MEMOIRS
                                   OF
                                 SARAH
                        DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH,
                               AND OF THE
                          COURT OF QUEEN ANNE


                         BY MRS. A. T. THOMSON,
 AUTHORESS OF “MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF HENRY THE EIGHTH,” “LIFE OF SIR
                          WALTER RALEIGH,” &c.


                             IN TWO VOLUMES

                                VOL. II.


                                LONDON:
                       HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
                       GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
                              MDCCCXXXIX.




                                LONDON:
                     PRINTED BY IBOTSON AND PALMER,
                             SAVOY STREET.




                                CONTENTS
                         OF THE SECOND VOLUME.


                               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                                         _Page_ 1


                               CHAPTER II.

 Conduct of Lord Sunderland—Influence of the Duchess understood
   at foreign courts—Anecdote of Charles the Third of Spain           29


                              CHAPTER III.

 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       55


                               CHAPTER IV.

 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                                74


                               CHAPTER V.

 State of parties—Friendship of Marlborough and
   Godolphin—Discovery of Mr. Harley’s practices—Intrigues of
   the Court                                                         109


                               CHAPTER VI.

 Vexations and disappointments which harassed the Duke and
   Duchess of Marlborough—Vacillations of Anne—Her appointment
   of Tory bishops                                                   124


                              CHAPTER VII.

 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       147


                              CHAPTER VIII.

 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                              164


                               CHAPTER IX.

 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                    193


                               CHAPTER X.

 Anecdotes of Swift and Addison—Publication of the
   Examiner—Charge brought in the Examiner against the Duchess       212


                               CHAPTER XI.

 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                                 256


                              CHAPTER XII.

 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                                                       320


                              CHAPTER XIII.

 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                                                           352


                              CHAPTER XIV.

 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                          376


                               CHAPTER XV.

 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                                                    397


                              CHAPTER XVI.

 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                                                    417


                              CHAPTER XVII.

 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                             436


                             CHAPTER XVIII.

 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                              460


 APPENDIX                                                            507




                                MEMOIRS

                                 OF THE

                        DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.




                               CHAPTER I.
                                1703–4.

  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
Charles 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. Of 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 emulous 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.”

So 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 all 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]

The 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 years 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 the 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 Katharine, 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
enmity 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 Clerkenwell, 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 in 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 family 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
Marlborough, 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 all:
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 French
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,
and 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, and 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 ways; 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
Queen, 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 and 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 should 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 and 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 people; 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 not 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 in 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]

Such 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.

  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 sufficiently 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 understanding 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 his 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 their 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 Godolphin, 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 of
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 of 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 given 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, antecedent 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 at
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 they 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 than 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 slaughter, 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
were 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 better
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 write 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.”


Upon 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 own 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 enemy, 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 the 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 general, 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 acted
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 memory 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 annually, 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
say 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.

  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; yet 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 Sophia, 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, it 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, which 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 minds 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.”

“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
that 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 Craggs, 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 a 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 aversion
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 patronage 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, and 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
my 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 the
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 seven 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, and 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 party 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:—


                                                    “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.

  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 her 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, “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 that
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
satisfaction, 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 consult 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 to 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, and 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 to
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 all 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 what
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 world 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 examined, “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 by 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 lived 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.”

It 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 200_l._ 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 means, 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 take 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 rejoicing 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 her 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 power. 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 Queen’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]

Mrs. 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 match 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 mind 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, and 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 that 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 Queen, (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, think 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 to 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 from 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]

There 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 had 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 people 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.”

“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.

  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 had 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 incurred 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 still, 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 by 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. Harley, 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 full 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 endeavour 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 retaliated 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, two 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. To 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 proper, 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 perceived 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 appeal 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 tool 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.

  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 faithful 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 world 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 that 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, until 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 of 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 been 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 but 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 of 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 to 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 in 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 Bolingbroke 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.

It 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 effects 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 Lord 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.

It 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 St. 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 his
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, strange 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.

His 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 were 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, although 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
Harley; and in compliance with their mutual bond, he quitted office,
after three years’ enjoyment of its dignity and emoluments.[136]




                              CHAPTER VII.

  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, James 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. Her 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, and 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]

The 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, when 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 me 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 Anne’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 the 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 respect 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.

The 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 apprised 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 last 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
from 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 royal 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, retired 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 came from Mrs.
Masham’s lodgings, who, by that means, could bring to her whom she
pleased.”[149]




                             CHAPTER VIII.

  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]

This “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, with 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 and 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.

But 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 the 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
continue 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 as 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 be 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
Whigs 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 made 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. The 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 had 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, namely, 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 House 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
daughters 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 in 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 laws 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 her, 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 him 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 lady, 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
afterwards 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 should 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.

Persevering 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, ‘_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 charge, 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? whether 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 that 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, “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.

  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 the
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, for 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 leaders 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 contemned, 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
to 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 Dr. 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 of 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 represented 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 last 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 the 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. Henry 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.

The 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. The 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, whilst 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 of 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, was 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] and, 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 scandalous 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.

