pleased to think me, yet, while she does
think me so, I can’t but set the greatest value
upon her generosity in urging my Lord Marlborough
in my favour. I must own to you, at
the same time, that her notion, that I had not
455done what I did, but upon her declining at
court, has been no small inducement to me to
expose myself so frankly as I have done in my
Lord Duke’s and her particular cause; for
though I could have borne she should have
thought me a brute, I could not endure she
should think me a rascal.”
At his decease, the Duke left, as has been stated,
“ten thousand pounds a year” to the Duchess,
according to Sir John Vanburgh, “to spoil Blenheim
her own way; and twelve thousand pounds a
year to keep herself clean and go to law.” Be that
as it may, the Duchess had the credit and satisfaction
of completing the palace, which was nothing
like an habitation in Marlborough’s time, at the
cost of half the sum which had been entrusted
to her out of his estates for the purpose. The
triumphal arch, and the column on which the
statue of Marlborough stands, were erected at
her own expense. The united sums paid by
government, and by the Duke and his widow,
are computed to amount to three hundred thousand
pounds.[379]
Of the enjoyment of law, the Duchess had indeed
abundant opportunities. In 1721, she and
the Duke’s executors were sued by Edward
456Strong, sen. and jun., for debts incurred on
Blenheim, but were defended so successfully that
they came off triumphant. It was on an occasion
of this nature, either in this suit, or in the action
brought against her by her grandson, that she
sat in court during the trial, and was so much
delighted with the address of Mr. Murray, afterwards
Lord Mansfield, who was her counsel, that
she presented him, immediately after the termination
of the trial, with a fine sword, as a perpetual
retainer in her favour.[380]
The feuds which had commenced between the
Duchess and Vanburgh never subsided. Some
years after all communication between them had
ceased, it was the wish of the architect to visit
Blenheim, which his patroness, Lady Carlisle,
and some of her family, were desirous to inspect.
Sir John stayed two nights at Blenheim, but
there was an order issued to the servants, under
the Duchess’s own hand, not to let him enter
the castle, and lest that should not mortify him
sufficiently, having heard that his wife was to be
one of the party, she sent an express the night
before they came to Woodstock, with orders that
if Lady Vanburgh came to Blenheim, the servants
457should not suffer her to see the house and
gardens. The enraged architect and his lady
were therefore obliged to remain at the inn
whilst the Castle Howard ladies viewed the
building.[381]
Such petty revenge augured a miserable old
age; but the Duchess gloried in the storm. With
all her immense revenue, computed to be about
forty thousand pounds a year, she continued to
wrangle about the building debts of Blenheim,
and obtained an injunction against Sir John
Vanburgh in Chancery, on the score of a sum
which she could much better afford to lose than
the poor artificers, or even the architect, whom
she refused to pay, alleging that they were employed
by government, and not by the Duke of
Marlborough. Upon this, Vanburgh produced
Godolphin’s warrant, and for once his interests
and those of the Duchess coincided. Long and
curious details of this cause are to be found in the
Coxe manuscripts; but, however agitating and
anxious the subject may have been to the Duchess
and to her enemy, the litigation to which they
were obliged to have recourse has lost its interest
in modern eyes.
458There is, however, no doubt but that Vanburgh
was justly accused by the Duchess of extravagance
in many instances, and of exceeding his
commission in others. She even taxed him with
building one entire court at Blenheim without
the Duke’s knowledge. She detected his bad
taste and grasping spirit, and despised his mismanagement,—of
which latter the best proof was,
that when, upon the death of the Duke, the whole
charge of the building fell into her hands, she
completed it in the manner, and at the reduced
expense, which has been described.
That “wicked woman of Marlborough,” as
Sir John Vanburgh termed the Duchess, had perhaps
no greater error in his eyes than the penetration
with which she discovered his narrow pretensions,
his inadequacy, and wanton waste, not
to say peculation.
It may not be deemed impertinent to sum up
the foregoing account of all the perplexities and
errors which attended the building of Blenheim,
by an extract from the Duchess’s opinions of the
whole affair, written many years after the virulence
of her animosity may be reasonably supposed
to have ceased.
Regarding the attack upon herself in the Examiner,
which gave an account of the sums which
459had been exhausted on Blenheim, the Duchess
observes:
“Upon the subject of Blenheim, which every
friend I have knows I was always against building
at such expense, and as long as I meddled
with it at all, I took as much pains to lessen the
charge every way, as if it had been to be paid for
out of the fortune that was to provide for my own
children; for I always thought it too great a sum
even for the Queen to pay, and nothing made it
tolerably easy to me but my knowing that as she
never did a generous thing of herself, if that expense
had not been recommended by the parliament,
and paid out of the civil list, she would
have done nothing with the money that was
better. But I never liked any building so much
for the show and vanity of it, as for its usefulness
and convenience, and therefore I was always
against the whole design of it, as too big and unwieldy;
whether I considered the pleasure of
living in it, or the good of my family that were to
enjoy it hereafter; besides that the greatness of
the work made it longer in finishing, and consequently
would hinder Lord Marlborough from
enjoying it when it was reasonable to lose no
time; and I made Mr. Vanburgh my enemy by
the constant disputes I had with him to prevent
his extravagance, which I did effectually in many
460instances, notwithstanding all the follies and
waste which, in spite of all that could be said, he
has certainly committed.”[382]
CHAPTER XVIII.
461
Old age and decline of the Duchess—Her incessant wrangling
with Sir Robert Walpole—Her occupations—The
compilation of her Memoirs.
It is now necessary to touch upon the closing
scene of the Duchess’s long and eventful life.
Let it not be supposed that it passed in a calm
retirement from the turmoils of the world, or in
the agitating though small sphere of domestic faction.
She was a politician to the last; but the
gales which had in early life driven her along, now
blew from a different direction. She despised
and reviled the Whig administration of Sir Robert
Walpole, with as much inveteracy as she had formerly
manifested towards Lord Rochester and
Lord Oxford. She considered the mode of
managing public affairs to be disgraceful to her
country.[383] She professed to deem it a sacred duty
462to use every exertion to defeat the measures of
the minister, Walpole; and perhaps that profligate
minister had, in the three kingdoms, no
enemy more potent, as far as the influence of
property was concerned, and certainly not one
more determined, than Sarah Duchess of Marlborough.
It was in vain that the minister attempted to
conciliate her by proffered honours. Few of the
favours which he had to confer came up to her
ideas of what her family and her influence
merited. Sir Robert had revived the order of the
Bath, a measure described by his son as an “artful
bank of thirty-six ribbons to supply a fund of
favours in lieu of places.” “He meant too,”
adds the lively historian, “to stave off the demands
for garters, and intended that the red
should be a step for the blue, and accordingly took
one of the former himself.” He offered the new
order to the Duchess for her grandson, the Duke,
and for the Duke of Bedford, who had married
one of her granddaughters. The answer he received
was a haughty intimation that her grandson
should take nothing but the garter. “Madam,”
answered Sir Robert, “they who take the
Bath will sooner have the Garter.” He proved
the sincerity of this assurance, by taking the
463garter himself in the year following, with the
Duke of Richmond, who, like himself, had been
previously installed knight of the Bath.[384]
On the accession of George the Second, the
hated ascendency of Walpole, greatly to the wrath
of the Duchess, gained fresh strength. The King
doubtless preferred another man, but the Queen’s
influence was all-powerful; she had long desired
Sir Robert, whose stability in power was, in
this instance, based upon his knowledge of mankind,
and who proffered to her Majesty that
respectful devotion which the rest of the world
assigned to the mistress, not to the wife of George
the Second. The Queen repaid this proof of
discernment by a preference which ceased only
with the existence of the minister. Before the
real choice of the King had become public, and
when it was still supposed that Sir Spencer
Compton was to be premier, the King and Queen
received the nobility at their temporary abode at
Leicester-house. Lady Walpole, as her son relates,
could not make her way between the scornful
backs and elbows of her late devotees, nor approach
nearer to the Queen than the third or
fourth row. But no sooner did the gracious
Caroline perceive her, than she exclaimed, “There,
464I am sure, I see a friend.” The crowd fell back,
and, “as I came away,” said her ladyship, “I
might have walked over their heads.”[385]
This predilection would, independent of her
injuries, be sufficient to account for the Duchess’s
aversion to the very Princess whom, some years
before, she had extolled as a model of excellence.
The Queen, it might have been thought, would
have possessed a hold over her good opinion, from
the very nature of her education, which she received
from the careful and judicious hands of the
electress Sophia, the “nursing mother” of the
Hanoverian interests. But nothing could mitigate
the aversion and contempt of the Duchess
towards the new school of Whiggism, which, to
her penetrating view, but little resembled the
disinterested spirit of Godolphin, or the unflinching
adherence of her son-in-law Sunderland to
what he termed patriotism. That word had now
gone quite out of fashion, and it consisted with
Sir Robert Walpole’s notions of perfect good-breeding,
upon which it was his weakness to
pique himself, to laugh generally at those high-minded
sentiments which the Duchess, to her
credit, ever professed, and the absence of which,
however often they might be violated in the
465frailty of human nature, could not be compensated
by the “pompous pleasantry”[386] with which
Walpole satirised all that is good and great.
The Duchess has left on record the workings
of her powerful mind. With an intellect unenfeebled
by age, whilst she described herself, in
1737, as a perfect cripple, who had very little enjoyment
of life, and could not hold out long, she
gave ample proof that her reasoning faculties were
unimpaired, her discernment as acute as it had
ever been; and that wonderful power, the result
of both qualities, of seeing into the events of futurity
as far as the concerns of this world are involved,
had in her arrived at a degree of perfection
which can scarcely be too much admired.
It was her practice to write down her impressions
and recollections of the various circumstances
in which she had been engaged, and to
entrust them to such friends as were likely to be
interested in those details. Many of these productions
she put into the hands of Bishop Burnet.
Her character of Queen Anne; her able
account of Sacheverell, written with impartiality
and clearness; her character of Lord Halifax, of the
Duke of Shrewsbury, Lord Somers, Lord Cowper,
Swift and Prior, and others, have been preserved
466among her papers, and were composed expressly
for her friends.[387] It was during the Duchess’s
residence abroad that she is supposed by Dr.
Coxe to have written her long letter in vindication
of her general conduct to Mr. Hutchinson;
from which unpublished document many facts in
this work have been taken. But in 1788, a
little book, called “Opinions of the Duchess of
Marlborough,” collected from her private papers,
was printed, but not published, with a preface,
and notes by an anonymous editor, known to
be Sir John Dalrymple, afterwards Lord Hailes.
These memoranda, for they scarcely deserve a
more imposing name, were commenced in the
year 1736, and terminated in 1741. They are
undoubtedly genuine, and are written with a
spirit and fearlessness which plainly speak their
source.[388] The learned antiquary and eminent
historian who collected and honoured them with
a preface, was not an admirer of the high-spirited
lady, upon whose political conduct he has commented
unsparingly in his memorials of Great
Britain. Yet he could scarcely have done more
to place the Duchess on a footing with the many
other female writers who have added to the stores
of British literature, than in preserving, as the
467shadow of his name must preserve, these specimens
of the occupations of her solitary hours.
The aversion of the Duchess to Sir Robert
Walpole appears to have been the ruling passion
of her mind. “I think,” she writes, “’tis
thought wrong to wish anybody dead, but I hope
’tis none to wish he may be hanged, for having
brought to ruin so great a country as this.” Yet
she declares herself still partial to the Whig principles,
observing, nevertheless, that both parties
were much in fault; and the majority in both
factions she calls by no milder term than
“knaves,” ready to join with each party for the
sake of individual benefit, or for the purpose of
carrying any particular measure.[389]
Like many other old persons, the Duchess
viewed the world through the medium of a dark
veil, which years and disappointments had interposed
before her intellectual perceptions. The
world was no longer the same world that it had
been. Honour, patriotism, loyalty, had fled the
country, and she, “though an ignorant old woman,”
as she called herself, could anticipate that
national degradation begins with laxity of principle.
She upheld stoutly the purity of former times, of
that “well-intentioned ministry,” of which Swift
had successfully sapped the foundations. Deceived
468by everybody, as she averred, and not able
to depend upon a thing which she heard, she yet
perceived that, as long as Walpole continued in
power, the general demoralisation was progressing;
and that he would continue in power until
the Queen died, she was equally and mournfully
certain.
The Duchess was not a character to sit still and
complain, and her efforts to resist what she justly
deemed the influence of a corrupt administration
were earnest and laudable. She resolved,
as she said, for the good of her country, that
wherever she had an ascendency, the partisans of
the hated minister should meet, in the elections,
with a spirited resistance. It was in her power
to procure the return or the rejection of any
members that she pleased, in Woodstock and in
St. Albans. On one occasion she managed to
defeat an objectionable candidate, in a manner
truly ingenious and characteristic. A certain
Irish peer having put up at St. Albans, daring
to brave her dislike to him and to his party, she
took the following method to vanquish him. His
lordship had formerly written and printed, at his
own expense, a play. He had also offered it to
the managers of one of the theatres, by whom it
had been rejected. It was, however, circulated,
but treated with so much contumacy by the
469critics, that the peer bought it up; and some
curiosity being excited upon the subject, the
copies that remained dispersed became extremely
valuable, and were sold for a guinea a piece.
Expensive as they were, the Duchess resolved to
collect all she could, even at that price. She was
even at the expense of having a second edition
printed, and hundreds of them given to the
freemen of St. Albans, and people hired to cry
them up and down the town whilst the election
was going on. The result was, that the unfortunate
nobleman lost his election, through the
ridicule that was thus skilfully pointed at him
with his own weapons.[390]
The Duchess at first hailed with delight the
rising talents of Lord Carteret, whose disinterested
and aspiring mind excited her lively admiration.
Upon the motion of censure upon Sir Robert
Walpole, made by Mr. Sandys, her hopes of
the country revived, yet she dreaded lest the influence
of the minister behind the throne might
continue, after a “golden bridge” had been made
for him to pass over to his unhonoured retirement.
She lived to see Sir Robert Walpole
driven to the very threshold of the Tower, and
to learn that he had been compelled to the expedient,
almost unparalleled in effrontery, of
470offering through the Bishop of Oxford a bribe to
the Prince of Wales of fifty thousand pounds, to
detach him from the party by whom he had been
espoused. The indignant refusal of the Prince
to accept of any conditions while Sir Robert
Walpole remained at the head of affairs, completed
the downfal of the despised, but still indefatigable
minister. The Duchess had the mortification
of seeing him, in spite of contempt,
protected by the sovereign, and honoured by a
peerage; and still more, of learning that he had
succeeded by bribes and insinuations to corrupt
and divide his foes, and to frustrate the scheme
of his impeachment, the only proof of public
honour that had been signalised for many
years.[391]
Lord Carteret, her favourite, who had spoken
against Walpole, in her grace’s opinion, as well
as man could, who had exerted against the
minister the powers of what was, in the estimation
of an incomparable judge,[392] the ablest head
in England, was, with Mr. Sandys, the first to
embrace the offers of a court, and to accept employments
and honours, upon the condition that
Walpole should remain unpunished. This the
Duchess, in her own manner, foretold. She who
knew courtiers and statesmen well, “was confident
471that there was nothing Sir Robert Walpole
so much desired as to secure himself by a treaty
of quitting with safety;” and “that there were
some so desirous to have the power, that they
would give him a golden bridge to go over; and
that there would be a scheme to settle a ministry
from which she could not believe that England
would receive any good.” Events proved the
justness of this prediction.
It was not until two years before her death
that the Duchess ventured to give to the
world what she considered as a complete vindication
of herself. When the work, entitled “An
Account of the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough,
from her first coming to Court in the year
1710,” was published, she was eighty-two years
of age. Her conviction must have been that she
could not live long; to life she had, according
to her own statement, become indifferent, but she
still cherished a desire for justification in the eyes
of posterity. The charges alleged against her
were avarice, insolence, and ingratitude to her
royal mistress. Doubtful of her own powers of
executing a complete and connected work, the
Duchess selected as the nominal historian of her
life, Nathaniel Hooke, best known as the compiler
of a Roman history, and long the companion,
and in some respects a dependent, of the
472great and learned. Hooke had been a sufferer in
the South Sea bubble, after which epidemic infatuation
he described himself, in a letter to the
Earl of Oxford, as in some measure happy to find
himself at that time “just worth nothing;” that
being considered, at the period in question, as an
escape compared with the heavy burden of debts.
The cause of the Duchess’s preference to Hooke is
not discoverable, since he was a Quietist and a
Mystic, and had evinced the sincerity of his religious
opinions by taking a Catholic priest to
Pope on his deathbed, to the great annoyance
of Bolingbroke.[393] The Duchess did not object to
Hooke on that account, and gave him the large
sum of five thousand pounds, on condition that
he would aid her in her work. She would not, however,
allow him to make use of all her letters, and
they were, according to the historian’s statement,
sadly garbled at her grace’s desire.[394] In the
course of their mutual task, however, certain conversations
arose, in which the Duchess perceived,
or fancied she perceived, an intention on the part
of Hooke to beguile her into popery. The result
was a violent quarrel; but whether before or
after the completion of the work does not appear.
473Hooke, in extenuation of the quarrel, stated, on
his own part, that finding her grace without religion,
he had attempted to infuse into her mind
his own opinions.
Whether this account be true or not, it is acknowledged
that by the united efforts of the Duchess
and the historian in her pay, a work was produced
of singular power and interest. A reference
to the passages from this curious narrative,
quoted in this work, will prove the truth of
the foregoing observation. The distinctness of
the statements, the nervous simplicity of the language,
and the fearlessness of the sentiments of
the work, convey to the mind a conviction of the
sincerity and conscious rectitude of the writer.
No traces of mental decay are evident; but it is
not difficult to perceive in the abrupt termination
of some passages, the curtailing hand of some
cautious critic, according to Horace Walpole,
that of the historian.
No sooner did the “Account” appear, than
it was attacked by various anonymous writers.
The Duchess had compiled her work in the
form of a letter, and a similar framework
was adopted in the construction of several of
the answers to her Vindication. It is remarkable
that she addressed her justification to
Lord Cholmondeley, the third Earl of that
474name, the son-in-law of Sir Robert Walpole.
The public eagerly perused the publication, yet
it is said not to have made any considerable impression
in favour of the Duchess at the time in
which it appeared.
The “Vindication of her Conduct,” as it is entitled,
was not, however, the only work that the
Duchess compiled in her own defence. Several
of her manuscript narratives are now for the
first time made serviceable in compiling this work.
But there appears, from a passage in one of her
letters to Mr. Scrope, to have been another book,
which she showed only to a few confidential
friends, and, among the number, to Mr. Scrope.
“I am going,” she writes to him, “to make
you a more unreasonable request than I ever have
yet done, or I hope ever shall, which is, that you
will give me one hour of your time to read the
enclosed book, some time when you happen to
have so much leisure, and send it me back when
you have done with it; for though it is printed,
I would not by accident have it made public.
When I printed a letter to vindicate my own conduct,
when I had the honour of serving Queen
Anne, I thought it necessary to say something
upon the subject of the enclosed book; but after
it was done I thought it was better to show it to
a few of my particular friends, because they were
475so near relations that would be exposed by it,
for all the facts are as well proved as what I
think is possible you may have read in the accounts
given of my honest endeavours to serve
her Majesty Queen Anne; and as to all that relates
to accounts, from your own office, you must
know the relation is true.”
