ears,’ rival for one moment those tones—to be heard, alas! so seldom
now—which used to ring, clear and distinct as a silver bell, from one
end of the House to the other, where the loud overstrained accents of
angry men are so often inaudible?
In 1715 the Lord Chancellor acted as High Steward on the trial of the
Jacobite Lords, ‘much,’ says Lady Cowper, ‘to my husband’s vexation
and mine.’
Lord Winton, one of the prisoners, tried the Lord Steward’s patience
so sorely by frivolous delays and impediments to the despatch of
business, that Cowper, forgetting his usual equanimity, answered with
some harshness, upon which Winton cried out, ‘I hope, my Lords, we are
not to have what in my country is called Cowper Justice; that is, hang
a man first, and try him afterwards.’ The Lord Steward was too
dignified to vouchsafe an answer, but the sally caused some unseemly
merriment in Court, and the saying ‘Cowper Justice’ was often quoted
in after days by his enemies. He presided on several State trials,
that of the ex-Minister Harley, Earl of Oxford, and others. About this
period of his career a charge was brought against him of unfairness in
the appointment and dismissal of magistrates, but his faithful
secretary and expounder, Mary Cowper, came once more to his aid by
translating his vindication for the King’s perusal. He writes to her
on the subject—
‘My dear, here is the postscript which I hope may soon be turned into
French. I am glad to hear that you are well, which upon tryall I find
myself too. Dear Rogue, yours ever and always.’
The proceedings were stopped, but the days of Cowper’s public life
were numbered. Many intrigues had been at work among his political
opponents, to induce, worry, or persuade the Lord Chancellor to vacate
the Woolsack, but his wife’s diary lets us completely behind the
scenes. She says, ‘My Lord fell ill again, which occasioned a report
that he was about to resign; some said he had not health to keep in,
others that the Lords of the Cabinet Council were jealous of his great
reputation, which was true, for they had resolved to put Chief-Justice
Parkes in his place.’ The lady goes on to say that her ‘disputes and
arguments were the chief reason of his staying in,’ and how she ‘took
three weeks to prevail on her Lord to remain.’ But the friendship that
existed between the Prince and Princess of Wales and Lord and Lady
Cowper was very disadvantageous to the latter pair, as regarded the
favour of the Sovereign, for at this juncture the Royal father and son
were at daggers drawn, so that it was difficult for any one to keep
friends with both sides. Doubtless worry and perplexity of all kinds
tended to increase the indisposition of the Lord Chancellor, for his
wife now gave up all idea of pressing him to remain in office. She
told him ‘that if it were any pleasure to him she would retire into
the country, and never repent the greatest sacrifice she could make.’
And unquestionably it appeared that it would have been a sacrifice,
for Mary Cowper was eminently fitted for a Court life, although her
patience and forbearance were often sorely tried, as we gather from
her diary. It is almost impossible to avoid occasional repetition, as
the notices of husband and wife are naturally interwoven, though we
have endeavoured to disentangle them.
The Chancellor was beset with importunities to exchange his post for
that of President of the Council. He replied he would resign if they
found a better man to fill his place, but he would never change the
duties of which he could acquit himself with honour for such as he
could not perform at all—a resolution we strongly recommend to the
consideration of more modern statesmen.
Lady Cowper’s Diary.—‘The Prince says, there is no one in whom he has
any confidence but my husband, and the King says Lord Cowper and the
Duke of Devonshire are the only two men he has found trustworthy in
the kingdom!’ But for all that, there seems little doubt that his
Majesty, to whose ear birds of the air carried every matter, was not
best pleased with the constant allusions made in conversation between
the Prince of Wales and the Lord Chancellor to a future time, and all
that was then to be done, when another head would wear the crown. Lord
Cowper, writing to his wife from Hertfordshire, excuses himself for
not attending Court, ‘as my vacations are so short, and the children
require the presence of one parent at least; your sister is prudent,
but they do not stand in awe of her, and there was no living till the
birch was planted in my room.’—_September 1716._ The opposition which
Lord Cowper offered to a proposed Bill, the passing of which would
have made the Prince dependent on his father for income, put the
finishing touch to his unpopularity with George I., although the Lord
Chancellor wrote a letter (in Latin, the only language they understood
in common) to his Majesty, to explain his views.
