“The pillar being on the right side, to the right you must advance your
breast and pull in your belly, your bridle-hand on the contrary side,
putting it very much out and back each time, and helping at the same
time with the opposite leg. This is to make him go in a circle; but all
the aids must be given in the right time. The rein and contrary leg
here works the horse’s croupe, and his shoulders are at liberty.”
Here we have a highly scientific description of “Curvets upon the
Voltes, sideways”.[159]
[Footnote 159: P. 77.]
“The horse’s hind-legs that are out ought to follow the fore-legs that
are in, neither more in nor more out; the fore-legs however are within
the lines of the hind ones, since they are narrower. The pillar or
center is without the head of the horse when you work the croupe out,
for which reason his fore-legs describe the smallest circles, and those
behind the largest. The fore-leg within the volte describes the least
of the two smaller, and the other fore-leg the largest of them. The
hind-leg within the volte describes the least of the larger circles,
and the other without the volte the greatest.”
It is pleasant to contemplate what the face of a British groom would be
like if the above instructions were given to him before getting into
the saddle.
Let not the conceited modern horseman smile at any of these quotations
from Newcastle’s great book.
[Illustration: “AIDS”
From Newcastle’s book on horsemanship]
He was a professor of a style of horsemanship which went out of fashion
in this country long ago, but culminated in France some two hundred
years later than the days of Newcastle, under those two great masters
of the _Haute École_, Baucher and Captain Raabe.
It was not only in the pirouetting and demi-volting of horses that
Newcastle interested himself. After the Restoration, he went on the
Turf; although it is doubtful whether he raced except at Welbeck.[160]
Near that place he established a race-course, where he held no less
than six meetings in the year, and the races at them were run under
special rules of his own making.
[Footnote 160: _Dictionary of National Biography_, IX, 368.]
Some years earlier (in 1659) he had denied all knowledge of racing—or
horse-coursing, as he called it—in a letter to Nicholas (_Egerton
MSS._, British Museum). “It is two professions, a good horseman and a
Horse courser. I pretend to the first, but know nothing of the second,
for I’ll cozen nobody; I only take care not to be cozened.”
CHAPTER XIX.
The book noticed in the last chapter is the most important that
Newcastle ever wrote; but he also wrote poems and plays. Granger
says:—[161]
“William, Marquis of Newcastle, who amused himself at this period with
poetry and horsemanship was, as a natural consequence of his rank, much
esteemed as a poet. His poetical works, which consist of plays and
poems, are very little regarded; but his fine book of horsemanship is
still in esteem.”
[Footnote 161: _The Biographical History of England_, by the Rev. J.
Granger, 4th ed., London, 1804, vol. III, p. 98.]
Another critic held a far higher opinion of Newcastle’s plays and
poems, and praised him also as a patron of men-of-letters. Langbaine,
who was almost his contemporary, says:—[162]
“To speak first of his acquaintance with the Muses, and his affable
deportment to all their votaries, no person since the time of Augustus
better understood dramatic poetry, nor more generously encouraged
poets; so that we may truly call him our English Mecaenas. He had a
more particular kindness for that great master of dramatic poesy, the
excellent Jonson, and ‘twas from him that he attained to a perfect
knowledge of what was to be accounted true humour in comedy. How well
he has copied his master, I leave to the critics: but I am sure our
late, as well as our present Laureate, have powerful reasons to defend
his memory. He has writ four Comedies, which have always been acted
with applause; viz., _Country Captain_, ... _Humorous Lovers_, ...
_Triumphant Widow_, and _Variety_. We have many other pieces writ by
this ingenious Nobleman, scattered up and down in the poems of his
Duchess; all which seem to confirm the character given by Mr. Shadwell,
‘That he was the greatest master of wit, the most exact observer of
mankind, and the most accurate judge of humour that ever he knew’.”
[Footnote 162: _An Account of the English Dramatic Poets_, by Gerard
Langbaine, 1691, p. 396.]
It is only fair to add that on page 104 of a later edition of the same
book, published in 1699 and entitled, “The Lives And Characters Of The
English Dramatick Poets, First Begun By Mr. Langbain, Improved and
Continued Down To This Time By A Careful Hand,” we read, concerning the
above notice of Newcastle:—
“Mr. Langbain has always a good word for quality; he can see no Blemish
in a Person that has a Title, tho’ he be so sharp-sighted in all those
of a lower station; and he is so transported on the worthy Nobleman”
(Newcastle) “that he baulks the Curiosity of his Readers, for some
Account of his Life, to vent a clumsey Flattery”.
Let us hear another critic. Walpole says:[163] “As an author he is
familiar to those who scarce know any other author ... from his book of
horsemanship.... He was fitter to break Pegasus for a manage than to
mount him on the steeps of Parnassus.... One does not know whether to
admire the philosophy or smile at the triflingness of this[164] peer,
who after sacrificing such a fortune for his Master and enduring such
calamities for his country, could accommodate his mind to the utmost
idleness of literature.”
[Footnote 163: _A Catalogue of the Royal and Noble Authors of England_,
2nd ed., 1759, vol. II, p. 12 _seq._]
[Footnote 164: The plural is used in the original, as Walpole wrote “of
this and the last-mentioned Peer,” namely the Marquess of Winchester.]
In this instance, the critic has been criticised. Newcastle’s “elegant
and retired studies,” says Lodge,[165] “his adoption of which in
truth denoted the greatness of his spirit, a late noble person has
endeavoured to ridicule ... with less taste and justice than are
commonly to be found in his censures, and with more than his usual
spleen”. Lodge is probably right in saying that, although Newcastle
“could not claim the higher attributes of a dramatic author ... he
was a close observer, and a faithful delineator of the characters and
manners of ordinary society”.
[Footnote 165: _Portraits of Illustrious Personages._]
It would be impossible to give long extracts from Newcastle’s plays
here; but one or two are offered from “The Humorous Lovers,” a comedy
of which even Walpole says that it was “acted by his Royal Highnesses
servants,” that it “was received with great applause, and esteemed one
of the best plays at that time”.
The characters figuring in one scene were “Courtly, A gentleman in love
with Emilia,” and “Emilia, a gentlewoman in love with Courtly”.
ACT V. SCENE I.
_Enter_ COURTLY _and_ EMILIA.
COURT. May I not hope you will not always be so cruel, but that my
love in time may have a kind return?
EMIL. Yes, you may hope, but it is as Creditors may hope for the debts
from men that are undone; if ever I am Mistris of my heart again, I
shall remember what I owe you.
COURT. Though this acknowledgement is more than I deserve, pressed by
my love, as Beggars are by want, I still shall trouble you, there is
but poor relief in gentle words.
EMIL. But still in vain Beggars from them Charity implore, Who have
given all they had away before.
COURT. May I not know the happy man, to whom you have given your
heart? I wish—
EMIL. What do you wish?
COURT. The gift as welcome to him, as it wou’d have been to me.
Near the end of the play, the same characters are again alone together
upon the stage.
COURT. Pardon me, Madam, if I trouble you once more with my unwelcome
sute, let me but know the man you love.
EMIL. You cannot be his enemy I’m sure.
COURT. No, though he robs me of all my happiness, I shou’d but make
myself more miserable by offending him, for whose misfortunes you must
grieve.
EMIL. I cannot speak his name, but you were the occasion that I saw
him first.
COURT. The Colonel, my friend?
EMIL. It is—
COURT. The same is it not?
EMIL. His friend.
COURT. What means that blush?
EMIL. Do you not know him yet?
COURT. The Colonel’s friend you said, I think.
EMIL. The Colonel’s friend.
COURT. It is myself, he long has honour’d me with the name: speak, oh
speak, and confirm me now in this.
EMIL. I cannot tell you more, but I will never do a thing shall give
you cause to think otherwise.
COURT. You so surprise me with my happiness
My Joy’s too great and sudden to express.
The two next extracts from the same play may serve as specimens of
Newcastle’s verse. In each case the speaker is a sane man feigning
madness. In the first he is addressing his lady-love.
Do you gaze upon me? I come to bring you news from Lucifer:
In my Love’s despair I fell
Down to that Furnace we call Hell:
The first strange thing that I did mark
Was many fires, and yet ’twas dark:
Instead of costly Arras there
The walls poor sooty hangings wore;
Spirits went about each Room
With pans of sulphur for perfume;
Sod tender Ladies in a pot
For broths, and jellies they had got;
The Spits were loaded with poor sinners
That Devils rosted for their dinners;
While some were frying damned souls,
Others made rashers on the coals:
The waiting Women they did stew,
That robb’d their Ladies of their due:
Gamons of Us’rers down were taken,
That hung i’th chimney for their bacon:
Here Lawyers bak’d in Oven’s stand;
For couzeing Clients of their Land;
Millions of Souls, beyond expressing,
French Devils tortur’d in the dressing
To cool them there, they drank instead
Of beer huge draughts of molten lead.
