_Posthumous Memoirs of his Own Time. By Sir N. W. Wraxall, Bart.
author of “Memoirs of My Own Time.” Philadelphia: Republished by
Carey, Lea & Blanchard._
The “Memoirs of My Own Time” were published in 1815. They excited the
greatest commotion, and if we are to believe the Baronet, no literary
work ever procured for its author “a more numerous list of powerful
and inveterate enemies.” The queen, the regent, and the princesses of
the royal family disliked the portrait drawn of George the Third,
which every reasonable person will allow to be by no means a
caricature. They disapproved too, of the somewhat free comments on the
peace of 1763, and were highly incensed at certain _personal_
disclosures in regard to the king. The first Lord of the Treasury, son
of Charles Jenkinson, was offended at the “just and impartial”
character given his father. The partisans, respectively, of Pitt and
Fox, arose in arms at what they considered the gross abuse of their
leaders. The relatives of Lord North were enraged at the account of
his junction with Fox in 1783, notwithstanding the Baronet himself
considers that “he had done justice to that most accomplished and
amiable nobleman.” But this was not all. The Earl of Bute would not be
appeased. The Marquis of Lansdowne spoke of a prosecution in the court
of King's Bench on account of the reflections (unavoidable, we are
told) made on the resignation of the Earl of Shelburne. The “Quarterly
Review” in an article written, we are assured, by “men” in official
situations, held the “Memoirs” up to general reprobation as an
“imbecile and immoral work,” while the “Edinburg” joined in the hue
and cry with still greater virulence, and even more disgusting
personal abuse. Lastly, and much more than all to the purpose, Count
Woronzow, in consequence of the mention made of him by the Baronet, in
his relation of the circumstances connected with the marriage of the
Princess Royal to the late Duke of Wirtemberg, instituted a
prosecution, in order to vindicate his own official diplomatic
conduct. Garrow, then Attorney-General, was retained for the
prosecution, and it is to be observed that, passing over in few words
the particular passage for which the suit was commenced, he dwelt with
the greatest severity against the “Memoirs” at large. The disposition
of the government towards the defendant may, however, be fully
estimated by the fact, that although the court repeatedly disclaimed
having authorized the Attorney-General to call for a _vindictive_
judgment, declaring his sole object to be the clearing up of his own
character; and although the Baronet, for an offence which he declared
to be unintentional, made at once the most ample, prompt and public
apology, still the vindictive judgment of six months imprisonment, and
a fine of five hundred pounds, was ordered into execution, a part of
the imprisonment actually carried into effect, and the fine remitted
only through the most energetic and persevering exertions of Woronzow
himself. “Such,” says the author of the Memoirs, “was the combination
of assailants which my inflexible regard to truth assembled from the
most opposite quarters.” These clamors and difficulties, however, he
considered as more than sufficiently counterbalanced by the testimony,
now first communicated to the world, of the late Sir George Osborn—a
testimony indeed which should {718} be considered of authority. This
gentleman, a near relative of Lord North's, was of ancient descent,
high character, and large property; and from 1775, until the king's
final loss of reason, was one of the grooms of his bed-chamber. In a
letter to the Baronet shortly after his commitment to the King's
Bench, he thus writes: “I have your first here, and have perused it
again with much attention. I pledge my name that I personally know
nine parts out of ten of your anecdotes to be perfectly correct. You
are imprisoned for giving to future ages a perfect picture of our
time, and as interesting as Clarendon.” For ourselves, we had as soon
depend upon the character here given of the “Memoirs” as upon that
more highly colored portrait of them painted by the Attorney-General.