On the 15th April 1718, Lord Cowper resigned the Great Seal at the
same time that he kissed hands on his elevation to an earldom. We
cannot resist inserting in this place a tribute which was paid the
Minister, though it was not published till after his death: ‘His
resignation was a great grief to the well affected, and to
dispassionate men of both parties, who knew that by his wisdom and
moderation he had gained abundance of friends for the King; brought
the clergy into better temper, and hindered hot, over-zealous spirits
from running things into dangerous extremes.’ This, be it remembered,
was written of one who had gone to his account, of no living patron
who could benefit the writer. He now retired to his house at Cole
Green, and busied himself in improving and beautifying his gardens and
pleasure-grounds. Here he received many congratulations on being (as a
_protégé_ of his, one Hughes, a poet, expresses it) ‘eased of the
fatigue and burthen of office.’
But, though Lord Cowper had felt the strife and contention of parties
to be most irksome, yet he was so accustomed to official life, that he
continued to take a deep interest in all the measures that were
brought before the country. He strenuously supported the Test and
Corporation Acts, and as vigorously opposed Lord Sunderland’s famous
Peerage Bill, which proposed that the existing number of English Peers
should never be increased, with exception in favour of Princes of the
blood-royal, that for every extinction there should be a new creation;
and, instead of sixteen elective Scotch Peers, the King should name
twenty-five to be hereditary. A glance at the works of Sir Bernard
Burke, Ulster King-at-Arms, and his _collaborateurs_, will be the best
proof that Sunderland’s Bill was thrown out. Amongst those who were
the most violent in the denunciation of this measure, were the wives
and daughters of members in the House of Commons, who were supposed to
have been instrumental (as we may believe from more recent experience)
in influencing the votes of their relatives. We mention this
circumstance as bearing in some degree on our subject. In the
beginning of 1722 an incident occurred which was differently construed
by the admirers and detractors of the ex-Chancellor.
On the 3d February, the House of Lords having assembled, the absence
of the reigning Lord Chancellor, as likewise that of the Lord
Chief-Justice, was remarked, and much difficulty arose as to the
proceeding of the House. Lord Cowper, most indignant at the
defalcation of his successor, moved that the Duke of Somerset, the
peer of highest rank present, should occupy the Woolsack, and, on his
refusal, further proposed that course to the Duke of Kingston and Lord
Lechmere; but the discussion was put an end to by the arrival of the
Chancellor, in most undignified and hot haste, full of excuses of
having been detained by his Majesty, and of apologies to their
Lordships for having kept them waiting. Lord Cowper, and several of
his way of thinking, were not so easily appeased, and one of them
moved that the House, to show its indignation, should adjourn till
Monday next without transacting any further business. The motion was
negatived, but Lord Cowper and his friends signed a protest, which
went to say, that the excuses which had been alleged seemed inadequate
to justify the indignity offered to the House,—‘undoubtedly the
greatest council in the kingdom, to which all other councils should
give way, and therefore no other business ought to have detained the
Chancellor,’ etc.; ‘also, we venture to say, the dignity of this House
has not of late years been increasing, so we are unwilling that
anything that we consider to be a gross neglect of it should pass
without some note on our records.’ We cannot help alluding to this
curious circumstance, as it bears so strongly on the state of party
feeling at the time, and of Lord Cowper’s individual feelings in
particular.
The exiled Royal family had on several occasions applied to him for
his support and assistance, and, although he had treated the
communications with neglect and refusal, yet his enemies were
industrious in setting rumours abroad prejudicial to the
ex-Chancellor’s loyalty to the house of Hanover. Layer (afterwards
executed for conspiracy) had brought in his name when examined before
a Committee of the House of Commons, which was, for the most part,
only too ready to listen to any slander against the ex-Minister.