As the poet, soon after this, becomes indecent, we will not read any
more of this effusion, which, if not exactly Dantesque, is not entirely
devoid of humour.
In the second poem, the sham madman again addresses the lady who is in
love with him.
Unto a Feast I will invite thee,
Where various dishes shall delight thee;
The Steeming vapours drawn up hot
From Earth, that’s Nature’s porridge-pot
Shall be our broth; We’l drink my dear
The thinner air for our small beer;
And if thou lik’st it not I’le call aloud
And make our Butler broach a cloud.
Of paler Planets for thy sake
White pots, and trembling custards make
The twinkling stars, shall to our wish
Make a grand salad in a dish;
Snow for our sugar shall not fail
Fine candid ice, comfits of hail;
For oranges gilt clouds we’l squeeze
The Milkie way we’l turn to cheese,
Sunbeams we’l catch shall stand in place
Of hotter ginger, Nutmegs, Mace;
Sunsetting clouds, for Roses sweet
And Violet skies strow’d for our feet.
It is curious that Pepys should have attributed this play to the
Duchess. On 30 March, 1667, he wrote in his Diary: “To see the silly
play of my Lady Newcastle called ‘The Humorous Lovers’; the most silly
thing that ever came upon a stage. I was sick to see it, but yet would
not but have seen it, that I might the better understand her.”
Of another play attributed to Newcastle, “Sir Martin Marall,” Pepys
wrote on 16 August, 1667: “My wife and I to the Duke’s playhouse,
where we saw the new play acted yesterday, ‘The Feign Innocence, or
Sir Martin Marall’; a play made by my Lord Duke of Newcastle, but,
as everybody says, corrected by Dryden. It is the most entire piece
of mirth, a complete farce from one end to the other that certainly
ever was writ. I never laughed so in all my life, and at very good wit
therein, not fooling.”
After all this high praise, it is painful to a writer of a panegyric on
Newcastle, to read in the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ that he “translated
Molière’s _L’Etourdi_ under the title ‘Sir Martin Mar-All’”. Almost
worse still is it to read, in _The Dictionary of National Biography_,
that Newcastle “translated Molière’s _L’Etourdi_, which Dryden”—not
Newcastle—“converted into a play”.
Whatever may have been the assistance rendered by Dryden in what Pepys
calls the making of this play, he certainly wrote its prologue and
epilogue, which may be found in his collected works. They are by no
means the most brilliant efforts of Dryden’s genius.
The severe critic of Langbaine’s worship of nobility, already quoted,
says of Newcastle’s play, “The Triumphant Widow”: “This was esteemed
a good Play, and Mr. Shadwell had so good an opinion of it, that he
borrowed a great part thereof to compleat his Comedy called _Bury
Fair_”.
In a poem entitled “The Philosopher’s Complaint,” Newcastle professes
to watch a philosopher in his study, through a cranny in the wall. He
hears him bewailing his fate in being a man and not a beast. The poem
is long. Here are a few verses:—
Beasts slander not or falsehoods raise:
But full of truth as Nature taught,
They wisely shun dissembling ways,
Following Dame Nature as they ought.
Nor envy any that do rise[166]
Or joyful seem at those that fall,
Or crooked plans gainst others tries (_sic_)
But love their kind, themselves and all.
Hard labour suffer when they must,
When over-awed they wisely bend,
In only patience then they trust
As misery’s and affliction’s friend.
With cares men break their sweet repose
Like wheels that wear with turning round;
With beasts calm thoughts their eyelids close
And in soft sleep all cares are drowned.
[Footnote 166: How little Newcastle must have known of cats and dogs if
he thought that they were never jealous! And how pleased dogs are at
seeing another dog beaten. As to “dissembling,” a bird, at any rate,
will pretend to have a broken wing in order to draw away attention from
her brood. And has not the fox a reputation for “dissembling ways”?]
Probably Newcastle shone more as a patron, than as a producer, of
literature. Besides the men-of-letters whom he placed on the staff of
his army in the North, he befriended Ben Jonson, a poet who was often
in need of help in a pecuniary form, and also Shadwell, who, like
Newcastle, only on an infinitely humbler scale, had lost a large part
of his fortune in the service of his King. Both Jonson and Shadwell
were Poets Laureate. Shirley and Flecknoe were also patronized by
Newcastle.
Here is a begging letter from Ben Jonson to Newcastle: “My Noblest Lord
and Best Patron. I send no borrowing epistle to provoke your lordship,
for I have neither fortune to repay, nor security to engage that will
be taken; but I make a most humble petition to your lordship’s bounty
to succour my present necessities this good time of Easter, and it
shall conclude all begging requests hereafter on behalf of your truest
beadsman and most thankful servant, B. J.” (Harleian MSS. 4955).[167]
In another letter he thanks Newcastle for his “lordship’s timely
gratuity”.
[Footnote 167: Quoted in Cunninghame’s _Jonson_, vol. I, p. lvi.]
One of Newcastle’s most intimate literary friends was not a poet, but
a dry old philosopher. A good many letters written to Newcastle by
Hobbes, the author of _Leviathan_, are among the Welbeck manuscripts,
and from these a few extracts shall be given. At the time they were
written, Hobbes was travelling with the young Earl of Devonshire, then
a lad of 17 or 18.
“THOMAS HOBBES TO (THE EARL OF NEWCASTLE).
“1635, AUGUST 25. PARIS.—I have receaved your Lordships guift,
proportioned to your owne goodnesse, not to my service. If the world
saw my little desert, so plainely as they see your great rewards,
they might thinke me a mountibancke and that all that I do or would
do, were in the hope of what I receave. I hope your Lordship does
not thinke so, at least let me tell your Lordship once for all, that
though I honour you as my Lord, yet my love to you is just of the same
nature that it is to Mr. Payne, bred out of private talke, without
respect to your purse. Your letters since my comming abroad have bene
great testimonies of your favor, and great spurres of my endeavor, but
it seemes your Lordships thinkes silver spurres have a greater effect,
which is an error, but such a one as I see more reason to thanke you
for, then to confute, and therefore with my most humble thankes I end
this point.
“I told Mr. Benjamin and Monsieur de Pre—who is Monsieur Benjamin’s
eldest sonne, and teaches under his father—of the faults your
Lordship found in the horse. For the opening his mouth, they confesse
it, and say that when he was young and first began to be dressed he
put out his head too much, which they that dressed him endeavoring to
amend, for want of skill, did by a great bitte convert into this other
fault of gaping. For his feete they obstinately deny that he has any
fault in them at all, and do suppose that the journey may have hurt
him, or his wearinesse made it seeme so. That he has no other ayre but
corvettes, is a thing your Lordship was made acquainted with before.
The greatest fault is his price, which price adding the forty pounds
you gave me, is a very good reason why he should hence forward be
called _Le Superbe_.”
“THOMAS HOBBES TO (THE EARL OF NEWCASTLE).
“PARIS. 1636, JULY 29. I am sorry your Lordship finds not so good
dealing in the world as you deserve. But my Lord, he that will venture
to sea must resolve to endure all weather, but for my part I love to
keepe a’land. And it may be your Lordship now will do so to, whereby I
may have the happinesse which your Lordship partly promises me in the
end of your letter, to conferre meditations for a good time together,
which will be not onely honor to me, but that happinesse which I and
all that are in love with knowledge, use to fancy to themselves for
the true happinesse in this life.”
“THE SAME TO THE SAME, AT WELBECK.
“Mr. Payne willed me to go to Mr. Warner who lives but eight miles
off, to get his answer to certayne letters of his, but one while the
frost, and at other times the flouds, made the wayes impassable for
any but very ranke riders, of which I was never any. I have a cold
that makes me keepe my chamber, and a chamber—in this thronge of
company that stay Christmas here—that makes me keepe my cold.”
The greater part of the letters of Hobbes consists of disquisitions
upon certain matters connected with optics, and especially upon some
experiments made by Warner. They go far to show that Newcastle was
interested in science, as well as in literature, pictures, and music.
Hobbes also frequently expresses pleasant anticipations of discussions
on philosophy with Newcastle when he shall visit him at Welbeck.
Another, and an even better-known philosopher, Des Cartes, is said to
have been a friend of Newcastle. Surely Walpole was too severe when he
accused a companion of Des Cartes and Hobbes of “accommodating his mind
to the utmost idleness of literature”.
Newcastle seems to have made scientific experiments on his own account.
In a Preface which he wrote to his wife’s _Philosophical and Physical
Opinions_, he says: “Dr. Payne, a divine and my chaplain, who hath a
very witty, searching brain of his own, being at my house at Bolsover,
locked up with me in a chamber to make Lapis Prunellae, which is
saltpetre and brimstone[168] inflamed, looking at it a while, I said,
Mark it, Mr. Payne, the flame is pale like the sun and hath a violent
motion in it, like the sun; saith he, It is so, and the more to confirm
you, says he, look what abundance of little suns, round the globe,
appear to us everywhere, just the same motion as the sun makes in every
one’s eyes. So we concluded the sun could be nothing else but a very
solid body of salt and sulphur, inflamed by his own violent motion upon
his own axis.”