Thus persecuted, the Baronet took a lesson from experience, and
declined to publish the work now before us during his life-time. He
adopted also the necessary measures to guard against its issue during
the life-time of George the Fourth. In so doing, he has, of course,
secured his own personal convenience, but the delay has deprived his
reminiscences of that cotemporary interest which is the chief
seasoning of all similar works. Still the Baronet's pages will excite
no ordinary attention, and will be read with unusual profit and
pleasure. The book may be regarded as a series of parliamentary
sketches, in which are introduced, at random, a thousand other
subjects either connected or unconnected with the debates—such as
historical notices of the measures introduced,—personal anecdotes and
delineations of the speakers—political facts and inferences—attempts
at explaining the hidden motives of ministers or their agents—rumors
of the day—and remarks upon public events or characters abroad. The
Baronet is sadly given to scandal, and is peculiarly _piquant_ in the
indulgence of his propensity. At the same time there should be no
doubt (for there assuredly is no reason for doubting) that he is fully
in earnest in every word he says, and implicitly relies in the truth
of his own narrative. The lighter portions of his book, therefore,
have all the merit of vraisemblance, as well as of _haut gout_. His
style is occasionally very minute and prosy—but not when he has a
subject to his fancy. He is then a brilliant and vivid writer, as he
is at all times a sagacious one. He has a happy manner, when warmed
with an important idea, of presenting only its characteristic features
to the view—leaving in a proper shadow points of minor effect. The
reader is thus frequently astonished at finding himself fully
possessed of a subject about which very little has been said.
Among the chief characters that figure in the “Memoirs,” and
concerning each of whom the Baronet has a world of pithy anecdote, we
note Pitt, Burke, Fox, Sheridan, Erskine, Louis the Sixteenth, George
the Third, the Queen and royal family, Sir James Lowther, Lord
Chesterfield, the late Marquis of Abercorn (John James Hamilton,) Lady
Payne (Mademoiselle de Kelbel,) Lord North, Sir Philip Francis the
reputed author of Junius, Sir William Draper the defeated antagonist
of that writer, George Rose, (the indefatigable and faithful factotum
of Pitt,) the Duke of Queensbury, Harry Dundas, Hastings with his
agent Major Scott, Lord Eldon, Grey, Sidmouth, Thurlow, the Marquis of
Lansdowne, Lord Liverpool, Marie Antoinette, the Duchess of
Devonshire, the Duchess of Gordon, and (we should not have forgotten
him) the late dirty Duke of Norfolk, then Earl of Surrey. Of this
illustrious personage a laughable account is given. On one occasion—at
a great whig dinner at the Crown and Anchor, (in February 1798, while
all England was threatened with revolution, and when Ireland was on
the brink of open rebellion,) his Grace, inspired as usual with wine,
was fool enough to drink “The sovereign majesty of the people.”
“Assuredly,” says the Baronet drolly enough, “it was not in the ‘Bill
of Rights,’ nor in the principles on which reposes the revolution of
1688, that the Duke could discover any mention of such an attribute of
the people. Their liberties and franchises are there enumerated; but
their _majesty_ was neither recognized or imagined by those persons
who were foremost in expelling James the Second.” His Grace
accompanied the toast with some pithy observations relating to “the
two thousand persons who, under General Washington, first procured
reform and liberty for the thirteen American colonies.” Of course it
is not very singular that his remarks were considered as savoring of
sedition. Growing sober, next morning, he became apprehensive of
having proceeded too far. Accordingly, a day or two afterwards,
hearing that his words had excited much wrath at St. James's, he
waited on the Duke of York with an excuse and an apology, concluding
with a request that, in the event of invasion, his regiment of militia
might be assigned the post of danger. His Royal Highness listened to
him with much attention, and assured him that his desire should be
made known to the king—breaking off the conversation abruptly,
however, with “Apropos, my lord, have you seen Blue-Beard?” (the
popular pantomime of the day.) In _two days_ after this interview the
“dirty Duke” received his dismission both from the lord-lieutenancy
and from his regiment.
There are several connected narrations of some length and great
interest in the volume before us. One of these concerns the noted
Westminster election, when the charms and address of the Duchess of
Devonshire aided Fox so largely in defeating the governmental
influence—another the accusations of Hastings and Impey—another the
debates on the Regency Bill. The “Diamond Necklace” affair, in which
Madame de la Motte performed so important a part, is related clearly
and pointedly, but with some little diffuseness. We abridge the
Baronet's account of this extraordinary matter.
