Wilkes and Sandwich had once been friends, but the former having composed
a scurrilous and disloyal poem, the latter was so incensed as to procure
a copy and read it aloud, in the House of Lords. Just at this juncture
the “Beggar’s Opera” was being acted, and when Macheath exclaimed: “But
that Jemmy Twitcher should peach, I own surprises me,” the chief part of
the audience, who were partisans of “Wilkes, and Liberty,” burst into
a round of applause, applying the passage to Lord Sandwich, who never
afterwards lost the _soubriquet_.
There are many passages in his life which compel us to agree with his
constant censor Horace Walpole, when he says: “Bishop Warburton is at
this moment reinstating Mr. Pitt’s name in the dedication of a Book
of Sermons, which he had expunged for Sandwich’s. This nobleman is an
agreeable companion, but one whose moral character, does not exactly
fit him to be the patron of sermons.” But Mr. Cradock (and none knew
him better) in his most amusing reminiscences, tells us, whatever his
errors may have been, Lord Sandwich was most severe in the observance of
decorous language, and behaviour, under his roof. No oath, or profligate
word, was ever uttered at his table. The same authority states, that in
political life he underwent many persecutions, and bore daily insults,
and misrepresentations with the courage of a stoic, without stooping to
retaliation. “Others,” says Mr. Cradock, “received emoluments, but Lord
Sandwich retired without any remuneration, for his services.” His public
career lasted for more than half a century, when he made Hinchingbrook
his chief abode. He spoke French and Italian fluently, was acquainted
with the German, and Spanish languages, and had a smattering of the
oriental tongues.
In the midst of all his hospitality, he was very frugal in his own
living, and was much beloved by his dependants, not forgetting Omai the
Otaheitan, and the faithful black servant, Jemmy, who lies buried in
Brompton Churchyard, and a characteristic little sketch of whom still
exists. An amusing incident occurred respecting the latter, which is
worth recording. It seems that on one occasion, the day after some
dramatic representation had taken place at Hinchingbrook, Lord Sandwich
enquired at breakfast of a gentleman who was proverbial for cavilling,
and finding fault, whether he had been satisfied with the performance.
The visitor answered in the affirmative, but in so hesitating a manner,
that Lord Sandwich insisted on knowing the fault. “So slight, my Lord,
scarcely worth alluding to.” “The easier remedied next time.” “Well,
it only struck me, that the coloured servant in the piece was not
sufficiently blackened.” The noble host rose silently and rang the bell:
enter Jemmy. “Jemmy,” says his master, “this gentleman says you are not
black enough.” “I bery sorry, my Lord, I be as God Almighty made me.”
Miss Burney, in her youth, saw Lord Sandwich, and thus describes him:
“He is a tall stout man, and looks as furrowed and weatherbeaten as
any sailor in the Navy; and, like most of the old set of that brave
tribe, he has the marks of good nature, and joviality in every feature.”
Another contemporary gives him this character: “Slow, not wearisome, a
man of sense, rather than of talent; good-natured, and reliable as to
promises. His house was filled with rank, beauty and talent, and every
one felt at ease there. The patron of musicians, the soul of the Catch
Club [he might have added a proficient on the kettledrum], although
deficient in ear, and knowledge of harmony.” He had an engaging manner in
private life, which put every one at their ease, although he occasionally
tried his friends’ patience by a playful bantering, or what Mr. Cradock
calls badgering, such as; “Ladies, here is Cradock says, a man cannot
be punctual unless he wears a wig.” “No, my Lord, I said a man may be
punctual, but his hair dresser may be late, and make him so.”
He dressed well, and looked “noble,” but he had a shambling unequal gait.
When in Paris he took dancing lessons, and, bidding his master good-bye,
told him if he came to London, he would willingly recommend or serve
him. “Ah, milor,” said the man, “pray do not say _I_ taught you to dance.”
Lord Sandwich retained his faculties almost to the end, and spoke with
great clearness and precision, of all the remarkable public events, of
which he had been a witness, in his stirring life. He was an F.R.S., a
Governor of the Charterhouse, the eldest of the elder Brothers of the
Trinity House, and the oldest General in the army.
In 1740, he married Judith, third daughter of Charles, Viscount Fane, of
Basildon, Berks. The marriage was unhappy, and they were separated for
several years before her death. Their children were: John, who succeeded
him, Edward, William Augustus, and one daughter, Mary. Lord Sandwich died
at his house in Hertford Street, Mayfair, in 1792.