  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 on 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, Swift, 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 the 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 hints 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 urged 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 be 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 from 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, was 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
not 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
who 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, the 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 invariable 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 grants 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
return 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, gratified. 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 tender 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 those
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 any 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 whom 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, and 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 attachment—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,”

are 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 upon 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 description 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
that 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 the 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 labours 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 engage 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]

The 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 Duchess 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 account 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 persuade 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 poor 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 lot,
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 Masham, 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 affected 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 had 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 of 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 upon 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 Pretender. 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 the 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, and 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 who 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.

  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 they 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 contrived 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 is
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 noisy 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 cause
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.

On 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 of 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, the 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 ruinous 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 yielded 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 meet 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 ornate 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 national 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, Gibes 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 paid 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, and 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, and 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 Hospital. 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.

We 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 allowed 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 as 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 leisure 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 sought 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 Duchess 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 Duchess 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 herself 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 of 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 Lady
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 by
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 the 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.


         SIR JOHN VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.[245]


                                             “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 them, 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 and 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 furrowing 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.

“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 her
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 as 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 alienated, 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 approaches 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 (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 to 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 in
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]


                                                          “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 family 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 to 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, in 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, was 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

                   “——Swift for closer style,[256]
                 But Hoadly for the period of a mile.”

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] “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 of
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, and 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 it 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 what 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 worthy 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 world, 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]

Sir 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,
and 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 South 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 and 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 his 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 of 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 noble 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 the
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, and 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 Lord 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.

  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 subsequent 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 supposed
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
gentleman,”[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 often 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.

The 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 towards 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 his
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 anonymous 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 whom 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 left
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 employ 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 foible; 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 royal 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 pleased 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 they 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 in 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 render 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 condition, 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 it 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 last 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 he 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
hitherto 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 never 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, his
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 of 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 exiled 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 as 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 coffers,
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 magnificence 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 it 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, he 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.

  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 heraldic 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 mourning 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, in 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, long 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 tender 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 will, 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 Lord 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; and 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.

Scarcely 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 world, 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 year, 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 unfortunate 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 informed 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
your 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 Creator 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 historian, 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 to 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 of 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 them. 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 Thynne, 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 Harley, 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, and 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 husband, 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.

  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 of 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
at 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 upon.” 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 fidelity 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 with 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 wrongs
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 character, 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 violence 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 was 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 to 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. The
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 she 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 who, 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,
than 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, for 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 Wales, 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.

For 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]

The 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 of 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 and
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.

  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 her 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 his 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 she 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 and 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 from 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 he 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.

Lady 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
succeeded 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 have 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
in 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 me 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 what 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. He 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.

In 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.

“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 apparent. 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.

Such 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; and 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 they 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.

  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. Early 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 in 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 good 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, “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 interest 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, on 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.

After 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, author 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 often 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 the
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 Lady 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 tears, 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 charms, 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 Modish, 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 would 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: a 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 romance, 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. This 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.

  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,
resided, 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 like 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 traced.
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 considerable
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 crown, 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 the 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 they 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]

Notwithstanding 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 highly 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 so 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 a 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 of 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 Treasurer, “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 pounds; 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 disregarded. 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 the 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 but 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 that 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 done 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 Strong, 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 should 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.

There 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 had 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 instances, notwithstanding all the follies and
waste which, in spite of all that could be said, he has certainly
committed.”[382]




                             CHAPTER XVIII.

  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 to 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 garter 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, I 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 frailty 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 among 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 shadow 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 by 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 critics, 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 offering 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 that 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 great 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.
Hooke, 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
name, 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 so 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 an 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 of 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 shall 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 her.[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 exchanged
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 would 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 its 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 cloth 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; “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 Windsor 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
Queen 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 the 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 her 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 of 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 of
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 to 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 almost 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,
and 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 of 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 of 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 of 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 inveteracy. 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 upon 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 misfortunes 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 moral 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
overflowing 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 thousand
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 she 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 Beversham 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 the 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.

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 thing 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 the 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, as 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, and 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.


                                                                   1711.


   _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.

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 next 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 lately; 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 the 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 put 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 Mrs. 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 King 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.


                     _Papers relating to Blenheim._
        _Description of the Buildings and Gardens at Woodstock._


            LORD GODOLPHIN TO THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.[413]

                                            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.


          SIR J. VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.[415]

                              (_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 ease upon that subject, notwithstanding there is
134,000_l._ 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.


           SIR JOHN VANBURGH TO THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.[416]

                                                   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 walls. 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.

Your 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.


         SIR JOHN VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.[417]

        _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 fonder 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_.


    _A Letter respecting a Suit in Chancery, which one Gardiner had
                        commenced against her._

   (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 never 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.


    _Correspondence relative to the destruction of the old Manor of
                              Woodstocke._


         SIR JOHN VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.[418]

                                           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 feared 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.


                SIR J. VANBURGH TO LORD GODOLPHIN.[419]

                              (_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 thought 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.


                    (Endorsed thus by the Duchess.)