Prince Louis de Rohan, second brother of the Duke de Montbazon, was
fifty-one years of age at the epoch in question. He was a prelate of
elegant manners, of restless ambition, and of talents, although
ill-regulated. It appears that he was credulous and easily duped by
the designing. Previous to his attainment of the episcopal dignity,
and while only coadjutor of Strasburg, he had been employed in
diplomacy, and acted, during a considerable time, as Ambassador from
the Court of France at Vienna, in the reign of Maria Theresa.
Returning home, he attempted to reach the ministerial situation left
vacant by Maurepas. But Louis the Sixteenth had imbibed strong
prejudices against him, and the queen held him in still greater
aversion. Yet he was resolutely bent upon acquiring her favor, and
indeed entertained, it seems, the hope of rendering himself personally
acceptable to her. At this time she {719} was very beautiful, loved
admiration, was accessible to flattery, and not yet thirteen years of
age.
Among the numerous individuals who then frequented Versailles with the
view of advancing their fortune, was Mademoiselle de la Valois. She
became an object of royal notice, through the accidental discovery of
her descent from Henry the Second, by one of his mistresses, St.
Renny, a Piedmontese lady of noble birth. A small pension was bestowed
on her, and she soon afterwards married a gentleman of the name of La
Motte, one of the Count de Provence's body guards. His duties
retaining him at Versailles near the person of the Count, Madame de la
Motte became well known to the Cardinal de Rohan, whose character she
appears to have studied with great attention. She herself was totally
devoid of moral principle, and her habits of expense induced her to
resort to the most desperate expedients for recruiting her finances.
About this time, one Boehmer, a German jeweller well known at the
court of France, had in possession a most costly diamond necklace,
valued at near seventy thousand pounds sterling, and obtained
permission to exhibit it to her majesty. The queen, however, declined
buying it. Madame de la Motte receiving information of the fact,
resolved to fabricate a letter from the queen to herself, authorizing
her to make the purchase. In this letter Marie Antoinette was made to
express a determination of taking the necklace at a certain indicated
price—under the positive reserve, however, that the matter should
remain a profound secret, and that Boehmer would agree to receive his
payment by instalments, in notes under her own hand, drawn on her
treasurer at stipulated periods.
Furnished with this authority, Madame de la Motte repaired to the
Cardinal de Rohan. Submitting to him, as if in confidence, the queen's
pretended letter, she dwelt on the excellent opportunity which then
presented itself to him, of acquiring her majesty's favor. She urged
him to see Boehmer, and to assure him of the queen's desire—the proof
of which lay before him. The Cardinal, however credulous, refused to
embark in the affair, without receiving from Marie's own mouth the
requisite authority. Madame de la Motte had foreseen this impediment
and already provided against it. There lived at that time in Paris an
actress, one Mademoiselle D'Oliva, who in her figure bore great
resemblance to the queen. This lady they bribed to personate her
majesty—asserting that a frolic only was intended.
Matters being thus arranged, Madame de la Motte acquainted the
Cardinal that Marie Antoinette felt the propriety of his eminence's
scruples, and with a view of removing them, and at the same time of
testifying her sense of his services, had resolved to grant him an
interview in the gardens of Versailles—but that certain precautions
must be adopted lest the transaction should come to the knowledge of
the king. With this end the Cardinal was told her majesty had fixed
upon a retired and shady spot, to which she could repair muffled up in
such a manner as to elude notice. “The interview,” Madame de la Motte
added, “must be very short, and the queen resolutely refuses to speak
a single word lest she may be overheard.” Instead of verbally
authorizing De Rohan to pledge her authority to Boehmer, it was
therefore settled that she hold in her hand a flower, which, on the
Cardinal's approaching her, she would immediately extend to him as a
mark of her approval.
This blundering plot, we are told, succeeded. Mademoiselle D'Oliva
personated the queen à merveille, and the Cardinal, blinded by love
and ambition, was thoroughly duped. Convinced that he had now received
an unquestionable assurance of Marie Antoinette's approbation, he no
longer hesitated to pledge himself to Boehmer. A deduction of above
eight thousand pounds on the price demanded, having been procured from
him, promissory notes for the remainder, exceeding sixty thousand
pounds, drawn and signed in the queen's name, payable at various
periods by her treasurer, were delivered to the jeweller by Madame de
la Motte. She then received from him the necklace. Her husband having
obtained leave of absence, under the pretence of visiting the place of
his nativity, carried off the diamonds, and, arriving safe in London,
disposed of some of the finest stones among the dealers of that city.
