since the passage of arms to which we have alluded. He made his niece,
Mademoiselle Schütz, his ambassador, to complain of having been
treated distantly and coldly, never being allowed to see Lady Cowper
alone of late, and so forth. When permitted to renew his visit, he
expostulated with her on her believing that he was willing to oust her
husband; and upon her saying she understood it was so destined by the
Ministry, the baron made a world of asseverations of how he was
incapable of injuring the Lord Chancellor, that the King had the
greatest possible kindness for him, and that none could take his place
from him but God alone, and so forth. Upon which Lady Cowper tossed
her head and observed, ‘One must be fond of a place before you fear to
lose it, and it was too painful a place to be fond of.’ Then the baron
retorted that Lord Cowper was peevish and difficult, and so thought
the King, and he begged her ladyship would use her best arguments to
soften and make him more compliable;—which she certainly did, though
she did not let Bernstorff into the secret, for, at least at this time
of day, she was most unwilling to see her husband vacate the Woolsack.
The Mademoiselle Schütz to whom an allusion has been made, is thus
described: ‘She was a pretty woman, and had good qualities, but was
withal so assuming that she was mightily hated at Court. The Prince
disliked her most especially, but I saw her very often.’ Too often, as
it proved in the sequel, for the Fraülein made herself most obnoxious
after a bit, coming at all hours, when not wanted, to the Cowpers’
house in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and ‘writing at every turn, which is
very troublesome. I wish she had as many occupations as I have. I had
a letter from her to offer to come and stay with me; I thank her for
nothing. I had enough of her impertinence last night.’ Another time
she insists on the loan of a costly pearl necklace, which the
Lady-in-Waiting wanted to wear herself (not being overstocked with
jewels), at the birthday; now it is a ‘lace head’ to go to Court in;
now she wishes for a set of gold ribbons as a gift. ‘Commend me to a
modest assurance. It lifts one out of many a pinch, I find. Lady
William Powlett complained of her too, “she is very importunate, and
always on the spunge.” I fell a-laughing, and said, “I was very glad
it had come to anybody’s share besides mine.”
On the 5th of December in this year (1715), the Diary records the
entrance into London of the Jacobite prisoners who had been taken at
the battle of Preston,—their arms tied, and their horses led by
soldiers. The mob insulted them, carrying a warming-pan before them in
ridicule of the Pretender, and saying many spiteful things, which some
of the prisoners returned with spirit. ‘The chief of my father’s
family was among them, Clavering of Callalee, who is above seventy
years old. I did not see them come into town, nor let any of my
children do so. I thought it would be insulting to several relations I
had there, though almost everybody else went to see them. I forgot to
say M. Bernstorff made me a strange offer, through his niece, to let
my cousin Tom Forster escape on the road, if I had a mind to it.’ This
gentleman was knight of the shire for Northumberland, and was a
general in the Jacobites’ army; he had proclaimed the Pretender at
Warkworth. He was imprisoned in Newgate, but eventually escaped.
Lord Widdrington, who was impeached at the same time as Lord
Derwentwater, was also a connection of hers; and she gives this as a
reason she could not go to the State trials, although her Lord
presided as Lord High Steward, an appointment which vexed her much.
She gives the order of procession, with many servants, and coaches,
one with six horses, Garter King at Arms, Usher of the Black Rod, etc.
etc. Lady Cowper did not seem to take the same delight in the
melancholy pageant as most of the fine world did, for she says, ‘I was
told it was customary to have fine liveries on such an occasion, but
had them all plain. I think it very wrong to make a parade on such an
occasion as putting to death one’s fellow-creatures. The Princess came
home much touched with compassion. What a pity that such cruelties
should be necessary! My Lord’s speech on pronouncing sentence was
commended by every one, but I esteem no one’s commendation like Dr.
Clarke’s, who says, “’tis superlatively good, and that it is not
possible to add or diminish one letter without hurting it.”’
Many entries in the Diary now speak of Lord Cowper’s continued
illness, and how he had again a mind to quit office. His wife, who in
spite of all the squabbles and ‘unpleasantness’ she describes, was
still in high favour with the Prince and Princess, and was not
insensible to the splendour and amusements of a Court life, loved her
Lord above all such considerations, and told him she ‘would never
oppose anything he had a mind to do,’ and, ‘after arguing calmly on
the matter, I offered, if it would be any pleasure done him, to retire
with him into the country, and what was more, never to repine at doing
so, though it was the greatest sacrifice that could be made him. I
believe he will accept.’ But a little while after she says, ‘My Lord
is better, and not so much talk of retiring, though I laid it fairly
in his way.’