To this communication Mr. Scrope replies,
after, in his answer, referring to other matters,
“I herewith return to your grace the book you
were pleased to send me, which I read with an
aching heart.”[395]
Happily for her grace’s fame, she was vindicated
by one man of ability, Henry Fielding,
whilst her traducers, except in one instance, were
devoid of talents sufficient to bear down the testimony
of her plain facts, or to weaken the effect
of her shrewd arguments.[396] The Duchess was
unfortunate in provoking the malignant wit of
Horace Walpole, whose satire, couched in terms
of playful gossip, like nauseous medicines in
sweet syrup, has been spread far and wide in his
universally popular works. Horace Walpole is
476an instance, that to be what Dr. Johnson calls a
“good hater,” it is not necessary to cherish the
brooding enmities of a misanthropic retirement,
in which the angry and vindictive passions are
supposed to be fostered with propitious care.
The only proof of attachment which he evinced
to his family was his bitterness towards their foes,
a bitterness indulged with all the rancour of a
worldly man, who knows not the virtue of forbearance.
His estimate of the Duchess’s character
is well known. He allows her not one good quality,
and seems to experience a gratification such as
fiends might betray, when, in a tone of exultation,
he announces her death.
The dislike which the Duchess manifested for
Sir Robert Walpole was attributed by his son to
a base spirit of revenge. Among the few favourites
whom she possessed among her relations,
was Lady Diana Spencer, afterwards Duchess of
Bedford. It became, according to Horace Walpole,
a scheme of the Duchess of Marlborough to
marry this young lady to Frederic Prince of
Wales. She offered her to his royal highness
with a fortune of a hundred thousand pounds.
He accepted the proposal, and a day was fixed
for the nuptials, which were to be solemnized
secretly at the Lodge in the Great Park at Windsor;
but Sir Robert Walpole gained intelligence
477of the plot, and “the secret was buried in
silence.”[397]
In the gloom of the sick chamber, to which
by the infirmities of old age she was frequently
confined, the unbroken spirit of the Duchess showed
itself still. “Old Marlborough is dying,” writes
Horace Walpole to his friend Sir Horace Mann;
“but who can tell? Last year she had lain a
great while ill, without speaking; her physicians
said she must be blistered, or she would die; she
called out, ‘I won’t be blistered, and I won’t
die.’ If she takes the same resolution now, I
don’t believe she will.”[398]
This passage forms a melancholy sequel to
hints of infirmities, and reflections on approaching
death, contained in the Duchess’s Opinions.
As on this subject the least reserved of our
species are seldom disposed to converse, since the
stranger knoweth not the heart, and “intermeddleth
not” with its joys or sorrows, we may
receive, as her genuine sentiments, the plaintive
reflections of the feeble and declining Duchess,
couched in such terms as these.
“It is impossible,” she writes in 1737, “that
one of my age and infirmities can live long; and
one great happiness there is in death, that one
478shall never hear more of anything they do in this
world.”
In another passage, she expresses herself so
weary of life, that “she cared not how soon the
stroke was given, and wished only that it might
be given with as little pain as possible.”
Her grace’s amusements became yearly more
and more circumscribed. In former years she
had occupied her shrewd and masculine mind
with purchases of land, which she bought in the
firm belief, or at least with the excuse of belief
to her own mind, that a “sponge” might do
away with all the funded property, and that land
would “hold longest.” It appears from her will
that she was incessantly making additions to the
immense landed property in which she possessed
a life interest, and even went to the city herself,
when nearly eighty years of age, to bid for Lord
Yarmouth’s estate. Her quarrels with Sir Robert
Walpole began, as we have seen, upon the
subject of “trust-money,” and they seem to have
hinged upon that same matter even so late as the
year 1737.[399]
As the darkened day drew to its close, the poor
Duchess was fain to be contented to amuse herself
by writing in bed, in which shackled position
much of her “Vindication” was penned by
479her.[400] She frequently spoke six hours a day,
in giving directions to Hooke. Then she had
recourse to a chamber-organ, the eight tunes
of which she was obliged to think much better
than going to an Italian opera, or an assembly.[401]
Society seems to have afforded her
little pleasure. Like most disappointed and
discontented persons, she became attached to
animals, especially to her three dogs, who had
those virtues in which human beings, in her estimation,
were so greatly deficient. Satiated with the
world, the Duchess found, in the numerous
visitants to Marlborough-house, few that were
capable of friendship. Hers was not a mind to
cull sweetness from the flowers which spring up
amid the thorns of our destiny. She knew no
enjoyment, she declared, equal to that accompanying
a strong partiality to a certain individual,
with the power of seeing the beloved object
frequently; but she now found the generality of
the world too disagreeable to feel any partiality
strong enough to endear life to the decrepit being
that she describes herself to have become.
The Duchess, during the latter years of her
life, changed her residence frequently. Sometimes
she remained at Marlborough-house, but
480exchanged that central situation for the quiet of
Windsor-lodge or of Wimbledon. Yet at Windsor-lodge
she was tantalised with a view of gardens
and parks which she could not enjoy; and Wimbledon,
she discovered, after having laid out a
vast sum of money on it, was damp, clayey, and,
consequently, unhealthy.[402] Wrapped up in flannels,
and carried about like a child, or wheeled
up and down her rooms in a chair, the wealthy
Duchess must, nevertheless, have experienced
how little there was, in her vast possessions, that
could atone for the infirmities of human nature.
A very few months before her death she requested
an extension of the lease of Marlborough-house,
the term of which had been extended in
the reign of George the First. This residence
had been built at the entire expense of the Duke
of Marlborough, who had likewise paid Sir
Richard Beelings two thousand pounds for what
the Duchess calls a pretended claim which he
had upon the land; so that she considered that
she had as just a claim “to an extension as any
tenant of the crown could have;” yet she deemed
it prudent to make the application to government
whilst Mr. Pelham was at the head of the
Treasury, “he being the only person in that
station who would oblige her, or to whom she
481would be obliged;” adding to this remark, that
Mr. Pelham “had been very civil to her, and
was the only person in employment who had
been so for many years.” The letter in which
this petition was contained was written in June
1744, and the Duchess died in October. Such
was the clearness of her faculties, and so strongly
were her desires still fixed upon all the privileges
which she thought she merited.
Had she been blessed with an exalting and
practical faith, such a faith as elevates the heart,
and chastens those angry passions and wilful
discontents which embitter the dark valley of old
age far more even than bodily suffering, the
Duchess, looking around her upon those whom
she had the power to bless, might have been
happy. But, without by any means imputing to
her that scepticism with which it was the fashion
of the day to charge her, it must be allowed that
there is no reason to suppose that the Duchess’s
path in life was illumined by those rays which
guide the humble and practical Christian through
the changes and chances of the world. Her
views were all bounded to the scene before her: a
spoiled child, the victim of prosperity, as well as its
favourite, she received the bounties of Providence
as if they had been her due, whilst she aggravated
482its dispensations of pain by a murmuring
spirit.[403]
In the midst of her unenjoyed wealth, some acts
of charity employed her later days. Such persons
as had fallen into decay, were never, if they bore
good characters, repulsed by her.[404] Imposition
of any kind she detected instantly, and exposed
it in her own eccentric and fearless manner.
Having, on one occasion, sent a costly suit of
clothes to be made by a certain fashionable dressmaker,
Mrs. Buda, the Duchess, on the dress
being completed, missed some yards of the expensive
material which she had sent. She discovered
and punished the fraud in the following
manner. Mrs. Buda had a diamond ring which
she valued greatly, and wore frequently when
attending the Duchess’s orders. The Duchess
pretended to be pleased with this ring, and
begged a loan of it as a pattern. Having kept
it some days, she sent it to Mrs. Buda’s forewoman,
with a message importing that it was to
be shown to her, as a token between her grace
and Mrs. Buda that a certain piece of cloth
should be returned instead. The woman, knowing
the ring, sent the Duchess the remnant of
483cloth which had been fraudulently kept by Mrs.
Buda; upon which the Duchess sent for Mrs.
Buda, and putting the ring into her hand, said,
that since she had now recovered the cloth
which had been stolen from her, Mrs. Buda
should regain the ring which the Duchess had
kept.[405]
As she grew older, the firm grasp with which
she had ever endeavoured to hold her temporal
possessions became more tenacious. She seems
to have tired out the Treasury with frequent
complaints respecting disputed points which
concerned her office of Ranger of Windsor Park,
and to have been wonderfully grateful to the
powers that had the ascendant for civility to which
for years she had been unaccustomed. “You have
drawn this trouble upon yourself,” she writes to
Mr. Scrope, secretary to Mr. Pelham, “by a
goodness I have not found in any body these
many years.”[406] And with corresponding humility
she begs him to excuse the length of her
letter, for, having none of her servants in the
way, she found herself obliged to make use of a
female secretary, who was not very correct;
484“but the hand,” adds the poor old Duchess, “is
plain enough to be read easily; the worst of it
is, that it looks so frightfully long, that a man
of business will turn it before he reads it.”[407]
Such was the subdued tone in which the Duchess,
a year before her death, addressed the official
whom in former days she would have commanded.
The vigour and clearness of intellect which
had ever distinguished the Duchess, were spared
to her until the last. Even in her letters to
Mr. Scrope, written mostly in 1743, there is an
exactness, distinctness, and force not often to be
met with in female correspondence at an earlier
age. Her letters on business, and she seems to
have passed her days in writing them, are peculiarly
clever; sufficiently explicit, but without
a word too much. Throughout the Duchess’s
letters there is, notwithstanding the asperity of
her general remarks, no appearance of discourtesy.
In her correspondence with Mr. Scrope, she
begins as if addressing a stranger, but, on perceiving
that he to whom she wrote entered
kindly into her concerns, she becomes gracious,
then friendly, and, lastly, even confidential.
To her other concerns was added the charge of
485Windsor Park, and all the affairs contingent on that
office, which the Duchess rendered, when she had
nothing else to employ her, a source of irritation,
and of occupation.
Queen Caroline, as we have seen, upon the refusal
of the Duchess to sell some part of her property
at Wimbledon to her Majesty, threatened
to take away the annuity of six hundred pounds
a year, coupled with the office of Ranger. The
threat, to the disgrace of that eulogised Princess,
was put into execution; and during Mr. Pelham’s
administration, and very shortly before her death,
the Duchess applied, through Mr. Scrope, for
the restitution of her salary. “Though,” she
says, “I have a right to the allowance, I have
no remedy, since the crown will pay, or not pay,
as they please.” Her arguments for her claims
are written with admirable clearness, but couched
in terms of earnestness at which one cannot but
smile, when we reflect that the writer, now upwards
of eighty, who displayed such solicitude
for the restitution of the sum of six hundred
pounds yearly, not to talk of arrears, which she
seems to think were hopeless, was in the receipt
of an annual income of at least forty thousand
pounds. But it was her right; and the pleasure,
perhaps, of triumphing over the injustice of
486Queen Caroline, then in her grave, moved her
to exertion on this subject.
“I have a right,” says this pattern of exactness,
“by my grant, to five hundred pounds a
year for making hay, (in Windsor Park,) buying
it when the year is bad, paying all tradesmen’s
bills, keeping horses to carry the hay about to
several lodges, and paying five keepers’ wages
at fifteen pounds a year each, and some gate-keepers,
mole-catchers, and other expenses that
I cannot think of. But as kings’ parks are not
to be kept as low as private people’s, because
they call themselves kings’ servants, I really believe
that I am out of pocket upon this account,
besides the disadvantage of paying ready money
every year for what is done, and have only long
arrears to solicit for it.”[408]
A more satisfactory and genial occupation, one
would suppose, than wrangling for rights and
sums of money which would soon be useless to her,
might have occupied many of the Duchess’s declining
days. In the month of September, previous to
her death, she describes herself as having entered
into a “new business,” which entertained her
extremely; tying up great bundles of papers to
assist very able historians to write a Life of
487the Duke of Marlborough, which would occupy
two folios, with the Appendix.
The arrangement of these papers seems to have
afforded the Duchess considerable pleasure. Her
feelings were rendered callous by age, and she
could now peruse with a poignant regret the
correspondence of her husband and of Godolphin.
The Lord Treasurer, occupied and harassed
as he always was, took no copies of his letters,
but desired his friend to keep them, so that they
had been carefully preserved, and amounted to
two or three hundred in number.
Such materials, together with the minute accounts
of all continental affairs, would form, the
Duchess felt assured, “the most charming history
that had ever yet been writ in any country;
and I would rather,” she adds, in a spirit
with which all must sympathise, “if I were a
man, have deserved to have such an account certified
of me, as will be of the two lords that are
mentioned, than have the greatest pension or
estate settled upon me, that our own King, so
full of justice and generosity, will give to reward
the quick and great performances brought about
by my Lord Carteret, and his partner the Earl
of Bath.”
With this reverence for the dead, and contempt
for the living, the Duchess proceeded with
488her task; observing, (then in her eighty-fourth
year,) “that it was not likely that she should
live to see a history of thirty or forty years
finished.”
As autumn approached, her strength seemed
more and more to fail. In answer to Mr.
Scrope’s inquiries respecting her health, she
replies, “I am a little better than I was yesterday,
but in pain sometimes, and I have been
able to hear some of the letters I told you of to-day;
and I hope I shall live long enough to
assist the historians with all the assistance they
can want from me: I shall be contented when I
have done all in my power. Whenever the
stroke comes, I only pray that it may not be
very painful, knowing that everybody must die;
and I think that whatever the next world is, it
must be better than this, at least to those that
never did deceive any mortal. I am very glad
that you like what I am doing, and though you
seemed to laugh at my having vapours, I cannot
help thinking you have them sometimes yourself,
though you don’t think it manly to complain.
As I am of the simple sex, I say what I think
without any disguise; and I pity you very much
for what a man of sense and honesty must suffer
from those sort of vermin, which I have told you
I hate, and always avoid. I send you a copy
489of a paper, which is all I have done yet with my
historians. I have loads of papers in all my
houses that I will gather together to inform them;
and I am sure you will think that never any two
men deserved so well from their country as the
Duke of Marlborough and my Lord Godolphin
did.”
One of the last topics of courtly gossip which
seems to have disturbed the Duchess’s mind, was
the quarrel between George the Second, his son,
and the Princess of Wales, upon occasion of the
Princess’s sudden and hazardous removal from
Hampton Court to St. James’s, previous to the
birth of his Majesty George the Third. The
Duchess warmly espoused the part of the Prince
and Princess, wished them well out of their difficulties,
and esteemed Queen Caroline a very
hard-hearted grandmother, because, instead of
being mightily glad that the Princess’s hour of
trial was “well over,” she was extremely angry
with the Prince for not consulting the usual
ceremonies on this momentous occasion.
Several charitable institutions perpetuate the
Duchess’s bounty, and the principal of these,
the almshouses of St. Albans, was founded upon
a scheme equally benevolent and judicious. It
was intended for decayed gentlewomen, and
until, for electioneering purposes, the character
490of its inmates was changed, it retained its
useful character of a respectable home and
shelter for gentlewomen whose pecuniary circumstances
rendered such an asylum desirable.
Several other anecdotes of her benevolence
and generosity are recorded; among others, one
of munificent generosity is supplied by the newspapers
of the day. One of the firm of the
Childs was oppressed, nearly to his ruin, by an
opposition from the Bank. Upon this occasion,
a member of the family stated his case to the
Duchess of Marlborough, who placed the following
order in his hand:—
“Pay the bearer the sum of one hundred
thousand pounds.
“Sarah Marlborough.
“To the Governor and Company
of the Bank of England.”
It is needless to state that the Bank dropped
the quarrel; but their persecution made the
fortune of the banker.
Until the beginning of October, 1744, the
Duchess of Marlborough appears to have continued
capable of transacting business; for we
find, on the sixth of that month, a letter written
491to her from Mr. Scrope, whom she had presented
with her picture, begging for an interview with her
grace; and in a previous letter he intimates that
he has some message from Mr. Pelham to deliver
to the Duchess. Thus, to the last, her concerns,
those of Windsor Lodge, the renewal of the lease of
Marlborough-house, and the more commendable,
but too late deferred task of compiling the
memoirs of her husband, engrossed her mind.
What portion of her thoughts was given to the
Maker who had sent her into the world endowed
with singular faculties, who had entrusted her
with many talents, for which soon she would be
responsible to her God, does not appear. She
sank, at length, to rest. Her death took place
at Marlborough-house, on the 18th of October,
1744.[409]
The personal qualities of this remarkable
woman require little comment; in the narrative
of her life they are sufficiently displayed. The
advantages with which nature qualified her to
play a conspicuous part in society have been
rarely combined in woman. Of extraordinary
sagacity, improved alone by that species of education
which the world gives, her mind displayed
492almost masculine energy to the latest period of
her existence. Her judgment, though biassed
by her passions, exemplified itself in the clear
and able estimate which she made of the motives,
opinions, and actions of her contemporaries.
Time has proved the value of her observation.
To an extraordinary capacity for business, the
Duchess of Marlborough united great facility in
expressing, and in making others comprehend, all
that she desired them to understand. From her
earliest years, her mind soared above the pursuits
of her young companions. The puerile
recreations of a court could not shackle the
vigorous intellect which disdained the captivity
of etiquette. Compelled by circumstances to endure
the society of a Princess whom she despised,
her mind never sank to the level of that of the
placid and unaspiring Anne. Even amidst the
irksome duties of perpetual attendance on one
who had little to recommend her except good
nature, the grasping intellect of the youthful
favourite was gaining opinions on topics generally
connected with politics, and with such themes as
affected her interest and that of her future husband.
The capacity of Anne remained stationary;
and that of her companion, amid similar
occupations to those of her young mistress,
493and enjoying only the same opportunities, like
a plant entangled amongst others of slower
growth, although shackled, yet acquired vigour.
With few opportunities of mental culture, except
such as society offered her, with scarcely the
rudiments of education, Sarah Duchess of Marlborough
became, at an early age, the affianced wife
of a man who was, like herself, practical, not erudite,
the scholar of the world, the pupil of fortune.
At the time of this early engagement, she probably
possessed, along with the vivacity, the
sweetness and attractions natural to her sex.
The world, and a love of politics, that bane to
delicacy and grace in woman, had not then hardened
her nature, and increased the acrimony of
her temper. She became the wife of Marlborough,
the associate of his associates, the companion,
the friend of the eloquent, of the lettered,
and the brave. Her capacity grew in the congenial
sphere now formed around her. Her
observation, by nature accurate, was exercised
upon subjects worthy of her inspection. She
learned, by conversation, by experience, to think
and to reason. For many years she took but a
trivial share in the public events which agitated
the nation; but she viewed from “the loophole
of retreat” all that was important, with a mind
enlightened by the sound and moderate opinions
494of Godolphin, from whom she was, in fact, much
more rarely separated than from her husband.
The Lord Treasurer could never, indeed, teach
her to love William the Third, who had graciously
overlooked his defection; but he restrained
her vehemence, he regulated her expressions; and
it was not until Godolphin had sunk under the
cruel disease which consumed him, that the
Duchess became intractably violent. Thus,
formed by circumstances into a reflecting, shrewd,
and energetic being, the Duchess of Marlborough,
when her mind attained, along with her frame,
its full growth, and that lasting vigour for which
both were remarkable, began to turn with disgust
from the irksome duties which her offices at
court imposed upon her unwilling mind. The
daily round of ceremonials which she was compelled
to witness became revolting to her; the
monotony of Anne’s mind inspired her with contempt.