                                                                 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.


 _Reasons offered for preserving some part of the Old Manor, by Sir J.
                            Vanburgh._[420]

                                                          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 scene 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 to set in the truest light I cou’d, a thing that seemed
to me at least so very materiall.

                                                            J. VANBURGH.


               _Remarks upon this Letter by the Duchess._

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 in 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 people 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.


_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]

                                                       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 said 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.


          SIR J. VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.[423]

                                                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.

He 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; both 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.


   LETTER FROM THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO SIR JOHN VANBURGH.[424]

                                              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, I 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; and 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.


_Explanatory Letter from Sir John Vanburgh, concerning his disagreement
                 with the Duchess of Marlborough._[425]

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 finish 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.

As 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 opinion 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 before 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 to 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.


 _The following Remarks were added by the Duchess to the above Letter._

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.


                   FROM THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.[426]

                                                                 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 105,000_l._ 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.


           LORD CONINGSBY TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.[427]

                                                      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.


           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.)

                          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.


           LORD CONINGSBY TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.[429]

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 servant; 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.


   _Letters between Mr. Scrope and the Duchess of Marlborough._[430]


               MR. SCROPE TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.

                                                         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.


             THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO MR. SCROPE.[431]

                                                           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 people 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.


             THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO MR. SCROPE.[432]

                                                           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 houses 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.


             THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO MR. SCROPE.[433]

                                                     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 direct 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, which 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.


             THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO MR. SCROPE.[434]

                                                     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. I
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.


             THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO MR. SCROPE.[435]

                                                     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 the
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
great 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.


             MR. SCROPE TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.[436]

                                                     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,

                                              Madam,
                                  Your grace’s most faithful and most
                                              Obliged humble servant,
                                                              J. SCROPE.


LETTER ADDRESSED BY THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH TO THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE.

                 _Communicated by W. Upcott, Esq._[437]

                                     Marlborough House, August 25, 1735.

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 to 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 not
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 that 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.


    _An Abstract of the last Will and Testament of Sarah Duchess of
                             Marlborough._

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 mourning 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.

And 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 2,000_l._, which he shall be empowered legally to enforce.

And whereas the late Duke of Marlborough directed by his will that a
yearly sum of 3,000_l._ should be charged upon the estates devised upon
Hugh Earl of Marchmont, and Beversham Filmer, 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 3,000_l._ shall no longer be paid to him;
but an annual charge not exceeding 1,500_l._ 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 as 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 of
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 shall 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,
2,000_l._ 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 such 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.


                              THE CODICIL.

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, 300_l._ yearly.

To Grace Bidley, 300_l._ yearly.

To Robert Macarty, Earl of Clancarty, the yearly sum of 1000_l._

To Elizabeth Arbor, the yearly sum of 200_l._

To Anne Patten, the yearly sum of 130_l._

To Olive Lofft, the yearly sum of 40_l._

To John Griffiths, the yearly sum of 200_l._

To Hannah Clarke, the yearly sum of 200_l._

To Jeremiah Lewis, the yearly sum of 50_l._

To John Dorset, the yearly sum of 50_l._

To each of my two chairmen, John Robins and George Humphreys, the yearly
sum of 20_l._

To Walter Jones, the yearly sum of 30_l._, and to each of my footmen
that shall continue in my service to the time of my decease, the yearly
sum of 10_l._

To Margaret and Catherine Garmes, the yearly sum each of 10_l._

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 3000_l._

I give to my niece, Frances Lady Dillon, 1000_l._

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 20,000_l._

I give to William Pitt, Esq., the sum of 10,000_l._, 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, 200_l._ to buy a ring.

I give to my executors 500_l._ each to buy them rings.

I give to the Earl of Clancarty, above what I have already given him,
1000_l._

Whereas John Earl of Stair owes me 1000_l._ 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 1000_l._, together with such other sums as I have lent to him.

I give to Juliana Countess of Burlington my bag of gold medals, and
1000_l._ 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 1300_l._, and as a further compensation for the great trouble
he will have as my acting executor, the yearly sum of 300_l._

To Grace Ridley I give, over and above what I have already given, the
sum of 15,000_l._; 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 3000_l._

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 25_l._

I give to each of my servants one year’s wages.

I give to the poor of the town of Woodstock 300_l._

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 500_l._ 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.

To 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.

                                                      SARAH MARLBOROUGH.


Dated August 15th, 1744.


                             (Witnessed by)

                                                         SANDWICH.
                                                         GEO. HEATHCOTE.
                                                         HENRY MARSHALL.
                                                         RICHARD HOARE.


                                THE END.

-----

Footnote 1:

  Royal and Noble Authors, art. Peterborough.

Footnote 2:

  Pope’s Letters to Swift, p. 76.

Footnote 3:

  Noble, vol. ii. p. 43.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 5:

  Private Correspondence, vol. i. p. 4.

Footnote 6:

  Lady M. W.’s Letters, vol. ii. p. 168.