Lord Cowper entered a protest in the Parliamentary Journal, that the
charges brought against him in this matter were false, ‘upon his
honour,’ the usual oath of a Peer. He manfully opposed the Bill for
the banishment of Bishop Atterbury, who was voted guilty of high
treason without a hearing. ‘The alleged culprit,’ he says, ‘stands at
your bar, and has never attempted to fly from justice. If there be
legal evidence against him, let him be legally convicted; without
legal evidence he must be wrongly condemned.’
After much more in the same forcible strain, he continues, ‘I can
guess at no other advantage that the Church can derive from this Bill,
except that it will cause a vacancy in the Deanery of Westminster and
the See of Rochester.’
Lord Campbell quotes a saying of Lord Bathurst on the same debate,
which is worth recording. He ‘could not account for the inveterate
malice which some people bore to the learned and ingenious Bishop,
unless possessed of the infatuation of the wild Indians, who believe
they will not only inherit the spoils but also the abilities of the
enemy they kill.’ But, in spite of eloquence and sarcasm, Bishop
Atterbury was banished. Cowper’s last public act was to vote against
Sir Robert Walpole’s Bill for the imposition of a heavy tax on the
estates of the Roman Catholics. This proposed injustice he strenuously
opposed, one of his chief arguments being as follows: ‘I beg your
Lordships to reflect if you are not yourselves injuring the Protestant
cause, for Protestants might have severe hardships inflicted on them
abroad, by reason of our persecution of Roman Catholics at home.’
The remainder of his life was passed between Cole Green and London. As
we have before observed, he superintended the management of his
estate, presided over the education of his children, and enjoyed the
society of his friends; but his letters go to prove that the interest
he still took in public affairs preponderated over that he felt in the
pursuits of a country life. He was too often deprived of the
consolation of his wife’s presence in his Hertfordshire home, in
consequence of her close attendance on the Princess of Wales. He
writes to her most affectionately, and gives her excellent advice,
such as, ‘If you discern that any at your Court are sowing seeds that
will raise strife, I hope you will do your best to root ‘em out; and
when you have so done your duty, you will have more reason to be
unconcerned at the event, if it should be unfortunate. Though, when
you have done so well, I would not have you so much as hope that there
are not some who will represent you as an intolerable mischief-maker.
I thank you for your endearing and, I depend, very sincere
expressions; but, considering all things, I think it is but reasonable
that you should find something more satisfactory in a Court than you
can in the home of a retired Minister—who, you know, is always a
peevish creature—and so solitary a place. The Attorney-General puts me
in mind of the choice by which they generally try idiots: it is to see
if they will choose an apple before a piece of gold. It is cruel to
tantalise a poor country man with the life of state and pleasure you
describe. I could be content as I am if I did not hear of such fine
doings.’
He thinks the best way, ‘since we neither beat nor fine our servants,
is to make them so content that they will fear being turned away.
John’s drunkenness seems a tertian, having one sober day between two
drunken ones. On Friday it proved quotidian.’ He finds ‘the country
pleasant,’ but it dulls him, and he takes an aversion to all but the
little ones of the place. The last letter he ever wrote to his wife
was dated from London, she being at Cole Green, one week before his
death—the fine handwriting, much impaired. He complains to his dearest
Mary, ‘that man and wife cannot correspond with innocent and proper
freedom, without its being a diversion to a third person,’ and he
signs himself, after promising to be with her soon, ‘yours with
perfect affection.’ He returned home on the day appointed, but he had
caught cold on his journey thither, and was seized with an alarming
illness. Happily his wife was by his bedside to minister to his
necessities, with all the tenderness of devoted affection; his
children, too, whom he so much loved, were with him. When told that he
had not long to live, Lord Cowper listened calmly, and his death was
composed and peaceful. He was buried in the parish church of
Hertingfordbury, but no tablet marks the last resting-place of
William, Earl Cowper, first Lord Chancellor of Great Britain.
Lord Campbell, in the interesting Life from which we have so largely
quoted, speaks of those who praised him and those who maligned him.
