Ireland, where he continued to give proofs of his courage and martial
skill. Between him and Lord Ormonde there had been some disagreement,
but they were reconciled, and Broghill ever afterwards remained the
fast friend of both husband and wife, and, standing high in the
Protector’s favour, in consequence of his military services, more than
one opportunity presented itself of being useful to them. He had come
over from Ireland, when the Protector sent for him, and thus addressed
him: ‘If you are still interested in my Lord Ormonde’s safety, you had
better advise him to leave London. We know all about him, where he is,
what he is doing, and he had best absent himself.’
The hint was given and taken, and Lord Ormonde left England
accordingly. A short time elapsed, when one day Lady Ormonde was much
distressed at receiving a domiciliary visit from one of Cromwell’s
functionaries, who ransacked the house, and carried away every paper
he could find. She immediately sent for her faithful friend, and
besought him to intercede once more in her behalf. Broghill lost no
time; he hurried off to Whitehall, and found the autocrat in a
towering passion. ‘You have undertaken, indeed,’ he said, ‘for the
quietness of a fine person. I have allowed my Lady Ormonde £2000 a
year out of her husband’s estates, because they were sufferers in
Ireland. But I find she is a wicked woman, and I promise you she shall
pay for it.’ It was some time before Lord Broghill could gain a
hearing, but when he was permitted to speak, he asked what proof could
be adduced of Lady Ormonde’s guilt, upon which Cromwell threw him a
letter, that certainly left no doubt of the writer’s Royalist
tendencies and disaffection to the existing Government. ‘This was
found,’ said the Protector, ‘in searching the escritoire at Lord
Ormonde’s house.’ Lord Broghill could not help laughing. ‘But this,’
he observed, ‘is not the writing of my Lady Ormonde.’ ‘Indeed,’
rejoined Cromwell angrily, ‘and pray who wrote these lines?’ Bent on
saving his friends, Lord Broghill not only explained the letter was
from Lady Isabella Thynne (between whom and Lord Ormonde there had
been undoubted love passages), but he produced some other letters from
the same lady to identify the handwriting, and further proceeded to
relate several anecdotes of a most lively nature respecting her, which
turned all Cromwell’s wrath into merriment, and he laughed
immoderately. Broghill’s judicious conduct had gained his friends’
cause.
We have forestalled events in order to finish the romance of which
Lady Isabella Thynne was the heroine, and we must now turn back to the
year 1629, being that of the marriage. Lord Thurles took his bride to
the house of his maternal uncle, in Gloucestershire, where they
remained a year, and then proceeded to Carrick, in Ireland, where his
grandfather lived, and where he began his military career by
purchasing a troop of horse. He went to Scotland, and then to England,
and succeeding to the title of Ormonde on Earl Walter’s death,
returned to Ireland in 1633. There he began a life of activity, which
never ceased from that time forward. Many passages in Carte’s Life of
the ‘great Duke’ tend to confirm our previous remark, that Irish
history, more than that of any other nation, verifies the saying, ‘Que
l’histoire se répète.’
Great were the expectations raised all over the kingdom, in 1623, of
important matters to be done on the coming over of a new Lord-Deputy,
endowed with a larger measure of authority, etc. This was Lord
Wentworth, who arrived in Dublin in July 1633. Lord Ormonde did not
delay to repair thither, in order to pay his respects to my Lord
Wentworth, who, chancing to observe him from a window, as he was
crossing the Castle-yard, observed to the standers-by, ‘If I possess
any skill in physiognomy, that young man will be the chief of his
family.’