Footnote 7:

  Coxe, vol. i. p. 232.

Footnote 8:

  Cunningham, b. vi. p. 328.

Footnote 9:

  Noble, vol. ii. p. 36.

Footnote 10:

  Boyer, App., p. 46.

Footnote 11:

  Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 197.

Footnote 12:

  Cunningham, b. vi. p. 328.

Footnote 13:

  Boyer.

Footnote 14:

  Walpole’s Letters, vol. ii. p. 401.

Footnote 15:

  Coxe, vol. i. p. 284.

Footnote 16:

  Cunningham, book vi. p. 350.

Footnote 17:

  Conduct, p. 159.

Footnote 18:

  Conduct, p. 141.

Footnote 19:

  Burnet.

Footnote 20:

  Conduct, p. 171.

Footnote 21:

  Conduct, p. 172.

Footnote 22:

  Coxe.

Footnote 23:

  Cunningham, b. vi. p. 351.

Footnote 24:

  Ibid.

Footnote 25:

  Examiner, No. 26.

Footnote 26:

  Boyer, p. 472.

Footnote 27:

  Coxe, p. 280.

Footnote 28:

  Coxe, p. 279.

Footnote 29:

  Ibid.

Footnote 30:

  Coxe, p. 294, and Cunningham.

Footnote 31:

  Cunningham, b. vi. p. 369.

Footnote 32:

  Conduct, p. 145.

Footnote 33:

  Somerville, vol. i. p. 48.

Footnote 34:

  Coxe, p. 295.

Footnote 35:

  Conduct, p. 145.

Footnote 36:

  Conduct, p. 156.

Footnote 37:

  Burnet, vol. v. p. 157.

Footnote 38:

  Conduct.

Footnote 39:

  Burnet.

Footnote 40:

  Coxe, vol. i. p. 239.

Footnote 41:

  Cox, vol. i. p. 246.

Footnote 42:

  Ibid.

Footnote 43:

  Lediard, vol. i. p. 365.

Footnote 44:

  As prisoners.

Footnote 45:

  Cunningham, b. vii. p. 402.

Footnote 46:

  Coxe, vol. i. p. 306.

Footnote 47:

  Lediard.

Footnote 48:

  Ibid.

Footnote 49:

  Cunningham, p. 402.

Footnote 50:

  History of Europe. Lediard. Coxe.

Footnote 51:

  History of Europe. Lediard. Coxe.

Footnote 52:

  Lediard, p. 478.

Footnote 53:

  Cunningham, book viii. p. 442.

Footnote 54:

  Conduct, p. 147.

Footnote 55:

  Lediard. Cunningham.

Footnote 56:

  Conduct, p. 156.

Footnote 57:

  Conduct, p. 150.

Footnote 58:

  Conduct, p. 155.

Footnote 59:

  Cunningham, p. 456.

Footnote 60:

  See Conduct. Somerville, chap. vi. p. 113.

Footnote 61:

  Conduct, p. 159.

Footnote 62:

  Cunningham, p. 458.

Footnote 63:

  Cunningham.

Footnote 64:

  Lediard, vol. iii.

Footnote 65:

  Cunningham, b. viii. p. 461.

Footnote 66:

  Lediard, vol. ii. p. 3.

Footnote 67:

  Cunningham, p. 452.

Footnote 68:

  Conduct, p. 161. Cunningham. Lediard.

Footnote 69:

  Conduct, p. 170.

Footnote 70:

  Ibid. p. 165–167.

Footnote 71:

  Conduct, p. 173.

Footnote 72:

  Ibid. p. 174.

Footnote 73:

  Coxe, p. 515.

Footnote 74:

  He was made Lord Keeper in 1705, and Lord Chancellor in 1707.

Footnote 75:

  MSS. Letters British Museum, Coxe Papers, 45, 4to. p. 2.

Footnote 76:

  Conduct, p. 171.

Footnote 77:

  Ibid. p. 176.

Footnote 78:

  Conduct, 161.

Footnote 79:

  Other Side, p. 259.

Footnote 80:

  Ibid. p. 261.

Footnote 81:

  Conduct, p. 162.

Footnote 82:

  Other Side, p. 261.

Footnote 83:

  Cunningham, b. ix. p. 77.

Footnote 84:

  Cunningham, p. 77.

Footnote 85:

  Cunningham, p. 55, and Biographia Britannica.

Footnote 86:

  Conduct.

Footnote 87:

  Conduct, p. 177–181.

Footnote 88:

  Lediard, vol. ii. p. 2.

Footnote 89:

  Letters on the Study of History. Letter IV.

Footnote 90:

  Conduct, p. 176.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 92:

  Conduct.

Footnote 93:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlv. p. 11.

Footnote 94:

  Ibid.

Footnote 95:

  Political pamphlet, entitled a “Continuation of the Review of a late
  Treatise,” &c. London, 1741, p. 31.

Footnote 96:

  MSS. B. M. Coxe Papers, vol. xliv.

Footnote 97:

  Conduct, p. 183.