[Footnote 168: The ingredients of gunpowder, minus the charcoal.]
So much for scientific inference. But observe what presently follows:—
“This,” he concludes, “is my opinion, which I think can as hardly be
disproved as proved; since any opinion may be right or wrong, for
anything that anybody knows, for certainly there is none can make a
mathematical demonstration of natural philosophy”.
Well! The exact sciences have advanced a little since such a statement
as that could be made.
[Illustration: MARGARET, DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE
From the frontispiece of one of her books by Diepenbeck]
CHAPTER XX.
In the last two chapters we have been considering the literary works
of Newcastle. We must now face those of his Duchess—a very much more
serious matter. The quantity of her written stuff was prodigious. The
following list of her books, drawn up by Langbaine, is enough to cause
the stoutest heart to quail. He says:—[169]
“She has published six and twenty plays, besides several loose
scenes”—loose they are indeed—“nineteen of which are bound, and
printed in one volume in Fol. 1662, the others in Folio, Lond., 1668,
under the title of _Plays never before printed_. I know there are some
that have but a mean opinion of her plays; but, if it be considered
that both the language and plots of them are all her own, I think she
ought to be preferred to others of her sex, which have built their fame
on other people’s foundations.”
[Footnote 169: P. 392.]
Then he enumerates:—
“_Plays._
“1. Apocryphal Ladies.—Comedy.
“2. Bell in Campo.—Tragedy.
“3. Blasing World. Unfinished.—Comedy.
“4. Bridals.—Comedy.
“5. Comical Hash.—Comedy.
“6. Convent of Pleasure.—Comedy.
“7. Female Academy.—Comedy.
“8. Lady Contemplation.—Comedy.
“9. Love’s Adventures.—Comedy.
“10. Matrimonial Trouble.—Tragi-comedy.
“11. Nature’s Three Daughters.—Comedy.
“12. Presence.—Comedy.
“13. Public Wooing.—Comedy.
“14. Religious.—Tragi-comedy.
“15. Several Wits.—Comedy.
“16. Sociable Companions, or The Female Wits.—Comedy.
“17. Unnatural.—Tragedy.
“18. Wits Cabal.—Comedy.
“19. Youth’s Glory, and Death’s Banquet.—Tragedy.”
The other seven he does not name; but he says that to her play
“Presence” are added twenty-nine single scenes which the Duchess
designed to have inserted into this play, but finding it would too
much lengthen it, she printed them separately. Of her other works he
mentions:—
“The life of the Duke of Newcastle in English. Folio. London 1667.
“The same in Latin. Folio. London 1668.
“Nature’s Picture drawn by Fancy’s Pencil to the life. Folio. London
1656, at the end of which she has writ her own life.
“Philosophical Fancies. Folio. London 1653.
“Philosophical & Physical Opinions. Folio. London 1655.
“Philosophical Letters. Folio. London 1664.
“Two Hundred and Eleven Sociable Letters. Folio. London 1664.
“Orations. Folio. 1662.
“Poems. Folio. 1653.”
The reader need not be afraid that much of all this is to be inflicted
upon him; we have already seen a good deal of her writings; but a few
fresh examples must needs be given. One reason for the prodigious
number of her works was that she always kept secretaries at hand to
write at dictation whatever happened to come into her head, a second
seems to have been that she considered whatever came into her head to
have been worthy of publication. Cibber says of her:—[170]
“Being now restored to the sunshine of prosperity, she dedicated her
time to writing poems, philosophical discourses, orations and plays.
She was of a generous turn of mind, and kept a great many young ladies
about her person, who occasionally wrote what she dictated. Some of
them slept in a room contiguous to that in which her Grace lay, and
were ready, at the call of her bell, to rise any hour of the night, to
write down her conceptions, lest they should escape her memory. The
young ladies, no doubt, often dreaded her Grace’s conceptions, which
were frequent, but all of the poetical or philosophical kind.”
[Footnote 170: _Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland_, ed.
1755, vol. II, p. 164.]
She herself gives the following long-winded description of the speed at
which her mighty brain kept turning out matter for “copy,” and what is
given here is a mere fragment of a sentence of miraculous length.
“... the brain being quicker in creating than the hand in writing, or
the memory in retaining, many fancies are lost, by reason they ofttimes
outrun the pen; where I, to keep speed in the Race, write so fast as I
stay not so long as to write my letters plain, insomuch as some have
taken my hand-writing for some strange character, and being accustomed
so to do, I cannot now write very plain, when I strive to write my
best; indeed, my ordinary hand-writing is so bad as few can read it, so
as to write it fair for the Press, but however, that little wit I have,
it delights me to scribble it out, and disperse it about, for I being
addicted from my childhood to contemplation rather than conversation,
to solitariness rather than society, to melancholy rather than mirth,
to write with the pen than to work with a needle, passing my time with
harmeless fancies, their company being pleasing, their conversation
innocent, in which I take such pleasure, as I neglect my health, for
it is as great a grief to leave their society, as a joy to be in their
company, my only trouble is, lest my brain should grow barren, or that
the root of my fancies should become insipid, withering into a dull
stupidity for want of maturing subjects to write on,” and so on, and so
on!
The account given above by Cibber of the young ladies who “slept in a
room contiguous to that in which her Grace lay, ready, at the call of
her bell, to rise any hour of the night, to write down her conceptions,
lest they should escape her memory,” arouses our deepest sympathy.
Imagine what it would be to be awakened by her Grace’s bell from a
deep slumber to write down one or other of the following platitudinous
“conceptions” taken at hazard from one of her books:—
“I have observed, That many instead of great Actions, make onely a
great Noise, and like shallow Fords, or empty Bladders, sound most when
there is least in them.”
“I observe, That as it would be a grief to covetous and miserable
persons, to be rewarded with Honour, rather than with Wealth, because
they love Wealth, before Honour and Fame; so on the other side, Noble,
Heroick and Meritorious Persons, prefer Honour and Fame before Wealth.”
“It is not every ambitious and aspiring spirit that can do brave and
noble actions.”
The world would not have been very seriously poorer if the Duchess had
omitted to ring her bell, and if these sage “conceptions” had “escaped
her memory” in the morning.
Her best work, at any rate her most valuable contribution to the
history of her times, is the story of her husband’s life, into which
we have already dipped, perhaps too often and too deeply. In spite of
her pardonably exaggerated praise of Newcastle and all his works, the
narrative, if not always accurate, is pretty fairly rendered; and if
Nature ever intended that she should scribble at all, it may have been
as a war-correspondent to a daily newspaper, in which case she was born
a little before her time.
It would be easy to sneer at her poetry; but, at its best, it is not so
very bad, although it always contains some weak lines. Let us look at
one or two of her most successful efforts.
In her description of the Queen of the Fairies, she writes:—
She on a dewy leaf doth bathe,
And as she sits, the leaf doth wave;
There like a new-fallen flake of snow,
Doth her white limbs in beauty show.
Her garments fair her maids put on,
Made of the pure light from the sun.
In her poem, “Mirth and Melancholy,” both Mirth and Melancholy try to
attract the poetess. Mirth promises her amusement and sneers at her
rival, Melancholy, in these lines:—
Her voice is low and gives a hollow sound;
She hates the light and is in darkness found
Or sits with blinking lamps, or tapers small,
Which various shadows make against the wall.
She loves nought else but noise which discord makes;
As croaking frogs whose dwelling is in lakes;
The raven’s hoarse, the mandrake’s hollow groan
And shrieking owls which fly i’ the night alone;
The tolling bell, which for the dead rings out;
A mill, where rushing waters run about;
The roaring winds, which shake the cedars tall,
Plough up the seas, and beat the rocks withal.
She loves to walk in the still moonshine night,
And in a thick dark grove she takes delight;
In hollow caves, thatched houses, and low cells
She loves to live, and there alone she dwells.
Melancholy, on the other hand, states that her life and surroundings,
if subdued and retired, are tranquil and beautiful. It may be
remembered that a few pages back the Duchess said that she herself was
always addicted to “melancholy rather than mirth”.
I dwell in groves that gilt are with the sun;
Sit on the banks by which clear waters run;
In summers hot down in a shade I lie,
My music is the buzzing of a fly;
I walk in meadows where grows fresh green grass;
In fields where corn is high I often pass;
Walk up the hills, where round I prospects see,
Some brushy woods, and some all champaigns be;
Returning back, I in fresh pastures go,
To hear how sheep do bleat, and cows do low;
In winter cold, when nipping frosts come on,
Then I do live in a small house alone.