The troublesome Fraülein Schütz seemed to have chosen this time of
anxiety to be more importunate than ever about loans of jewels and
finery: ‘When she asked me for my diamonds, saying she had less
scruple in doing so because I look best in a state of nature, and
jewels do not become me! Commend me to the assurance of these
foreigners!’
On a similar occasion Lady Cowper makes some very moral reflections,
slightly tempered by a dash of pardonable vanity. After an excuse for
wearing an emerald necklace, which had been lent her lest she should
disoblige her friend, she meant also to wear her own pearls in her
hair, though she don’t care one brass farthing for making herself
fine, and hopes always to make it her study rather to adorn her mind
than to set off a vile body of dust and ashes!
The advice given to Mrs. Collingwood, the wife of one of the Jacobite
prisoners, must have shocked the feelings of so loving a wife as Mary
Cowper. Mr. Collingwood, a Northumberland gentleman, was under
sentence of death, when his wife wrote to an influential friend to
intercede in his behalf. Here is the answer: ‘I think you are mad when
you talk of saving your husband’s life. Don’t you know you will have
£500 a year jointure if he’s hanged, and not a groat if he’s saved?
Consider, and let me know. I shall do nothing till then.’ There was no
answer to the letter, and Collingwood was executed.
About this time great exertions were made to induce the King to
reprieve some (at least) of the prisoners, and Lady Cowper was
evidently instrumental in gaining that of Lord Carnwath, who would
otherwise have suffered with Lords Kenmure and Derwentwater. She gave
a letter from the imprisoned nobleman to the Princess, who wept on
reading it, and sent word in answer that if Lord Carnwath would
confess, she would give him her honour he should be saved, but that
was the only way. Now, though the King was not over partial to ‘cette
Diablesse de Princesse,’ as he often called her, yet the violent
language and opinions she sometimes held were not altogether without
their influence on the Royal mind. Lord Nithisdale escaped by the
connivance of his devoted wife, and Lord Carnwath was reprieved. ‘God
grant us peace to heal all our divisions, and to take away the rancour
that is among us.’ ‘Lord Nithisdale’s escape confirmed; I hope he’ll
get clear off; I never was better pleased at anything in my life, and
I believe everybody is the same.’
_March 1._—The Princess of Wales’s birthday. ‘I am ill, but must go to
wish her many years of health and happiness, which I unfeignedly do,
for she’s a most charming delightful friend as well as mistress.’ Her
Royal Highness said M. Bernstorff had been urging the Prince to agree
to Lord Cowper being made President of the Council, which the Prince
refused to do, unless assured that Lord Cowper wished it. ‘I said Lord
Cowper was ready to quit, if they found anybody better to put in his
room, but would never change that of which he could acquit himself
with honour, for that he could not perform at all.’
Party ran so high in this year (1716), that even a meteorological
phenomenon—‘a light so great that from my windows I could see people
walk across Lincoln’s Inn Fields though there was no moon’—was pressed
by Whigs and Tories into their interests,—the former saying it was
God’s judgment on the horrid rebellion, the latter that it was a mark
of vengeance on the Whigs for the late executions. Mr. Gibson, the
antiquary, says it has ever since been spoken of as ‘Lord
Derwentwater’s lights.’ Lady Cowper was coming home in her chair on
the night in question, and her bearers were so frightened that she was
forced to let her glass down and preach to them all the way to comfort
them. She observes that if anybody had overheard the dialogue they
could not have helped laughing.
Lady Cowper’s chairmen were apparently not very efficient altogether;
she twice complains of the shifts she was put to in consequence of
their drunkenness, and her having to come home in the first hackney
she could find. Another time she lost her servants altogether, and had
to borrow the Duchess of Shrewsbury’s chair. The bickerings and
altercations between the Court ladies were interminable, more
especially between the German and English; and no wonder, when the
Germans talked as one of their great ladies did, saying that ‘English
ladies did not look like women of quality, but pitiful and sneaking,
holding their heads down, and always seeming in a fright, whereas
foreigners hold up their heads and hold out their bosoms, and look
grand and stately;’ upon which Lady Deloraine replies, ‘We show our
quality, madam, by our birth and titles, not by sticking out our
bosoms.’