Footnote 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._

Footnote 99:

  Conduct, p. 181.

Footnote 100:

  MS. Letter to Mr. Hutchinson, B. M.

Footnote 101:

  Conduct, p. 185.

Footnote 102:

  Coxe, Papers vol. xlv. p. 13.

Footnote 103:

  Conduct, p. 190.

Footnote 104:

  Other Side of the Question, p. 311.

Footnote 105:

  Private Correspondence, vol. i. p. 63.

Footnote 106:

  Ibid. p. 105.

Footnote 107:

  MS. Letter, British Museum.

Footnote 108:

  Preface to Lord Wharncliffe’s Ed. of Lady M. W.’s Letters, p. 74.

Footnote 109:

  Conduct, p. 197.

Footnote 110:

  Cunningham, b. ix. p. 82.

Footnote 111:

  Lediard, vol. ii. p. 5.

Footnote 112:

  Other Side, p. 316.

Footnote 113:

  B. ix. p. 80.

Footnote 114:

  Conduct, p. 70.

Footnote 115:

  Lediard.

Footnote 116:

  Conduct, p. 191.

Footnote 117:

  Conduct, p. 202.

Footnote 118:

  Coxe Papers, vol. xliv.

Footnote 119:

  London Chronicle, 1763.

Footnote 120:

  MS.

Footnote 121:

  See Appendix.

Footnote 122:

  Conduct.

Footnote 123:

  Conduct.

Footnote 124:

  Coxe, book i. p. 377.

Footnote 125:

  Burnet, vol. v. p. 358.

Footnote 126:

  Coxe, p. 370–372.

Footnote 127:

  Correspondence, vol. i. p. 83.

Footnote 128:

  Ibid. p. 84.

Footnote 129:

  Cunningham, b. ix. p. 141.

Footnote 130:

  Cunningham, vol. x. p. 132.

Footnote 131:

  Burnet, p. 373.

Footnote 132:

  Burnet.

Footnote 133:

  See Lives of St. John Lord Bolingbroke, by Goldsmith. Biog.
  Britannica, &c.

Footnote 134:

  Cunningham.

Footnote 135:

  Letters on History.

Footnote 136:

  See Lives of Bolingbroke—Coxe, Burnet, Lediard.

Footnote 137:

  Lediard, vol. ii. p. 9.

Footnote 138:

  Lediard, vol. ii. p. 9.

Footnote 139:

  Burnet, b. v. p. 384.

Footnote 140:

  Conduct, p. 214.

Footnote 141:

  Ibid. 216.

Footnote 142:

  Ibid.

Footnote 143:

  Conduct, p. 222.

Footnote 144:

  Conduct, p. 219.

Footnote 145:

  Aug. 19, 1708.

Footnote 146:

  Conduct, p. 222.

Footnote 147:

  Preserved in the Coxe MSS. B. M., and given in the Appendix to this
  volume.

Footnote 148:

  Burnet, vol. iv. p. 247.

Footnote 149:

  Conduct. Also Narrative, by the Duchess, of the events which took
  place after the Prince of Denmark’s death. Coxe, vol. iv. p. 234.

Footnote 150:

  Macauley. History of England from the Revolution, p. 218.

Footnote 151:

  Cunningham.

Footnote 152:

  Cunningham, book ii. p. 300.

Footnote 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.”

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 156:

  MS. Letter. Coxe Papers, p. 44.

Footnote 157:

  Conduct, p. 230.

Footnote 158:

  Conduct, p. 230.

Footnote 159:

  Cunningham, b. xii. p. 279.

Footnote 160:

  Cunningham, b. xii. p. 279.

Footnote 161:

  Cunningham, b. xii. p. 279.

Footnote 162:

  Cunningham, book xii. p. 282.

Footnote 163:

  Conduct, from p. 238 to 244.

Footnote 164:

  See another account of this scene, in Private Correspondence of the
  Duke of Marlborough, vol. i. p. 295.

Footnote 165:

  Conduct, p. 244.

Footnote 166:

  Burnet’s History, b. iv. vol. vi. p. 314.

Footnote 167:

  Biographia Britannica, art. Gilbert Burnet.

Footnote 168:

  Biographia Britannica.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 170:

  Burnet, Hist. p. 290.

Footnote 171:

  Conduct, p. 254.

Footnote 172:

  Cunningham, Burnet, Tindal.

Footnote 173:

  Private Correspondence, vol. i. p. 317.

Footnote 174:

  Conduct, p. 260.

Footnote 175:

  Private Correspondence, vol. i. p. 343.

Footnote 176:

  Ibid. p. 351.

Footnote 177:

  Private Correspondence, p. 366.

Footnote 178:

  Conduct, p. 261.

Footnote 179:

  See Cibber’s Apology. Lady M. Wortley Montague, preface.

Footnote 180:

  Swift’s Letters, xiii p. 47.

Footnote 181:

  Examiner, No. xvii.

Footnote 182:

  Conduct, p. 263.

Footnote 183:

  Conduct, p. 273.

