EARLY MARRIED LIFE (1712-1714)
An uneventful existence--Montagu's Parliamentary duties take him to
London--Lady Mary stays mostly in the country--Correspondence--Montagu a
careless husband, but very careful of his money--Later he becomes a
miser--Lady Mary does not disguise the tedium of her existence--
Concerning a possible reconciliation with her father--Lord Pierrepont
of Hanslope--Lord Halifax--Birth of a son, christened after his father,
Edward Wortley Montagu--The mother's anxiety about his health--Family
events--Lady Evelyn Pierrepont marries Baron (afterwards Earl) Gower--Lady
Frances Pierrepont marries the Earl of Mar--Lord Dorchester marries
again--Has issue, two daughters--the death of Lady Mary's brother,
William--His son, Evelyn, in due course succeeds to the Dukedom of
Kingston--Elizabeth Chudleigh--The political situation in 1714--The death
of Queen Anne--The accession of George I--The unrest in the country--
Lady Mary's alarm for her son.
The records for the first years of the married life of Edward and Lady
Mary Wortley Montagu are scanty indeed. From the wedding day until 1716,
when they went abroad, Lady Mary's life was, for months together, as
uneventful as that of the ordinary suburban housewife. Montagu's
parliamentary duties took him frequently to town, and kept him there for
prolonged periods, during which he certainly showed no strong desire for
her to join him. Lady Mary, indeed, spent most of the time in the
country. Sometimes she stayed at the seat of her father-in-law,
Wharncliffe Lodge, near Sheffield; occasionally she visited Lord
Sandwich at Hinchinbrooke; for a while they stayed at Middlethorpe, in
the neighbourhood of Bishopthorpe and York. From time to time they hired
houses in other parts of Yorkshire. The honeymoon lasted from August
until October, 1712, when Montagu had to go to Westminster.
The first letter of this period is dated characteristically: "Walling
Wells, October 22, which is the first post I could write. Monday night
being so fatigued and sick I went straight to bed from the coach." It
starts:
"I don't know very well how to begin; I am perfectly unacquainted with a
proper matrimonial stile. After all, I think 'tis best to write as if we
were not married at all. I lament your absence, as if you were still my
lover, and I am impatient to hear you are got safe to Durham, and that
you have fixed a time for your return."
Marriage made Lady Mary more human. She no longer dwelt upon the various
points that in her maidenhood days she had thought would be conducive to
happiness in matrimonial life; she was now, anyhow for the moment, in
love with her husband, or at least persuaded herself that this was the
case, and was at pains to inform him of the fact.
"I have not been very long in this family; and I fancy myself in that
described in the 'Spectator,'" the letter of October 22 continues. "The
good people here look upon their children with a fondness that more than
recompenses their care of them. I don't perceive much distinction in
regard to their merits; and when they speak sense or nonsense, it
affects the parents with almost the same pleasure. My friendship for the
mother, and kindness for Miss Biddy, make me endure the squalling of
Miss Nanny and Miss Mary with abundance of patience: and my foretelling
the future conquests of the eldest daughter, makes me very well with the
family.--I don't know whether you will presently find out that this
seeming impertinent account is the tenderest expressions of my love to
you; but it furnishes my imagination with agreeable pictures of our
future life; and I flatter myself with the hopes of one day enjoying
with you the same satisfactions; and that, after as many years
together, I may see you retain the same fondness for me as I shall
certainly mine for you, and the noise of a nursery may have more charms
for us than the music of an opera.
[_Torn_] "as these are the sure effect of my sincere love, since 'tis
the nature of that passion to entertain the mind with pleasures in
prospect; and I check myself when I grieve for your absence, by
remembering how much reason I have to rejoice in the hope of passing my
whole life with you. A good fortune not to be valued!--I am afraid of
telling you that I return thanks for it to Heaven, because you will
charge me with hypocrisy; but you are mistaken: I assist every day at
public prayers in this family, and never forget in my private
ejaculation how much I owe to Heaven for making me yours. 'Tis
candle-light, or I should not conclude so soon.