The Diary tells us that on May the 29th, those who disliked the
reigning family wore green boughs, and on June the 10th (the
Pretender’s birthday) white roses. Nothing now but cabal and intrigue,
petty Court jealousies, bitter hatred and enmity among the political
parties, the ins and the outs, and unseemly quarrels between the two
highest in rank in the country.
It was settled that the King was to go to Hanover for at least six
months, the question of the Regency during his absence being the worst
bone of contention of all. But we have treated this subject more at
large in the notice of Lord Cowper, who was constantly peacemaking and
pouring good counsel into the ears of the Prince of Wales.
Diary.—‘For my part, I thought it so absolute a necessity to the
public good to keep all things quiet, that I did heartily and
successfully endeavour to conceal everything that tended to disunion,
little thinking at the time it could ever be called a crime to keep
things quiet.’
It was finally settled that the King was to go to Hanover, to which
His Majesty looked forward with pleasure, greatly alloyed by the
necessity of making his son Regent. Always jealous of him, he could
not bear the idea of the Prince of Wales playing at King. When it was
arranged that the Prince should be appointed to the Regency during His
Majesty’s absence, there were as many restrictions put upon him as
possible. In this summer (1716) the Court went to reside, with much
splendour, at Hampton Court Palace, and the Diary leads us to believe
there was some little enjoyment to be derived from that comparative
retirement. But even here the spirit of unrest followed them: Lord
Townshend, who came down frequently on public business, treated the
Princess with so little respect, and paid such court to Mrs. Howard
(to curry favour with the Prince) that both Lord and Lady Cowper
expostulated with him, so effectually indeed as to prevail on the
Minister to change his demeanour, ‘which brought the Princess into
perfect tranquillity.’ Not for long, however, for when Lord Sunderland
arrived to take leave, before joining the King at Hanover, he fell out
with the Princess walking in the long gallery which looks on the
gardens; and he talked so loud that Her Royal Highness desired him to
speak lower, for the people in the garden would overhear him. ‘Let
them hear,’ cries my Lord. The Princess answered, ‘Well, if you have a
mind, let ‘em, only you shall walk next to the window, for in the
humour we are both in, one of us must jump out, and I am resolved it
sha’n’t be me.’ But for such stormy interludes, and the constant
disquietude which the presence of Mrs. Howard (nor of her alone), must
have occasioned the Princess, the time passed pleasantly enough, in
Wolsey’s picturesque old palace, so lately increased in magnitude by
the additions of Sir Christopher Wren. The gardens and pleasances too
had been much improved and enlarged, for Queen Mary’s delectation, and
the Princess, who was a great walker, spent many hours under the leafy
shades of the lime grove, and wandering among the dark yews and
evergreens.
Diary.—‘The Prince and Princess dined every day in public in Her Royal
Highness’s apartments. The Lady-in-Waiting served at table, but my
ill-health prevented me doing that service. In the afternoon my Royal
mistress saw company, and read or writ till evening, when she walked
in the garden for two or three hours together, and would go to the
pavilion at the end of the bowling-green (which runs parallel with the
river) to play there, but after the Countess of Buckenburgh fell and
put her foot out, the Princess went there no more, but played in the
green gallery. The Duchess of Monmouth was often with us, and the
Princess loved her mightily, and, certainly, no woman of her years
ever deserved it so well. She had all the fire and life of youth, and
it was marvellous to see that the many afflictions she had suffered
had not touched her wit and good-nature, but at upwards of threescore
she had both in their full perfection.’ We cannot resist inserting
this generous testimony to one who was distinguished by Royal favour
at a time when petty jealousies and intense rivalry were at their
height. Their Royal Highnesses left Hampton Court with part of their
retinue by water, and as they glided along in a Royal barge, Lady
Cowper thought ‘nothing in the world could be pleasanter than the
passage, or give one a better idea of the richness and happiness of