Footnote 184:

  Conduct, p. 279.

Footnote 185:

  Conduct, p. 282.

Footnote 186:

  Alluding, probably, to the custom of touching for the King’s evil.

Footnote 187:

  Cunningham, b. xix. p. 348.

Footnote 188:

  Conduct, p. 269. See Appendix.

Footnote 189:

  Ibid. p. 270.

Footnote 190:

  Coxe, MS. vol. xliii.

Footnote 191:

  Lediard, p. 283.

Footnote 192:

  Lediard, p. 278.

Footnote 193:

  See Coxe—Lediard—Biog. Brit.

Footnote 194:

  Warton’s Essay on Pope, p. 119.

Footnote 195:

  See Archdeacon Coxe.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 197:

  Biog. Britannica.

Footnote 198:

  Swift’s Works, vol. xiii. p. 36.

Footnote 199:

  See Swift’s Letter.

Footnote 200:

  Lediard, vol. ii. p. 399.

Footnote 201:

  Lediard, p. 391.

Footnote 202:

  See Appendix.

Footnote 203:

  Lord Cowper’s Diary.

Footnote 204:

  Ibid. vol. iv. p. 229.

Footnote 205:

  Somerville, chap. xxiii. p. 125.

Footnote 206:

  Somerville, p. 554, 555.

Footnote 207:

  Sheridan’s Swift, p. 143.

Footnote 208:

  Conduct.

Footnote 209:

  Coxe MSS. vol. xliv. p. 2.

Footnote 210:

  Swift’s Correspondence, vol. xv. p. 111.

Footnote 211:

  Swift’s Correspondence, vol. xv. p. 73.

Footnote 212:

  Ibid. p. 76.

Footnote 213:

  Swift’s Correspondence, vol. xv. p. 77.

Footnote 214:

  Swift’s Letters.

Footnote 215:

  Coxe, p. 297.

Footnote 216:

  Letter of Erasmus Lewes to Swift, vol. xv. p. 108.

Footnote 217:

  Boyer, p. 714.

Footnote 218:

  Boyer. Arbuthnot’s Letter to Swift, vol. xv.

Footnote 219:

  Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 147.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 221:

  Somerville, Appendix II p. 656.

Footnote 222:

  Lediard, p. 447.

Footnote 223:

  Coxe, vol. vi. p. 296.

Footnote 224:

  Ibid. p. 305.

Footnote 225:

  Lediard, p. 453.

Footnote 226:

  Coxe, p. 6. 308.

Footnote 227:

  Macauley. Lediard.

Footnote 228:

  Macaulay. Chesterfield.

Footnote 229:

  Coxe, vol. iii. p. 610.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.”

Footnote 232:

  Swift’s pun on this occasion was, that he might now “build houses.”

Footnote 233:

  Hist. Vanburgh’s House, 1708.

Footnote 234:

  This anecdote is pronounced by Mr. D’Israeli, in his “Curiosities of
  Literature” (1823), to be a mere invention.

Footnote 235:

  Vanburgh died in 1726.

Footnote 236:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 76.

Footnote 237:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 76.

Footnote 238:

  Coxe Papers.

Footnote 239:

  Coxe Papers. See Appendix.

Footnote 240:

  Coxe Papers, vol. xlvi. p. 148.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 242:

  This letter, together with the rest of this curious correspondence, is
  to be seen in the Appendix.

Footnote 243:

  Coxe MSS.

Footnote 244:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 148.

Footnote 245:

  Ibid. p. 145.

Footnote 246:

  See Swift’s Letters.

Footnote 247:

  Ibid. vol. xiv. p. 131.

Footnote 248:

  Swift’s Letters, vol. xiv. p. 90.

Footnote 249:

  Coxe, vol. vi. quarto, p. 615.

Footnote 250:

  See Cunningham and others.

Footnote 251:

  See Appendix.

Footnote 252:

  Coxe, p. 361.

Footnote 253:

  See Coxe, p. 619, and also Lord Sunderland’s answer.

Footnote 254:

  Coxe, vol. iii. p. 645.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 256:

  Biographical Dict., Art. Hoadly.

Footnote 257:

  Coxe.

Footnote 258:

  The play-bill of “All for Love; or the World Well Lost,” has been
  given at length by Dr. Coxe. It runs as follows:

            _Marc Anthony_, Captain Fish, Page of the Duchess.
                      _Ventidius_, Old Mr. Jennings.
                _Sarapion, the High Priest_, Miss Cairnes.
                          _Alexis_, Mrs. La Vie.
                  _Cleopatra_, Lady Charlotte Macarthy.
                      _Octavia_, Lady Anne Spencer.
    _Children of Marc Anthony_, Lady Anne Egerton, Lady Diana Spencer.
                      (Scene, the Bow-window Room.)
                   (Great screens for changing scenes.)

Footnote 259:

  Coxe.

Footnote 260:

  His second wife. He married first a Miss Talbot, niece of the Duke of
  Shrewsbury.—Burke’s Peerage.

Footnote 261:

  Coxe.