One of the greatest admirers of the Duchess of Newcastle’s literary
labours was Charles Lamb, who calls her, in _The Essays of Elia_,[171]
“that princely woman, the thrice noble Margaret Newcastle,” whose
writings contain:—
Such a sweetness,
A virtue in which all ennobling thoughts dwelt,
Pure thoughts, kind thoughts, high thoughts, her sex’s wonder.
[Footnote 171: “The Two Races of Men.”]
In another of the Essays[172] he writes about “the intellectuals of a
dear favourite of mine, of the last century but one—the thrice noble,
chaste, and virtuous, but again somewhat fantastical and original
brained, generous Margaret Newcastle”.
[Footnote 172: “Mackery End.”]
And of her Life of her husband he says: “No casket is rich enough, no
casing sufficiently durable, to honour and keep such a jewel”. Lamb had
a special admiration also for the Duchess’s “Two Hundred and Eleven
Sociable Letters,” platitudinous epistles, any extracts from which the
reader shall be spared.
A favourable, but more moderate criticism of her abilities is that of
D’Israeli, who, in his _Curiosities of Literature_, says: “Her labours
have been ridiculed by some wits; but had her studies been regulated,
she would have displayed no ordinary genius. Her verses have been
imitated by Milton.”
The latter is an amazing assertion; but D’Israeli is a literary
authority of high standing, and, as a rule, he was careful in his
statements.
The same idea is implied in _The Connoisseur_:[173] “As I fell asleep
my fancy presented to me the following dream. I was transported, I
know not how, to the regions of Parnassus.... Pegasus was brought out
of the stable and the Muses furnished him with a side-saddle.... A
lady advanced, who, though she had something rather extravagant in her
air and deportment, yet she had a noble presence that commanded at
once awe and admiration. She was dressed in an old-fashioned habit,
very fantastic, and trimmed with bugles and points, such as was worn
in the time of King Charles the First. This lady, I was informed, was
the Duchess of Newcastle. When she came to mount, she sprang into the
saddle with amazing agility; and giving an entire loose to the reins,
Pegasus directly set out at a gallop, and ran with her out of sight.”
[Footnote 173: _The Connoisseur_, by Mr. Towne, vol. I, p. 350, a new
edition, 1822.]
On her return she repeated, at request, her lines on Melancholy: “Her
voice is low and gives a hollow sound, etc.” quoted above: whereupon
Milton, who, with Shakespeare, had helped her to dismount, “seemed
very much chagrined, and it was whispered by some that he was obliged
for many of the thoughts in his ‘L’Allegro’ and ‘Il Penseroso’ to
this lady’s dialogue between Mirth and Melancholy”.
Well! Who knows? But what a contrast to the blinking lamps, tapers
small, and shadows against the wall, of the Duchess, is Milton’s—
Hence, loathed Melancholy
Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn,
Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy,
Find out some uncouth cell, etc.
The beginning of _L’Allegro_.
Or, again, the Duchess’s summers hot, fresh green grass, and music the
buzzing of a fly, to Milton’s—
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that Heaven doth show
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures, Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
The end of _Il Penseroso_.
An apology is due for this very facile criticism, but D’Israeli and
_The Connoisseur_ rendered it irresistible.
Grainger says:[174] “We are greatly surprised that a lady of her
quality should have written so much, and are little less surprised that
one who loved writing so well, has writ no better”. He considers, as
well he may, that certain critics were far too lavish in their praises
of the Duchess’s literary efforts. He says:—
“There is a very scarce folio volume of ‘Letters and Poems’ printed
in 1678. It consists of 182 pages, filled with the grossest and most
fulsome panegyric on the Duke and Dutchess of Newcastle, especially her
Grace. I know no flattery, ancient or modern, that is, in any degree,
comparable to it, except the deification of Augustus and the erection
of altars to him in his lifetime. Incense and adoration seem to have
been equally acceptable to the Roman god and English goddess.”
[Footnote 174: Vol. IV, p. 60.]
[Illustration: MARGARET, DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE
From an engraving by G. P. Harding, after a painting by Diepenbeck]
Before proceeding to the lighter works of the Duchess, it may be well
to give a specimen of her philosophy. The reader shall be left
to judge for himself whether the following extract contains great
truths; if it contains great truths, whether it presents them in clear
language, and whether it explains them in the fewest possible words.
The extract is taken from the first chapter of a work entitled:—
_Observations upon Experimental Philosophy._
“Written by The Thrice Noble, Illustrious and Excellent Princesse The
Duchess of Newcastle. Printed by A. Maxwell, London 1666.”
“Reason reforms and instructs sense, in all its actions; But both
the rational and sensitive knowledge and perception, being divideable
as well as composeable, it causes ignorance, as well as knowledge
amongst Nature’s Creatures; for though Nature is but one body and
has no share or copartner, but is intire and whole in itself, as not
composed of several parts or substances, and consequently has but
one Infinite natural knowledge and wisdom, yet by reason she is also
divideable and composeable, according to the nature of a body, we can
justly and with all reason say, that as Nature is divided into infinite
several parts, so each several part has a several and particular
knowledge and perception both sensitive and rational, and again that
each part is ignorant of the others knowledge and perception; when
as otherwise, considered altogether and in general, as they make up
but one infinite body of Nature, so they make also but one infinite
general knowledge. And thus Nature may be called both Individual, as
not having single parts subsisting without her, but all united in one
body; and Divideable, by reason she is partable in her own several
corporeal figurative motions, and not otherwise; for there is no Vacuum
in Nature, neither can her parts start or remove from the Infinite body
of Nature, so as to separate themselves from it, for there is no place
to flee to but body and place are all one thing, so that the parts of
Nature can only joyn and disjoyn to and from parts, but not to and from
the body of Nature.”
After a careful study of the above lucid passage, it may not greatly
astonish the reader to learn that Grainger says:—
“James Bristow, of Corpus Christi college in Oxford, undertook to
translate a volume of her philosophical works into the same language,”
i.e. into Latin; “but he was forced to desist from the undertaking.
Such was the obscurity and perplexity of the subject, that he could not
find words where he had no ideas.”
In writing about this book, the Duchess gives vent to the following
smoothly flowing lines:—
When I did write this book I took great pains,
For I did walk and think and break my brains.
And certainly there are unmistakably symptoms of broken brains in that
work.
As we have already observed, D’Israeli has informed us that Milton
imitated the verse of the Duchess; and, after reading the above extract
from one of her books on philosophy, people devoid of legal knowledge
may possibly be inclined to think that certain other scribes have
imitated her prose, namely lawyers in drawing up deeds and wills.
At the end of one of her books, entitled _Philosophical Opinions_, the
Duchess wrote:—
Of all my works this work which I have writ,
My best beloved and greatest favourite,
I look upon it with a pleasing eye,
I take pleasure in its sweet company.
Probably few authors, after re-reading the manuscripts, correcting the
proofs, and again correcting the revised proofs of their books, ever
find “sweet company” in them again. In most cases the only printed
things they read in connexion with them, in the future, are reviews.
Nor do these invariably prove “sweet company”.
The Duchess wrote books on all sorts of subjects. Not the least curious
are her _Orations of Divers Sorts Accommodated to Divers Places_, a
work which, strange to say, went through two editions. It contains
orations suited, or professing to be suited, for weddings, funerals,
and battlefields, loyal speeches and seditious speeches, speeches in
favour of taxation and speeches against taxation, and after-dinner
speeches both for “a quarter-drunk gentleman” and for “a half-drunken
gentleman”. The Duchess writes the heaviest stuff of all when she tries
to be funny. She is even heavier as a Wit than as a Philosopher.
CHAPTER XXI.
In facing the formidable array of the Duchess of Newcastle’s plays, it
may be well to begin with their Prologue, or rather with part of that
Prologue. It is not the happiest of her poetical efforts, but as we
have already mentioned even Dryden failing in a Prologue, we may well
make excuses for the Duchess.
But noble readers, do not think my plays
Are such as have been writ in former days:
As Johnson,[175] Shakespeare, Beaumount, Fletcher writ,
Mine want their learning, reading, language, wit.
The Latin phrases, I could never tell,
But Johnson could, which made him write so well.
Greek, Latin poets, I could never read,
Nor their historians, but our English Speed:[176]
I could not steal their wit, nor plots outrake:
All my plays’ plots, my own poor brain did make.[177]
From Plutarch’s story, I ne’er took a plot,
Nor from romances, nor from Don Quixote.
[Footnote 175: The Duchess seems usually to have spelt Ben Jonson’s
name Johnson.]
[Footnote 176: Author of _The History of Great Britain_, etc. The
second edition was published in 1627. Speed was a tailor and a man of
very little education; but his history of England was for a long time
the best in existence.]
[Footnote 177: Is this a slap at Shakespeare?]