"Pray, my dear, begin at the top, and read till you come to the bottom."
Montagu, for his part, was somewhat careless as regards correspondence--for
which offence she rebuked him more than once, but in the most flattering
manner.
"I am at present in so much uneasiness, my letter is not likely to be
intelligible, if it all resembles the confusion of my head. I sometimes
imagine you not well, and sometimes that you think of it small
importance to write, or that greater matters have taken up your
thoughts. This last imagination is too cruel for me. I will rather fancy
your letter has miscarried, though I find little probability to think
so. I know not what to think, and am very near being distracted, amongst
my variety of dismal apprehensions. I am very ill company to the good
people of the house, who all bid me make you their compliments. Mr.
White begins your health twice every day. You don't deserve all this if
you can be so entirely forgetful of all this part of the world. I am
peevish with you by fits, and divide my time between anger and sorrow,
which are equaly troublesome to me. 'Tis the most cruel thing in the
world, to think one has reason to complain of what one loves. How can
you be so careless?--is it because you don't love writing? You should
remember I want to know you are safe at Durham. I shall imagine you have
had some fall from your horse, or ill accident by the way, without
regard to probability; there is nothing too extravagant for a woman's
and a lover's fears. Did you receive my last letter? if you did not, the
direction is wrong, you won't receive this, and my question is in vain.
I find I begin to talk nonsense, and 'tis time to leave off. Pray, my
dear, write to me, or I shall be very mad."
Montagu was, not to put too fine a point on it, a careless husband. Not
only did he neglect to write to his wife, but he neglected, or forgot,
to keep her adequately supplied with money. She had more than once to
remind him of this. "I wish you would write again to Mr. Phipps, for I
don't hear of any money, and am in the utmost necessity for it," she
told him in November, 1712. Montagu, even at this time a well-to-do man,
found it difficult to part with his money. A couple of years later, Lady
Mary had again to say to him: "Pray order me some money, for I am in
great want, and must run into debt if you don't do it soon." Even in
these days Montagu evidently had begun to be miserly. With all his
riches, he never spent a crown when a smaller sum would suffice, and
during most of his life he, as Sir Leslie Stephen put it, "devoted
himself chiefly to saving money."
In the winter of 1712, Lady Mary, who was with child, suffered much from
ill-health, and this was to some extent aggravated by intense boredom,
although of that boredom she wrote good-humouredly enough.
"I don't believe you expect to hear from me so soon, if I remember you
did not so much as desire it, but I will not be so nice to quarrel with
you on that point; perhaps you would laugh at that delicacy, which is,
however, an attendant of a tender friendship," she wrote to her husband
from Hinchinbrooke at the beginning of December, 1712.
"I opened the closet where I expected to find so many books; to my great
disappointment there were only some few pieces of the law, and folios of
mathematics; my Lord Hinchinbrook and Mr. Twiman having disposed of the
rest. But as there is no affliction, no more than no happiness, without
alloy, I discovered an old trunk of papers, which to my great diversion
I found to be the letters of the first Earl of Sandwich; and am in hopes
that those from his lady will tend much to my edification, being the
most extraordinary lessons of economy that ever I read in my life. To
the glory of your father, I find that _his_ looked upon him as destined
to be the honour of the family.
"I walked yesterday two hours on the terrace. These are the most
considerable events that have happened in your absence; excepting that a
good-natured robin red-breast kept me company almost all the afternoon
with so much good humour and humanity as gives me faith for the piece of
charity ascribed to these little creatures in the Children in the Wood,
which I have hitherto thought only a poetical ornament to that history.
"I expect a letter next post to tell me you are well in London and that
your business will not detain you long from her that cannot be happy
without you."
Even in these early days of marriage Montagu seemed to have no love for
domestic life, and often he stayed in London when he could have been in
the country with his wife, or had her with him in town. "As much as you
say I love the town, if you think it necessary for your interest to stay
some time here, I would not advise you to neglect a certainty for an
uncertainty? but I believe if you pass the Christmas here, great matters
will be expected from your hospitality: however, you are a better judge
than I am." So Lady Mary wrote from Hinchinbrooke in the first week of
December. She did not disguise from him the tedium of her existence.