_Edward, First Earl of Sandwich_:
BY SIR PETER LELY.
FULL LENGTH.
(In the Robes of the Garter.)
_Mariana, Queen Regent of Spain_:
BY SEBASTIAN HERRERA.
FULL LENGTH.
(Seated. In a Religious Habit, the Widow’s Weeds worn in Spain.)
Born, 1631. Died, 1696.—The eldest daughter of Ferdinand III., Emperor of
Germany, by the daughter of Philip III., King of Spain. Married Philip
IV., in 1649. On her arrival in Spain, as a youthful bride, Mariana’s
deportment had to undergo severe discipline, from the strict etiquette
of the court, and the stern dignity of her royal husband, whom she
shocked by the exuberance of her animal spirits, and above all, her
immoderate laughter at the sallies of the Court Fool. When admonished on
one occasion, she excused herself by saying it was out of her power to
restrain her merriment, and that the Jester must be removed, or she must
laugh on. Mariana was remarkable for the extravagance and tawdriness of
her dress, as may be seen in the portraits by Velasquez. Her chief beauty
consisted in her magnificent hair, which she disfigured by dressing it,
in an outrageous manner, with feathers, flowers, and love knots. At a
period when rouge was much worn, the immoderate use of it, made her
“brick-dust cheeks” a ridiculous object, and altogether, says Stirling:
“She is far more interesting wearing the widow’s weeds, in which she sate
to Carreno, and Herrera, than in the butterfly garb in which she flaunts
on the canvas of Velasquez.” She was as inferior to her predecessor,
Isabelle de Bourbon, Philip’s first wife, in qualities of mind, as in
graces of person. She became a widow; and Regent of the Kingdom, on the
accession of her son Charles II., in 1665.
Mariana divided her confidence, between her confessor, a German Jesuit,
and a gentleman of her household, Valenzuela by name. He was remarkably
handsome; and the Queen Mother made a marriage between him, and one of
her German ladies, which established him in her Palace, where he became
her chief confidant, and was admitted to her apartments at all hours,
his wife being generally present, to avoid scandal. Mariana’s faction was
strongly opposed by Don John of Austria, the late King’s natural son, (by
the beautiful actress, Maria Calderona.) He was handsome, intellectual,
and accomplished, and in military genius alone, was he inferior to his
namesake, the hero of Lepanto. His father loved him dearly, but the
Queen had contrived to estrange them, some little time before Philip’s
death. The ups and downs of the struggle between Don John, and Mariana
were never ending: now her star appeared in the ascendant, then the
evil repute of her confessor, his inefficiency in business, and the
overbearing insolence of Valenzuela, brought down the influence of the
Regent to a low ebb. Now at open variance with her husband’s son, now
consenting with a bad grace to his participation in the Government, and
then procuring for him an office at some distance from Madrid, so as to
be rid of his immediate presence.
Don John ruled well, and held a little Court at Saragossa, but he and the
Regent were always at variance, and so disgusted were the people with
her government, and that of her favourites, that many clamoured for Don
John, while some went so far as to say he was the rightful heir, and that
Mariana’s and Maria Calderona’s infants, had been changed.
Whether from motives of patriotism or ambition, Don John worked steadily
to undermine the Regent’s power, and the vanity and ostentation of
Valenzuela contributed unconsciously to the same end. He was generally
supposed to be a spy, and was called the Queen’s “Duendo.”[1] At
tournaments he wore the Queen Mother’s colours of black and silver, with
many ostentatious mottos, which seemed to insinuate the high favour, in
which he stood with that Royal Lady. One day, when the Court were hunting
near the Escurial, the King shot at a stag, and wounded Valenzuela in
the thigh, whereat Queen Mariana shrieked, and fell senseless. On this
“hint” many spake, especially Don John, and his party, who told the King
plainly, that he and Spain were not only governed by the Regent, but
by her paramour. The King went to Buen Retiro, and denied himself to
his mother, who was desired to leave Madrid; Valenzuela was arrested,
his wife and children shut up in a convent, and the “handsome, vain,
well-dressed courtier, with his fine curling locks, who had considered
many of the nobles of Spain beneath his notice,” was sent off to the
Philippine Islands. Don John came into power, and Mariana had a small
Court, which was little better than a prison, at Aranjuez, where Madame
d’Aulnoy visited her. She was dressed in the manner of this portrait,
served on the bended knee, and waited on by a hideous little dwarf,
clothed in gold and silver brocade. Don John’s government was no
sinecure; cabals were rife, and he died so suddenly that it was currently
reported that he had been poisoned, at Mariana’s instigation. Be that as
it may, no sooner was the death of Don John announced, than the King went
off to his mother, in person, and insisted on her return to Madrid.