Only three short quotations shall be given from her plays; and first we
have a fair specimen of her heavy, wearisome style in a few sentences
from her play, “The Presence”.
ACT II. SCENE I.
_Enter_ SPEND-ALL _in a fine suit of clothes, meeting_ CONVERSANT.
_Conversant._ Jupiter bless us! how fine and brave you are in a rich
suit of clothes: is this your wedding-day?
_Spend._ No, this day is not my wedding-day: but the suit is my
wooing-suit, for I am going to woo an old lady, who is very rich.
_Conv._ Is she wise?
_Spend._ I hope not, for if she were, she would never grant my suit,
but if she be a fool, as I hope she is, then youth and bravery will
win her.
_Conv._ And the more sprightly, lively and fantastical you appear, the
better the old lady will like you.
_Spend._ I believe you, but I doubt that the sight of the old lady
will put me into so dull and melancholy a humour, as I shall not
please her.
_Conv._ Imagine her a young beauty.
_Spend._ I cannot imagine her a young beauty, when I see her: for
imagination works only upon absent objects.
In the next extract, taken from her play, “The Bridals,” we have an
example of her attempts to be comic.
ACT III. SCENE II.
_Enter_ SIR WILLIAM SAGE _and his lady_.
_Sir William Sage._ I wonder that Mimick is not here! for his company
is very delightful, to pass away idle time; for idle time is only free
for fool’s company.
_Lady._ He is rather a knave than a fool, but here he comes.
_Enter_ MIMICK.
_Sir W. Sage._ Mimick, have you chosen a profession yet?
_Mimick._ Yes, marry have I, for I intend to be an orator.
_Sir W. Sage._ If you be a professed orator, I suppose you have
studied a speech.
_Mimick._ Yes, I have studied, as orators use to do, in making an
oration: for I have rackt my brain, stretched my wit, strapadoed my
memory, tortured my thoughts, and kept my sences awake.
_Sir W. Sage._ Certainly, it is a very eloquent and wise oration,
since you have taken so much pains.
_Mimick._ Labour and study is not a certain rule for wise, witty or
eloquent orations or speeches, for many studied speeches are very
foolish, but you will hear my speech?
_Sir W. Sage._ I will.
_Mimick._ But then Master, you must stand for, signifie, or represent
a multitude or an assembly.
_Sir W. Sage._ That is impossible, being but a single person.
_Mimick._ Why doth not a single figure stand for a number, as the
figure of five, eight or nine, and joining ciphers to them, they stand
for so many hundreds or thousands: and here be two joint-stools, one
of which stools and you lady shall serve for two ciphers and my master
for the figure nine and so you and the joint-stool make nine hundred.
In our third and last quotation, we have a specimen of what she
considered wit. It is from “The Wit’s Cabal”.
ACT II. SCENE V.
_Enter_ CAPTAIN, HARRY, WILL, DICK, LIEUTENANT _and_ CORNET, _as in the
Tavern_.
_Will._ Well, this wine is so fresh and full of spirit, as it would
make a fool a poet.
_Harry._ Or a poet a fool.
_Dick._ Then here’s a health to the most fools in the world.
_Capt._ Then you must drink a health to the whole world, that is one
great fool.
_Lieut._ Prithee Dick, do not drink that health, for it will choak
thee, for the world of fools is too big for one draught.
_Dick._ Then here’s a health to the wisest man.
_Cornet._ You may as well drink a health to a drop of water in the
ocean.
Possibly the reader may think that a little of this sort of wit goes a
long way. Unfortunately, in the Duchess’s plays, there is a vast amount
of it.
It is a remarkable sign of the times in which she lived, especially
of the moral tone and the taste of those times, that, although the
Duchess of Newcastle was a most virtuous woman, and one of high
principles—Ballard[178] says that she was “truly pious, charitable and
generous: was an excellent economist, very kind to her servants, and a
perfect pattern of conjugal love and duty”—yet her plays were of such
a character that, as they stand, the most lenient official censor of
our generation would certainly refuse to allow them to be acted: nor is
it too much to say of them that they combine indecency and obscenity
with the stagnate dullness so usually the accompaniment of literary
ditch-water. Yet in the Preface to one of her books she says: “I hope
this work of mine will rather quench amorous passions than inflame
them, and beget chaste thoughts,” etc.
[Footnote 178: _Memoirs of British Ladies who have been celebrated for
their Writings_, etc., by George Ballard, ed. 1785, p. 213.]
The critics of the plays and other works of the Duchess were very far
from being of one and the same mind. Some half century after her
death, Horace Walpole, in his _Royal and Noble Authors_, says that
“though she had written philosophy it seems she had read none,” and
that she had an “unbounded passion for scribbling”.
During her life, in fact in the year 1667, the Master and Fellows of
St. John’s College, Cambridge, addressed her in the language of fulsome
flattery quoted at the opening of the first chapter of the present
volume. But all the critics of her own day were not of their opinion
and M. Emile Montégut, in his excellent essay on the Newcastles,
writes:[179] “this very high and mighty lady” was “very maliciously
ridiculed by her contemporaries and scornfully neglected by the
succeeding generations”.
On the other hand, the Vice-Chancellor and the Senate of the
University of Cambridge, fairly excelled the Master and Fellows of
St. John’s College in flattery, and Ananias in mendacity, when they
exclaimed:—[180]
“Most excellent Princess, you have unspeakably obliged us all; but not
in one respect alone, for whensoever we find ourselves nonplus’d in
our studies, we repair to you as to our oracle: if we be to speak, you
dictate to us: if we knock at Apollo’s door, you alone open to us: if
we compose an History, you are the remembrancer: if we be confounded
and puzzled among the philosophers, you disentangle us and assoil our
difficulties”.
[Footnote 179: P. 189.]
[Footnote 180: _Biog. Brit._, ed. Kippis.]
Grainger says that “these monstrous strains of panegyrics relate
chiefly to that wild philosophy which would have puzzled the whole
Royal Society”.
Pearson, Master of St. John’s College, Cambridge (“Pearson On The
Creed” ), afterwards Bishop of Chester, could lie so grossly as to
exclaim to the Duchess:[181] “What shall we think of your Excellency,
who are both a Minerva and an Athens in yourself, the Muses as well as
an Helicon, Aristotle as well as his Lycaeum?”
[Footnote 181: _Biog. Brit._, ed. Kippis.]
Another Bishop, Bishop Wilkins, was more honest. He had been talking to
the Duchess about his book on the possibility of a journey to the moon.
“Doctor,” she said, “where am I to find a place for waiting in the way
up to that Planet?” “Madam,” he replied, “of all people in the world,
I never expected that question from you, who have built so many castles
in the air, that you may be every night at one of your own.” [182]
[Footnote 182: Stanley’s _Memorials of Westminster Abbey_, p. 247.]
M. Montégut says that, during her later years she was often spoken
of as “That fool, Mad Madge of Newcastle”. Yet Kippis states that
the Rev. Knightly Chatwood, afterwards Dean of Gloucester, “wrote a
preposterously over-laudatory elegy” on her death, “in whose guilt the
author of this note would be involved, were he to produce any quotation
from so impious a performance”.
Of course the Duchess has much to say about her own literary powers.
Here is a specimen of it:—
“But it pleased God to command his Servant Nature to indue me with a
Poetical and Philosophical Genius, even from my Birth: for I did write
some Books in that kind, before I was twelve years of Age”.
One very precious and very touching criticism of our Duchess has
happily been preserved. It was made by her devoted husband, the Duke
himself. A friend had congratulated him on having such a very wise
woman as his wife; whereupon, he exclaimed with genuine emotion: “Sir,
a very wise woman is a very foolish thing”.[183]
[Footnote 183: _Richardsonia_, by Jonathan Richardson, pp. 249, 250.]
It is consoling to learn that the Duchess could sometimes condescend to
lower matters than literature. We have Her Grace’s own authority for
stating that she was fond of dress. She says:—
“I took great delight in attiring, fine dressing, and fashions,
especially such fashions as I did invent myself, not taking that
pleasure in such fashions as was invented by others: also I did
dislike any should follow my Fashions, for I always took delight in
a singularity, even in accoutrements of habits, but whatsoever I was
addicted to, either in fashion of Cloths, contemplation of Thoughts,
actions of Life, they were Lawful, Honest, Honourable, and Modest, of
which I can avouch to the world with a great confidence, because it is
a pure Truth”.
Next, let us hear what Pepys has to say about her dress and other
matters, in an entry in his Diary containing another notice of “The
Humorous Lovers”.