It was with difficulty, as she confessed
years afterwards, that she brought herself to endure
the society of one whose conversation consisted,
like that of James her father, in a constant
repetition of one favourite idea; a species of
discourse far more dispiriting than absolute
silence.
The imperious temper of Sarah was fostered
by the meek disposition and mean understanding
495of her royal mistress. As she grew into political
importance, she probably ceased to be the engaging
and attractive woman whose loveliness
gained universal admiration. Henceforth, her
empire, excepting with regard to her husband,
appears to have been over the intellect alone;
and whilst she was at once the pupil and the
adviser of Godolphin, she was no longer beloved
as a parent; her influence over the affections of
those with whom she was connected melted away
when politics absorbed her thoughts.
There can be no doubt but that, whilst the
virtues of the Duchess were not many, her faults
were egregiously exaggerated by contemporary
writers. The principal accusations against her
relate to avarice, ingratitude towards Anne, arrogance
of demeanour, and a spirit of intrigue.
The grounds upon which this formidable array
of demerits rests, have been fully discussed in the
foregoing portion of this work. That the Duchess
was of a most grasping disposition, that she
coveted money, thirsted for power, place, honour,
everything that could raise her to a pinnacle in
that world which she loved too well, cannot be denied.
The attempts at peculation, and the corrupt
and dishonest practices with which she has been
charged, are, however, succinctly and satisfactorily
disproved by her. Though greedy to an excess
496of wealth, she was not dishonest. Queen Anne
truly said that cheating was not the Duchess’s
crime; and no individual could be a more exact
or competent judge than the Princess who uttered
that sentence. It appears, indeed, that the
Duchess endeavoured very diligently to reform the
royal household; that she caused an order to be
passed, prohibiting the sale of places; that she
never exceeded, and, in some instances, refused
the usual perquisites of her office; that, far from
encroaching on royal bounty, she refused frequently
large sums from the Queen when
Princess; and that, after Anne’s accession, the
value of her presents to the Duchess was so
contemptible that the latter, in her letter to Mr.
Hutchinson, has given a list of them, which borders,
from its meanness, on the absurd.
The conduct of the Duchess towards her sovereign
has been, by party writers, severely stigmatised,
and not without justice. There was,
on both sides of this memorable quarrel, much
to blame. A long course of arrogance, imprudence,
and negligence, on the part of the Duchess,
led to the alienation of Anne. Yet even the
Queen specifically declared, and reiterated, that
she had no fault to allege against the haughty
Sarah, except “inveteracy to poor Masham.”
It was not in the Duchess’s nature to check that
497inveteracy. A generous, high-minded line of
conduct was beyond her power. Yet, at any rate,
the alleged cause of her disfavour was not a
crime of heinous character. It was the mode in
which she revenged the injuries which she received,
that constitutes her delinquency. Her
character of her royal mistress was written in
the spirit of revenge; her pen was fledged with
satire as it traced the lines in which the follies and
defects of Anne are described. Years failed to soften
the bitterness of her vindictive spirit. Death had
not the power to disarm her rancour. The publication
of certain letters, an act with which she
frequently threatened the Queen;[410] the careful
insertion in her narrative of every circumstance
that can throw ridicule upon a mistress once her
benefactress, one who descended from her high
rank to claim the privileges of friendship: these
are acts which must be heavily charged upon the
Duchess. Age and affliction ought to have
taught the relentless writer a better lesson. The
Queen was no more—the Duchess tottering towards
the tomb. Their mutual animosities
should not by the survivor have been dragged
forth to gratify revenge.
Such a breach of confidence, such an outrage
498upon the sacred name of friendship, society ought
not to pardon. Such an offence, of too frequent
occurrence, where disgust has superseded confidence,
renders affection a snare to be dreaded by
the unsophisticated mind, and must entirely
preclude those who hold offices of responsibility
from the necessary relief of confidence; and, were
such acts of treachery excused, monarchs might
indeed tremble, before they indulged the amiable
inclinations of minds not corrupted by the intoxicating
possession of power.
The office which the Duchess held about the
person of the Queen rendered silence an imperative
claim of honour; but, with an unrelenting
coarseness, the Duchess laid bare the very privacies
of the closet, the foibles, the vacillations,
the manœuvres, the weaknesses, the peculiarities
of her sovereign. No self-justification could be
worth such a price—revenge upon the memory of
one silent in the grave.
As a wife and as a mother, the Duchess stands
not pre-eminently high. She was born for the
public, and to the public she was devoted. Her
sentiments of patriotism, however commendable,
would have been well exchanged for duty to her
husband, and patient affection for her children.
Her gross partiality to some of her grandchildren,
in preference to others, revealed the source of her
499misfortunes as a mother. Wherever such a
noxious fungus as injustice grows within the domestic
sphere, peace and affection take their leave.
Hence those divisions which the possession of a
large fortune in the hands of a family entails
upon the junior branches, among whom there is
not the foundation of a happy confidence. The
precise sources of those irritating bickerings does
not appear in the published correspondence relating
to the domestic concerns of the Duke and
Duchess of Marlborough; but it is too probable
that the miserable dissensions between his wife
and daughters, which embittered the Duke’s life,
originated in jealousies on pecuniary matters.
In what is commonly termed purity of morals,
the character of the Duchess of Marlborough has
descended to posterity without a stain. Whatever
direction the calumnies of the day may
have taken in that respect, their influence was
ephemeral. No historian of respectability has
dared to attach a blemish to the purity of her
lofty deportment. She esteemed the probity,
and she was powerfully influenced by the sterling
sense, of Lord Godolphin; but her attachment
was in no degree greater than that of the Lord
Treasurer’s affectionate friend, her husband. No
similar aspersion with respect to any other individual
appears in the lampoons of the day. In a
500moral sense, in so far as it comprises the purity
of a woman’s conduct, the Duchess is therefore
unimpeached. She was in that respect worthy
of being the wife of the great hero who worshipped
her image in absence, with the romantic
devotion of love, unabated even by indifference.
But when we speak of female excellence, to that
one all-important ingredient must be added others,
without which a mother, a wife, and a friend, cannot
be said to fulfil her vocation. Sweetness,
forbearance, humanity, must grace that deportment,
in the absence of which virtue extorts with
difficulty her need of praise. The lofty temper
which could scarcely be restrained in the presence
of the staid and decorous Queen Mary, expanded
into acts of fury, when time and unlimited dominion
over her sovereign and her husband had
soured that impetuous spirit into arrogance.
In reviewing the long life whose annals we
have written, it is not easy to point out the benefits
which the Duchess conferred upon society.
Endowed with natural abilities of a very uncommon
order; with a person so remarkably
beautiful, that it would have bestowed a species
of distinction upon a female in a humble station;
possessing a most vigorous constitution, which
seemed destined to wear out, with impatience, her
heirs and her enemies; raised to rank, her coffers
501overflowing with wealth; she appeared marked out
by destiny to effect some signal good for a country
in whose concerns she took an active part. What
distress might she not, with her enormous wealth,
have relieved; what indigent genius might she not
have brought forth to light; what aids to learning
by endowments might she not have bestowed;
what colleges might she not have assisted; what
asylums for the miserable might she not have
provided! Of these laudable undertakings, of
intentions so beneficent, we find, compared with
her enormous means, but few instances. There
are some laudable endowments, some impulses of
benevolence recorded, which make one hope that
there may have been more, unseen, unknown.
But a truly amiable mind would not have been
solely occupied by what she deemed her claims
and her wrongs; it would, when the fervour of
the noon-day was over, have delighted in those
kind acts which cheer the evening of life. To
the last she was grasping, accumulating, arranging.
To the world, in its worst sense, she
gave up the powers of a mind destined for higher
things. The immense accumulation of her wealth
spoke volumes against the extension of her
charity. To each of her heirs, Charles Duke of
Marlborough, and to his brother, Lord John
Spencer, she bequeathed a property of thirty
502thousand a year, besides bequests to others, particularly
enumerated in her singular will.[411]
But taking into account all the errors that
she committed, and the good acts which she
omitted, Sarah Duchess of Marlborough had
still some noble qualities to command respect.
Her hatred of falsehood stands foremost in bold
relief among these attributes. Supposing that
the great world of those days resembled, in its
leading features, the luxurious and fashionable
portion of the community in these, her sincerity
was a virtue of rare occurrence. Her
motives, her very foibles, were laid bare for the
inspection of her associates. Her unadorned
and accurate account of all those affairs in which
the busy portion of her life was passed, was never
attacked for untruth. She resolutely exposed all
that she hated and despised; but she was equally
averse to duplicity in her own personal conduct,
and resentful towards it in others. Her plain
dealing with the Queen, even her loss of temper
and occasional insolence, rise high in estimation
when contrasted with the vile duplicity of Mrs.
Masham, and the servility and intriguing meanness
of Harley. That she was not able to cope
with such enemies as these, is to her credit.
With her indignation at the stratagems by which
503she was secretly undermined, we must cordially
sympathise. There was something high-minded
in her endeavours to prevent the Duke from ever
taking office again; and in the last conditions to
her will, that those who so largely benefited by it
should forfeit their share if they ever took office
under a monarch whom she disliked, and a
ministry whom she despised. Her virtues, like
her faults, were of the hardy order. There was
nothing amiable in the Duchess’s composition, to
present her good qualities in fair keeping, or to
render her an object for affectionate veneration
in her old age. Her sincerity was ever too busy
in unveiling the faults of others: it was unaccompanied
by charity. Her resentments ended
only with her existence.
The Duchess of Marlborough was interred in
the sumptuous monument at Blenheim, in the
chapel, in the same vault which contained the
remains of the Duke, after they were removed
thither from Westminster Abbey.
In the Duchess’s will, which occupied eight
skins of parchment, she ordered that her funeral
should be strictly private, and with no more expense
than decency required, and that mourning
should only be given to those servants who should
attend at her funeral.
She appointed Hugh Earl of Marchmont, and
504Beversham Filmer, Esq., her executors, to whose
charge she left in trust her almost countless
manors, parsonages, rectories, advowsons, lands,
tenements, and hereditaments, in no less than
eleven counties.
By a proviso in her will, she rendered it void,
as far as he was concerned, if ever her grandson
Lord John Spencer should become bound or surety
for any person, or should accept from any King
or Queen, of these realms, any office or employment,
civil or military, except the rangership of
the Great or Little Park at Windsor. She left
ample bequests to many of her servants, not forgetting
twenty pounds a year to each of her
chairmen. One of the most remarkable items of
her codicil was the sum of ten thousand pounds
to William Pitt, Esq., afterwards Earl of Chatham,
for the noble defence he had made in
support of the laws of England, and to prevent
the ruin of his country. But the sum of twenty
thousand pounds to Philip Earl of Chesterfield,
accompanied by the bequest of her best and
largest diamond ring, appears sadly disproportioned
to the small sums which she bequeathed to
near relations. Those who are desirous of further
particulars can satisfy their curiosity by referring
to the Appendix. The Duchess was said to have
left, besides her numerous legacies, property to
505the amount of sixty thousand pounds per annum
to be divided amongst her two grandsons, Charles
Duke of Marlborough, and his brother Lord John
Spencer. It is remarkable that one clause in
her will prohibits the marriage of any of her
grandsons under the age of twenty-one, on penalty
of losing the annuity bequeathed to them, and of
having half of the proposed sum transferred to
their wives.
In closing this narrative of a long life—this
estimate of a remarkable person, it must be observed
that many allowances are to be made for
the errors and failings displayed by the individual
whose character has been described. Her
youth witnessed an age of self-indulgence, and of
moral degradation: the period of her maturer
years was marked by civil strife, and by the anarchy
of faction. A perilous course of prosperity
attended the middle period of her career. Disappointment,
dissensions, calumny, misfortune,
and neglect, commenced with her decline, and
accompanied her slow decay, to the last moment
of her existence. Those who hopelessly covet
wealth, honour, and celebrity, may read the
life of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough with
profit, and rise from the perusal, resigned to fate.
APPENDIX. — The following letter is taken from the Coxe Manuscripts, vol. xv. p. 123. It is referred to by the Duchess, in her Account of her Conduct. — THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO THE QUEEN. — A statement written by the Duchess of Marlborough relating to her removal from St. James’s; respecting which many curious anecdotes had been circulated. Taken from the Coxe MS., vol. xv. p. 143. — Papers relating to Blenheim. Description of the Buildings and Gardens at Woodstock. — LORD GODOLPHIN TO THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. [413] — SIR J. VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. [415] — SIR JOHN VANBURGH TO THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. [416] — SIR JOHN VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. [417] — A Letter respecting a Suit in Chancery, which one Gardiner had commenced against her. — Correspondence relative to the destruction of the old Manor of Woodstocke. — SIR JOHN VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. [418] — SIR J. VANBURGH TO LORD GODOLPHIN. [419] — (Endorsed thus by the Duchess.) — Reasons offered for preserving some part of the Old Manor, by Sir J. Vanburgh. [420] — Remarks upon this Letter by the Duchess. — Correspondence between the Duchess of Marlborough and Sir John Vanburgh on the subject of a Marriage between the Lady Harriot Godolphin and the Duke of Newcastle. — SIR JOHN VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. [422] — SIR J. VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. [423] — LETTER FROM THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO SIR JOHN VANBURGH. [424] — Explanatory Letter from Sir John Vanburgh, concerning his disagreement with the Duchess of Marlborough. [425] — The following Remarks were added by the Duchess to the above Letter. — FROM THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. [426] — LORD CONINGSBY TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. [427] — LORD CONINGSBY TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. [428] Letters of Lord Coningsby to the Duchess of Marlborough, after the death of the Duke. (Referred to in vol. ii.) — LORD CONINGSBY TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. [429] — Letters between Mr. Scrope and the Duchess of Marlborough. [430] — MR. SCROPE TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. — THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO MR. SCROPE. [431] — THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO MR. SCROPE. [432] — THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO MR. SCROPE. [433] — THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO MR. SCROPE. [434] — THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO MR. SCROPE. [435] — MR. SCROPE TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. [436] — LETTER ADDRESSED BY THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE. — An Abstract of the last Will and Testament of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough. — THE CODICIL.
507
509
I have said something in answer to the letters I had the
honour to receive last from your Majesty in one of these
very long papers, and there remains nothing to observe
more, but that your Majesty seems very much determined
to have no more correspondence with me than as I am the
Duke of Marlborough’s wife, and your groom of the stole.
I assure your Majesty I will obey that command, and
never so much as presume, as long as I live, to name my
cousin Abigail, if you will be pleased to write me word in a
very short letter that you have read this history, which is
as short as I could make it, and that you continue still of
the same opinion you were as to all your unjust usage of
me. You will know all I have writ is exactly the truth,
and I must desire that you will be pleased to do this before
you receive the holy sacrament; and my reason for it is
this: everybody considers that as the most serious and
important thing they have to do in the world; and in order
to prepare themselves for it in such a manner as the greatness
of the mistery requires, they are directed to take a
strict account of their lives, and to be sorry for any wrong
510thing they have done, and to resolve never more to do the
same; and I know your Majesty on that occasion always
observes the great rule of examining yourselfe, and, justly
considering what a sacred work you are going about, constantly
makes use of that opportunity to search and try
your wayes, and take a solemn view of your actions. Now,
upon the head of examination which I find in “The Whole
Duty of Man,” I observe there are these that follow
Neglecting lovingly to admonish a friend; forsaking his
friendship for a slight or no cause; unthankfulness to those
that admonish, or being angry with them for it; neglecting
to make what satisfaction we can for any injuries we have
done him. And we are directed, in the same place, to
read this catalogue carefully over, upon days of humiliation,
and to ask our own hearts as we go along, Am I guilty or
not of this? And when we are guilty, to confesse it, particularly
to repent of it, and to make what amends we can,
as the nature of the fault requires.
This rule is what I would beg your Majesty would be
pleased to observe upon the four articles which I have now
written exactly as they stand in that book, and upon the
first to ask your own heart seriously whether you have ever
told me of any fault but that of believing, as all the world does,
that you have an intimacy with Mrs. Masham; and whether
those shocking things you complain I have said, were any
more than desiring you to love me better than her, and
not to take away your confidence from me after more
than twenty-five years’ service and professions of friendship.
Upon the second, whether you have not forsaken my
friendship upon slight or no faults?
Upon the third, whether you have ever taken well any
kind advice that I have endeavoured to give you, but have
been always angry at me for it?
Upon the fourth, whether you have attempted ever, by
the least kind word, to make me any amends upon all
511the just representations I have made of the wrong done
me in the business of my office, in Mrs. Masham’s
using my lodgings, and all that you have said upon those
occasions?
I beg your Majesty will be pleased to weigh these things
attentively, not only with reference to friendship, but also
to morality and religion; and that if ever I have said anything
to you, of the truth of which you are not convinced,
you will be so favourable to let me know what it is.
In the warning before the Communion, in the Common
Prayer Book, we are enjoined so to search and examine
our consciences that we may come holy and cleane to such
a heavenly feast, and to reconcile ourselves, and make
restitution to those that we have done the least injury to;
and if we have given any reall cause of complaint, to acknowledge
our fault, in order to regain the friendship of
those we have used ill, and not to think it a disparagement
to speak first, since ’tis no more than our duty; and I have
read somewhere, that God himself does not forgive the
injurys that are done to us, till we are satisfied and intercede
for those that did them, who are afterwards obliged to
make suitable returns by all offices of Christian love and
friendship. The Scripture itself does explain this matter
in these words:—First be reconciled to thy brother, and
then offer thy gift. The meaning can be no other but
that if at any time we are going to receive, and remember
that we have used any one ill, we should first endeavour to
make satisfaction, it being but reasonable and just that
whoever has done wrong should confess and acknowledge
it, and to the utmost of his power make reparation for it.
To this purpose I beg leave to transcribe a passage in
Dr. Taylor. “He that comes to the holy sacrament
must, before his coming, so repent of his injurys as to
make actual restitution, for it is not fit for him to receive
benefit from Christ’s death, as long as by him his brother
feels an injury; there is no repentance unless the penitent,
512as much as he can, makes that to be undone which is done
amiss, and therefore because the action can never be
undone, at least undoe the mischiefe. Doe justice and
judgement. That’s repentance. Put thy neighbour, if
thou canst, into the same state of good from whence by thy
fault hee was removed,—at least, make that it should be
no worse. Doe no new injury, and cut off the old. Restore
him to his fame and his lost advantages.”
And I beg leave to quote one other passage of the same
author.
“Examine thyself in the particulars of thy relation,
especially where thou governest and takest accounts of
others, and exactest their faults, and art not so obnoxious to
them as they are to thee; for princes and masters
think more things are lawful to them towards their inferiors
than indeed there are.”
Upon the whole, it appears by the authority of this great
man, that the first steps towards a reconcilliation should
always be made by those that did the injury, and not by
those that received it. On the first part, there should be
shown some effects of repentance—some returns of kindness
and friendship, and then it will be the duty of the
other to remember it no more. This is as far as any one
can go in this matter by the rules of justice. If anything
I have written now, or at any time, appears to bee too familiar
from a subject to a sovereign, I hope your Majesty will
think it less wrong, if you consider its coming from Mrs.