Charles II. had just married his second wife, an alliance which Mariana
had supported from the beginning. But she did not long survive; shortly
after the Peace of Ryswick, died Mariana of Austria, Queen Mother of
Spain; her death was supposed to have been hastened by her reluctance to
consult the physicians, although her health had been failing for some
time past.
This interesting portrait, together with that of her son, King Charles
II., was presented by the Queen Mother, then Regent, to Edward, first
Earl of Sandwich, when Ambassador, to the Court of Madrid, in 1666.
[1] Wizard or Familiar.
_Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland_:
BY SIR PETER LELY.
FULL-LENGTH.
(Seated, leaning on a Table, resting her Head on her Hand.
Wears a White Satin Dress, trimmed with Blue, and Pearls.)
Born, 1640. Died, 1709.—The only child of William Villiers, Viscount
Grandison, by Mary, third daughter of the first, and sister and
co-heiress of the second Viscount Bayning.
Lord Grandison, of whom Clarendon gives an exalted character for
piety, loyalty, and valour; died in 1643, at Oxford, (of a wound which
he had received a few weeks before, at the siege of Bristol), leaving
a widow of 18, who five years afterwards, was re-married to Charles
Villiers, Earl of Anglesey, cousin-german to her first husband. She
did not long survive, and at her death, left her beautiful daughter to
the stepfather’s care. It was under Lord Anglesey’s roof, that Barbara
passed her early years, and we hear of her, on her first arrival in
London, dressed in “a plain and countrified manner,” but this fashion
was soon changed for the last “mode” of the town, and her surpassing
beauty made her the object of general admiration. At the age of 16,
the precocious coquette had already captivated Philip Stanhope, second
Earl of Chesterfield, a young widower, who had just returned from his
travels, and succeeded to his title, and property—“a beauty, a wit, a
duellist,” and according to Swift, “the greatest knave in England.”
His correspondence with Barbara, and her confidante and cousin, Lady
Anne Hamilton (which was found in the Library of Bath House, in 1869),
breathes the most ardent passion, which did not however, interfere with
his being called three times in Church, the same year, with the daughter
of Lord Fairfax, (who subsequently married George, Duke of Buckingham).
So early in life had Barbara embarked in a career of guilt, and artifice,
that in spite of her liaison with Chesterfield, she threw her spells to
such purpose round Master Roger Palmer, student of the Middle Temple,
second son of Sir James Palmer, of Hayes, Middlesex, that the misguided
youth married her in spite of the paternal prohibition. But the young
wife did not break off her connection with her former lover, and not long
after her marriage, she writes to Chesterfield, in a most affectionate
manner, speaking of her recovery from the small-pox, and alluding to
“Mounseer’s” (Mr. Palmer) jealousy, and how “he is resolved never to
bring me to towne again.” Lord Chesterfield, in consequence of killing
a young man in a duel, was compelled to fly the country, and he took
refuge at Paris, at the Court of the Queen Mother (Henrietta Maria),
and afterwards joined the English King, at Breda, where he solicited,
and received the royal pardon, and returned to England with Charles on
his restoration: all the time he was on the continent, keeping up his
correspondence with his adored Barbara.
There exists great difference of opinion, as to the date of the first
meeting between the King, and Mistress Palmer, but there seems little
doubt that the favourite’s reign began on Charles’s eventful day, the
29th of May, 1660. Mr. Palmer, now a member of Parliament, had a house in
King Street, Westminster, close to the Palace, as also to the lodgings
of the Earl of Sandwich, whose housekeeper, “Sarah,” supplied his
lordship’s cousin, and daily visitor, Mr. Pepys, with abundant gossip.