“1667, April 11th. To White Hall, thinking there to have seen the
Duchesse of Newcastle’s coming this night to Court to make a visit to
the Queene, the King having been with her yesterday to make her a visit
since her coming to town. The whole story of this lady is a romance,
and all she does is romantic. Her footmen in velvet coats, and herself
in an antique dress, as they say, and was the other day at her own play
‘The Humourous Lovers’; the most ridiculous thing that ever was wrote,
but yet she and her Lord mightily pleased with it; and she, at the
end, made her respects to the players from her box, and did give them
thanks. There is as much expectation of her coming to Court, that so
people may come to see her, as if it were the Queene of Sweden, but I
lost my labour, for she did not come this night.”
On the 26th of the same month, Pepys was more fortunate.
“Met my Lady Newcastle going with her coaches and footmen all in
velvet: herself (whom I never saw before) as I have heard her often
described (for all the town-talk is now-a-days of her extravagancies),
with her velvet cap, her hair about her ears; many black patches,
because of pimples about her mouth; naked-necked, without any thing
about it, and a black just-au-corps. She seemed to me a very comely
woman: but I hope to see more of her on May-day.”
The Duchess seems to have “got upon his brain,” to make use of a phrase
which came into use long after his own days; for on 1 May he wrote:—
“That which we and almost all went for, was to see my Lady Newcastle:
which we could not, she being followed and crowded upon by coaches all
the way she went, that nobody could come near her: only I could see she
was in a large black coach adorned with silver instead of gold, and so
white curtains, and everything black and white, and herself in her cap”.
Pepys fairly hunted the poor Duchess through the streets of London. A
week later he made the following entry:—
“Drove hard towards Clerkenwell, thinking to have overtaken my Lady
Newcastle, whom I saw before us in her coach, with 100 boys and girls
running looking upon her; but I could not: and so she got home before I
could come up to her. But I will get a time to see her.”
And he did “get a time to see her”.
“30th. After dinner I walked to Arundell House, the way very dusty,
(the day of meeting of the Society)[184] ... where I find very much
company, in expectation of the Duchesse of Newcastle, who had desired
to be invited to the Society; and was; after much debate pro and con,
it seems many being against it; and we do believe the town will be full
of ballads of it. Anon comes the Duchesse with her women attending her;
among others the Ferabosco, of whom so much talk is that her lady would
bid her show her face and kill the gallants. She is indeed black, and
hath good black little eyes, but otherwise a very ordinary woman I do
think, but they say sings well. The Duchesse hath been a good, comely
woman; but her dress is so antick, and her deportment so ordinary, that
I do not like her at all, nor did I hear her say anything that was
worth hearing, but that she was full of admiration, all admiration.
Several fine experiments were shewn her of colours, loadstones,
microscopes, and of liquors: among others, of one that did while she
was there turn a piece of roasted mutton into pure blood, which was
very rare. After they had shown her any experiments, and she cried
still she was full of admiration, she departed, being led out and in by
several Lords that were there; among others, Lord George Barkeley and
Earl of Carlisle, and a very pretty young man, the Duke of Somerset.”
[Footnote 184: The Royal Society.]
Here is some evidence from another source.
There was a masquerade at Court and that very smart and amusing
courtier, Count Grammont,[185] was talking to the King. “As I was
getting out of my chair,” he said, “I was stopped by the devil of a
phantom in masquerade.... It is worth while to see her dress; for she
must have at least sixty ells of gauze and silver tissue about her, not
to mention a sort of a pyramid upon her head, adorned with a hundred
thousand baubles.”
[Footnote 185: _Memoirs of Count Grammont_, Bohn, p. 134.]
“I bet,” said the King, “that it is the Duchess of Newcastle.” [186]
[Footnote 186: It turned out to be somebody else, but this shows the
King’s opinion of the Duchess’s style of dress.]
CHAPTER XXII.
Monsieur Emile Montégut, in his essay[187] on the Duke and Duchess of
Newcastle, has dealt with the question of the Duchess’s religion, at
some length; and the following is a very free translation of a part of
what he has written on the subject. A certain author has “belauded
the great piety of the Duchess; but, after studying all the available
evidence on this point, we are inclined to think that her piety must
have been but moderate and we feel doubtful as to the nature of her
faith and the extent of her religious fervour. This much is certain,
that she was not devout enough for a Catholic or interior enough for
a Protestant.... When she writes of religion, she is dignified, but
dry, without the least affection in her language or humility in her
mind. She shows no liking for any particular ceremony, or pious rite
or practice; nor does she seem to attach any importance to things
connected with exterior worship; although she belonged to that Anglican
Church in which controversies over such matters have always occupied
so important a place. She had some disposition towards mysticism;
but prayer, the most natural of all religious actions, was almost
distasteful to her. She liked prayers to be short and few, and anything
like repetitions in devotion she considered irreverent if not impious;
but it should be remembered that, in those times, the Puritans made
prayers of prodigious length, far longer than any made by Catholics.”
Her “cool calculation of the relative values of prayer and good works
at any rate exhibits considerable originality and piquancy”.
[Footnote 187: _Le Maréchal Davout—Le Duc et la Duchesse de
Newcastle_, 1895, p. 335.]
Be all this as it may, she attained that Highest Heaven of British
ambition, a grave and a monument in Westminster Abbey, and who can
doubt that one who was so very much a Duchess has gone where Duchesses
go?
* * * * *
Certainly the readers, and as certainly the compiler, of this book must
be deeply conscious that it is now high time to let fall the curtain.
And we will let it fall without fatal illnesses or deathbed scenes.
That people who lived considerably more than two hundred years ago are
dead by this time may be taken for granted; and it should be enough to
say that the Duchess of Newcastle was buried in Westminster Abbey on
17 January, 1673; and that the Duke was laid beside her on 22 January,
1677.
[Illustration: MONUMENT OF THE DUKE AND DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE IN
WESTMINSTER ABBEY]
The scribe who has collected and copied out the evidence concerning
this illustrious pair, while deeply conscious of the many faults in his
work, is not aware that excessive flattery of his subjects is one of
them. The characters of both the Duke and the Duchess were certainly
open to criticism, perhaps also to ridicule. Yet much may be said in
favour of each.
Newcastle was a dignified, cultivated, and courageous English
gentleman. He was a most loyal subject; he cheerfully bore greater
financial losses, for the sake of his King, than perhaps any other
cavalier; and he fought bravely in the civil war. He excelled in
horsemanship and he was a fine swordsman. Although not a scholar, he
wrote a standard work; and he was an appreciative and critical patron
of art, science, and literature. If only a very minor poet, he could
write verses of considerable spirit; if not a great playwright, he
could write plays which succeeded.
No sensible reader would take Shadwell’s dedication of “The Libertine”
to Newcastle as pure gospel; but there may be a few grains of truth
in it. He says: “By the great honour I had to be daily admitted into
your Grace’s private and public conversation, I observed that admirable
experience and judgment surmounting all the old, and that vigorousness
of wit and smartness of expression, exceeding all the young, I ever
saw, and not only in sharp and apt replies, but, which is much more
difficult, by giving easy and unforced occasions, the most admirable
way of beginning one, and all this adapted to men of all circumstances
and conditions”.
The great misfortune of Newcastle’s life was to be suddenly forced into
the position of a Commander-in-Chief, without any previous training,
or personal inclination; and perhaps the great error of his life may
have been his flight to Holland after the battle of Marston Moor; but,
as was shown on the pages dealing with the incident, a good deal has
been urged, and may justly be urged, in defence of his conduct on that
occasion.
If he made many mistakes as a General, he never showed want of courage
as a soldier. If he asked for appointments and honours from the King,
he amply paid for them, both with money and with services. If his wife
said that he was too great an admirer of the fair sex, there is nothing
to show that he was immoral. If he was somewhat eccentric, he had a
good deal of originality. If he was extravagant when young, he was
economical when old. If he was ambitious, he never intrigued. If his
literary work is open to criticism, he himself is said to have been an
excellent critic.
Although a loyal, a stately, a polished and a handsome courtier, he
was no hanger-on at Court; and his dignified retirement to Welbeck,
when the licentious Court of Charles II had been established, showed at
least good taste. He always appears to have had enemies near the King,
both in the reign of Charles I and in that of Charles II; but he must
have been very popular in the country, or he would not have been able
to raise such large forces for the army of the North, during the civil
war.
Lastly, he is to be admired for his business-like perseverance in
retrieving his ruined fortunes after the Restoration, when they were in
a condition which would have broken the heart of a man of meaner spirit.
As to the Duchess of Newcastle, let us at once get rid of the idea,
held by M. Montégut, and apparently also by other people, that she was
the first of the Blue Stockings. The origin of that term is well known.
Quite a hundred years after the death of our Duchess, the leader of
a coterie of learned ladies invited a clever but ill-clad scholar to
attend their social gatherings. He always wore breeches and the usual
bluish-grey stockings of the cheaper kind; and when he pleaded lack of
suitable attire, his hostess said: “Oh! Come in your blue-stockings”.
The little gatherings of these ladies were afterwards called the
meetings of the Blue Stockings.