Swift, who had no call to be severe in matters of morality, and his
friend Mrs. Manley, had been very instrumental in promulgating the
slander respecting a clandestine marriage between Cowper and the young
lady of whom he was guardian,—a charge which was so often repeated
that it gained credit among some of his political enemies, at least,
who gave him the nickname of ‘Will Bigamy.’
The great Voltaire, in his _Philosophical Dictionary_, does not
disdain to assure his readers that the English Lord Chancellor not
only practised, but wrote a pamphlet in favour of, polygamy! ‘Il est
public en Angleterre, et on voudroit le nier en vain, que le
Chancellier Cowper, épousa deux femmes, qui vécurent ensemble dans sa
maison, avec une concorde singulière, qui fit honneur à tous les
trois.’ This was one of the observations made by the great French
philosopher, when he was so obliging as to come over for the purpose
of studying our manners and customs; but Lord Cowper was rich in
panegyrists both in prose and verse—the latter effusions, to our
taste, too stilted and artificial, for the most part, to be worthy of
insertion; but a passage from a paper in the _Spectator_ is a graceful
and characteristic tribute to his many gifts:—
‘It is Lord Cowper’s good fortune ever to please and to be pleased;
wherever he comes, to be admired, or is absent, to be lamented. His
merit fares like the pictures of Raphael, which are seen with
admiration, or at least no one dare own he has no taste for a
composition which has received so universal an applause. It is below
him to catch the sight by any care of dress; he is always the
principal figure in the room. He first engages your sight, as if there
were stronger light ‘upon him than on any other person. Nothing can
equal the pleasure of hearing him speak but the satisfaction one
receives in the civility and attention he pays to the discourse of
others.’ So far the _Spectator_: his character, drawn in the
_Historical Register_, speaks in the most glowing terms of his
eminence as a lawyer, civilian, and statesman, and winds up with these
words: ‘a manly and flowing eloquence, a clear, sonorous voice, a
gracious aspect, and an easy address; in a word, all that is necessary
to form a complete orator.’
The Duke Wharton, speaking of him in his official capacity, says, ‘He
had scarcely presided in that high station for one year before the
scales became even, with the universal approbation of both parties.’
Lord Chesterfield, although there was a little sting mixed with the
praise, records ‘his purity of style, his charm of elocution, and
gracefulness of action. The ears and eyes gave him up the hearts and
understandings of his audience.’ We would merely add that if to any
reader of these pages such praise should appear in any way
exaggerated, we must remind them they were all written after there was
no more to be hoped from the gratified vanity of Lord Cowper. His
trust and humility as a Christian are testified by an entry in his
Diary, on his appointment as Lord Keeper: ‘During these great honours
done me, I often reflected on the uncertainty of them, and even of
life itself. I searched my heart, and found no pride and self-conceit
in it; and I begged God that He would preserve my mind from relying on
the transient vanity of the world, and teach me to depend only on His
providence, that I should not be lifted up by present success, or
dejected when the reverse should happen. And verily, I believe, I was
helped by His Holy Spirit.’
When the reverse did come, he added, ‘Glory be to God, who has
sustained me in adversity, and carried me through the malice of my
enemies, so that all designed for my hurt turned to my advantage.’ It
is evident that Lord Cowper, although he loved the exercise of those
public offices for which he was so well fitted, knew how to retire
into private life with dignity and composure. One short anecdote, and
we have done. It so happened that Richard Cromwell, in his old age,
had to undergo an examination in Westminster Hall, at a moment when
the name of the ex-Protector’s family was execrated through the
kingdom. The Lord Chancellor treated the fallen dignitary with more
than common respect, and courteously ordered a chair to be placed for
him,—treatment which contrasted with that experienced by Richard when
driven from the door of the House of Lords with insults as one of the
common mob, exclaiming as he went, ‘The last time I was here I sat
upon the throne!’
Lord Cowper had gained the good fortune he deserved; he built a house
at Cole Green, and made a collection of pictures which forms part of
the splendid gallery now at Panshanger. His London houses were
situated in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and Great George Street. He had also
a lodging at Kensington,—‘the roads about that distant spot being,’ we
are assured, ‘so secure, that there was no danger in travelling thence
to London at night.’