Footnote 262:

  Biographia Britannica.

Footnote 263:

  Biographia Britannica.

Footnote 264:

  Macauley, p. 290.

Footnote 265:

  Coxe.

Footnote 266:

  Anecdotes of Lady M. W., edited by Lord Wharncliffe, vol. i. p. 74.

Footnote 267:

  Coxe, vol. i. p. 625.

Footnote 268:

  Macauley, p. 308.

Footnote 269:

  Coxe.

Footnote 270:

  Biographia Britannica.

Footnote 271:

  Coxe.

Footnote 272:

  Political and Literary Anecdotes of his Own Time, by Dr. King.

Footnote 273:

  Scott’s Life of Swift.

Footnote 274:

  Lord Chesterfield’s Characters.

Footnote 275:

  Lord Chesterfield. Horace Walpole.

Footnote 276:

  Such was also the case even with the great Lord Clarendon, after many
  years of exile. See Mr. James’s Life of Louis Quatorze, vol. iii.

Footnote 277:

  Coxe, p. 629.

Footnote 278:

  Mem. of Lord Walpole. Coxe, p. 8.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 280:

  Coxe, Appendix.

Footnote 281:

  Life of Lord Walpole, p. 20.

Footnote 282:

  Horace Walpole, Reminiscences.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 284:

  See Opinions.

Footnote 285:

  Horace Walpole, Reminiscences.

Footnote 286:

  Coxe, p. 646.

Footnote 287:

  Coxe, vol. vi. octavo, p. 646.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 289:

  See Dr. Coxe, p. 648.

Footnote 290:

  Coxe, p. 649.

Footnote 291:

  Newspapers of the day.

Footnote 292:

  Coxe Papers, vol. xli. p. 76.

Footnote 293:

  Warton’s Essay on Pope, vol. ii. p. 303.

Footnote 294:

  Swift’s Correspondence, vol. xv. p. 236.

Footnote 295:

  Biographia.

Footnote 296:

  London Chronicle, November 21, 1758.

Footnote 297:

  His avarice has been attributed greatly to the Duchess’s influence.

Footnote 298:

  Collins’s Baronage, vol. ii.

Footnote 299:

  See Lady M. W. Montague’s Letters.

Footnote 300:

  Coxe, p. 653.

Footnote 301:

  Coxe, p. 653.

Footnote 302:

  See some curious letters in the Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 70.

Footnote 303:

  Burke’s Extinct Peerage, art. Coningsby.

Footnote 304:

  By Frances, daughter of the Earl of Ranelagh.

Footnote 305:

  Oct. 8, 1722. The Duke died June 16, 1722.

Footnote 306:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 70.

Footnote 307:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 71.

Footnote 308:

  Coxe.

Footnote 309:

  Private Correspondence, p. 206. Letter from Mr. Maynwaring to the
  Duchess.

Footnote 310:

  Ibid. See also Horace Walpole’s Letters.

Footnote 311:

  Burke’s Peerage, art. Somerset.

Footnote 312:

  Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 147.

Footnote 313:

  Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 147.

Footnote 314:

  Coxe, p. 656.

Footnote 315:

  Coxe.

Footnote 316:

  Ibid.

Footnote 317:

  H. Walpole’s Reminiscences.

Footnote 318:

  Warton on Pope.

Footnote 319:

  Warton on Pope, p. 141.

Footnote 320:

  Macauley.

Footnote 321:

  Chesterfield’s Characters.

Footnote 322:

  Chesterfield, Smollett, Tindal, &c.

Footnote 323:

  See Macauley, p. 225.

Footnote 324:

  Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 161.

Footnote 325:

  Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 152.

Footnote 326:

  Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 495.

Footnote 327:

  Private Correspondence, p. 495.

Footnote 328:

  Macaulay, p. 370.

Footnote 329:

  Private Correspondence, p. 461.

Footnote 330:

  Private Correspondence, p. 465.

Footnote 331:

  Letter from Lord Godolphin to the Duchess. Private Correspondence, p.
  479.

Footnote 332:

  Private Correspondence, p. 467.

Footnote 333:

  Coxe MSS. vol. xliii. p. 123.

Footnote 334:

  Private Correspondence, p. 472, 473.

Footnote 335:

  Burke’s Peerage.

Footnote 336:

  Horace Walpole, Reminiscences.

Footnote 337:

  Chesterfield. Annual Register. Collins’ Baronage.

Footnote 338:

  Chesterfield’s Characters.

Footnote 339:

  Note in Chesterfield’s Characters, p. 50.

Footnote 340:

  Lord Wharncliffe, vol. i. p. 2.

Footnote 341:

  Ibid.

Footnote 342:

  Collins’s Baronage.

Footnote 343:

  Chesterfield.

Footnote 344:

  Lady M. W. Montague.

Footnote 345:

  This letter is given literally as it is written, without any
  alteration of grammar or punctuation.—Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 148.

Footnote 346:

  Letters to Sir Horace Mann, vol. iii. p. 286.