At the outset of their acquaintance, an incident occurred which
threatened to make a breach between these two high spirits, but,
instead thereof, cemented a friendship, which was only terminated by
the untimely death of Lord Strafford. During the session of the Irish
Parliament, the Lord-Deputy had found it advisable to prohibit the
Lords wearing their swords, lest, in the heat of argument, they might
have recourse to sharper weapons than those of eloquence. The order
was obeyed in every instance, save that of my Lord Ormonde, who, when
the Usher of the Black Rod insisted on his disarming, replied angrily,
marching on in a stately manner, and taking his seat in the House,
‘You shall have no sword of mine, except through your body.’ On being
summoned before the Lord-Deputy for this open act of insubordination,
he proudly drew forth the King’s warrant for his admission to the
Privy Council. The Lord-Deputy was satisfied, and the two noblemen
became fast friends. When evil days fell on Strafford, and the Irish
Parliament joined the English in hastening his downfall, Lord Ormonde
pleaded his cause in the Upper House with so much reason and eloquence
as to bias a considerable party in Strafford’s favour, at least for a
time. The letters which passed between them during the latter’s
imprisonment were couched in the most affectionate terms. Writing from
the Tower, the captive tells his friend that he has recommended him to
the King for the Lord-Deputyship of Ireland; and later he writes:
‘There is so little rest given to me, my noble Lord, that I have
scarce time to eat my bread. Your Lordship’s favours to me in my
afflictions are such as have and shall level my heart at your foot so
long as I live.’
On the eve of his execution, Strafford intrusted Archbishop Usher with
some last requests to the King, amongst which was the earnest hope
that the Earl of Ormonde should have his vacant Garter. The offer was
made; but Lord Ormonde declined, saying that his loyalty needed no
such stimulus, and that the honour might be more advantageously
bestowed for the King’s service.
At the breaking out of the Irish rebellion, the King wished to appoint
him Lord-Deputy, but was overruled by the Parliament, which had
resolved on Lord Leicester. He was however selected by the
Lords-Justices in Ireland for the chief command of the forces in that
country. The appointment was an excellent one. He was successful
against the rebels for a considerable period, and his services were
(for a time) duly appreciated by the English Commons, who voted a
large sum of money to purchase him a jewel of great value. They also
recommended him to the King for the Garter, an honour that was
bestowed later on a most deserving knight. Ormonde was indeed as
chivalrous as he was brave, keeping good faith with his savage
adversaries; and a noble answer given by him is worthy to be recorded
here. One of the native chiefs threatened to take reprisals on Lady
Ormonde and his family. ‘My wife and dear ones,’ said the General,
‘are in your power; but for myself, I should never be dastardly enough
to revenge any offence they received on the women and children of my
enemies.’
After a while his popularity began to wane, and he became a mark for
jealousy and calumny on both sides of St. George’s Channel. The
Lords-Justices thwarted him in his campaigns, and stinted him in
supplies, and the Lord-Deputy Leicester never let slip an opportunity
of doing him an evil turn, both in public and private. The King,
however, remained his staunch friend, and wrote him a most flattering
letter, renewing his command of the army, and raising him to the grade
of a Marquis. The account of the Irish rebellion would, and indeed
has, filled many a large volume, and concerns history rather than
biography. We cannot do more than glance at events, in which Lord
Ormonde himself bore so distinguished a part. After giving the most
striking proofs of valour, patriotism, and loyalty in his encounters
with the insurgents, under difficulties of almost unparalleled
hardship, want of supplies, provisions, and the like, he found himself
compelled to agree to a cessation of arms for twelve months. The news
of this treaty was received with much disapprobation in England, and
was represented by the enemies of Ormonde and of the King, as ‘an
unseasonable and unnecessary concession;’ but Charles was duly
impressed with the honour and ability of his faithful servant, and
resolved to make him Lord-Lieutenant in the stead of Lord Leicester.
The gallant General was unwilling to accept the post, but was
persuaded to do so, ‘without much hope, indeed, of serving the Crown,
or remedying many of the disorders.’