The far-famed diary abounds in anecdotes of Barbara, praises of her
beauty, alternating with blame of her conduct, but every word shewing the
fascination she exercised over the writer. The Earl of Anglesey died in
1660-61: and about the same time a daughter was born to Mistress Palmer,
which was the occasion of much scandal. [Roger Palmer was now raised to
the title of Earl of Castlemaine, and Baron Limerick]. In 1662 Charles
II. married Catherine of Braganza, but “Sarah” informed Pepys, that the
King supped every night in the week preceding his nuptials, with Lady
Castlemaine: “Likewise, when the whole street was aglow with bonfires,
the night of the Queen’s arrival, there was no fire at my lady’s door.”
On the birth of a second child a dreadful altercation took place between
the husband, and wife, but the feud was ostensibly a religious one, for
Lord Castlemaine, who had lately embraced the Roman Catholic faith,
caused the infant to be baptized by a Popish Priest. Madam was furious,
and, as usual, victorious in her struggles, and a few days afterwards
“Charles” was re-baptized by a Protestant Minister, in the presence of
his godfathers, the King, Lord Oxford, &c. Shortly after this event,
Lady Castlemaine left her lord, carrying with her all her plate, and
valuables. “They say,” writes Pepys, “that his Lordship is gone to
France, to enter a Monastery.”
On the appointment of the Ladies of the Bedchamber to the Queen, Lady
Sandwich was justified in her fear, “that the King would still keep in,
with Lady Castlemaine.” A great commotion occurred, in the old Palace
of Hampton Court. The Queen had never mentioned the favourite’s name;
therefore Charles hoped she was ignorant of her rival’s existence; but
when the list of the proposed Ladies of the Bedchamber, was submitted
to her Majesty, Catherine deliberately pricked out the name of my Lady
Castlemaine, which much disturbed her husband. By the King’s command,
Lord Clarendon, sorely against his inclination, waited on Her Majesty,
to try and induce her to cancel her refusal, but the Queen “was much
discontented with her husband,” and declared that rather than submit
to the insult, she would desire to return to her own country. Lady
Castlemaine through an artifice however, approached her Royal mistress,
and kissed her hand; who, on discovering the trick, fell into a swoon,
and was carried from the apartment. The King was furious; the Queen for
a while appeared inflexible, but Charles gained his point in the end,
for after some time had elapsed, Barbara’s appointment was confirmed,
and from that time forth, the Queen, by some strange persuasion, or
obedience to the King’s orders, treated her rival with familiarity, and
confidence; “was,” says Pepys, “merry with her in public, and in private
used nobody more friendly.” But then, according to the same authority,
“the Queen is a most good lady, and takes all, with the greatest meekness
that may be.”
The syren seems indeed to have bewitched every one, Dryden himself did
not disdain to write a poem in her honour. On one occasion the Countess
had a violent altercation, with “la belle Stewart,” Maid of Honour, who
had excited her jealousy, and the King, taking part against her, the
imperious lady walked off to her uncle’s at Richmond, whither Charles
soon followed her, on pretence of hunting, but really to ask pardon.
Not long after, however, Pepys saw her on horseback, with the King, the
Queen, Mistress Stewart, etc.; but he thought the King looked coldly on
her, “and when she had to ’light, nobody pressed to take her down, but
her own gentleman, and she looked, though handsome, mighty out of humour,
and had a yellow plume in her hat.” A report reached the Queen’s ears,
that Barbara had turned Papist, but though a zealot in her religion,
Catherine “did not much like it, as she did not believe it was done for
conscience sake.” Perhaps her Majesty agreed, with the learned Divine who
said that “if the Church of Rome had got no more by Lady Castlemaine,
than the Church of England had lost, the matter was not much.”
A curious, and unpleasant adventure befell Lady Castlemaine, in the Park,
returning from a visit to the Duchess of York at St. James’s Palace,
attended only by her maid, and a little page. She was accosted by three
gentlemen in masks, who upbraided her in the strongest language, and
reminded her that the mistress of Edward IV. had died of starvation, on a
dunghill, abandoned by all the world. The infuriated and terrified beauty
no sooner reached home, than she swooned; the King ran to the rescue,
ordered the gates of the Park to be shut, but it was too late—several
arrests were made, but no discovery ensued.