------------------
_No. 12._
WILLIAM, SECOND EARL COWPER.
_Blue coat. Red waistcoat._
BORN 1709, DIED 1764.
MARRIED in 1732 Lady Henrietta, daughter and co-heir of Henry de
Nassau d’Auverquerque (Overkirche), Earl of Grantham. She was the sole
surviving descendant of the legitimised offspring of Maurice, Prince
of Orange, Stadtholder. In 1733 Earl Cowper was appointed Lord of the
Bedchamber, a post he afterwards resigned; subsequently Lord
Lieutenant, and _Custos Rotulorum_ of the county of Hertford. He
assumed the prefix of Clavering to that of Cowper, in pursuance of his
uncle’s will. By his first wife Lord Cowper had one son, and one
daughter; by his second wife, Caroline Georgiana, daughter of the Earl
Granville, widow of the Honourable John Spencer, he had no children.
He was buried at Hertingfordbury, and succeeded by his only son.
------------------
_No. 13._
GEORGE, THIRD EARL COWPER.
_Red dress. Light-coloured cap._
BORN 1738, DIED 1789.
BY RAPHAEL MENGS (?).
ELDEST son of the second Earl Cowper by Lady Henrietta, youngest
daughter and co-heir of Henry d’Auverquerque, Earl of Grantham. King
George II., the Duke of Grafton, and Princess Amelia stood in person
as sponsors at his baptism. In 1754 he came into a large fortune on
the death of the aforesaid Earl of Grantham, and in 1759 was elected
M.P. for the town of Hertford. While his father was yet alive, Lord
Fordwich (as he then was) went on his travels, and, arriving at
Florence, fell in love with that beautiful city, and with one of its
beautiful citizens, the Princess Corsi. The lady was married, or the
young lord would doubtless have carried her to England as his wife,
and thus escaped the blame, cast upon him by Horace Walpole, of
disobeying the summons of his dying father in 1764. So delighted was
George, Lord Cowper, with his sojourn in Florence, which he had
originally visited with the intention of passing a short time there,
that he remained within its charmed walls for upwards of thirty years.
He outlived his infatuation for the fair Florentine, and married, in
1775, Anna, daughter of Charles Gore, a gentleman at that time
residing in Florence with his family, who was said to have been the
original of Goethe’s travelled Englishman in _Wilhelm Meister_. Lord
Cowper was most desirous of obtaining permission to add the royal
surname of Nassau to his own patronymic, on the plea that he was one
of the representatives of the Earl of Grantham (an extinct title); but
there were many difficulties in the way, and while the matter was
pending he received a high mark of distinction from the Emperor of
Austria, through the instrumentality of his Imperial Majesty’s
brother, Peter Leopold, Grand Duke of Tuscany, at whose Court Lord and
Lady Cowper (but especially the latter) stood in high favour. This was
the grant of a patent to Lord Cowper, which bestowed on him the rank
of a Prince of the Holy Roman Empire. That arch-gossip, but most
amusing letter-writer, Horace Walpole, in his correspondence with his
friend Sir Horace Mann, British Envoy at Florence, takes a most
unaccountable interest in the private concerns and aspirations of Lord
Cowper, and thus animadverts on the subject of his foreign names and
titles: ‘There is another hitch in the great Nassau question. The
objection is now started, that he must not bear that name with the
title of Prince. The Emperor thought he had hit on a clever compromise
for his _protégé_, by giving up the name of Nassau, and substituting
that of Auverquerque. But my Lord’s cousins object to that also, so
now he is reduced to plain Prince Cowper, for which honour he has to
pay £500.’
Again: ‘I do not think either the Emperor or Lord Cowper knows what he
is about. Surely an English peer, with substantial dignity in his own
country, is more dignified than a man residing in another country, and
endowed with a nominal principality in a third!’
Again: ‘I believe both Emperor and Prince begin to regret the step.
The Imperial diploma dubs him Highness, but he himself will not allow
any one to address him in any other way than Lord Cowper.’