During his tenure of office, political and religious factions were at
their height in this most unhappy country, and intrigues on both sides
of St. George’s Channel were carried on against the Lord-Lieutenant,
paralysing his efforts, till he had no choice but to conclude a
peace,—a peace that was no peace. Conspiracies of all kinds were
hatched,—and one in particular was discovered, the aim of which was to
seize the person of Lord Ormonde in his own castle of Kilkenny, whence
he escaped with much difficulty to Dublin, where he was besieged by
the insurgents. He held out till all his supplies were exhausted, and
he had lost every hope of redress. The King was a prisoner in the
hands of the Roundheads, who had sent over Commissioners to Ireland;
there was no choice left for Ormonde but to surrender to the Irish, or
English rebels. He chose the latter alternative, and, delivering up
the keys to the Commissioners, embarked for England, followed by the
prayers and good wishes of the well-affected among the citizens, but
more especially of the poorer clergy, whose wives and children had
been saved from starvation by his bounty and that of his excellent
wife. He reached England, went first to Iron Acton, gained a pass from
General Fairfax which gave him access to the King (then a prisoner in
his own palace of Hampton Court), and hired a lodging at
Kingston-on-Thames, in order to remain in the vicinity. He had
frequent intercourse with his Royal master, who fully appreciated all
his devoted friend and subject had dared and done for his service, and
reiterated his opinion that no one else was qualified to fill the post
of Viceroy of Ireland. But this view of the case did not fall in with
the notions of those in authority, and Ormonde received intimation to
the effect that it would be advisable for him to leave England, which
he accordingly did, and, crossing to Dieppe, proceeded to Paris, to
join the Queen, Henrietta Maria, and the Prince of Wales.
While residing in the French capital, Lord Ormonde kept up a
continuous correspondence with the loyalists in Scotland, and more
especially with the influential leaders in Ireland. There had existed
a feud between the Lords Ormonde and Inchiquin and Lord Broghill,
General of the Horse, but it was not difficult to bring about a
reconciliation between three devoted servants of the Crown. Lord
Ormonde was at length prevailed on by the wishes of the Queen and
Prince, as also by the earnest solicitations of the Royalists in
Ireland, to return to that country, and resume his post as
Lord-Lieutenant. He had, during his stay in Paris, entered into
communication with many leading members of the Roman Catholic
religion, with a view to a pacification between the two opposing
creeds on his return, and had also endeavoured to raise at the French
Court a sufficient sum to insure him proper supplies; but in this
respect he was wofully disappointed, and he landed in Cork with the
miserable sum of thirty French pistoles in his military chest.
Everything was against him in Dublin,—the hands of the
Parliamentarians, Cromwell’s emissaries spread far and wide over the
country, while Prince Rupert, who commanded a Royalist fleet on the
coast, was less assistance than detriment to the cause, from his
unceasing jealousy and rivalry of other officials. The news of the
King’s execution was received with consternation by his partisans in
Scotland and Ireland, and with profound grief by Lord Ormonde, who
caused the Prince of Wales to be instantly proclaimed, and wrote off
to him urging the advisability of his coming over in person,—a scheme
which was not carried out. The Lord-Lieutenant was now engaged in
negotiations of a pacific nature with the so-called ‘old Irish party’
(headed by Phelim O’Neill, and other leading Roman Catholics), and he
concentrated all his energies on gaining possession of Dublin. But the
death of O’Neill, the arrival of Cromwell with a large body of troops,
and the number of desertions, all conduced to render his position
untenable. He only waited for the King’s sanction to leave Ireland,
and once more embarked for France, where, after a most tempestuous
voyage, he joined his wife and children at Caen, and passed many
months between that temporary home and Paris, where he finally joined
the king, as a regular attendant, after Charles’s escape from the
battle of Worcester.
Ormonde was now reduced to the greatest straits, having but one
pistole a week for his board, and being obliged ‘to go afoot, which is
not considered reputable in Paris;’ added to which, his wife found it
impossible to live on at Caen, even in the modest style to which she
had lately been accustomed; and the King had nothing to spare out of
his scanty pittance to assist his friends. In these trying
circumstances, it was arranged that Lady Ormonde should go to England
in person, and endeavour to gain some redress from Parliament. It was
no agreeable errand, but the lady was well qualified to act with
spirit and determination, tempered by tact; and she did not shrink
from the undertaking.