Freeman to Mrs. Morley, which names you so long obliged
me to use that it is not easy for me now quite to forget
them; and I still hope I have a better character in the
world than Mrs. Masham tells your Majesty of inveteracy
and malice, as I mentioned before, for I do not comprehend
that one can be properly said to have malice or inveteracy
for a viper, because one endeavours to hinder it from doing
mischief: for I think when I know there is such an one,
and do not acquaint you with it, I should fail in my duty,
513and I can’t see how that can be called being malicious.
But since you make so ill returns for all the information
which I have given you, which I know to be right from
the dear-bought experience of that ungrateful woman, I
will never mention her more, after I have had what I
desire at the beginning of this, that you will say upon
your word and honour that you have read these papers
in the manner desired, and that you are not changed,
though I wish you may not repent it and alter your opinion
of this wretch, as you did of Mr. Harley, when it is too
late: and I do assure your Majesty that I have not
the least design of recovering what you say is so impossible
(your kindness) in the letter of the twenty-sixth of
October. What I have endeavoured is only with a view
of your own safety and honour, and the preservation of
the whole. I have but one request more, and then I
have done for ever, upon the conditions I have written,
and that is, that you will not burn my narratives, but
lay them somewhere that you may see them a second
time; because I know, sometime or other, before you
die, if you are not now, you will be sensible how much
you have wronged both yourself and me; but after you
have read these papers and performed what Dr. Taylor
recommends, whatever you write I will obey.
If I continue in your service, I will come to you noe
oftener than just the business of my office requires, nor
never speake to you one single word of anything else.
And if I retire with the Duke of Marlborough, you may
yet be surer that I will come no oftner than other subjects
in that circumstance do.
5141711.
I have given some account in a former paper of what the
Queen said, when she desired Lord Marlborough’s things
should be removed out of St. James’s, and of the way I took
to make Mrs. Cowper tell the Queen that her lodgings were
part of my grant, that, for her own case as well as mine,
she might get for herself some rooms in St. James’s, before
they were all disposed of; and I think I have observed in
that paper, how much civiller her Majesty’s answer was
upon this occasion than in the message the Duke of Shrewsbury
reported to Mr. Craggs, when she ordered my lodgings
to be cleared; which confirms me in my opinion that
his grace did not speak to the Queen in the manner that he
ought to have done, though he pretended to think her Majesty
was in the wrong. But the answer I received from
Mrs. Cowper was to this effect.
After I had desired her to acquaint the Queen with what
I have said, she came to me the next morning and told me
that her Majesty having been spoken to, was pleased to
say, I would have you tell the Duchess of Marlborough, that
I do know your lodgings are in her grant, and I will be sure
to give you some others before I go out of town. It did not
appear by this that the Queen was angry, as indeed she
had no reason to be; and to show that Mrs. Cowper had no
thoughts of that, she sent me a very civil message, a day or
two before she went to Windsor, that she had often put the
Queen in mind of giving her some lodgings, and her Majesty
had always said she would do it, one day after the
other, but it was to be hoped she would name them the
515next day, being the last she should stay in town, and as
soon as it was done, I should certainly have notice.
After this had passed, which I thought very void of offence,
the next thing I heard was that my Lord Oxford
having offered her Majesty a warrant to sign for money to
go on with the building at Woodstock, she had refused it,
saying, that she would not build a house for one that had
pulled down and gutted hers, and taken away even the
slabs out of the chymneys, and had lately sent a message by
Mrs. Cowper, which she had reason to be angry at. This
last is as I have mentioned it just now; and the other ground
of offence is still more extraordinary, because her Majesty
went herself through all those that were my rooms just before
she left the town, and must therefore see with her own
eyes that there was no one chymney piece, floor, or wainscote
touched, but every thing in good order, and every
room mended, and nothing removed but glasses and brass
locks of my own bringing, and which I never heard that
anybody left for those that came after them; nay, the very
pannels over the doors and chimneys were whole, the pictures
having been only hung upon the wainscote; yet her
Majesty suffered my Lord Oxford to send Lord Marlborough
word that he would endeavour to serve him, and
get over this great offence as soon as he could, but that at
present the Queen was inexorable. This he said to a friend
of Lord Marlborough’s, desiring he might be acquainted
with it, making at the same time great professions, and
wishing to hear of some good success, which he said would
set all things right, and declaring how well he could live
with Lord Marlborough; and when the person he spoke to
represented the diffycultys Lord Marlborough was under,
and complained of the libels that came out against him,
My Lord Oxford replyed, that he must not mind them, and
that he himself was called rogue every day in print, and
knew who did it, yet he should live fairly with that person;
adding, that the Examiner himself had been upon him
516lately; which was so very ridiculous that it made me laugh,
since it is certain that all the lyes in that paper are set
about by himself. Now, whether he invented these last
for the pleasure of telling them, and hurting me with Lord
Marlborough, or for a pretence to get off from his promise
of finishing Blenheim, I can’t tell; but this I am sure of,
that before he found out that excuse, he had lost the best
season for the work, for this answer was given in the beginning
of July, and if they had actually ordered money
then, the winter would have come on so fast before stones
and materials could have been got, that little or nothing
could have been done. But as it was natural for me to endeavour
to clear myself, when I know such a message had
been sent to Lord Marlborough, and such lyes were made
about myself, I made my servant write in my name to the
housekeeper of St. James’s, and desire he would examine
all the lodgings, and send word in what condition he found
them, that I might know whether my servants had observed
my orders, which were to remove nothing but what is usual,
and called by all people furniture. Upon this the housekeeper
took with him the servant I sent with the letter,
and after he had gone through all the lodgings, he sent me
word that they were in very good order, and that the report
of my having taken anything out of them that did not
belong to me, was false and scandalous. Having received
this account, I desired Mr. Craggs, who had been with me
at St. Albans, where I then was, to go to the Lord Chamberlain,
who was the proper officer to apply to upon such
occasions, and to give him an account of what had been
reported, and to desire that he would send somebody to
examine the lodgings; but my Lord Chamberlain not being
in town, Mr. Craggs went of himself to my Lord Oxford,
and told him what misrepresentations had been made to
her Majesty about the lodgings; to which he answered, that
there could be none, since the Queen had viewed them herself,
and had been much displeased at the taking away
517the brass locks, which she believed were mostly her own;
but as to the message by Mrs. Cowper, he knew nothing of
it, only he understood it was something that had disturbed
her Majesty. Mr. Craggs told him there was no message
from me to the Queen, but only a discourse, that was very
natural with Mrs. Cowper, and necessary to her getting
some lodgings for herself, since those she had were in my
grant, as her Majesty was pleased to say she knew they
were; who made a very civil answer upon the subject of my
conversation with Mrs. Cowper. It was some comfort, however,
to find that all the outcry that was made about the chymnies
and getting the lodgings were let fall, and ended only in
her Majesty being angry at my taking away brass locks, which
she only thought were mostly her own, and therefore was in
some doubt whether they were not mine; but when so much
disagreeable noise had been made about this matter, I
thought it would be right to have the housekeeper of St.
James’s sign a paper to the same effect with what he had
said; upon which I sent him such a one, which I desired
him to sign for the justification of my servants, who had
orders to remove nothing but furniture, and if he had any
difficulty in doing it, I desired him to ask my Lord Chamberlain
if he might not sign to what was the truth; and if it
were not true, then he had but to show where my servants
had done wrong, and I would punish them for it. The
housekeeper at first was unwilling to give anything under
his hand, notwithstanding what he had declared by word of
mouth, and the message he had sent to me; but he was
afraid, I suppose, of being put out of his place: yet upon
my sending him the paper I mentioned just now, which was
all true, and nothing but the fact, he signed it at last,
though it was directly contrary to what my Lord of Oxford
reported from the Queen, in which he said, there could not
possibly be any mistake, since her Majesty had been in the
lodgings herself; but, in the conclusion, his lordship was
so good as to say he was sorry anything should happen to
518put the Queen out of humour, and the best way was to say
no more of it, for he had prevailed with her Majesty to sign
a warrant for twenty thousand pounds to go on with Blenheim,
and he would order weekly payments forthwith; but
the same person that writ me this account, added, that his
lordship’s airs and grimaces upon this occasion were hard
to represent, and that it was pretty difficult to make anything
out of what he had said, or to guess what was the occasion
of this quick turn, and so far I agree with him; yet
if I had not taken so much pains to expose his lyes....
Soon after my Lord Oxford had made a merit to my
Lord Marlborough of his having prevailed with the Queen
to continue money for the building, I received a letter from
abroad, dated the 26th of July, by which it appeared there
was no hope that the French would give such a peace as
even so bold a villain as my Lord Oxford durst accept, and
therefore ’tis probable he ordered this money to delude Lord
Marlborough, so far as to make him continue in the service
for the sake of having that great work finished, since his
lordship would have too many difficulties, when no peace
could be had, to fall out quite with Lord Marlborough; and
besides that, a whole year is lost.
I hear the money is to be paid in such little sums, if at
all, that it looks like a design rather to keep still some hold
of Lord Marlborough, rather than to do him any good; and
for what concerns the Queen’s part in this whole affair, there
is nothing surer than that Lord Oxford and Mrs. Masham
did first persuade her Majesty to stop the warrant, and afterwards
instruct her in those fine reasons which she gave for
doing it, for she has no invention of her own, as I have
often told you; but then she makes up that defect by
thorough industry, in getting by heart any lesson that is
given to her; and though she would not therefore, of herself,
have told all these storys about gutting of the lodgings, and
pulling down the marble chymney pieces, nor ever intended
to have stopt any money upon it, yet as soon as she heard
519Mrs. Masham say it was wrong in me to presume to remove
anything, she would not fail to echo to that, and to
say that truly she believed the brass locks were mostly her
own; and if by chance she had heard my Lord Oxford or
Mrs. Masham say that I had taken anything else out of
the lodgings which she knew to be still there, she would be
so far from doing me justice, that she would have said anything
they would have put into her mouth, to make that
falsehood be believed; nor is it in her nature to make any
reparation for injuries of this kind, nor to be sorry or
ashamed for what she has done wrong at any time, but, on
the contrary, to hate the persons she has prejudiced,
especially if they endeavour to vindicate themselves, and by
that, to put her in the wrong, or those that govern her.
Character of Queen Anne written by the Duchess, and inscribed on the statue at Blenheim.[412]
Queen Anne had a person very graceful and majestic;
she was religious without affectation, and always meant
well. Though she believed that King James had followed
such counsells as endangered the religion and laws of her
country, it was a great affliction to her to be forced to act
against him even for security. Her journey to Nottingham
was never concerted, but occasioned by the sudden great
apprehensions she was under when the King returned from
Salisbury.
That she was free from ambition, appeared from her
easiness in letting King William be placed before her in
the succession; which she thought more for her honour
than to dispute who should wear first that crown that was
taken from her father. That she was free from pride, appeared
from her never insisting upon any one circumstance
of grandeur more than when her family was established by
520King Charles the Second; though after the Revolution
she was presumptive heir to the crown, and after the death
of her sister was in the place of a Prince of Wales. Upon
her accession to the throne the Civil List was not encreased,
although that revenue, from accidents, and from avoiding
too rigorous exactions, (as the Lord Treasurer Godolphin
often said,) did not, one year with another, produce more
than five hundred thousand pounds. Yet she paid many
pensions granted in former reigns, which have since been
thrown upon the publick. When a war was found necessary
to secure Europe from the power of France, she contributed,
for the ease of the people, in one year, out of her own
revenue, a hundred thousand pounds. She gave likewise
the first fruits to augment the provisions of the poorer
clergy. For her own privy purse she allowed but twenty
thousand pounds a year, (till a very few years before she
died, when it was encreased to six and twenty thousand
pounds,) which is much to her honour, because that is
subject to no account. She was as frugal in another office,
(which was likewise her private concern,) that of the robes,
for in nine years she spent only thirty-two thousand and
fifty pounds, including the coronation expense, as appears
by the records in the Exchequer, where the accounts were
passed.
She had never any expense of ostentation or vanity;
but never refused charity when there was the least reason
for it. She always paid the greatest respect imaginable to
King William and Queen Mary. She was extremely well
bred, and treated her chief ladies and servants as if they
had been her equals. To all who approached her, her
behaviour, decent and dignified, shewed condescension
without art or manners, and maintained subordination
without servility.
Sarah Marlborough.
1738.
521
Woodstock, Sept. 25th, 1706.
Before I left Windsor, I writ to you so fully for two
or three posts together, that I shall have nothing left to
say from hence but of what belongs to this place.
The garden is already very fine, and in perfect shape;
the turf all laid, and the first coat of the gravel; the
greens high and thriving, and the hedges pretty well
grown.
The building is so far advanced, that one may see perfectly
how it will be when it is done. The side where you
intend to live is the most forward part. My Lady Marlborough
is extremely prying into, and has really not only
found a great many errors, but very well mended such of
them as could not stay for your decision. I am apt to
think she has made Mr. Vanburgh a little[414] ... but
you will find both ease and comfort from it.
Lady Harriot and Wiligo have walked all about the
garden this evening. I hope, when we do so again, we shall
have the happiness of your company.
(Extract.)
June 11, 1709.
Madam,—As to the main concern of the whole, madam,
which is as to the expense of all, I will, as I writ your
grace yesterday, prepare in a very little time a paper to
lay before you that I hope will give you a great deal of
522ease upon that subject, notwithstanding there is 134,000l.
already paid. But I beg leave to set your grace right in
one thing which I find you are misinformed in. The estimate
given in was between ninety and a hundred thousand,
and it was only for the house and two office wings next the
great court; for the back courts, garden walls, court walls,
bridges, gardens, plantations, and avenues were not in it,
which I suppose nobody could imagine would come to less
than as much more. Then there happened one great disappointment;
the freestone in the park quarry not proving
good, which, if it had been, would have saved fifty per cent.
in that article. And besides this, the house was (since the
estimate) resolved to be raised about six feet higher in the
principal parts of it. And yet, after all, I don’t question
but to see your grace satisfied at last; for though the expense
should something exceed my hopes, I am most fully
assured it will fall vastly short of the least of your fears.
And I believe, when the whole is done, both the Queen,
yourself, and everybody (except your personal enemys)
will easilyer forgive me laying out fifty thousand pounds
too much, than if I had laid out a hundred thousand too
little.
I am your Grace’s most humble
And obedient servant,
J. Vanburgh.
Oxford, Oct. 3, 1710.
My Lord Duke,—By last post I gave your grace an account
from Blenheim, in what condition the building was,
how near a close of this year’s work, and how happy it was
that after being carried up in so very dry a season, it was
like to be covered before any wet fell upon it to soak the
523walls. My intention was to stay there till I saw it effectually
done; the great arch of the bridge likewise compleated
and safe covered, and the centers struck from under
it. But this morning Joynes and Robart told me they had
read a letter from the Duchess of Marlborough to put a
stop at once to all sorts of work till your grace came over,
not suffering one man to be employed a day longer. I told
them there was nothing more now to do in effect but just
what was necessary towards covering and securing the
work, which would be done in a week or ten days, and that
there was so absolute a necessity for it, that to leave off
without it would expose the whole summer’s work to unspeakable
mischiefs: that there was likewise another reason
not to discharge all the people thus at one stroke together,
which was, that though the principal workmen that work
by the great, such as masons, carpenters, &c., would perhaps
have regard to the promises made them that they should
lose nothing, and so not be disorderly; yet the labourers,
carters, and other country people, who used to be regularly
paid, but were now in arrear, finding themselves disbanded
in so surprising a manner without a farthing, would certainly
conclude their money lost, and finding themselves
distressed by what they owed to the people where they
lodged, &c., and numbers of them having their familys and
homes at great distances in other countys, ’twas very much
to be feared such a general meeting might happen, that the
building might feel the effects of it; which I told them I
the more apprehended, knowing there were people not far
off who would be glad to put ’em upon it; and that they
themselves, as well I, had for some days past observed ’em
grown very insolent, and in appearance kept from meeting,
only by the assurances we gave them from one day to another
that money was coming. But all I had to say was
cut short by Mr. Joynes’s shewing me a postscript my
Lady Duchess had added to her letter, forbidding any regard
to whatever I might say or do.
524Your grace won’t blame me if, ashamed to continue there
any longer on such a foot, as well as seeing it was not in
my power to do your grace any farther service, I immediately
came away.
I send this letter from hence, not to lose a post, that
your grace may have as early information as I can give
you of this matter; which I am little otherwise concerned
at, than as I fear it must give you some uneasyness. I
shall be very glad to hear no mischief does happen on this
method of proceeding; but ’tis certain so small a sum as
six or seven hundred pounds to have paid off the poor
labourers, &c., would have prevented it; and I had prevailed
with the undertakers not to give over till the whole
work was covered safe.
I shall, notwithstanding all this cruel usage from the
Duchess of Marlborough, receive, and with pleasure obey,
any commands your grace may please to lay upon me; being
with the defference I ever was,
Your Grace’s most humble
And most obedient servant,
J. Vanburgh.
Extract from a Letter, dated Blenheim, July 27, 1716.
And I hope you will, in almost every article of the estimate
for finishing this great design, find the expense less
than is there allowed. Even that frightful bridge will, I
believe, at last be kindlier looked upon, if it be found (instead
of twelve thousand pounds more) not to cost above
three; and I will venture my whole prophetic skill in this
one point, that if I lived to see that extravagant project
compleat, I shall have the satisfaction to see your grace
525fonder of it than of any part whatsoever of the house,
gardens, or park. I don’t speak of the magnificence of it,
but of the agreeableness, which I do assure you, madam,
has had the first place in my thoughts and contrivance
about it: which I have said little of hitherto, because I
know it won’t be understood till ’tis seen, and then everybody
will say, ’twas the best money laid out in the whole
design. And if at last there is a house found in that
bridge, your grace will go and live in it.
(This probably relates to the expenses of Blenheim. Supplied by W. Upcott, Esq.)
Marlborough-house, the 9th of July, 1712.
Sir,—I thank you for your letter which I received yesterday,
which makes me have a mind to tell you what
perhaps you may not have heard concerning Gardiner,
who has acted, I think, with as much folly as knavery.
You must have heard, I don’t doubt, that he began his suit
in chancery with a charge upon me of nothing but lies,
which I am told the law allows of, as a thing of custom. I
was always pressing to have it come to a conclusion; but a
thousand tricks were plaid for him to delay it; and at
last, when they could hold out no longer, he begun a suit
at common law. The court would not suffer a suit for the
same in two courts, so he was obliged to make his election
which court he would choose, and he chose the Exchequer.
I thank you for your civil offer of being ready to do me
any service; but my cause is so good and so strongly attested,
that I have no occasion for anything more than I
have already. But I have a curiosity to know whether
Gardiner did subpœna you to be a witness, because I have
526never yet known him tell the truth in anything, and what
he has lately done seems very extraordinary. In the first
place, he made an excuse to my lawyer for having delayed
the hearing, but said it should come on in Mic. Term,
and yet, immediately after that, surprised him with a notice
of trial for to-morrow. Some of my witnesses being nearly
eighty miles off, it was a very difficult thing for me to bring
them on so short a notice. However, I did compass it;
but while the master was striking a special jury, Gardiner
countermanded it. However the master finished it; and
Gardiner’s reason for countermanding it was, because he
said his witnesses had disappointed him. I don’t care what
they do. And what he will do next I cannot guess; but I
think he must pay considerable costs, not having given notice
time enough to prevent my witnesses coming to London;
for he countermanded the trial last Monday night,
which was to be on Friday following, and Dr. Farrar came
to London on Tuesday.