"I continue indifferently well, and endeavour as much as I can to
preserve myself from spleen and melancholy; not for my own sake; I think
that of little importance; but in the condition I am, I believe it may
be of very ill consequence; yet, passing whole days alone as I do, I do
not always find it possible, and my constitution will sometimes get the
better of my reason. Human nature itself, without any additional
misfortunes, furnishes disagreeable meditations enough. Life itself to
make it supportable, should not be considered too near; my reason
represents to me in vain the inutility of serious reflections. The idle
mind will sometimes fall into contemplations that serve for nothing but
to ruin the health, destroy good humour, hasten old age and wrinkles,
and bring on an habitual melancholy. 'Tis a maxim with me to be young as
long as one can: there is nothing can pay one for that invaluable
ignorance which is the companion of youth; those sanguine groundless
hopes, and that lively vanity, which make all the happiness of life. To
my extreme mortification I grow wiser every day than other [sic]. I
don't believe Solomon was more convinced of the vanity of temporal
affairs than I am; I lose all taste of this world, and I suffer myself
to be bewitched by the charms of the spleen, though I know and foresee
all the irremediable mischiefs arising from it. I am insensibly fallen
into the writing you a melancholy letter, after all my resolutions to
the contrary; but I do not enjoin you to read it: make no scruple of
flinging it into the fire at the first dull line. Forgive the ill
effects of my solitude, and think me as I am,
"Ever yours."
There was still hope in the hearts of Lady Mary and her husband that it
might be possible to effect a reconciliation with Lord Dorchester. Since
apparently the Marquess was not directly approachable by either of them,
they perforce had to seek an intermediary. Such an one, they trusted at
one time, would be one of Lady Mary's relatives, Lord Pierrepont of
Hanslope. To this matter there are many allusions in the correspondence,
"The Bishop of Salisbury writes me word that he hears my Lord Pierrepont
declares very much for us," Lady Mary wrote from Hinchinbrooke early in
December to her husband in town. "As the Bishop is no infallible
prelate, I should not depend much on that intelligence; but my sister
Frances tells me the same thing. Since it is so, I believe you'll think
it very proper to pay him a visit, if he is in town, and give him thanks
for the good offices you hear he has endeavoured to do me, unasked. If
his kindness is sincere, 'tis too valuable to be neglected. However, the
very appearance of it may be of use to us. If I know him, his desire of
making my Father appear in the wrong, will make him zealous for us. I
think I ought to write him a letter of acknowledgment for what I hear he
has already done." Very shortly after, however, it appears that Lord
Pierrepont was a broken reed upon which to rely. "I did not expect," Lady
Mary said bitterly, "that my Lord Pierrepont would speak at all in our
favour, much less show zeal upon that occasion, that never showed any in
his life." You cannot put it plainer than that.
One who did really endeavour to bring about the resumption of friendly
relations was Montagu's cousin, Charles Montagu, first Baron Halifax of
Halifax, who was afterwards created first Earl of Halifax.
To judge from Lady Mary's comments, sometimes when Montagu did write it
had been better he should not have done so.
"I am alone, without any amusements to take up my thoughts. I am in
circumstances in which melancholy is apt to prevail even over all
amusements, dispirited and alone, and you write me quarrelling letters,"
she rebuked him on one occasion.
"I hate complaining; 'tis no sign I am easy that I do not trouble you
with my head-aches, and my spleen; to be reasonable one should never
complain but when one hopes redress. A physician should be the only
confidant of bodily pains; and for those of the mind, they should never
be spoke of but to them that can and will relieve 'em. Should I tell you
that I am uneasy, that I am out of humour, and out of patience, should I
see you half an hour the sooner? I believe you have kindness enough for
me to be very sorry, and so you would tell me; and things remain in
their primitive state; I chuse to spare you that pain; I would always
give you pleasure. I know you are ready to tell me that I do not ever
keep to these good maxims. I confess I often speak impertinently, but I
always repent of it. My last stupid letter was not come to you, before I
would have had it back again had it been in my power; such as it was, I
beg your pardon for it."