But, even taking the term in its wider sense, as including the learned
ladies of any, or of all ages, we might find women far more learned
than Margaret Newcastle in the depths of antiquity. As to her own
country, a century before her time Erasmus wrote: “The monks, famed in
times past for learning, are become ignorant; and women love books. It
is pretty enough that this sex should now at last betake it self to
antient examples.” In the sixteenth century, very literary ladies were
to be found in the families of Sir Thomas More and Sir Anthony Cooke,
and to give Henry VIII his due, it must be acknowledged that he took
good care his daughters should be thoroughly educated and cultivated
women. Nor was our Duchess by any means the first of her sex to rush
into print in the seventeenth century; moreover, much as she wrote for
the press, little print did she read except her own, and she seems to
have been almost entirely devoid of scholarship.
Again, in the first half of the century in which lived the Duchess of
Newcastle, unlike that Duchess Lady Jane Grey knew Latin and Greek and
studied Plato. At the same time, in Italy, the notorious courtesan,
Tullia of Aragon, was a poetess; and, like several of her contemporary
courtesans, knew, as says Aretino, “all Petrarch and Boccaccio by
heart, beside innumerable fine Latin verses by Virgil, Horace, Ovid,
etc.” Any of these ladies could have taught the Duchess lessons and put
her in the corner as a dunce.
In another sense, Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle, was unlike what
are generally known as literary ladies; for she was no patroness of
literary people; she was not the leader of any literary set, she
started no literary school; she led a retired life, was nervous in
society, and was so much absorbed in her own writings that she seems
to have taken no interest in those of anybody else, either ancient or
modern.
Had she but spent a larger proportion of her time in learning instead
of in teaching, she might have become a successful author; for
undoubtedly she had talent, although not genius. The fatal idea that
all her “conceptions,” as she called them, were worthy of paper, and in
most cases worthy of print, was the chief cause of her literary ruin.
The finest feature of her character was her devotion to her husband.
Although she declares herself to have been devoid of any “passion,” or
“amourous love,” a study of her biography of Newcastle inclines one to
think that on this point she deceived herself; unless, as is possible,
the place of passionate love was supplied by unqualified hero-worship.
She had a profound admiration for his talents. Exaggerated as is her
praise in the following lines, it at least shows an affectionate
devotion. They occur at the end of her book of poems:—
A Poet I am neither born nor bred,
But to a witty poet married,
Whose brain is fresh, and pleasant as the Spring,
Where fancies grow, and where the Muses sing;
There oft I lean my head, and listening hark,
T’observe his words, and all his fancies mark,
And from that garden flowers of fancy take,
Whereof a posy up in verse I make:
Thus I that have no garden of my own
There gather flowers, that are newly blown.
And she did indeed “there gather flowers,” if there is any truth in the
pretty general idea that the best lines in her poems were the work of
her husband.
Her expedition to England to try to wrest something for Newcastle from
his worst enemies was a noble action, and her murmurless endurance of
the pawn-shop, where her husband left her when he returned to his own
country, was a splendid example of self-sacrifice and patience.
Her lengthy and carefully drawn up statements of her husband’s
financial affairs testify to her capacity for business, and suggest
the probability that she was of great help in restoring his fortunes.
Indeed it may be that her talents were more suited for the high-stool
of a clerk than for the arm-chair of a poet.
Walpole’s notice of the later years of the Newcastles’ life is severe.
“What a picture of foolish nobility was this stately poetic couple,
retired to their own little domain, and intoxicating one another with
circumstantial flattery on what was of consequence to no mortal but
themselves.” In all this there is a measure of truth; but unless they
had retired to their own domain, which, by the way, was not “little,”
and unless they had lived there economically, they could never have
restored the fortunes of their family. Surely the atmosphere of Welbeck
Abbey was more wholesome than that of the vicious and intriguing Court
of Charles II; and, if they chose to amuse themselves with pens and
paper, it can truly be said of them that how much soever they may have
injured their own literary reputations by a rather injudicious use of
those dangerous instruments, they did not injure those of other people,
which is more than can be said of many other writers, both ancient and
modern.
APPENDIX.
DESCENDANTS OF NEWCASTLE.
William Cavendish, first Duke of Newcastle, was succeeded by his son,
Henry, second Duke, who left no son, and the title became extinct. But
the second Duke’s daughter, Margaret, married John Holies, fourth Earl
of Clare, who was created Duke of Newcastle in 1694. At his death this
second Dukedom of Newcastle also became extinct, as he only left a
daughter. She also left an only daughter, who married William Bentinck,
second Duke of Portland, and it was through this marriage that Welbeck
Abbey became the property of the Dukes of Portland.
Although he left large estates to his daughter and only child, John
Holies, the first and only Duke of Newcastle by the second creation
of that title, adopted the eldest son of his sister who had married
Sir Thomas Pelham. This nephew, after the death of his uncle, was
eventually created Duke of Newcastle in 1715. This was the third
Dukedom of Newcastle, and it was given with special remainder to his
brother. But neither he nor his brother had any children, and he was
anxious that his title should descend to the son of his sister, who
had married the seventh Earl of Lincoln. To effect this, he had to
be given an entirely different Dukedom of Newcastle; and, in 1756,
he was created Duke of Newcastle-under-Lyme—he was already Duke of
Newcastle-upon-Tyne—with remainder to his sister’s male heirs. This
was the fourth Dukedom of Newcastle, and it continues to this day.
INDEX.
Adwalton Moor (also called Adderton and Atherton), Battle of,
102 _seq._
Ailesbury, 193.
Amsterdam, 173.
Antwerp, 193.
Aragon, Tullia, Duchess of, 278.
Arundel, Earl of, 19.
Associated Counties, 131.
Bacon, 33.
Baillee, Principal, 155.
Ballard, 265.
Barkeley, Lord George, 271.
Barrett, William of Blore, 10.
Baucher, 235.
Beaumont, 262.
Bellasis, Colonel, 120.
Benjamin, Mr., 245.
Berkshire, Lord, 43.
Blue Stockings, the, 277.
Bolingbroke, Lady, 222.
Bradford, 102-5.
Bramham Moor, Battle of, 99.
Brandling, Colonel, 118.
Breadalbane, Lord, 223.
Brentford, 65.
Bristow, James, 260.
Brooks, Mr., 175.
Brown, Sir Richard, 187.
Brydges, Sir Egerton, 223.
Buckingham, first Duke of, 11-17:
Buckingham, second Duke of, 193, 200-2.
Butler, Robert, 222.
Butler, Samuel, 77.
Byron, Lord (contemporary of Newcastle), 145, 155.
Byron, Lord, the poet, 152.
Carlisle, Lord, 27, 33, 37, 271.
Carlisle, Lady, 55.
Carlyle, Thomas, 156.
Castlehaven, Lord, 19.
Cavendish, Sir Charles, 17, 24, 149, 151, 195-8.
Cavendish, Henry, Earl of Ogle, 165, 212, 220, 222, 223.
Cavendish, Lord Mansfield, 165, 213.
Cavendish, Margaret, Lady, 3-5.
Cavendish, Sir William, 2.
Cavendish, Sir William, _see_ Newcastle.
Charles I., visit to Welbeck, 25;
visit to Bolsover, 31;
last visit to Welbeck, 170;
letters to Newcastle, 64, 68, 72, 121, 124, 163.
Charles II., 26 _seq._, 37, 38, 42, 172, 206-7, 272.
Chatwood, the Rev. Knightley, 267.
Cheney, Lady Jane, 212, 213.
Cholmley, Sir Hugh, 65, 88-91, 94;
his memorials for Clarendon, 95 _seq._, 142, 164.
Cibber, 251 _seq._
Clarendon, Lord (as Hyde), 194, 202;
his History frequently quoted.
Cooke, Sir Anthony, 277.
Con, George, 24.
Conway, 52.
Cottington, Lord, 20, 51.
Cousens, 186.
Coventry, Captain, 159.
Crawford, General, 156, 168-9.
Cromwell, 97, 111, 131;
Warwick’s description of him, 132, 145, 161;
wounded, 156, 168-9.
Culpepper, Lord, 141, 201.
Davenant, 77-8, 123.
Denbigh, Lord, 133.
Denmark, King of, 67.
Devonshire, Lord, 192, 209.
Digby, Lord, 140.
D’Israeli, 256, 260.
Dryden, John, 242.
Dudley, Colonel, 118.
Dunbar, Lord, 165-6.
Dungannon, Lord, 156.
Eglinton, Lord, 129, 153.
Elizabeth, Queen, 5, 176.
Erasmus, 277.
Essex, Lord, 55, 65, 125.
Ethyn, Lord, 73-6, 119, 121, 145-6, 166.
Evelyn, John, 187.
Fairfax, Sir Charles, 152.
Fairfax, Lord, 65, 96, 99, 100, 104-5;
his wife captured by Newcastle, 105, 108, 111, 120, 124,
135, 138, 145-55, 171.