Her dignity of demeanour and her courage were proverbial. It had been
said of her that she had the spirit of old Earl Thomas; and she knew
how to inspire Cromwell with respect. In her interviews he always
treated her with the greatest consideration, and accompanied her
downstairs to her coach or chair, although she was kept long in
suspense about her financial demands, and the great man often answered
her arguments by a shrug of the shoulders. It may not come into the
proper place, as far as dates are concerned, but, speaking of her
relations with the Protector, we must allude to an audience she had of
him later. Cromwell was very jealous of the growing power and
popularity of Lord Ossory, and although he had already granted him a
pass to travel beyond seas, he suddenly thought it safer to have him
seized, and sent to the Tower. His mother immediately proceeded to
Whitehall, or wherever Cromwell was holding his reception at the time,
and asked her son’s freedom, saying she knew not who were his
accusers, or of what crime they accused him, but that she would answer
with her life for her son’s innocence. Cromwell begged to be excused
giving her an answer, but observed he had much more reason to be
afraid of her than of anybody else.
‘I desire no favour,’ said the noble petitioner aloud, before the
hundreds who were present on the occasion, ‘but do consider it strange
that I, who have never been implicated in any plot, and never said a
word against the Protector, should be considered so terrible a
person!’
‘No, madam, that is not exactly the case,’ replied Oliver; ‘but your
worth has gained you so great an influence over all the commanders of
our party, and we know so well your power over the other side, that it
is in your Ladyship’s breast to act what you please.’
The incident speaks well for both parties, and Oliver, with all his
faults, had learned to respect a noble woman when he encountered one,
being blest as he was in his wife and mother. After many delays and
heartburnings, the Parliament authorised Lady Ormonde to receive from
the Irish Commissioners a yearly income for herself and children of
£2000 out of her own inheritance, together with the house of
Donnemore, near Kilkenny, for their residence.
Here she took up her abode, and never saw her Lord again till the
Restoration. The treaty which was concluded between the Protector and
the Court of France rendered it imperative on the English King to
leave Paris, and, accordingly, accompanied by Ormonde, he proceeded to
Spa (to meet his sister, the Princess of Orange), and afterwards to
Aix-la-Chapelle and Cologne.
From the latter place he despatched Lord Ormonde to Paris on an errand
of trust and difficulty. The young Duke of Gloucester had been sent to
the French capital with a hardly-wrung permission from Oliver to
pursue his education under the auspices of his mother, who had pledged
her word to the King not to tamper with the boy’s religion,—an oath
which Henrietta Maria evidently thought ‘more honoured in the breach
than the observance.’
She accordingly separated the Duke from his Protestant tutor, and
placed him under the care of a Jesuit priest, where she frequently
visited him, and by alternate coaxing and threatening strove to bring
her child over to her own creed. The boy stood firm, and declared he
would never disobey his father’s last injunctions, but the Queen’s
menace of never seeing his face again grieved his affectionate nature
so much as to injure his health. Ormonde arrived in Paris, armed with
the King’s authority to convey the Duke of Gloucester to Cologne, but
the necessary funds for travelling expenses were not forthcoming, so
the Duke went to reside for a time in Paris with Lord Hatton, a firm
Royalist and faithful Protestant. Lord Ormonde was not one to be
baffled in any undertaking in which he was engaged: he pawned his
Garter, and the jewel which the Parliament had given him, to defray
the cost of the journey; and he set out with his young charge,
travelling for safety _via_ Antwerp, where he was like to have died of
a fever. At length, however, he placed the youth under the protection
of the King, his brother, and they remained together till the
Restoration took them to England.
So temperately and judiciously had Lord Ormonde conducted this affair,
that the King was deeply grateful to him, and he still kept a
tolerable hold on the good graces of the Queen, and was, indeed,
afterwards instrumental in bringing about a reconciliation between
mother and son. He was now employed in several diplomatic missions of
importance, especially with the Court of Spain, and he ventured into
England, at the risk of life and freedom, in order to communicate with
the Royalists at home. He landed on the coast of Essex in disguise,
and went to London, where he lay _perdu_, only venturing out at
nightfall, and running the gauntlet of many dangers and adventures,
which were not without some charm for a man of his spirit.