In May, 1713, Lady Mary was delivered of a boy, who was christened after
his father, Edward Wortley Montagu. Some account of his unsatisfactory
career will be given in a later chapter. As an infant, he suffered from
ill-health.
"I am in abundance of pain about our dear child: though I am convinced
in my reason 'tis both silly and wicked to set one's heart too fondly on
anything in this world, yet I cannot overcome myself so far as to think
of parting with him with the resignation that I ought to do," the mother
wrote from Middlethorpe at the end of July. "I hope and I beg of God he
may live to be a comfort to us both. They tell me there is nothing
extraordinary in want of teeth at his age, but his weakness makes me
very apprehensive; he is almost never out of my sight. Mrs. Behn says
that the cold bath is the best medicine for weak children, but I am very
fearful and unwilling to try any hazardous remedies. He is very cheerful
and full of play."
"I hope the child is better than he was," she mentioned a little later;
"but I wish you would let Dr. Garth know he has a bigness in his joints,
but not much; his ankles seem chiefly to have a weakness. I should be
very glad of his advice upon it, and whether he approves rubbing them
with spirits, which I am told is good for him." Then came more
favourable news about young Edward. "I thank God this cold well agrees
with the child; and he seems stronger and better every day," Lady Mary
was able to report. "But I should be very glad, if you saw Dr. Garth, if
you asked his opinion concerning the use of cold baths for young
children. I hope you love the child as well as I do; but if you love me
at all, you'll desire the preservation of his health, for I should
certainly break my heart for him." Garth, it may be assumed, was the
famous Samuel Garth, afterwards physician-in-ordinary to George I and
author of _The Dispensary_. His views on cold baths for children of
fifteen months have not been handed down to posterity by Lady Mary.
Meantime things were happening in the Pierrepont family. Lady Mary's
sister, Lady Frances, had, on March 8, 1712, married John, second Baron
Gower, who afterwards was created Earl Gower. Lady Mary's other sister,
Lady Evelyn, on July 26, 1714, became the second wife of John Erskine,
sixth or eleventh Earl of Mar of the Erskine line, who presently came
into prominence as an adherent of the Pretender in the rebellion of '15,
after which he fled the country. He was created Duke of Mar by the
Pretender. Finally, the Marquess of Dorchester, being then in his
fiftieth year, took for his second wife, on August 2, 1714, Lady
Isabella Bentinck, fifth daughter of William, first Earl of Portland and
his first wife, Anne, sister of Edward, first Earl of Jersey. There was
issue of this marriage two daughters: Caroline, who married Thomas
Brand, of Kempton, Hertfordshire; and Anne, who died unmarried in 1739
at the age of twenty.
Already, on July 1, 1723, had died Lord Dorchester's only son and heir,
William, who took the style of Earl of Kingston. He had married Rachel,
daughter of Thomas Baynton, of Little Chalfield, Wiltshire, by whom he
had one son, named Evelyn, after his grandfather, whom he succeeded in
1726 as the second Duke of Kingston.
The career of Evelyn was undistinguished. Born in 1711, his aunt, Lady
Mary, said of him at the age of fifteen: "The Duke of Kingston has
hitherto had so ill an education, 'tis hard to make any judgment of him;
he has his spirit, but I fear will never have his father's sense. As
young gentlemen go, 'tis possible he may make a good figure among them."