Madame de la Motte herself, we cannot exactly understand why, remained
at Paris. The Cardinal, also, continued in unsuspecting security at
court. But the day arriving when her majesty's first promissory note
became due, the fraud was of course discovered. As soon as the part
which de Rohan had performed in it was fully ascertained, the whole
matter was laid by her majesty before the king. Louis, after
consulting with some of his ministers, finally determined upon the
Cardinal's arrest. “Such an event,” says our author, “taking place in
the person of a member of the Sacred College, an ecclesiastic of the
highest birth and greatest connections, related through the kings of
Navarre to the sovereign himself, and grand almoner of France, might
well excite universal amazement. Since the arrest of Foucquet,
superintendant of the finances, by Louis the Fourteenth, in 1661, no
similar act of royal authority had been performed: for we cannot
justly compare with it the seizure and imprisonment of the Duke of
Maine in 1718, by order of the Regent Duke of Orleans. The Cardinal de
Rohan's crime was private and personal, wholly unconnected with the
state, though affecting the person and character of the queen. He was
conducted to the Bastile, invariably maintaining that he had acted
throughout the whole business with the purest intentions; always
conceiving that he was authorized by her majesty, and was doing her a
pleasure. Madame de la Motte, Mademoiselle D'Oliva, and some other
suspected individuals were also conveyed to the same fortress.
Notwithstanding the queen's evident innocence in this singular
robbery, a numerous class of Parisians either believed or affected to
believe her implicated in the guilt of the whole transaction.”
This account is followed up by the relation of a private and personal
adventure of the Baronet, of the most romantic and altogether
extraordinary character. He gives the detailed narrative of a plot, in
which he acted a conspicuous part as secret agent, for the restoration
of the imprisoned queen Caroline Matilda of Denmark, and to which
George the Third had given his approbation and promised his
assistance. Had this revolution been carried into effect it would have
brought about the most important changes in the political aspect of
the north of Europe. The sudden death of the queen put an end to the
attempt, however, just when all preparations were completed, and
success was beyond a reasonable doubt. In the spring of 1784, a
similar {720} exertion placed the young prince royal, then only
sixteen years of age, in possession of the Regency, which his mother's
death alone prevented her from attaining in 1775. After the queen's
decease, some of her most active friends interested themselves with
George the Third to procure the Baronet a proper remuneration for his
services. For nearly six years, however, the attempt was unsuccessful.
The final result is thus related by the author himself.
In 1780 I came into Parliament; and some months afterwards as I was
seated nearly behind Lord North in the House of Commons, only a few
members being present, and no important business in agitation, he
suddenly turned round to me. Speaking in a low tone of voice so as not
to be overheard, “Mr. Wraxall,” said he, “I have received his
majesty's command to see and talk to you. He informs me that you
rendered very important services to the late queen of Denmark, of
which he has related to me the particulars. He is desirous of
acknowledging them. We must have some conversation together on the
subject. Can you come to me to Busby Park, dine, and pass the day?” I
waited on him there in June 1781, and was received by him in his
cabinet alone. Having most patiently heard my account of the
enterprise in which I engaged for the queen Matilda's restoration, he
asked me what remuneration I demanded. I answered, one thousand
guineas, as a compensation for the expense which I had incurred in her
majesty's service, and an employment. He assured me that I should have
both. Robinson, then Secretary to the Treasury, paid me the money soon
afterwards; and I confidently believe Lord North would have fulfilled
his promise of employing me, or rather of giving me a place of
considerable emolument, if his administration had not terminated early
in the following year, 1782.
The volume concludes with an appendix embodying a variety of
correspondence in relation to this singular matter, under the heading
of “Letters and Papers respecting the Queen of Denmark.” Altogether,
these “Posthumous Memoirs” afford a rich fund of entertainment—and in
especial to the lovers of political gossip we most heartily recommend
their perusal.