Fairfax, Sir Thomas, 120, 124, 134.
Fairfax, Sir William, 152.
Flecknoe, 244.
Fletcher, 262.
Fortescue, Mr., 150.
Gainsborough, taken by Newcastle, 106.
Gifford, General, 104.
Goring, Lord, 76-7, 79;
victory at Bramham Moor, 99;
defeat and capture at Wakefield, 100, 126 _seq._, 150,
153, 157, 171.
Grainger, 236 _seq._, 258.
Grammont, Count, 271.
Grand Remonstrance, 54.
Grandison, Lord, 145.
Grey, Lady Jane, 278.
Hague, The, 193.
Hampden, John, 44.
Hatcher, Thomas, 138.
Haughton, Sir Gilbert, 146.
Heath, 104.
Henrietta Maria, Queen, 54-5, 61;
in Yorkshire, 83-90;
in relation to Margaret Lucas, 181 _seq._;
letters to Newcastle, 101, 112, 167, 196.
Hertford, Lord, 43, 192.
Holland, Lord, 45 _seq._
Hollis Denzil, Lord, 169.
Hotham, Captain, 81 _seq._, 89 _seq._, 95 _seq._
Hotham, Sir John, 57-63, 65, 70, 95 _seq._, 107.
Howly House, 101-2.
Hudson, the Rev. Mr., 78.
Hume, 122.
Hutchinson, Colonel, 216.
Hyde, _see_ Clarendon.
Jermyn, Lord, 190, 196.
Jonson, Ben, 25, 31, 198-9, 244, 262.
Kimbolton, _see_ Manchester.
King, _see_ Ethyn.
Kingston, Lord, 13-17 (Pierrepont).
Königsmark, 221.
Lamb, Charles, 255, 256.
Langbaine, 236 _seq._, 243.
Langdale, Marmaduke, 68, 89, 96.
Lanier, Nicholas, 206.
Laud, Archbishop, 50, 53-4, 59, 98.
Legg, 57.
Leicester, Lord, 32.
Leslie, Sir David, 133, 157.
Leven, Lord (Leslie), 118, 120, 129, 135, 145, 155.
Lexington, Lord, 222.
Lilly, William, 159.
Lincoln taken by Newcastle, 106.
Lindsey, Lord, 138.
Lockeir, 216.
Lodge, 238.
Lucas, Sir Charles, 145, 150, 160, 174, 193.
Lucas, Elizabeth, Lady, 175, 186.
Lucas, Sir Gervase, 136.
Lucas, Lord, 174, 179, 196.
Lucas, Sir John, 174.
Lucas, Sir Thomas, 174.
Ludlow, General, 217.
Lumsdale (Lumsden), Sir James, 135.
Manchester, Lord (Kimbolton), 76, 131, 134, 136, 145-60;
visits Welbeck, 169.
Markham, Lieutenant, 101.
Marston Moor, Battle of, 143, 161.
Mary, Queen of Scots, 4.
Meldrum, Sir J., 133.
Milton, 65, 256 _seq._
Mohun, Major, 206.
Molière, 242.
Montégut, M. Emile, 266-7, 273 _seq._, 277.
Montpensier, Mademoiselle de, 191.
Montrose, 171.
More, Sir Thomas, 277.
Naseby, Battle of, 171.
Newcastle, Lady, Newcastle’s first wife, 10, 11, 98.
Newcastle, Sir William Cavendish, first Duke of,
birth and youth, 5-9;
sent to Savoy, 10;
marriage, 10, 11;
created Viscount Mansfield, 12;
correspondence with Buckingham, 13-7;
description of, 22;
religion, 24-5;
governorship to the Prince of Wales, 26-43;
correspondence with Stafford, 27-30;
letters to his wife, 32-3;
his _Il Principe_, 38;
his troop of gentlemen, 44;
his quarrel with Lord Holland, 45 _seq._;
appointed Governor of Hull, 56;
given command of four northern counties, 61;
raising an army and its weapons, 64, _seq._;
he seizes York, 72;
his staff, 75;
Battle of Tadcaster, 79;
death of his first wife, 98;
created a Marquis, 107;
besieges Hull, 108 _seq._;
returns to Welbeck and Bolsover, 113;
marches to meet the Scottish army, 115;
a specimen of his dispatches, 117;
a disaster at Selby, 120;
retreat to York, 120;
besieged at York, 126;
parley with the enemy, 130 _seq._;
reported killed, 136;
joined by Rupert, 138;
Battle of Marston Moor, 143-60;
goes to Holland, 162;
goes to Amsterdam and Paris, 173;
second marriage, 187;
Rotterdam again, 192;
Antwerp, 206;
entertainments to Charles II., 206;
return to England, 208;
made a Knight of the Garter, 209;
made Chief Justice in Eyre, 215;
created a Duke, 219;
figures as a man of letters, 226 _seq._;
his book on Horsemanship and his other literary works, 226 _seq._
Newcastle, Margaret, Duchess of, Margaret Lucas and her family, 174
_seq._;
Maid of Honour to Queen Henrietta Maria, 173, 178;
her love-letters, 180 _seq._;
her marriage, 187;
sent by her husband to England to raise money, 195 _seq._;
pawned by her husband, 208;
her financial statements, 211;
her literary works, 249 _seq._
Nicholas, 136, 163, 199, 207, 235.
Northumberland, Lord, 52, 54.
Northumberland, Countess of, 220-1.
Orange, The Prince of, 201.
Ormond, Lord, 190.
Osborne, Sir Thomas, 216.
Oxford, Lord, 203.
Palmes, Francis, 46.
Paumer, 216.
Pearson, Bishop, 267.
Pepys, 2, 242 _seq._
Percy, Baroness, 221.
Percy, Lord Henry, 119.
“Philosopher’s Complaint,” 243.
“Philosophy, Observations upon Experimentals,” 259.
Pierrepont, _see_ Kingston.
Porter, 182.
Pre, M. de, 245.
“Presence, The,” 263.
Prynne, 44.
Quixote, Don, 262; a battle _â la_, 70.
Raabe, Captain, 235.
Riddell, Sir Thomas, 118.
Root and Branch Bill, 54.
Rotherham, taken by Newcastle, 101.
Rotterdam, 173, 192.
Rubens, 193.
Rupert, Prince, 110, 128-65, 171, 190.
St. Albans, Lord, 190.
St. Lowe, Sir William, 3.
Savile, Sir William, 71.
Savoy, the Duke of, 8-10.
Scotch invasion, 53;
second, 115.
Scott, Sir Walter, 43, 149, 154.
Scrimegour, 119.
Selby, disaster at, 120.
Sellinger, Sir Anthony, 222.
Shadwell, 243-4, 275.
Shakespeare, 77, 262.
Shaw, Sir John, 210.
Sheffield, taken by Newcastle, 101.
Shirley, 244.
Shrewsbury, Lord, 4.
Skirton, Colonel, 104.
Slinger, Colonel, 203.
Smith, Mr., 207.
Somerset, the Duke of, 271.
Speed, 262.
Stafford, 26 _seq._, 33 _seq._, 51-4.
Stapleton, 65.
Stennickes, 205.
Strickland, Miss, 31 _seq._, 87.
Suckling, Sir John, 47-8, 54, 78.
Suffolk, Lord, 11.
Swift, Sir Robert, 27.
Talbot, Sir Gilbert, 210.
Thynne, Thomas, 221.
Tobacco, 215.
Top, F., 207, 215.
Trevor, Arthur, 154.
Trevor, Mark, _see_ Dungannon.
Turnham Green, Battle of, 65.
Vandyke, 22, 205.
Vane, Sir Henry, 51, 135.
Van Tromp, 83 _seq._
Vicars, 154.
Wakefield, Battle of, 100.
Wales, Prince of, _see_ Charles II.
Waller, 125.
Walker, Sir Edward, Garter, 204.
Walpole, Horace, 238, 247, 266, 280.
Warner, 246.
Watson, 155.
Warwick, Sir Philip, 73, 109 and elsewhere.
Whitecoats, The, 69, 152, 158, 159.
Widdrington, Lord, 129, 181.
Wilkins, Bishop, 267.
Williams, Bishop, 44.
Windebank, 34-5.
Worcester, Lord, 190.
Wotton, Sir Henry, 8, 9.
Wright, Colonel, 216.
York, Duke of, 211.
York, siege of, 126 _seq._
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Transcriber’s note:
The variations in the old English spelling and inconsistent
hyphenation, have been retained.
The page of Publications by the Same Author which is placed at the
front of the original, has been moved to the end of the book.
The following two spelling changes were made:
Page 132 — Huntington changed to Huntingdon.
Page 156 — Leadham’s changed to Leadman’s.
In the Index, Stafford has been moved above Stapleton and Wilkens moved
above Williams.