Than which it would be unkind to say anything more cutting. Of course,
honours came to him. He was created Knight of the Garter in 1741, in
which year he was appointed a Lord of the Bedchamber. He rose to the
rank of colonel in the army in 1745, and twenty-seven years later was
promoted General; but it does not appear that he saw any service. The
second Duke of Kingston will, however, always be remembered for his
marriage in 1769 with the beautiful and notorious Elizabeth Chudleigh,
who was nine years his junior. She had in 1744 married secretly Augustus
John Hervey, afterwards sixth Earl of Bristol, who survived until
December, 1779. She had long been living with the Duke, but in 1769 she
obtained a divorce _a mensa et thoro_, which she believed erroneously
annulled the marriage. The Duke died in 1773, when all his titles became
extinct. His Duchess was in the following year tried before the House of
Lords for bigamy, found guilty, but, pleading benefit of peerage, was
discharged. Thus, she carried out the prognostication of Lord Chief
Justice Mansfield, who had opposed the prosecution. "The arguments about
the place of trial suggest to my mind the question about the propriety
of any trial at all," he said in a debate in the House of Lords. "_Cui
bono_? What utility is to be obtained? Suppose a conviction to be the
result?--the lady makes your lordships a courtesy, and you return a
bow." She survived, living on the continent, until 1788. As an epitaph
for her there can be nothing better than a remark of Horace Walpole: "I
can tell you nothing more extraordinary, nor would any history figure
near hers. It shows genius to strike anything so new as her
achievements. Though we have many uncommon personages, it is not easy
for them to be so superiorly particular."
More generally interesting than these domestic matters was the political
situation. Queen Anne's life had for some time been hanging in the
balance. It was thought that she might linger for some time, but there
was no hope of her recovery. The fight that was carried on between the
supporters of the Hanoverian succession and the adherents of the
Pretender is, of course, a matter of history. On August 5, 1714, came to
the Elector of Hanover, James Craggs, junior, with a letter from the
Privy Council, dated July 31, announcing the precarious state of Anne's
health, and conveying assurances that in the event of her demise every
precaution would be taken to safeguard the rights of George Lewis. The
same night messengers arrived at Hanover from London with the news of
the death of the Queen, who had passed away on July 31, shortly after
the departure of Craggs.
During the interval between the proclamation of the accession of George
I and his arrival, which did not take place until September 17, the
country was in a disturbed state, and it is not unnatural that Lady Mary
in Yorkshire was alarmed for the safety of herself and the child.
"I cannot forbear taking it something unkindly that you do not write to
me, when you may be assured I am in a great fright, and know not
certainly what to expect upon this sudden change," she wrote from
Middlethorpe to Montagu. "The Archbishop of York has been come to
Bishopthorpe but three days. I went with my cousin to-day to see the
King proclaimed, which was done; the Archbishop walking next the Lord
Mayor, all the country gentry following, with greater crowds of people
than I believed to be in York, vast acclamations, and the appearance of
a general satisfaction. The Pretender afterwards dragged about the
streets and burned. Ringing of bells, bonfires, and illuminations, the
mob crying Liberty and Property! and Long live King George! This morning
all the principal men of any figure took post for London, and we are
alarmed with the fear of attempts from Scotland, though all Protestants
seem unanimous for the Hanover succession. The poor young ladies at
Castle Howard are as much afraid as I am, being left all alone, without
any hopes of seeing their father again (though things should prove well)
this eight or nine months. They have sent to desire me very earnestly to
come to them, and bring my boy; 'tis the same thing as pensioning in a
nunnery, for no mortal man ever enters the doors in the absence of their
father, who is gone post. During this uncertainty, I think it will be a
safe retreat; for Middlethorpe stands exposed to plunderers, if there be
any at all."
A day or two later this letter was followed by another:
"You made me cry two hours last night. I cannot imagine why you use me
so ill; for what reason you continue silent, when you know at any time
your silence cannot fail of giving me a great deal of pain; and now to a
higher degree because of the perplexity that I am in, without knowing
where you are, what you are doing, or what to do with myself and my dear
little boy. However (persuaded there can be no objection to it), I
intend to go to-morrow to Castle Howard, and remain there with the young
ladies, 'till I know when I shall see you, or what you would command.
The Archbishop and everybody else are gone to London. We are alarmed
with a story of a fleet being seen from the coasts of Scotland. An
express went from thence through York to the Earl of Mar. I beg you
would write to me. 'Till you do I shall not have an easy minute. I am
sure I do not deserve from you that you should make me uneasy. I find I
am scolding, 'tis better for me not to trouble you with it; but I cannot
help taking your silence very unkindly."