I am, Sir,
Your humble servant,
S. Marlborough.
Thursday, June the 9th, 1709.
Madam,—Whilst I was last at Blenheim I set men on
to take down the ruins at the old manor, as was directed;
but bid them take down the chapell last, because I was
preparing a little picture of what had been in general proposed
to be done with the descent from the avenue to the
bridge, and the rest of the ground on that side, which I
527feared was not perfectly understood by any explanation I
had been able to make of it by words. This picture is
now done, and if your grace will give me leave, I should be
glad to wait upon you with it, either this morning, or some
time before the post goes out to-night; for if you should be
of opinion to suspend any part of what they are now executing,
I doubt the order would be too late if deffered till
Saturday.
I hope your grace will not be angry with me for giving
you this one (and last) moment’s trouble more about this
unlucky thing, since I have no design by it to press or
teaze you with a word; but only in silent paint to lay before
and explain to you what I fear I have not done by other
means, and so resign it to your owne judgment and determination,
without your ever hearing one word more about
it from
Your Grace’s
Most obedient humble servant,
J. Vanburgh.
(Extract.)
Your Lordship will, I hope, pardon me if I take this
occasion to mention one word of the old mannor.
I have heard your Lordship has been told there has been
three thousand pounds laid out upon it; but upon examining
into that account, I find I was not mistaken in what I believed
the charge had been, which does not yet amount to eleven
hundred pounds, nor did there want above two more to complete
all that was intended to be done, and the planting and
levelling included. And I believe it will be found that this
was by one thousand pounds the cheapest way that could be
528thought on to manage that hill, so as not to be a fault in the
approach. I am very doubtful whether your Lordship (or
indeed my Lord Duke) has yet rightly taken the design of
forming that side of the valley, where several irregular
things are to have such a regard to one another, that I much
fear the effects of so quick a sentence as has happened to
pass upon the remains of the manour. I have, however,
taken a good deal of it down, but before ’tis gone too far, I
will desire your Lordship will give yourself the trouble of
looking upon a picture I have made of it, which will at one
view explain the whole design, much better than a thousand
words. I’ll wait upon your Lordship with it as soon as I
come to town, and hope in the mean time it won’t be possible
that the pains I take in this particular, should be
thought to proceed only from a desire of procuring myself
an agreeable lodging. I do assure your Lordship that I
have acted in this whole business upon a much more
generous principle, and am much discouraged to find I can
be suspected of so poor a contrivance for so worthless a
thing; but I hope the close of this work will set me right
in the opinion of those that have been pleased to employ
me in it.
I am
Your Lordship’s, &c.
J. Vanburgh.
Nov. 9.
All that Sir J. V. says in this letter is false. The manour
house had cost me three thousand pounds, and was ordered
to be pulled down, and the materialls made use of for things
that were necessary to be done. The picture he sent to
prevent this was false. My Lord Treasurer went to
Blenheim to see the trick: ... and it is now
ordered to be pulled down.
529
June 11, 1709.
There is, perhaps, no one thing which the most polite
part of manhood have more universally agreed in, than the
vallue they have ever set upon the remains of distant times:
nor amongst the several kinds of those antiquitys are there
any so much regarded as those of buildings; some for their
magnificence and curious workmanship; and others as they
move more lovely and pleasing reflections (than history
without their aid can do) on the persons who have inherited
them, on the remarkable things which have been transacted
in them, or the extraordinary occasions of erecting them.
As I believe it cannot be doubted, but if travellers many
ages hence shall be shewn the very house in which so great
a man dwelt, as they will then read the Duke of Marlborough
in story; and that they shall be told it was not
only his favourite habitation, but was erected for him by
the bounty of the Queen, and with the approbation of the
people, as a monument of the greatest services and honours
that any subject had ever done his country—I believe,
though they may not find art enough in the builder
to make them admire the beauty of the fabric, they will
find wonder enough in the story to make ’em pleased with
the sight of it.
I hope I may be forgiven if I make some slight application
of what I say of Blenheim, to the small remain of
Woodstock manor. It can’t indeed be said it was erected
upon so noble or so justifiable an occasion; but it was
raised by one of the bravest and most warlike of the English
kings; and though it has not been famed as a monument
of his arms, it has been tenderly regarded as the
530scene of his affections. Nor amongst the multitude of
people who came daily to view what is raising to the memory
of the great Battle of Blenheim, are there any that
do not run eagerly to see what ancient remains may be
found of Rosamond’s Bower. It may, perhaps, be worth
some little refection upon what may be said, if the very
footsteps of it are no more to be found.
But if the historical argument stands in need of assistance,
there is still much to be said upon other considerations.
That part of the park which is seen from the north front
of the new building has little variety of objects, nor does
the country beyond it afford any of value. It therefore
stands in need of all the helps that can be given, which are
only five; buildings and plantations—those indeed, rightly
disposed, will supply all the wants of nature in that place:
and the most agreeable disposition is to mix them, which this
old manour gives so happy an occasion for, that were the
enclosure filled with trees, principally fine yews and hollys,
promiscuously set to grow up in a wild thicket, so that all
the building left, which is only the habitable part, and the
chapel, might appear in two risings amongst them, it would
make one of the most agreeable objects that the best of
landskip painters cou’d invent. And if, on the contrary,
this building is taken away, there remains nothing but an
irregular, ragged, and ungovernable hill, the deformitys of
which are not to be cured but at a vast expense; and that
at last will only remove an ill object, and not produce a
good one. Whereas, to finish the present wall for the inclosures,
to form the slopes and make the plantation, (which
is all that is now wanting to complete the design,) wou’d
not cost two hundred pounds.
I take the liberty to offer this paper, with a picture to
explain what I endeavour to describe, that if the present
direction for destroying the building shou’d hereafter happen
to be repented of, I may not be blamed for neglecting
531to set in the truest light I cou’d, a thing that seemed to me
at least so very materiall.
J. Vanburgh.
The enclosed paper[421] was wrote by Mr. Robard, who lived
always at Blenheim, and, as I have said, was taken into Mr.
Bolter’s place. He wrote these directions from the Duke
of Marlborough’s own mouth. And when he was gone, for
fear of any contest, I suppose, in which he must disobey
my Lord Marlborough’s orders, or disoblige Sir John Vanburgh,
he brought it to me, and I wrote what you see under
the instructions, which anybody would have thought might
have put an end to all manner of expense upon that place.
The occasion of the Duke of Marlborough’s giving these
orders was as follows:—
Sir John Vanburgh having a great desire to employ his
fancy in fitting up this extraordinary place, had laid out
above two thousand pounds upon it, which may yet be seen
in the books of accounts; and without being at all seen
in the house, excepting in one article for the lead, which I
believe is a good deal more than a thousand pounds of the
money. Mr. Traverse, who calls himself the superintendent
and chief of Blenheim works, let this thing go on (I will
not call it a whim because there has been such a struggle
about it) till it was a habitation; and then he came and
complained of the great expense of it to me, desiring me to
stop it; and Sir John having another house in the park
where he lived, and where he had made some expense, Mr.
Traverse was unwilling to think he designed this other for
his own use, and very prudently wrote to my Lord Marlborough
into Flanders, to ask for this old manour for himself,
he having no place for the dispatch of his great business
532in carrying on these great works. The Duke of
Marlborough made no answer, but when he came into England,
I remember upon a representation that these ruins
must come down, because they were not in themselves a
very agreeable sight, but they happened to stand very near
the middle of the front of this very fine castle of Blenheim,
and is in the way of the prospect down the great avenue,
for which a bridge of so vast an expense is made to go into.
Upon this the Duke of Marlborough went down to Blenheim,
and there was a great consultation held, whether
these ruins should stand or fall; and I remember the late
Earl of Godolphin said, that could no more be a dispute
than whether a man that had a great wen upon his cheek
would not have it cut off if he could. And upon hearing
all people’s opinion, and the Duke of Marlborough seeing
the thing himself, he gave this paper of directions, which
prevented anything more from being done upon the
ruins; but it had not the intended effect of pulling them
down.
In August third, 1716, when I was at the Bath, Mr.
Robart wrote to me that Sir John Vanburgh had ordered
some walling about the old manour to plant some fruit-trees
upon, which he would pay for. This, I suppose,
was to save himself, because of the orders he had to
do nothing there; and by the advance of what is done at
that place, I believe it must have been begun a good while
before I had this notice of it. I am sure it was upon the
nineteenth of June, which was never mentioned by Sir
John either to Lord Marlborough or to me. I thought
this a little odd, but I had so great a mind to comply with
Sir John, (if it were possible,) that I took no notice of this,
nor wrote any to Mr. Robart concerning it, only that I was
sure the Duke of Marlborough would never let Sir John
pay for anything in his park, and I heard no more of it till
I came here; only that I observed that several officers and
533people that had come by Blenheim to the Bath, when they
talked of this place, and of the workmen that were employed
about it, could hardly keep from laughing.
Since Sir John went to London, the Duke of Marlborough
and I, taking the air, went to see these works,
where there is a wall begun; I wish my park or some of
my gardens had such another; the first having none but
what you may kick down with your foot, nor the fine
garden but what must be pulled down again, being done
with a stone that the undertakers must know would not
hold; but it was not their business to finish, but rather to
intail work. If one may judge of the expense of this place
by the manner of doing things at Blenheim, there is a
foundation laid for a good round sum. There is a wall to
be carried round a great piece of ground, and a good length
of it done, with a walk ten feet broad that is to go on the
outside of this wall on the garden side, which must have
another wall to enclose it. There are to be fruit-trees set,
but the earth not being proper for that, it is to be laid I
know not how many feet deep with stone, and then as
much earth brought to be put upon that, to secure good
fruit. And there is one great hole that I saw in the park
that must be filled up again, already occasioned by making
mortar for that part of the wall that is already done. What
I have wrote, I saw myself, and upon my commending the
fancy of it, the man was so pleased at my liking it, who
lives in the house, and has some care of the works about
the causeway, that he told me with great pleasure the
whole design.
534
January 16, 1714.
Madam,—Sir Samuel Garth mentioning something yesterday
of Lord Clare with relation to my Lady Harriot,
made me reflect that your grace might possibly think (by
my never saying anything to you of that matter since you
did me the honour of hinting it to me) I had either forgot
or neglected it: but I have done neither. ’Tis true, that
partly by company being in the way, and partly by his illness
when I was most with him, I have not yet had an opportunity
of sounding him to the purpose. What I have yet done, therefore,
has only been this,—I have brought into discourse the
characters of several women, that I might have a natural
occasion to bring in hers, which I have then dwelt a little
upon, and, in the best manner I could, distinguished her
from the others. This I have taken three or four occasions
to do, without the least appearance of having any view in
it, thinking the rightest thing I could do would be to
possess him with a good impression of her before I hinted
at anything more. I can give your grace no further accounts
of the effect of it, than that he seemed to allow of
the merit I gave her; though I must own he once expressed
it with something joined which I did not like, though it
showed he was convinced of those fine qualifications I had
mentioned; and that was a sort of wish (expressed in a
very gentle manner) that her bodily perfections had been
up to those I described of her mind and understanding. I
535said to that, that though I did not believe she would ever
have a beautiful face, I could plainly see it would prove a
very agreeable one, which I thought was infinitely more
valuable; especially since I saw one thing in her, which
would contribute much to the making it so, which was,
that we call a good countenance, than which I ever thought
no one expression in a face was more engaging. I said
further, that her shape and figure in general would be perfectly
well; and that I would pawne all my skill, (which
had used to be a good deal employed in these kind of observations,)
that in two years time no woman in town
would be better liked. He did not in the least contradict
what I said, but allowed I might very probably be right.
Your grace may depend upon me that I will neglect
nothing I can do in this thing, for I am truly and sincerely
of opinion that if I coud be an instrument in bringing it
about, I shoud do my Lord Clare as great a piece of service
as my Lady Harriott.
I am your Grace’s
Most humble and obedient Servant,
J. Vanburgh.
Whitehall, Nov. 6, 1716.
Madam,—When I came to town from Blenheim, I received
a letter from the Duke of Newcastle out of Sussex,
that he wou’d in a day or two be at Claremont, and wanted
very much to talk with me. But I, having engaged to Mr.
Walpole to follow him into Norfolk, cou’d not stay to see
him then. At my return from Mr. Walpole’s, which was
Friday last, I found another letter from the Duke, that he
was at Claremont, and deferred returning back to Sussex
till he could see me; so I went down to him yesterday.
536He told me the business he had with me was to know if
anything more had passed on the subject he writ to me at
Scarborough, relating to Lady H., and what discourse
might have happened with your grace upon it at Blenheim.
I told him you had not mentioned one word of it to me.
He said that was mighty strange, for you had talked with
Mr. Walters upon it at the Bath, and writ to him since, in
such a manner as had put him upon endeavouring to bring
about a direct negotiation. He then told me, that before he
cou’d come to a resolution of embarking in any treaty, he
had waited for an opportunity of discoursing with me once
more upon the qualities and conditions of Lady H. For
that, as I knew his whole views in marriage, and that he
had hopes of some other satisfaction in it than many people
troubled themselves about, I might judge what a terrible
disappointment he should be under, if he found himself
tied for life to a woman not capable of being a usefull and
faithful friend, as well as an agreeable companion. That
what I had often said to him of Lady H., in that respect,
had left a strong impression with him; but it being of so
high a consequence to him not to be deceived in this
great point, on which the happiness of his life wou’d turn,
he had desired to discourse with me again upon it, in the
most serious manner, being of opinion (as he was pleased
to say) that I cou’d give him a righter character of her
than any other friend or acquaintance he had in the world:
and that he was fully persuaded, that whatever good wishes
I might have for her, or regards to my Lord Marlborough
and his family, I wou’d be content with doing her justice,
without exceeding in her character, so as to lead him into
an opinion now, which, by a disappointment hereafter,
(should he marry her) wou’d make him the unhappiest man
in the world.
He then desired to know, in particular, what account I
might have heard of her behaviour at the Bath; and what
new observations I might myself have made of her at Blenheim;
537both as to her person, behaviour, sense, temper, and
many other very new inquiries. It wou’d be too long to
repeat to your grace what my answers were to him. It
will be sufficient to acquaint you, that I think I have left
him a disposition to prefer her to all other women.
When he had done with me on these personal considerations,
he called Mr. Walters (who was there) into the room,
and acquainted him with what had passed with your grace
through me at several times, and then spoke his sentiments
as to fortune, which Mr. Walters intends to give your
grace an account of; so I need not.
And now, madam, your grace must give me leave to end
my letter by telling you, that if the Duke of Newcastle was
surprised to find you had said so much to Mr. Walters at
the Bath, and nothing to me on the subject at Blenheim, I
was no less surprised than he, after the honour you had
done me of opening your first thoughts of it to me, and
giving me leave to make several steps about it to his friends
and relations, as well as to take such a part with himself as
you seemed to think might probably the most contribute
towards disposing his inclinations the way you wished
them.
I don’t say this, madam, to court being further employed
in this matter, for matchmaking is a damned trade, and I
never was fond of meddling with other people’s affairs.
But as in this, on your own motion, and at your own desire,
I had taken a good deal of very hearty pains to serve you,
and I think with a view of good success, I cannot but
wonder (though not be sorry) you should not think it right
to continue your commands upon
Your obedient, humble Servant,
J. Vanburgh.
538
Woodstock, Thursday night.
I am sure nobody can be more surprised at anything
than I am with your letter of the sixth of this month, in
which you seem to think I have proceeded in a very extraordinary
manner concerning Mr. Walter. I will therefore
go back to the very beginning of the negotiation, that you
or anybody else may be able to judge whether there is any
ground for the reproaches which you have made me.
Some time after I came from Antwerp, having a great
mind to dispose of Lady Hariot well, and knowing that
you had opportunity of speaking to the Duke of Newcastle,
I desired your help in that affair, if you found he would
marry, and were persuaded, as I was, that he could not find
a young woman in all respects that was more likely to
make him happy than she is, for I never imagined that you
would endeavour to serve me upon any other account. This
you engaged in very readily, and I thought myself much
obliged to you for it, and I shall always be thankful for any
good offices upon that subject, though ’tis no more than
justice and speaking the truth. After the conversation,
you may remember that I allowed you to say that you
knew my mind in this concern, and you said you would
speak to Mr. Walpole; but we agreed that you should
manage it in such a manner as not to give the Duke of
Newcastle the uneasiness of sending any message to me, in
case he did not like the proposal. Some time after this,
you came to me, and gave me an account of your conversation
with Mr. Walpole, in which there were some civil
things said as to the alliance, but at the same time you
said, what they expected for her fortune was forty thousand
pounds; and from that time till you wrote to me from Scarborough,
539I never spoke to anybody of this matter, nor
so much as thought of it; for I concluded that the Duke of
Newcastle or his friends thought that great demand the
most effectual way of putting an end to my proposal, since
Lady Harriot is not a citizen nor a monster, and I never
heard of such a fortune in any other case, unless now and
then, when it happens that there is but one child. After
this I had the most considerable offer made me that is in
this country, and, considering all things, I believe, as to
wealth, as great a match as the Duke of Newcastle, and in
a very valuable family; but to show that money is not the
chief point, this match was refused, where I could have had
my own conditions; and I had not then the least imagination
that I should hear any more of what I am now writing
of. But when I was at the Bath, you gave me an account of
a letter you had from the Duke of Newcastle, which lookt
as if he wanted to hear something more from you concerning
Lady Harriot: and upon that I writ to you, that I
was not so much at liberty as I had been to give her a
portion when I first proposed this match, having many
other children that were so unhappy as to want my help;
but that I still liked it so well that there was nobody who
I could imagine had power with the Duke of Marlborough
that I would not endeavour to make them use it in compassing
this thing, which I thought so very agreeable; and
some other reasons I gave, which ought to induce my Lord
Marlborough to come into it; which you approved of
entirely in your answer to this letter, and concluded by
giving me an expectation of hearing from you when you
had heard from the Duke of Newcastle, or rather when you
had seen him, for you repeated something of his having desired
you to cast an eye upon some of his houses in your
way home; but from that time till your letter of the sixth
of November, though you were here some days, you never
writ a word of this matter, nor mentioned it to me. And I
think it was your turn to speak, after what I had written;
540and not at all reasonable for you to find fault with what
passed between Mr. Walter and me at the Bath. I never
saw him in my life before I was there; but upon his giving
me an occasion, it was not very unnatural, and not unreasonable,
I think, in me to own how much I wished an alliance
with the Duke of Newcastle. He professed a great value
and respect for him, seemed to think this match, as you
did, as good for him as for anybody else; and since you
left Blenheim, he writes to me upon that subject, but not
what you mention of letting me know the Duke of Newcastle’s
sentiments as to the fortune; but he said something
civil from the Duke of Newcastle, and deferred the rest till
we met in town, thinking it was better to speak than to
write of such matters.
This letter I answered in my usual way, professing all
the satisfaction imaginable in the thing, if it should happen
to succeed, (which, by the way, I have not thought a great
while that it will). I have now given a very true relation
of this whole proceeding, and if any third person will say
that I have done anything wrong to you in it, I shall be
very sorry for it, and very ready to ask your pardon; but
at present I have the ease and satisfaction to believe that
there is no sort of cause for your complaint against
Your most humble Servant,
S. Marlborough.
I have two letters of yours concerning the building of
this place, which I will not trouble you to answer after so
long a letter as this; besides, after the tryal which I made
when you were last here, ’tis plain that we can never agree
upon that matter.