the kingdom.’ A break now occurs in the Diary, which began 1714, and
which we have followed up to October 1716. That portion which
concerned the next four years is not forthcoming, and the editor gives
us a clue to the reason. In a memorandum by the Chancellor’s daughter,
Lady Sarah, she copies a letter written to the postmaster at Hertford:
‘It is reported that at the time of the trial of the Bishop of
Rochester Lord Cowper offered to be bail for him, which was so
resented by a certain person of distinction that he moved for a
warrant to search his Lordship’s house. News of this was sent to Lady
Cowper, and though the report was to be despised, yet my mother had so
many hints and intimations sent her by different people of a design to
attack my father and try to involve his character in the examination
then on foot, relating to Layer’s plot, that she took fright for some
papers she had drawn up by way of diary, also some letters belonging
to the Prince and Princess, which she had in her hands, relating to
the quarrel in the Royal Family, that, not being able to place them in
safety, in a hurry she burned such as she thought likely to do most
harm.’ This is a reasonable explanation of the disappearance of the
records of 1717, 1718,and 1719. In 1718 Lord Cowper resigned office,
to the great regret of all well-thinking persons of whatever party,
the details of which will be found in the Chancellor’s life. The feuds
in the Royal Family had augmented in frequency and violence during
these four years, and Lady Cowper resumes her narrative at a time when
the scandal of these quarrels was so great as to render a
reconciliation imperative on public grounds. Lord Cowper himself had
lost much of the King’s favour by his adherence to the Prince, and the
fair Lady-in-Waiting herself had to undergo many cold looks, and, what
must have been more trying to such a steadfast nature as hers, the
caprice and wayward moods of the mistress she still loved and served
most loyally. New influences were at work, and new favourites on the
scene. As to the reconciliation, though made a subject of public
rejoicing, it was hollow enough. The King lost few opportunities of
slighting his son and daughter-in-law, and he plagued her much,
particularly on the vexed question of the custody of her children, who
had been removed from her care. But we are anticipating. The Diary
re-opens with a visit from Mr. Secretary Walpole (afterwards Sir
Robert) to the Princess of Wales, with offers of reconciliation from
the King, April 9, 1720. The Princess referred him to Lord Cowper, who
lost no time in hastening to the Royal presence to discuss the matter.
The conditions were most unpalatable to the Prince and Princess, who
were ‘in great anguish.’ They both asked the advice of Lord and Lady
Cowper, and took that of Mr. Secretary Walpole. Among many leading men
of the day, whom the Lady-in-Waiting had no reason to love, were that
Minister and Lord Townshend in particular, and she did not approve of
Walpole’s confession to my Lord, that he did almost everything through
the medium of the Duchess of Kendal, who was ‘virtually Queen of
England.’ Lady Cowper also complains that her mistress has been taught
to suspect her all the winter, and that the Prince scarcely looks at
her, and she marvels how Walpole has got such a hold of them that they
only see through his eyes, and no longer recognise their real friends.
Would not the leafy shades of Cole Green form a pleasant contrast to
this vortex of antagonism?—so at least thought Lord Cowper, ‘who is
sick of the whole affair, and goes out of town to hear no more of it,
and it is more than odds, if he is not pleased with his treatment,
that he will carry me with him.’
Grand rejoicings in honour of this reconciliation. Lady Cowper goes to
congratulate the Prince and Princess: ‘The square full of coaches, the
guards before the door, everything gay and laughing, everybody
kissing, and wishing of joy. When I wished the Prince joy he embraced
me, with all his old heartiness, five or six times, and the Princess
burst into a loud laugh, and said: “Sir, I do think you two always
kiss on great occasions.” All the town feignedly or unfeignedly happy.
I kissed Lord Cowper on coming home, and said: “Well, I thank God your
head is your own, and that is more than could be said six months
ago.”’ And then she alludes to all the intrigues that were being
carried on, and says: ‘There was not a rogue in the town but was
engaged in some scheme and project to undo his country.’