In the year of the Plague, the Court being at Oxford, Lady Castlemaine
gave birth to a son, at Merton College. The lady and the King had high
words on the occasion of the Duke of Buckingham being sent to the Tower,
she speaking up boldly, in his behalf, Charles saying she was a jade
that meddled in matters she had nothing to do with; she retorting that
he was “a fool to suffer his business to be carried on by fools,” and so
forth. But before five days had elapsed the Duke was at liberty. Lady
Castlemaine was a determined enemy to Chancellor Clarendon, and she had
declared in the Queen’s chamber, she hoped to see his head upon a stake
to keep company with those of the Regicides, and there is no doubt she
was instrumental in procuring the downfall of the King’s “faithful and
able adviser.” Gambling was another vice in which Barbara indulged, and
Pepys tells us she won £15,000, one night, and lost £25,000 another. But
her favour was on the wane: she was libelled, and abused, and the King
was weary of her, and it was reported that he had given her large sums of
money and a fine house, (the residence of the Earls of Berkshire, on the
south-west corner of St. James’s Street,) merely to get rid of her. Yet
she still ruled him in many points, and she made great friends with the
Duke and Duchess of York, while one of her violent hatreds was against
the Duke of Ormond, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, because he would not
confirm the grant of Phœnix Park, a house near Dublin, which the King
had promised her. Meeting him in one of the royal apartments, she fell
upon him with a torrent of abuse, and ended by expressing a hope that she
might live to see him hanged. His Grace replied with calm dignity, “he
was in no haste to shorten her days; all he wished was to live, to see
her old.”
In 1670, Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine, was created Baroness Nonsuch,
Countess of Southampton, and Duchess of Cleveland, in the Peerage of
England, with the Palace and Park of Nonsuch, in Surrey, and an enormous
increase of income: so that as far as pecuniary advantages went, the King
was still sufficiently under her spell, to comply with her exorbitant
demands. John Churchill, (afterwards the great Duke of Marlborough,)
when a Court Page attracted the attention of Barbara. She lavished gifts
upon him, procured him the post of Groom of the Bedchamber to the Duke
of York, and obtained his promotion in the army. But in later years when
her beauty had passed away, and her favour at Court, the man who had
risen by her influence, refused to speak a word in her behalf, respecting
the renewal of her ill-paid pension. The last grant made to the Duchess
of Cleveland, and to the Earl of Northumberland, for their lives, was
the Rangership of the honour, and manor of Hampton Court; but the lodge
in Bushy Park was not habitable. It was about this time, that Barbara
went to France, her name appearing as a liberal patroness to the Convent
of the Blue Nuns, in the Faubourg St. Antoine (where she had placed her
daughter Barbara), and other religious houses.
In 1678 occurred the episode, with the English Ambassador, to which we
have alluded in the notice of the Duke of Montagu, when Barbara on her
return from London, found that her own daughter, the Countess of Sussex,
had supplanted her, in the favour of that fickle nobleman. In 1694, she
was living in Arlington Street, Piccadilly, and received as a companion
a certain Madame De la Rivière, one of the daughters and co-heiresses of
Sir Roger Manley, Bart., a woman of no reputation, save as the authoress
of some inferior literary productions; who after a stormy friendship,
repaid her patroness’s hospitality by contriving a clandestine marriage
for her eldest son, the Duke of Southampton, with the daughter of Sir
William Pulteney, a match very much disapproved by his mother.
Lord Castlemaine died in 1705. After his separation from his wife, as
far back as 1662, his life was eventful; he travelled far, fought at
Solebay, was twice sent to the Tower, went as Ambassador to Rome, was the
author of several political pamphlets, and in fact “meddled a little in
everything around.” Four months after his death, his widow married the
celebrated “Beau” Feilding, the widower of two heiresses, viz., the only
daughter of Lord Carlingford, and the only daughter of the Marquis of
Clanricarde, widow of Viscount Muskerry, and of Robert Villiers, Viscount
Purbeck. Both ladies died without children, and the Beau at the time of
his marriage with Duchess Barbara, was a man of desperate fortune, and
character. He ill-treated his wife, who was most generous to him, and
would have divested her of all her property, had not her sons stood by
her. Fortunately, for her Grace, it was discovered that the Beau had
already, but a few days before his marriage with her, espoused a certain
Mary Wadsworth, who had been palmed off upon his credulity, as a widow of
enormous wealth. He was tried, and found guilty of bigamy, Barbara being
in court during the trial, and the marriage was pronounced null, and void.