Upon the receiving that very insolent letter upon the
eighth of the same month, ’tis easy to imagine that I
wished to have had the civility I expressed in this letter
back again, and was very sorry I had fouled my fingers in
writing to such a fellow.
541
The Duke of Marlborough being pleased, some time since,
to let me know by the Duke of Newcastle he took notice
he had never once seen me since he came from Blenheim,
I was surprised to find he was not acquainted with the
cause why I had not continued to wait on him as I used to
do; and I writ him a letter upon it, in which I did not
trouble him with particulars, but said I wou’d beg the
favour of your lordship, when you came to town, to speak
to him on that occasion.
And since your lordship gave me leave to take this
liberty with you, I will make the trouble as little as I can,
both to yourself and to the Duke of Marlborough, by as
short an account as possible of what has happened since
his grace’s return to England, in two things I have had the
honour to be employed in for his service, purely by his
own and my Lady Duchess’s commands, without my applying
or seeking for either, or ever having made any advantage
by them. I mean, the building of Blenheim, and
the match with the Duke of Newcastle.
As to the former, as soon as the Duke of Marlborough
arrived in England, I received his commands to attend him
at Blenheim, where he was pleased to tell me, that when the
government took care to discharge him from the claim of
the workmen for the debt in the Queen’s time, he intended
to finish the building at his own expense. And, accordingly,
from that time forwards he was pleased to give me
his orders as occasion required, in things preparatory to it;
till, at last, the affair of the debt being adjusted with the
Treasury, and owned to be the Queen’s, he gave me directions
to set people actually to work, after having considered
an estimate he ordered me to prepare of the charge, to
542finish the house, offices, bridges, and out-walls of courts
and gardens, which amounted to fifty-four thousand
pounds.
I spared for no pains or industry to lower the prices of
materials and workmanship, on the reasonablest considerations
of sure and ready payment, which before (as experiments
show) was precarious. I made no step without the
Duke’s knowledge while he was well; and I made none
without the Duchess’s after he fell ill; and was so far,
I thought, from being in her ill opinion, that even the last
time I waited on her and my Lord Duke at Blenheim,
(which was last autumn,) she showed no sort of dissatisfaction
on anything I had done, and was pleased to express
herself to Mr. Hawkesmore (who saw her after I had
taken my leave) in the most favourable and obliging
manner of me; and to enjoin him to repeat to me what
she had said to him.
Thus I left the Duke and Duchess at Blenheim. But
a small time after I arrived in London, Brigadier Richards
showed me a packet he had received from her grace, in
which (without any new matter having happened) she had
given herself the trouble, in twenty or thirty sides of paper,
to draw up a charge against me, beginning from the time
this building was first ordered by the Queen, and concluding
upon the whole, that I had brought the Duke of
Marlborough into this unhappy difficulty, either to leave
the thing unfinished, and by consequence useless to him
and his posterity; or, by finishing it, to distress his fortune,
and deprive his grandchildren of the provision he inclined
to make for them.
To this heavy charge I know I need trouble the Duke
of Marlborough with nothing more in my own justification
than to beg he will just please to recollect that I never did
anything without his approbation; and that I never had
the misfortune to be once found fault with by him in my
life.
543As to the Duchess, I took the liberty, in a letter I sent
to her on this occasion, to say, “that finding she was weary
of my service, (unless my Lord Duke recovered enough to
take things again into his own direction,) I would do as I
saw she desired, never trouble her more.”
I thought after this I could not wait on the Duke when
she was present; and that if I endeavoured to do it at any
other time, she would not like it. There has been no other
reason whatever why I have not continued to pay my constant
duty to him.
The other service I have mentioned, which her grace
thought proper to lay her commands upon me, was the
doing what might be in my power towards inclining the
Duke of Newcastle to prefer my Lady Harriot Godolphin
to all other women who were likely to be offered him. Her
grace was pleased to tell me, on the breaking of this matter,
I was the first body she had ever mentioned it to; and she
gave me commission to open it to the Duke of Newcastle’s
relations, as well as to himself, which I accordingly did,
and gave her from time to time an account of what passed,
and how the disposition moved towards what she so much
desired.
Her grace did not seem inclined to think of giving such
a fortune as should be any great inducement to the Duke’s
prefering this match to others which might probably be
offered; but she laid a very great and very just stress on
the extraordinary qualifications and personal merits of my
Lady Harriot, which she was pleased to say she thought
might be more in my power to possess him rightly of than
any other body she knew; and did not doubt but I would
have that regard for the Duke of Marlborough, and the
advantage of his family, as to take this part upon me, and
spare no pains to make it successful.
This thing her grace desired I should do was so much
with my own inclination, and what I was to say of the
personal character of my Lady Harriot so truly my own
544opinion of her, that I had no sort of difficulty in resolving
to use all the credit I had with the Duke of Newcastle to
prefer the match to all others.
His grace received the first intimation with all the regard
to the alliance that was due to it, and the hopes of
having a posterity descended from the Duke of Marlborough
had an extraordinary weight with him; but I found
he had thoughts about marriage not very usual with men
of great quality and fortune, especially so young as he was.
He had made more observations on the bad education of
the ladies of the court and towne than any one would have
expected, and owned he shou’d think of marriage with
much more pleasure than he did, if he cou’d find a woman
(fit for him to marry) that had such a turn of understanding,
temper, and behaviour, as might make her a usefull
friend, as well as an agreeable companion; but of such a
one he seemed almost to despair.
I was very glad to find him in this sentiment; agreed
entirely with him in it, and upon that foundation endeavoured,
for two years together, to convince him the Lady
Harriot Godolphin was, happily, the very sort of woman he
so much desired, and thought so difficult to find.
The latter end of last summer he writ to me to Scarborough,
to tell me he was come to an absolute resolution of
marrying somewhere before the winter was over, and desired
to know if I had anything new to say to him about
my Lady Harriot.
Upon this I writ to the Duchess of Marlborough at the
Bath, and several letters past between her grace and me
on this fresh occasion, in which she thought fit to express
her extreme satisfaction to find a thing revived she so
much desired, though for some time past had retained but
little hopes of.
Not long after, I waited on her and the Duke of Marlborough
at Blenheim; but not happening to be any time
alone with her, and being to see the Duke of Newcastle
545before there you’d be anything new to speak upon, I did
not wonder she said nothing to me of that matter. But
when I came to London, I was much surprised to find the
cause of it.
I met with two letters from the Duke of Newcastle, expressing
a great earnestness to see me. I went immediately
to him to Claremont, where he told me his impatience to
see me had been to know what I might have further to
say of Lady Harriot; what I had learnt of her conduct and
behaviour at the Bath; what I might have observed of her
at Blenheim; and, in short, that if I knew anything that
could reasonably abate of the extraordinary impression I
had given him of her, I would have that regard to the
greatest concern of his life not to hide it from him, for that
if he marryed her, his happiness would be entirely determined
by her answering, or not answering, the character he
had received of her from me, and upon which he solely depended.
That he had therefore forborne making any step
(though prest to it by Mr. Walters) that cou’d any way
engage him, till he saw me again, and once for all received
a confirmation of the character, so agreeable to his wishes,
I had given him of my Lady Harriot.
As I had nothing to say to him on this occasion but
what was still to her advantage, he came to an absolute
resolution of treating: and asking me what the Duchess
of Marlborough had said to me at Blenheim about the
fortune, the letter at Scarborough having (amongst other
things) been on that subject, I told him she had not said a
word to me of it, or anything relating to the matter in
general.
The Duke seemed much surprised to hear me say so,
and told me he took it for granted she had let me know
what lately passed through Mr. Walters, whom she had
accidentally fallen acquainted with at the Bath, and engaged
him in this affair. That he had even pressed him to
enter into a direct treaty, but that he had made pretences
546to decline it, being undetermined till he had once more
had an opportunity of talking the whole matter over with
me, especially on what related personally to my Lady
Harriot, having resolved to make that his decisive point.
I told him it was very extraordinary the Duchess of
Marlborough, after two years employing me, and finding I
had succeeded in the very point she judged me fittest to
serve her in, and by which point almost alone she hoped to
bring this match about, shou’d drop me in so very short a
manner; and that I cou’d conceive no cause good or bad
for it, unless she was going to dismiss me from meddling
any more in the building, and so judged it not proper to
employ me any further in this other part of her service.
The Duke seemed inclined to hope I might be mistaken
in that thought, and so desired I wou’d continue to act in
this concern with her; upon which (calling Mr. Walters
into the room) he was pleased to relate all that had passed
through me from the beginning, with the Duchess of Marlborough,
Lord Townsend, Mr. Walpole, &c., and ended in
desiring we wou’d both join in bringing the matter to a
conclusion, he being now determined to treat; and that we
wou’d both write to the Duchess of Marlborough the next
post.
I writ accordingly, and in the close of my letter mentioned
the surprise I had been in to find she had not been
pleased to continue her commands to me in a thing I
had taken so much pains to serve her, and not without
success.
But when I came to London, I heard of the charge her
grace had thought fit to send up against me about the
building, and so found I had not been mistaken in what I
had told the Duke of Newcastle I apprehended might
be the cause of her dropping me in so very easy a manner in
what related to him.
547
Upon this false assertion of what the Duchess of Marlborough
had said to Mr. Hawkesmoor, she met him at Mr.
Richards’ at Black Heath, and told him what Sir John
Vanburgh had said as to the Duchess of Marlborough’s
message by him, upon which Mr. Hawkesmoor protested,
as he had never seen her after Sir John went away, he
never said any such thing to him; and that it had given
him a great deal of trouble very often to see the unreasonable
proceedings of Sir John.
What he repeats out of his own letter is quite different,
as may be seen.
My Lady Harriot Godolphin had twenty-two thousand
pounds to her portion, procured by the Duchess of Marlborough.
Friday.
Sir,—I beg pardon for troubling you with this, but I am
in a very odd distress; too much ready money. I have now
105,000l. dead, and shall have fifty more next weeke: if
you can imploy it any way, it will be a very great favor
to me.
I hope you will forgive my reminding you of Mr. Sewell’s
memorial for a majority; if any vouchers are wanting for
his character, I believe Mr. Selwin will give him a very good
one. I am, with great truth,
Your most obliged
And obedient servant,
Marlborough.
548
December 11, 1712.
The shortest day of the year dates this letter, and to me
the most melancholy, because it is the first after I heard
of thirty-nine’s (Marlborough’s) leaving the kingdom
(under God) he had saved. I who have not a friend left,
now he is gone, (yourself excepted,) have this only comfort,
that I am sure his greatest enemies on the side of the
water where he now is, will be much kinder to him than
many of the pretended friends he left behind him have been
for some years past. They have, however, their full reward,
and being true Irishmen, by cutting the bough they
stood upon themselves, have fallen from the very top of the
tree, and have broke their own necks by their senseless
politics of breaking his power, who alone had acquired by
his merits interest enough to support theirs. Though I
know more of this than any man now alive, yet I shall
never make any other use of it but to beg that you, during
his absence, will never trust to anything they, or any one
they can influence, shall either say or do, since, to my certain
knowledge, they were ever enemies to you and yours;
and so thirty-nine (Marlborough) knows I have told him
long; and if I had been so happy to have been credited,
others had travelled, and not dear thirty-nine (Marlborough.)
But past time is not to be recalled. God preserve
him wherever he goes.
It is time to return my thanks for the paper I have received
about the chaplain, and to assure you that now
thirty-nine (Marlborough) is gone, there is nobody behind
him in this kingdom more heartily concerned for the happiness
of you and yours, &c.
549
Hampton Court in Hertfordshire, Oct. 14, 1720.
I received with the greatest pleasure imaginable your
grace’s commands, as I shall ever do to the last moment of
my life, and obey them with a readiness as becomes one to
do, who, with all his faults, has not those fashionable ones
of fickleness and insincerity, which the dear Duchess of
Marlborough has, to my knowledge, so often met with in
this false world.
I am sure your grace is overjoyed to hear the Duke is
so well, and the more so because it is truth beyond contradiction,
that as we owe our liberties to him, so he,
under God, owes his life to the care and tenderness of the
best of wives.
My dearest girls order me to present their duty to your
grace, and their services to Lady Dy and Lady Hun.
There is not upon the face of the earth anybody that is
more than I am, and ever will be, &c.
Did I not know myself to be so entirely innocent as
never to have had a single thought, that if you had known
it would have given the least umbrage of offence to your
grace, the usage I have lately met with would be to me insupportable;
but since that is my case, I can, though with
great uneasiness, bear it now, as I did once before, till the
happy time will come when your grace will be convinced
that I am incapable of being otherwise than your faithful
550servant; and that those who have persuaded you to believe
the contrary are as great enemies to your grace, as I know
they are to the true interest of their country. In the mean
time, I beseech Heaven to let me learn by degrees to be
without that agreeable conversation which I valued more
than I can express. I can say no more, but conclude with
assuring your grace, that, use me as you will, it is not in
your power to make me otherwise than your grace’s, &c.
Saturday, Six o’Clock.
April 20, 1744.
Madam,—The letter which I had the honour to receive
from your grace the 26th, hath given me great uneasiness,
for I have always made it a rule not to intermeddle in family
affairs, even of my relations and friends, and I should not
have been so unguarded in what I presumed to mention to
your grace about the Duke of Marlborough, had you not
been pleased to hint what you inclined to do for his son,
and had not my veneration for the name of a Duke of
Marlborough, and my passion and desire to have it always
flourish, and make a figure in the world, provoked me to
say what I did, which I hope your grace will pardon. I
know nothing of the Duke’s affairs, nor how or with whom
he is entangled; but sincerely wish he had your prudence
and discretion, for the sake of himself and family. I herewith
return to your grace the book you pleased to send
me, which I read with an aching heart.
I am, with the utmost duty and esteem,
Madam,
Your Grace’s most dutiful
and obedient humble servant,
J. Scrope.
551
June 4, 1744.
Sir,—Your repeated civilities to me persuade me that
you would willingly employ yourself to do me any reasonable
service; and what I am now going to trouble you
about is, I think, not unreasonable; at least I am told it is
very customary, and almost a matter of form. I mean the
prolongation of my term in Marlborough-house. I had it
prolonged, I think, in the late king’s time, and am now
desirous to prolong it again for as long as I can, paying
what is usual upon such occasions. Some years ago I
asked Sir Robert Walpole to add the term of years that
was lapsed to my lease of Marlborough-house, and likewise
to do another little favour for me: he answered me, that as
to Marlborough-house he would do it, because he could do
it himself, but that for the other he must ask it of the king.
Somebody then advised me to wait a little, and they would
be both done together; and I was fool enough to take that
advice. However, I have still half the term left. The
house was entirely built at the Duke of Marlborough’s expense,
and moreover, I paid two thousand pounds to Sir
Richard Beeling, for a pretended claim which he had upon
part of the ground, so that I think I have as just a claim as
any tenant of the crown can have. The late Lord Treasurer,
I remember, granted a new term in a house upon
crown land to Lord Sussex, an avowed enemy to the government,
even when his first term was within a month of
expiring, saying, it would be too great a hardship to take
it from him. I am sure I am no enemy to the government,
though possibly no friend to some in the administration,
and therefore I hope that what would have been thought
too hard in that case, will not be thought reasonable in
mine. I am always sincere, and, for aught I know, some
552people may think me too much so; and I confess to you
freely, that I take this opportunity, while Mr. Pelham is
at the head of the Treasury, he being the only person in
that station who, I believe, would oblige me, or to whom I
would be obliged; and this I find, by the answer I have
already mentioned from Sir Robert Walpole, is entirely in
his power to do. He has been very civil to me, and the
only one in employment who has been so for many years.
I therefore desire you to mention this affair to him at a
proper time, of which you are the best judge, and I put off
my application till now, in order to be as little troublesome
to him as possible, knowing that he has much less business
in the summer. Your assistance and friendship in this
matter will very much oblige
Your most faithful,
and most obliged,
humble servant,
S. Marlborough.
June 7, 1744.
I am very much obliged to you for your application in
my behalf to Mr. Pelham, and to him for his civil answer
to it. I desire you will make him my compliments and acknowledgements.
I would much rather have the lease
under the exchequer seal only, and not trouble his Majesty
about this affair; but as you desire me to ask advice of
counsell thereupon, I have accordingly sent it to my lawyer
for his opinion. I shall employ one Mr. Keys, who is used
to matters of this kind, to attend this affair through the
offices, and he will draw up my memorial in the proper
form to be presented to the treasury. Mr. Keys informs
me that the lease of the Duke of Richmond’s and the Montague’s
553houses in Whitehall, and many others, are only
under the exchequer seal; so that I make no doubt but
that the opinion of my counsell will agree with my own
inclinations. As I cannot express, as I would do, my acknowledgements
to you for the kindness you have shewn,
and the trouble you have taken in this affair, I will only
say that I am, with great esteem and truth,
Your most faithful,
humble servant,
S. Marlborough.
September 11, 1744.
Sir,—’Tis a great while since I have troubled you with
either thanks for the favours you have done me, or with any
solicitations. The first, I believe, you don’t care for; and
I know, you have so much business that I was willing to
delay, as long as I could, giving Mr. Pelham or you any
trouble concerning Windsor parke. You know the whole
history about that matter, how Queen Caroline took the
allowance away, which her Majesty sent me word she would
do, if I would not let her buy something out of my estate
at Wimbledon, which was settled upon my family. This I
refused, but in a very respectful manner. After this she
kept her word, and took the allowance away, which I have
in my grant. And I am sure you know that I never
gave any occasion for it by bringing any bills for what
I did there on my own account. I certainly have as much
right to this allowance in my grant as I have to any part of
my own estate, and there is no person that has a grant from
the crown, that has not an allowance more or less for taking
care of his Majesty’s deer. I desire no favour, but only
strict justice; and you will oblige me extremely if you will
554direct me in what manner I should proceed. I lost a considerable
arrear, which his present Majesty did not think
right to pay me, when King George the First died; saying,
he was not obliged to pay his father’s debts. And since
the Queen stopped the allowance, I have been at great expenses.
I have a right by my grant to five hundred pounds
a year for making hay, buying it when the year is bad, paying
all tradesmen’s bills, keeping horses to carry the hay
about to several lodges, and paying five keepers’ wages at
fifteen pounds a year each, and some gate-keepers, mole-catchers,
and other expenses that I cannot think of. But
as kings’ parkes are not to be kept so low as private peoples’,
because they call themselves king’s servants, I really believe
that I am out of pocket upon this account, besides the
disadvantage of paying ready money every year for what is
done, and having only long arrears to sollicit for it. But
I think, by your advice, this matter may be settled better,
and that the treasury will either comply with my grant, or
allow me to send the bills of what is paid upon his Majesty’s
account. If they think anybody will do it honester
or cheaper than I have done, I shall be very glad to quit
the allowance, and I should have quitted the parke long
ago, if I had not laid out a very great sum in building in
the great parke, and likewise in the little parke, where
John Spencer lives.
I have another small trouble at this time with Mr.
Sandys the cofferer. The custom has ever been to serve
venison for the royal family and the nobles; and the cofferer
sends to know what venison the parks can furnish.