Footnote 347:

  Letters to Sir Horace Mann, vol. ii. p. 144.

Footnote 348:

  Dallaway’s Memoirs of Lady M. W. Lord Wharncliffe. Edition of Lady M.
  W.

Footnote 349:

  Horace Walpole mentions this anecdote of Lady Bateman, but a later
  account specifies Lady Anne Egerton as the heroine of the blackened
  picture.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 351:

  Coxe MSS., vol. iv.

Footnote 352:

  Private Correspondence, vol. i. p. 103.

Footnote 353:

  Private Correspondence, vol. i. p. 100–102.

Footnote 354:

  Memoirs of the Life of Whiston, p. 102.

Footnote 355:

  Private Correspondence, vol. i. p. 6.

Footnote 356:

  Lord Wharncliffe, vol. i. p. 76.

Footnote 357:

  Life of Colley Cibber, p. 66.

Footnote 358:

  Life of Colley Cibber, p. 461.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 363:

  On this occasion the churchwardens of Kingston paid “twenty pence” for
  mending the ways when the Queen went from Wimbledon to Nonsuch.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 365:

  There is a view of this, the Duchess’s house, in the fifth volume of
  the “Vitruvius Britannicus.”

Footnote 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._”

Footnote 367:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi.

Footnote 368:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 8.

Footnote 369:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 8.

Footnote 370:

  In the possession of William Upcott, Esq.

Footnote 371:

  The word is expressed thus + in the original letter.

Footnote 372:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xli p. 14.

Footnote 373:

  For the correspondence on this subject, hitherto unpublished, see
  Appendix.

Footnote 374:

  Appendix.

Footnote 375:

  Coxe MSS.

Footnote 376:

  Coxe Papers.

Footnote 377:

  Coxe, p. 642.

Footnote 378:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 74.

Footnote 379:

  Coxe.

Footnote 380:

  Newspapers. Anecdote supplied by W. Upcott, Esq.

Footnote 381:

  Letter from Vanburgh to Tonson. D’Israeli’s Curiosities of Literature.
  1823.

Footnote 382:

  Letter to Mr. Hutchinson, Coxe MSS.

Footnote 383:

  Life of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough. Published in 1745.

Footnote 384:

  Walpole’s Reminiscences, p. 293.

Footnote 385:

  Reminiscences.

Footnote 386:

  Chesterfield’s Characters.

Footnote 387:

  Private Correspondence, vol. ii.

Footnote 388:

  Granger’s Biog. Hist. of Great Britain. Art. Jennings.

Footnote 389:

  Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 179.

Footnote 390:

  Life of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough.

Footnote 391:

  Macauley.

Footnote 392:

  Lord Chesterfield.

Footnote 393:

  Biographical Dictionary.

Footnote 394:

  Manuscript Notes in the copy of the Duchess’s Opinions in the British
  Museum.

Footnote 395:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 123.

Footnote 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.

Footnote 397:

  Reminiscences, p. 308.

Footnote 398:

  Letters of Walpole, vol. i. p. 42.

Footnote 399:

  Private Correspondence. Life of the Duchess.

Footnote 400:

  Manuscript Notes to her Opinions.

Footnote 401:

  Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 168.

Footnote 402:

  Private Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 209.

Footnote 403:

  Coxe. Private Correspondence, &c.

Footnote 404:

  Life of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough.

Footnote 405:

  Life of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough.

Footnote 406:

  The details of her grievances are to be found in the Appendix.

Footnote 407:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 123.

Footnote 408:

  Coxe MSS.

Footnote 409:

  As her early and only biographer expresses it, at her house at the
  Friery, St. James’s. Friery Passage was formerly close to
  Marlborough-house.

Footnote 410:

  Coxe MSS.

Footnote 411:

  See Appendix.

Footnote 412:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xv. p. 151.

Footnote 413:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xli. p. 14.

Footnote 414:

  Blank in manuscript.

Footnote 415:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 28.

Footnote 416:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 56.

Footnote 417:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 127.

Footnote 418:

  Coxe MSS., vol xli. p. 25.

Footnote 419:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 24.

Footnote 420:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xli. p. 31.

Footnote 421:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 29.

Footnote 422:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 76.

Footnote 423:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 68.

Footnote 424:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvi. p. 142.

Footnote 425:

  Coxe MSS. vol., xlvi. p. 148.

Footnote 426:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xv. p. 150.

Footnote 427:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xlvii. p. 8.

Footnote 428:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 63.

Footnote 429:

  Ibid. vol. xliii. p. 9.

Footnote 430:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 132.

Footnote 431:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 133.

Footnote 432:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 134.

Footnote 433:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii, p. 136.

Footnote 434:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 142.

Footnote 435:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 144.

Footnote 436:

  Coxe MSS., vol. xliii. p. 147.

Footnote 437:

  This letter is probably in continuation of the Duchess of
  Marlborough’s to the Duke of Newcastle, of August 1, 1735.—See vol.
  ii. p. 476.

                                LONDON:
          IBOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.

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                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.