We cannot refrain from alluding to an incident, which, though in
reality trivial, has a laughable side, and there has been little that
is laughable to record in the life of Lord Ormonde. He often changed
his lodgings, and was constantly reconnoitring the premises with a
view to escape, changing his clothes, generally lying down dressed. He
had an aversion to wearing a periwig, so a friend gave him a dye to
turn his own hair black, but the lotion was badly mixed, and the
ingredients deleterious, so that poor Lord Ormonde’s head was not only
scalded, but his hair came out in party-coloured patches of every
variegated hue, more likely to attract than elude observation.
He returned to Paris, having proved, what was already undoubted, his
courage and zeal to the King’s service, but with no other good result.
His presence in the French capital was almost as dangerous as it had
been in London, for Cromwell had set a price upon his head, and the
Cardinal Mazarin, who was then Prime Minister, was by no means
insensible to the charms of money.
The liberality of Lord Ormonde, even in his straitened circumstances,
had like on one occasion to have been productive of unfortunate
results, and the incident teaches a lesson of the necessity of
studying the peculiar manners and customs of foreign countries in
contradistinction to our own. Lord Ormonde was much respected and
courted by the French nobility, to one of whom he paid a visit near
St. Germains, and on his departure, according to the well-known
English fashion of ‘vails’ or parting gifts, he presented the _maître
d’hôtel_ with ten pistoles, being the whole contents of his purse.
Riding onward, as we may imagine rather disconsolately, the Marquis
was startled by the sound of wheels driving furiously; and, looking
back, perceived his late host’s coach gaining on him. He reined in his
steed, sprang from the saddle, and embraced his friend, who alighted
at the same moment. Lord Ormonde was surprised at a decided coldness
in the Frenchman’s manner and tone of voice, as he said, ‘After you
left the château, I heard a great disturbance among the servants of my
household, and, inquiring into the cause, found them all quarrelling
over their share of the money which your Lordship, for some
inexplicable motive, had given to my _maître d’hôtel_. I am come to
ask if you found any fault with your treatment in my house?’
‘On the contrary,’ warmly responded Lord Ormonde.
‘Then why did you treat it as an inn? I pay my servants well to wait
on me and my guests. I do not know, my Lord, if this be the custom in
your country, but assuredly it is not so with us. Here are the ten
pistoles, which I have rescued from my servants’ grasp; you must
either take them back at my hands, or else your Lordship must give me
on the spot that satisfaction which no gentleman can refuse another.’
We may believe the affair turned into one of laughter rather than of
‘honour,’ when Lord Ormonde explained that in his country such
amenities were invariably practised by guests at leave-taking.
The King of England was now at Brussels, hampered and entangled by
fruitless negotiations with foreign powers, and he sent for his right
hand, Lord Ormonde.
Short cuts are proverbially dangerous, and so thought the Marquis,
who, taking horse, rode from Paris, _via_ Lyons and Geneva, through
the Palatinate to Brussels, where he joined the King, who, failing in
his Spanish views, had formed an idea of marrying the daughter of
Frederic Henry, the Stadtholder. But the Dowager Princess of Orange,
who was very powerful at her son’s Court, opposed the design so
strongly that the match was prevented.
Meanwhile Lord Ormonde’s eldest son, the Earl of Ossory, fell in love
with Emilia, daughter of Louis de Nassau, Lord of Auverquerque, a
natural son of Maurice, Prince of Orange. Louis was much esteemed,
both for character and position, and had considerable weight in the
Assembly of the States. At first he was persistent in his demands that
Lord Ormonde should come forward with good settlements, but, being
made to understand the state of Irish affairs, he was content to
accept what Lord Ossory’s mother (who could deny nothing to her
first-born) contrived to spare out of her hardly gained pittance.
Moreover, he found the young couple were devotedly attached, and that
Ossory had refused a more advantageous marriage with the daughter of
the Earl of Southampton, in consequence of his preference for Emilia;
and so the marriage was arranged, Lord Ormonde himself nothing loath
that his son’s happiness should be assured by a connection which he
hoped might also prove beneficial to the King’s interests. One of Lord
Ossory’s daughters married Auverquerque, Earl of Grantham, and their
daughter, Henrietta (eventually sole heiress to her grandfather),
married the second Lord Cowper. From this lady the present Earl lays
claim, not only to titles and estates, but to a lineal descent from
the illustrious patriot, William the Silent.