My Lord Sandys, to shew his breeding, made a letter be
sent to ask this question, I believe from some footman. I
sent to the keepers to know what they could furnish without
hurting the parke; the number was a very great one,
but I have always chosen to send more by a great many
than any other ranger ever did. However, his lordship
was pleased to sent warrants for two more than the number,
555which I ordered the keepers to comply with. Since that,
he has given out four warrants more above the number,
which I forbade them to serve. For this year has been so
bad for venison in all parkes but my own at Blenheim, that
it has been seldom good. And Mr. Leg sent one of these
warrants from the cofferer, who gave me a great deal of
trouble, by being very impertinent in drawing warrants
himself upon this park, signing only “Leg.” He certainly
is a very great coxcomb; but I will say no more of that.
The keepers send me word that it has been so bad a season
this year, that I must buy a great deal of hay for the deer,
or they will be starved this winter;—for though ’tis a great
parke, it is full of roads; and there is nothing beautiful in
it but clumps of trees, which, if Mr. Pelham does not prevent
it, will be destroyed by the cheats of the surveyors,
which in a great measure I have prevented for more than
forty years.
Pray forgive me this long trouble, and be assured that
you never obliged anybody in your life that is more sincerely,
though I am insignificant,
Your friend and
humble servant,
S. Marlborough.
September 17, 1744.
Sir,—I give you many thanks for your enquiring after my
health to-day. I am a little better than I was yesterday,
but in pain sometimes, and I have been able to hear some of
the letters I told you of read to-day; and I hope I shall live
long enough to assist the historians with all the information
they can want of me; but it is not possible for me to live
to see a history of between thirty and forty years finished.
556I shall be contented when I have done what lies in my
power.
I cannot make up this letter without telling you something
I have found in these papers, in the few I have heard
read. My Lord Godolphin was prodigious careful to save
all he could of the money of England, and to make the
allies bear their proportion, according to the advantages
they were to have, not to allow of anything that the parliament
did not appropriate—and there were proper vouchers,
and no douceurs. I have not found yet no more than so
many crowns asked upon some occasions; now, one hears
nothing but one hundred and fifty thousand pounds repeated
over and over. That I suppose has been occasioned by the
great success we have had, and that it was reasonable that
one commander should have a great share himself, for his
courage in standing all the fire, and for his wisdom in
directing the whole matter. There is one letter of my
Lord Godolphin’s that pleased me much, though of no great
consequence, but it shewed his justice and humanity.
There was some money returned from England, the value
of which was more in that country than it was here, and
Lord Godolphin writes to the Duke of Marlborough that
the advantage of that gain should be to England, or given
amongst the soldiers, and that the paymaster should not have
it. Contrary to that notion, I have been told, and I believe
it is true, that Mr. Hanbury Williams had a place made for
him, quite unnecessary, with fifteen hundred a year salary,
and that it is lately found out that he has cheated the government
of forty thousand pounds. I am not sure that this
last part is true, but I hope it is, for I am sure there is not
a more infamous man in England than he is in every part
of his character.
557
September 20, 1744.
Sir,—Since I have heard from you, I have heard a great
many things read which you seem to think would be of use
in the history, and besides what I have mentioned before,
of the great numbers writ in his own hand of my Lord Godolphin’s
to the Duke of Marlborough, I have found a great
number of books of the Duke of Marlborough’s letters,
copied by Mr. Cardenoll; some of them to my Lord Godolphin,
treasurer, Mr. St. John, Mr. Harley, and to a
great number of others. My Lord Godolphin’s own letters
shew that he was a very knowing minister in all foreign
affairs; though you never heard, I believe, that he boasted
of the great respect that the Princess abroad had for him,
nor did he tell ever any of the lords of the cabinet counsell
that they knew nothing, and that France trembled at his
name. I need not say anything of my Lord Godolphin’s
management and honesty in the treasury, for you know
enough of that; but perhaps you do not know that he was
so far from having pensions and grants, that if his elder
brother had not died just before Mr. Harley turned him
out, he must have been buried, as a great man in Plutarch’s
Lives was, by the public or his friends; though he never
spent anything himself, excepting in charity and generosities
to any of his friends that happened to be poor; for he was not
so ingenious as some people are in making places for insignificant
people, and quartering them upon the crown; and by
some of the letters I have heard read, I find the demands
he consented should be paid in the war were sometimes so
many livres, and I have not yet come to anything higher than
crowns, neither of which amounted to any very great sum.
I believe there are at least twenty great books, of Mr.
Cardenoll’s copying, of the Duke of Marlborough’s letters to
558the minister at home, and to the Princes abroad; and, in
short, to those in England that were at all useful to contribute
anything to the good of the common cause. It is
impossible to read what I have done lately, without being
in vapours, as you call it; to think how these two men were
discarded after serving so many years, when she was
Princess, and assisting her when she was perfectly ignorant
what was to be done in a higher station. My Lord Treasurer
was taken leave of by a letter sent by a groom. That
was because I suppose Mrs. Harley was ashamed to see
him after all the expressions she had made to him, and for
all his disinterested services. When Mr. Freeman was
discharged, it was by a letter also; though he was so remarkable
for having always a great deal of good temper, it
put him into such a passion, that he flung the letter into
the fire; but he soon recovered himself enough to write her
an answer, a copy of which I can shew you whenever you
care to read it. One would think that my Lord Sandys
had been at the head of the councill upon these occasions.
Mr. Freeman had nothing to do with the management of
the money, but only the war for the security and grandeur
of the Queen and England, and had gained more than
twenty sieges and pitched battles. How this business will
end by the great undertaking of C. and his partner D., I
cannot pretend to say, but I could say something in behalf
of Lord ——, if he had not taken the last grant for the pension,
after he had taken all the money out of the treasury.
I am sure you can’t suspect my being partial to him, and he
really has some good qualities that made me love him extremely,
as my Lord Marlborough and my Lord Godolphin
did for many years, but I know they both thought he had
not good judgment; and I thought he did not want it so
much as to be persuaded by his friend C. to take the last
pension, since his family was so vastly provided for. I
thought he would have chosen rather to be his own master,
and to have contributed what he could to secure his own
559great property, by endeavouring to recover our very good
laws, and secure our once happy island.
I am glad to find I have so much judgment as to trouble
you no longer at this time, but I must beg of you that you
will read one paper more, which I will send as soon as I
can; who am
Your most obliged and troublesome
Humble servant,
S. Marlborough.
September 21, 1744.
Madam,—When your grace can spare a quarter of an
hour, I should be extremely obliged to you if you would
give me leave to wait on you to return my humble thanks
for the pleasure and honour of your picture and your other
favours, and to acquaint your grace what progress is
made in the commands you were pleased to commit to the
care of,
My Lord,—I was ill in bed (as I frequently am) when I
received the honour of your grace’s letter. I find by it,
notwithstanding the many civil expressions you are pleased
560to make use of, that I must be forced to sitt down contented
with a refusal, and the Duke of St. Albans is to be
gratified at my expense. Some people, perhaps, may wonder
it should be so, but I have for a long time ceased wondering
at anything.
If I enter any farther into this affair, ’tis not, I assure
you, with the least view that anything I can urge will have
an effect; but ’tis some satisfaction to show that I apprehend
myself still in the right, though I should have the misfortune
not to prevail by doing so. There can be but three
considerations to induce the Duke of St. Albans to insist
on this point, which are, that he believes he has a right to
it, or that it will be of use to him, or that it will mortifie me.
I think I have already sufficiently proved that he has not
the least glimmering of right to it. I have beat him, if I
may say so, out of his fortifications, and forced him in his
castle to yield up the constable’s pretensions; and I will
now as plainly shew that it can be of no use to him:
and then the third reason alone will subsist, which is, that
’tis done to mortifie me, against which there is no arguing.
All I can say is, I think I have not deserved it. The Duke
lives, as other constables have done, at the Keep; and, unless
he chooses to goe out of his way, (which for ought I
know he may,) I can’t see the least benefit it can be to him.
It is not his road to London, neither is there any road
through the park, and I hope none will ever be made, and
for this reason, as I told you before, nobody but the royal
family and ranger were ever suffered to goe in with their
coaches. The Duke of Marlborough gave the Duke of St.
Albans a key to walk in it at his pleasure, but little imagined
to have his civility requited in the manner it was, by
having other keys made from it, the Duke distributing
them as he thought fit, coming into the park with his coach
and chaise, and making use of it in many other respects,
just as if he had been the ranger. But your grace tells me
this favour could not well be refused him, and that he is
561not to go through the park in right of his office, but by her
Majesty’s leave. I am sorry your grace imagined that this
way of turning it softened the point, because, in my poor
apprehension, it seems extremely to aggravate the injury.
To give the Duke leave, contrary to my earnest representations
and entreaties, (who am ranger of the park,) when he
owns he has no right to it, seems so manifest a partiality
in his favour, that it cannot be but exceeding mortifying to
me. If his grace’s merit be not very great, it is natural to
conclude my demerit must be so; and as I am not conscious
of having deserved this disregard, I am the more concerned to
find it. I have formerly been in courts as your grace is
now, and I there observed that the ministerial policy always
loaded people with favours in proportion to their abilities,
and the use they could be of in return to them. Perhaps
I may be mistaken, but I ask your grace, Is the Duke of
St. Albans a man of that high importance as to be worth
making a precedent for—which may be attended with ill
consequences, and in process of time bring difficultys on
the crown itself? How can others who live at Windsor be
refused this favour, which has been granted to the Duke of
St. Albans, simply as such? His predecessors in his office,
I may say without wronging him, have some of them been
as distinguished as himself. Prince Rupert, son to the
Queen of Bohemia, and nephew to King Charles, was one of
them that frequently resided at the Keep, and never desired
nor ever enjoyed this privilege; the Dukes of Northumberland
and Kent, Lord Cobham, Lord Carlisle, and others,
never thought of asking it; but though his predecessors
never had it, will his successors for the future ever be content
without it? No, though they should not be of equal
merit with his grace. So that, in truth my lord, you see
I am not pleading on my own account singly, but I’m endeavouring
to support the true interest of the crown, and
making a stand against an innovation that will hereafter
bring difficultys upon them. But I cannot flatter myself
562that anything I can say will gett this leave revoked; therefore
I should be glad to have it explain’d how far, my lord,
it is to extend. Is the Duke to have the privilege of giving
keys, as he actually has done, to whomsoever he pleases?
Are they all to come into the park with their coaches and
chaises? This will greatly prejudice the park, but may be
done if her Majesty pleases to order it. But as to his
putting cattle, and authorising his gamekeepers to kill
game for his own use and the Dowager Duchess of St.
Albans, this I take to be an encroachment on my grant,
and that I presume is not intended, nor can I be content
to suffer it. I am sensible I have made this letter too tedious;
but ’tis extremely natural to say all one can in defence
of what one takes to be one’s right. This, my lord,
must plead my excuse, and engage you to pardon
Your Grace’s most obedient
And most humble servant,
S. Marlborough.
To the Duke of Newcastle.
This is the last Will and Testament of me, Sarah Duchess
Dowager of Marlborough, made this eleventh day of August,
in the year of our Lord, 1744.
My will and desire is that I may be buried at Blenheim,
near the body of my dear husband John late Duke of
Marlborough; and if I die before his body is removed
thither, I desire Francis Earl of Godolphin to direct the
same to be removed to Blenheim aforesaid, as was always
intended.
And I direct that my funeral may be made private, and
with no more expense than decency requires; and that no
563mourning be given to any one, except such of my servants
as shall attend at my funeral.
As concerning my estate, I give the same in manner and
form following.
I devise to Hugh Earl of Marchmont, and Beversham
Filmer, of Lincoln’s Inn, Esq., their heirs, &c., all my
manors, parsonage, rectory, advowsons, messuages, lands,
tenements, tithes, and hereditaments in the several counties
of Surrey, Oxford, Buckingham, and Huntingdon,
which were lately the several estates of Richard Holditch,
Francis Hawes, William Astell, and Robert Knight,
Esqrs.
And also my manors, &c., in the said county of Buckingham,
which were late the estate of Richard Hampden,
Esq., deceased.
And also my manor, rectory, &c., in the county of Buckingham,
which were some time the estate of Sir John Wittewronge,
Bart., deceased.
And also my manor, &c. in the same county, formerly the
estate of Sir Thomas Tyrrel, Bart., deceased.
And also my manor, &c. in the county of Bedford, which
were late the estate of Sir John Meres, Knight.
And also my freehold and copyhold messuages, &c. in
the county of Bedford, which were late the estate of Bromsall
Throckmorton, Esq.
And also my manor, &c. in possession and reversion, in
the county of Bedford, which were late the estate of Edward
Snagg, Esq.
And also my rectory and tithes of Steventon, in the
county of Bedford, which were late the estate of Peter
Floyer, Esq.
And also my lands, &c. in the county of Bedford, which
were the estate of John Culliford, Esq., and Mary his
wife.
And also my manor, &c. in the county of Berks, which
were the estate of Richard Jones, Esq.
564And also my manor, &c. in the county of Berks, which
were the estate of Robert Packer, Esq.
And also my messuage, lands, &c. in the county of Berks,
which were late the estate of Thomas Bedford, clerk.
And also my manor, &c. in the county of Oxford, which
were late the estate of Sir Cecil Bishop, Bart.
And also my manors, &c. in Northamptonshire, which
were late the estate of Mrs. Elizabeth Wiseman.
And also my manor, &c. in the county of Northampton,
late the estate of Sir William Norwich, Bart.
And also my manor, &c. in the county of Northampton,
late the estate of Nathaniel Lord Crewe, Lord Bishop of
Durham.
And also that part of my estate at St. Albans still retained
by me.
And also my manors, &c. in the county of Stafford, which
were the estate of Viscount Fauconberg.
And also my manor, &c. freehold and copyhold, in the
county of Norfolk, late the property of Gabriel Armiger,
Esq.
And also my manors, &c. in the county of Leicester
and Northampton, which were the estates of Sir Thomas
Cave.
And all other my manors, &c. in the counties of Surrey,
Oxford, Huntingdon, Buckingham, Bedford, Berks, Northampton,
Hertford, Stafford, Norfolk, and Leicester, (always
subject to charges made by indenture on the marriage of
my grandson, John Spencer, Esq. to Georgiana Carolina,
his now wife, daughter to Lord Carteret.)
John Spencer, the son of my said grandson John Spencer,
shall have, arising from the said estates &c., an annuity
(during the life of his father) of 2,000l., which he shall be
empowered legally to enforce.
And whereas the late Duke of Marlborough directed by
his will that a yearly sum of 3,000l. should be charged upon
the estates devised upon Hugh Earl of Marchmont, and Beversham
565Filmer, for each and every of the sons which may
be born to Charles Spencer, (now Duke of Marlborough,)
and the grandson of the same; I, with a desire to carry
out such intention, hereby direct that the said sum be
chargeable upon the said estates so devised, during the joint
lives of the said Charles Duke of Marlborough and such
son or grandson: Always provided that such son or grandson
shall not covenant to do or do any act which shall set
aside or bar any intent declared or expressed in the will of
the late Duke of Marlborough; in which case such annuity
shall utterly cease.
Upon such son or grandson marrying and attaining the
age of twenty-one years, the said annual sum of 3,000l. shall
no longer be paid to him; but an annual charge not exceeding
1,500l. shall be paid to any woman with whom he
shall marry, for the term of her life.
Provided always, that my said estates shall never be
chargeable with more than one such annuity, as a provision
for any such woman, at one and the same time.
And all my said manors, &c. devised to Hugh Earl of
Marchmont, and Beversham Filmer, subject to the annuities
and charges therein expressed, I will and direct the same
to be in TRUST for my grandson John Spencer, for and during
the term of his natural life; and after that, to the USE
of the said Hugh Earl of Marchmont, and Beversham Filmer,
and their heirs, during the natural life of John Spencer,
in TRUST, to preserve the contingent uses thereof; the said
John Spencer to receive the rents and profits thereof, (with
similar covenants relating to John Spencer the younger, and
succeeding heirs.)
And whereas the dean and chapter of Christ’s Church—Canterbury,
did lease unto me the scite and court lodge of
the manor of Agney, in the county of Kent, I hereby bequeath
the said court lodge, &c.
And also my lands, &c. held on lease in the county of
Buckingham.
And also all other my leasehold estates (excepting such
566as I shall otherwise dispose of) to the USE of the said
Hugh Earl of Marchmont, and Beversham Filmer, in TRUST
for such uses and persons as are herein expressed concerning
my various manors and freeholds.
Item, I give unto Hugh Earl of Marchmont, and Beversham
Filmer, all my manor of Wimbledon, &c. in Surrey.
And also my leasehold rectory of Wimbledon, for their
USE, and in trust, &c. (with similar covenants respecting
John Spencer and his heirs.)
And my will is, that all my household goods, pictures,
and furniture that shall be in my said buildings and gardens
at Wimbledon, shall be considered as heirlooms.
And my will is, and I hereby expressly declare, that if
the said John Spencer (my grandson) shall become bound
or surety for any person or persons whatever for any sum
or sums of money, or if he, or any person or persons in
trust for him, shall take from any king or queen of these
realms any pension, or any office or employment, civil or
military, (except the rangership of the great or little parks
at Windsor,) then shall all these my intents and covenants
in behalf of the said John Spencer become void, as if he
were actually dead.
(The same with regard to John Spencer the younger.)
And whereas by lease from the crown I am possessed
of all that capital messuage which I now inhabit, called
Marlborough-house, with all its appurtenances, within or
near the parishes of St. James, the liberty of Westminster,
and St. Martin in-the-Fields, in the county of Middlesex,
for the term of fifty years:
Now I hereby give and bequeath all my interest in the
said capital messuage, &c. unto my executors (subject to
such charge thereon as is hereinafter mentioned) upon the
TRUSTS following: That is to say, in trust for the said John
Spencer the father, for so long a period of the fifty years as
he shall live; and then in trust for George Spencer, commonly
called Marquis of Blandford, eldest son and heir apparent
567of Charles Duke of Marlborough; and after his
decease, in trust for any son of the said George Spencer
who shall attain his majority.
Provided the said George Spencer shall have no son, then
in trust for Charles Spencer, second son of Charles Duke
of Marlborough, and his son, (with similar provisions, provided
Charles Spencer shall have no son, conferring the
interest upon such other son of Charles Duke of Marlborough
as shall attain his majority.)
Provided always, that should any attempt be made by
any of these legatees to dispose, let, exchange, or give up
possession in any manner of Marlborough-house, or commit
any act likely to subvert any of the declared intentions of
the late Duke of Marlborough with respect to his will, such
bequest shall become utterly void, and my executors are
hereby empowered to dispose of all my interest in the said
messuage, and pay over the money as part of my personal
estate.
I am likewise possessed of another lease from the crown,
bearing date Feb. 13, 1728, not yet expired.
Now I give and bequeath the said lease to my executors
in trust for the holder of Marlborough-house for the time
being, and subject to the same conditions and limitations.
And whereas I am empowered by the Duke of Marlborough’s
will to dispose of such goods as are my own in
Marlborough-house, and of which there is an inventory:
Now I bequeath all such goods, furniture, pictures, &c., to
my grandson John Spencer, his executors, &c.