The King still very distant to his son and daughter-in-law (with
occasional variations of humour), and speaking of the pending change
of Ministry, asked angrily if the Whigs could not come back, without
the Prince of Wales. We have mentioned in Lord Cowper’s life how many
overtures were made to him to return and resume office on the return
of the Whigs to power. He came to his wife’s bedside one Sunday
morning to let his ‘dear girl’ into his secrets,—how that he had
thought with her to take service again, and that he had always
considered a reconciliation so necessary, that it would help to make
everything in its own condition again. And ‘I did think to accept of
that offer made me, of my friend Kingston’s place, who has behaved
himself so shamefully to me, that it would be a piece of justice upon
him.’ But that, on further consideration, all his reasons for quitting
office subsisted still. ‘I am old and infirm, and rich enough, and am
resolved not to enslave myself to any power upon earth. At
five-and-fifty it is time to think of making life easy. My infirmities
will not let me struggle with knaves and fools. My tranquillity will
content me more than all they can give me, under their power and
influence.’ His wife said all she could to dissuade him from this
decision, and he agreed with some of her arguments, but declared he
thought any reproach better than the loss of his tranquillity, and
that his resolution was taken. But to show he was not out of humour,
he would ask for the key which had been promised Lady Cowper, and that
he would accept a place in the Cabinet, but neither place nor pension,
for he was resolved to live a freeman and an Englishman.
We have inserted this characteristic speech of Lord Cowper’s here,
rather than in the notice appropriated to him, because it was made in
private to his wife, and is recorded in her Diary. No wonder that
after such a conversation, Lady Cowper was often tempted to answer the
Princess and others with some degree of asperity when they insinuated
that her lord was a place-hunter. The day before the new Ministry came
in, she was in attendance on the Princess, and the new Lord Chancellor
was there. ‘I dare say, Lady Cowper,’ said Her Royal Highness,
laughing, ‘you are glad to see the purse in that hand.’ ‘Yes, truly,’
she replied; ‘I am right glad, and hope it will remain there until
that hand is as weary of it as ours was.’
Diary.—‘Lord Cowper invited to the ministerial dinner; does not mean
to go. Great hugging and kissing between the two old and the two new
Ministers. They walk all four with their arms round one another to
show they are all one.’ Now, though Lord Cowper could not be persuaded
to change his resolution as regarded himself, he was most desirous to
obtain the post of Mistress of the Robes for his wife, to whom the
Princess had promised it, and who seemed best fitted by position,
politics, and character, in all the Court. But the King wished the
Duchess of St. Albans to remain, and that lady had ‘locked up the key
in her cabinet, and did not intend to resign, unless compelled to do
so.’ Lord Cowper waited several times on the Princess with the
intention of urging his wife’s claim, but Her Royal Highness gave him
no opportunity, and the lady was sorely aggrieved. ‘The Princess not
willing to give me the key, yet she promised it. And when the King
asked for some one else, she said: “Remember the obligations I am
under to Lady Cowper, no one else can have it.” But now, she says,
“Lady D. [Deloraine?] will be disobliged.” What claim has she?—is it
for flying all over Richmond with the Prince?’
‘A new clamour for the Duchess of St. Albans. I am quite sick of this
usage. Why did the Princess promise me the key, if she had not the
power to give it? To what purpose such dissimulation? Sure she thought
me a tame fool, who was to be easily imposed on, and who had not her
interest at heart. The Germans used to call her, “Une grande
comédienne:” I say no; if actors played their parts in such a manner
they would be hissed off the stage, and must starve. She has
disobliged the two best friends she ever had.’ Here follows a little
bit of natural petulance. ‘There is indeed a great advantage in going
to the drawing-room to be used as ill as Lord Sunderland pleases; he
has undoubtedly taken care to betray his master for at least thirty
pieces of silver; it were well if he would follow out the whole
example, and go and hang himself.’ Alas for the change in Mary
Cowper’s opinion of Caroline of Anspach, and her surroundings! She
gives us a sarcastic speech made by the Archbishop of Canterbury
(Wake), showing to the Princess his opinion of the state of public
matters and public men at that crisis, which we therefore insert:—
‘Madam, we must now wish ourselves and the world joy. First of this
happy reconciliation, and next of the honour, integrity, and
disinterestedness of the Ministers, as well as their wisdom and
virtue. They would be matchless were they not equalled by the two
great governors of this Court, Townshend and Walpole. What glorious
things must we not expect from the conduct of the first in the
Ministry and the two last here? What happiness for the people to be
under such directors! and what a glorious figure we must make all the
world over when we are influenced by such counsels!’
‘No, sure, my Lord,’ answered the Princess, somewhat meekly; ‘those
men are not our only advisers—what do you make of Lord Cowper?’