Item, I give unto my grandson, Charles Duke of Marlborough,
all my furniture, pictures, &c., which shall be in
Blenheim-house, in Oxfordshire, at the time of my decease;
but upon the express condition that he do not remove any
of the goods or furniture from Althorp-house, but permit
the same to be enjoyed by my grandson, John Spencer,
except the same shall be of greater value than those in
Blenheim-house; then may he remove such part thereof as
568shall leave no more in value than shall be equal to that
which at the time of my decease was in Blenheim-house;
and should he not perform this condition, then I leave the
said furniture, &c. in Blenheim-house, to John Spencer my
grandson, his executors, &c.
And my will is, that all my goods, &c. in my mansion-house
at Holywell, in St. Albans, in the county of Hertford,
shall continue there, and be always held therewith, as far
as the law will permit of.
And whereas by letters patent on the 18th day of July,
in the eighth year of her reign, her late majesty Queen Anne
granted me the rangership of Windsor Great Park, giving
the said place in TRUST to James Craggs, Samuel Edwards,
and Charles Hodges, for me and my heirs:
Now I will that the said Samuel Edwards shall hold
the same in trust for my grandson John Spencer, his
heirs, &c.
And I give all the goods, &c., which may be in the chief
lodge, belonging to me, to my said grandson John Spencer.
(Similar provisions with regard to the Little Park.)
I give unto my granddaughter Isabella Duchess Dowager
of Manchester all my piece of ground and the messuage
thereon in Dover-street, in the county of Middlesex; together
with all the goods, furniture, &c., in the said
messuage.
I give unto Hugh Earl of Marchmont, and Beversham
Filmer, Esq., and James Stephens, all my leasehold piece
of ground and brick messuage in Grosvenor-street, in the
parish of St. George’s, Hanover-square, in trust for John
Spencer the son.
Item, I hereby give unto Hugh Earl of Marchmont,
Beversham Filmer, Thomas Lord Bishop of Oxford, and
James Stephens, my joint executors, 2,000l. each, for their
care and trouble about this my will.
All other property whatsoever, comprising money, mortgages,
securities, &c., after payment of my just debts, and
569such bequests as herein before or after in any codicil mentioned,
I bequeath to my said executors, in trust for John
Spencer, my grandson.
This will, which occupies in the original eight skins of
parchment, is witnessed by the following persons, and
signed and sealed by the Duchess.
Fane.
Edmund London.
W. Lee.
John Scrope.
This is a CODICIL to the last will and testament of me,
Sarah Duchess Dowager of Marlborough, which I duly
made and published, bearing date the eleventh day of
August instant, and which will I do hereby ratify and confirm
in all respects.
Whereas I am possessed of several long annuities,
amounting to the yearly sum of two thousand six hundred
pounds,
Now I bequeath the same to my executors, in trust for
the following uses—
To James Stephens, 300l. yearly.
To Grace Bidley, 300l. yearly.
To Robert Macarty, Earl of Clancarty, the yearly sum
of 1000l.
To Elizabeth Arbor, the yearly sum of 200l.
To Anne Patten, the yearly sum of 130l.
To Olive Lofft, the yearly sum of 40l.
To John Griffiths, the yearly sum of 200l.
To Hannah Clarke, the yearly sum of 200l.
570To Jeremiah Lewis, the yearly sum of 50l.
To John Dorset, the yearly sum of 50l.
To each of my two chairmen, John Robins and George
Humphreys, the yearly sum of 20l.
To Walter Jones, the yearly sum of 30l., and to each of
my footmen that shall continue in my service to the time of
my decease, the yearly sum of 10l.
To Margaret and Catherine Garmes, the yearly sum
each of 10l.
The overplus of such long annuities to be paid to John
Spencer.
I give to John Spencer ALL my gold and silver plate,
seals, trinkets, and small pieces of japan.
I give to the wife of John Spencer, the son of my said
grandson, (if he should live to be married,) my diamond
pendants, which have three brilliant drops to each, and all
the rest of my jewels which I shall not otherwise dispose
of; and in case he die unmarried, I give the same to his
father.
I give to my granddaughter, Mary Duchess of Leeds, my
diamond solitaire, with the large brilliant diamond it hangs
to; also the picture in water colours of the late Duke of
Marlborough, drawn by Lens.
I give to my daughter, Mary Duchess of Montagu, my
gold snuff-box, that has in it two pictures of her father, the
Duke of Marlborough, when he was a youth. Also a picture
of her father covered with a large diamond, and hung
to a string of small pearls for a bracelet, and two enamelled
pictures for a bracelet of her sisters, Sunderland and Bridgewater.
I give to Thomas Duke of Leeds 3000l.
I give to my niece, Frances Lady Dillon, 1000l.
I give to Philip Earl of Chesterfield, out of the great
regard I have for his merit, and the infinite obligations I
have received from him, my best and largest brilliant
diamond ring, and 20,000l.
571I give to William Pitt, Esq., the sum of 10,000l., upon
account of his merit in the noble defence he made for the
support of the laws of England, and to prevent the ruin of
his country.
I give to Mr. Burroughs, Master in Chancery, 200l. to
buy a ring.
I give to my executors 500l. each to buy them rings.
I give to the Earl of Clancarty, above what I have
already given him, 1000l.
Whereas John Earl of Stair owes me 1000l. upon bond,
and his wife bought me some things in France, but always
declined telling me what they cost, I desire him to pay
my Lady Stair, and to accept the residue of the 1000l., together
with such other sums as I have lent to him.
I give to Juliana Countess of Burlington my bag of gold
medals, and 1000l. to buy a ring, or something in remembrance
of me.
I give to the Duchess of Devonshire my box of travelling
plate.
I give to James Stephens, over and above what I have
already given him, the sum of 1300l., and as a further
compensation for the great trouble he will have as my
acting executor, the yearly sum of 300l.
To Grace Ridley I give, over and above what I have
already given, the sum of 15,000l.; an enamelled picture of
the Duke of Marlborough; a little picture of the Duke in
a locket, and my own picture by Sir Godfrey Kneller,
and my striking watch, which was the Duke of Marlborough’s.
I give to Anne Ridley the sum of 3000l.
I give to Mrs. Jane Pattison my striking watch, which
formerly belonged to her mistress, Lady Sunderland.
One half of my clothes and wearing apparel I give to
Grace Ridley, and the other half equally between Anne
Patter and Olive Lofft.
I give to each of my chairmen 25l.
572I give to each of my servants one year’s wages.
I give to the poor of the town of Woodstock 300l.
I desire that Mr. Glover and Mr. Mallet, who are to
write the history of the Duke of Marlborough, may have
the use of all papers and letters relating to the same found
in any of my houses. And I desire that these two gentlemen
may write the said history, that it may be made publick
to the world how truly the late Duke of Marlborough
wished that justice should be done to all mankind, who, I
am sure, left King James with great regret, at a time when
’twas with hazard to himself; and if he had been like the
patriots of the present times, he might have been all that
an ambitious man could hope for, by assisting King James
to settle Popery in England.
I desire that no part of the said history may be in verse.
And I direct that the said history shall not be printed
without the approbation of the Earl of Chesterfield and my
executors.
I give to Mr. Glover and Mr. Mallet 500l. each for
writing the history.
(Here follows a contingent provision for the younger
children of Charles Spencer, Duke of Marlborough.)
I give to Thomas Duke of Leeds my estate near St.
Albans, and my freehold at Romney Marsh, Kent.
I give to Philip Earl of Chesterfield my manor at Wimbledon,
and also my manors in Northampton and Surrey.
I give to the Earl of Clancarty my manors and lands
in the county of Buckingham.
To William Pitt I give my manor, &c., in the county of
Buckingham, late the estate of Richard Hampden, Esq.;
and leasehold in Suffolk; and lands, &c. in Northampton.
And to —— Bishop, Esq., my grandson, my manor, &c.
in Oxford, with the furniture, &c.
To Hugh Earl of Marchmont, my manor, &c. in
Buckingham, late the estate of Sir John Witteronge,
Bart.; and also my manor, &c. in the same county,
late the estate of Sir Thomas Tyrrel.
573To Thomas Lord Bishop of Oxford, my manor, &c. in
Bedford.
To Beversham Filmer, Esq., my manors, &c. in Leicester
and Northampton, late the estates of Sir Thomas Cave.
To Dr. James Stephens, my estates, &c. in Berks and
Huntingdon.
And all other undisposed of estates or effects to John
Spencer, his heirs, &c.
4. The Earl married, first, Carey, daughter of Sir Alexander
Frazer, and, secondly, the accomplished Anastasia
Robinson, the daughter of a painter. The story of his
lordship’s lovesuit to this lady shows at once the licentiousness
and the eccentricity of his character. Whilst he
admired the virtues of Miss Robinson, and her efforts in her
vocation as an opera singer and a teacher of music and
Italian, to support an aged father, he did not deem it beneath
him to endeavour to make her his mistress. His arts were
unsuccessful, and Anastasia became privately his wife. In
1735 it suited his fancy to proclaim his marriage. Being at
Bath, in the public rooms, a servant was ordered to call out
distinctly, “Lady Peterborough’s carriage waits;” on which
every lady of rank and respectability rose, and wished the
new Countess joy.—Granger, vol. ii. p. 45.
91. In her letter (supposed to Bishop Burnet) endorsed
“An answer to the person that asked what first stuck with
me,” in the Coxe MSS. the Duchess calls Mr. Hill “a
merchant, or projector,” who was in some way related to
Mr. Harley, and by profession an Anabaptist.—Coxe MSS.
vol. xlv. p. 11.
98. Mr. Masham was first page of honour to Queen Anne
and to Prince George, and also equerry to the latter. In
1710 he was preferred to the command of a regiment of
horse, and advanced to the rank of brigadier-general.
At the famous creation in 1711, he was made a peer, by
the title of Lord Masham of Oates, in the county of Essex.
By his lady, who died in 1734, he had three sons and two
daughters. Anne, his lordship’s eldest daughter, married,
in 1726, Henry Hoare, grandson of Sir Richard Hoare, formerly
Lord Mayor of London.—London Chronicle.
153. MS. Letter to Mr. Hutchinson. This curious and
natural account of an amusing scene is contained in a manuscript
Vindication of the Duchess, addressed to Mr. Hutchinson,
preserved in the Coxe MSS. in the British Museum,
and has never before been quoted or published.—See
Coxe Papers, vol. xliv. p. 2. “The good-nature yet
weakness of Anne’s character is strongly exemplified in
the details in the text.”
154. Lady Hyde, afterwards Countess of Rochester, from
whom the Duchess states herself to have received many
affronts on the back-stairs.—Coxe MSS. vol. 44.
155. The Duchess of Somerset, wife of the proud Duke
of Somerset, so called from his excessive pride of rank
and ostentation, was a Percy; and, as such, considered to
merit precedence, and great deference, both by her husband
and by the Duchess of Marlborough, who always called her
“the great lady.” There seems to have been a friendly
understanding between the two Duchesses, for Mr. Maynwaring,
in one of his letters to the Duchess of Marlborough,
says, “I am glad the Duke and Duchess of Somerset
were to dine with you, for notwithstanding the faults of the
one, and the spirit of Percy blood in the other, I think they
both naturally love and esteem you very much.”—Coxe MSS.
vol. xli. p. 248.
169. The Countess de Soissons was one among many ladies
of rank, and some belonging to the court, who, merely to
satisfy curiosity, ever powerful in female hearts, visited a
woman of the name of Voisin, who carried on a traffic in
poisons, and was convicted by the Chambre Ardente, and
burnt alive on the twenty-second of February, 1680. This
woman kept a list of all who had been dupes to her imposture;
and in it were found the names of the Countess de
Soissons, her sister the Duchess de Bouillon, and Marshal de
Luxembourg. In order to avoid the disgrace of imprisonment
without a fair trial, the Countess fled to Flanders; her
sister was saved by the interest of her friends; and the Marshal,
after some months’ imprisonment in the Bastile, was
declared innocent.—See Beckman’s History of Inventions,
vol. i. p. 94, 95.
196. The Duchess herself remarks it, as an extraordinary
occurrence, that her husband should, even upon a most trying
occasion, be betrayed into anger. When he received
from Queen Anne the letter containing his dismissal, he
flung it, she says, “in a passion,” into the fire. Coxe, MS.
vol. xliii.
220. Her early medical attendant, and that of her family, Dr.
Ratcliffe, the singular benefactor of Oxford, was not present
at her sick-bed. He died soon afterwards. This humorist,
and shrewd physician, had offended her Majesty some time
previously, by saying that her complaint was nothing but
“vapours.” Possibly he was so far right, that repose, not
medicine, was what the poor, harassed Queen required. Dr.
Ratcliffe had been sent for to Prince George by the Queen’s
express desire. On that occasion he had given her Majesty
no hopes; telling her that however common it might be for
surgeons to use caustics in cases of burning and scalding, “it
was irregular for physicians to expel watery humours by the
same element.” To this dogmatic assertion he added a promise that the dying Prince should have an easy passage out
of this world, since he had been so “tampered with,” he
could not live more than six days.—Ingram’s Memorials of
Oxford, vol. iii. p. 8.
For some further notice of this extraordinary man, see the
concluding portion of this volume.
230. A portion of that task, namely, her letter to Mr. Hutchison,
she is stated, in a note in Dr. Coxe’s handwriting, to
have begun during her residence abroad.
231. The principal of Sir J. Vanburgh’s works, besides Castle
Howard and Blenheim, were Eastleving, in Dorsetshire;
King’s Weston, near Bristol; the Opera House, and St.
John’s Church, Westminster—not to mention his own residence
at Whitehall, of which Swift writes—
“At length they in the rubbish spy
A thing resembling a goose-pie.”
232. Swift’s pun on this occasion was, that he might now
“build houses.”
241. This marriage, unhappily for the Duke, was childless,
thus disappointing his hopes of being able proudly to deduce
the origin of his posterity from the great Marlborough.—Coxe
Papers, vol. xlvi. p. 148.
242. This letter, together with the rest of this curious correspondence,
is to be seen in the Appendix.
255. Hogarth personated the Ghost of Brutus, but, being
wholly deficient in memory, he was unable to commit to memory
the few lines which constituted his part. The verses
he was to deliver were therefore pasted in very large letters
on the outside of an illuminated lantern, so that he could
read them as he came on the stage, with that appropriate implement
in his hand.
279. The origin of Mr. James Craggs is said by Lady Mary
W. Montague to be derived from a very low source. His
father was footman to the Duchess of Norfolk, and a footman
of the old school, who managed his mistress’s intrigues
as well as other household affairs.—Lady M. W. M.’s Letters.
Hence the epigram in Horace Walpole’s Letters.
283. For the rest of this curious letter, see Appendix. It was
kindly pointed out to me by Deputy Holmes, Esq. keeper of
the Manuscripts, British Museum. That gentleman found it
crumpled up among Dr. Coxe’s papers, while he was arranging
those manuscripts in their present convenient form. To this
letter there is neither date nor address: on the back it is
endorsed, “From the Duke of Marlborough;” Mr. Holmes
surmises, in the handwriting of Lord Godolphin. Archdeacon
Coxe has not noticed the Duke’s perplexity on the
point expressed in this letter.
288. “Our bishops,” says the Duchess, writing of the
Princess, whose condescension she had so greatly extolled,
“are now about to employ hands to write the finest character
that ever was heard of Queen Caroline; who, as it is
no treason, I freely own that I am glad she is dead.
Upon her great understanding and goodness there come
out nauseous panegyrics every day, that make one sick, so
full of nonsense and lies. There is one very remarkable
from a Dr. Clarke, in order to have the first bishoprick that
falls, and I dare say he will have it, though there is something
extremely ridiculous in the panegyric; for, after he
has given her the most perfect character that ever any woman
had, or can have, he allows that she had sacrificed her reputation
to the great and the many, to show her duty to the
King and her love to the country. These are the clergyman’s
words exactly, which allows she did wrong things, but it was
to please the King,—which is condemning him. I suppose he
must mean some good she did to her own country, for I
know of none she did in England, unless taking from the
public deserves a panegyric.”—Private Correspondence, vol.
ii. p. 169. Duchess of Marlborough’s Opinions.
348. Dallaway’s Memoirs of Lady M. W. Lord Wharncliffe.
Edition of Lady M. W.
349. Horace Walpole mentions this anecdote of Lady Bateman,
but a later account specifies Lady Anne Egerton as
the heroine of the blackened picture.
350. Those who have read the novels of Richardson, faithful
delineations of manners, cannot but recal to mind the
descriptions given of parental authority, and of filial fear, by
that prolix, but, in some points, incomparable novelist.
359. Such was her excellence in the “Provoked Husband,”
that the managers made her a present of fifty guineas above
her agreement, which was only a verbal one; “for they
knew,” says Cibber, “that she was incapable of deserting
them for another stage.” One of the many good traits in
the character of this erring woman was her refusing to receive
her salary, when disabled by illness from performing,
although her agreement entitled her to receive it.—Life
of Colley Cibber, p. 291.
360. It was not situated exactly on the spot, but near to the
summer-house, which has been mentioned in p. 10. vol. i.
of this work. The summer-house is also pulled down.
361. In Holywell-house, the Dowager Lady Spencer, mother
of the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire, long resided. Her
ladyship received among her guests the late antiquary,
—— Browne, Esq. of St. Albans, whose death, at a very advanced
age, took place very recently. The authoress had the
honour of conversing with this venerable antiquary, but could
not learn from him that there were any particular traces in
Holywell-house of the Duchess or her children, though there
are several, as Mr. Browne informed her, of the Spencer and
Cavendish family, more especially of the present Duke of Devonshire,
whose visits to Holywell in childhood were frequent.
362. From the catalogue, Holywell-house must have been
very commodious; but the rooms, though numerous, were
not large. The authoress saw it on the eve of its destruction,
and, not being at all aware of its peculiar interest to her, was
struck by its massive though not picturesque appearance.
It commanded a fine view of St. Alban’s Abbey.
363. On this occasion the churchwardens of Kingston paid
“twenty pence” for mending the ways when the Queen went
from Wimbledon to Nonsuch.
364. The survey taken of it by order of parliament, in 1649,
describes it minutely, and is very curious. It is printed in
the Archæologia of the Society of Antiquaries, vol. x. p. 399,
8vo., from the original in the Augmentation Office.
365. There is a view of this, the Duchess’s house, in the fifth
volume of the “Vitruvius Britannicus.”
366. The following account, supplied by William Upcott, Esq.,
from some one of the daily papers of that day, is curious.
“Woodstock, June 19. Yesterday being Monday, about six
o’clock in the evening, was laid the first stone of the Duke of
Marlborough’s house, by Mr. Vanbrugge, and then seven
gentlemen gave it a stroke with a hammer, and threw down
each of them a guinea; Sir Thomas Wheate was the first,
Dr. Bouchel the second, Mr. Vanbrugge the third; I know
not the rest. There were several sorts of musick; three
morris dances; one of young fellows, one of maidens, and
one of old beldames. There were about a hundred buckets,
bowls, and pans, filled with wine, punch, cakes, and ale.
From my lord’s house all went to the Town-hall, where plenty
of sack, claret, cakes, &c., were prepared for the gentry and
better sort; and under the Cross eight barrels of ale, with
abundance of cakes, were placed for the common people.
The stone laid by Mr. Vanbrugge was eight square, finely
polished, about eighteen inches over, and upon it were these
words inlayed in pewter—In memory of the battel of Blenheim,
June 8, 1705, Anna Regina.”
396. He conducted the paper called the “Champion.” His
sister Sarah, a literary character also, was the intimate friend
of Dr. Hoadly. Possibly, from her name, she may have been
a god-daughter of the Duchess.