Conduct of Lord Sunderland—Influence of the Duchess understood at
foreign courts—Anecdote of Charles the Third of Spain.—1703–4.
Lord Sunderland, at this time on terms of confidence with his
mother-in-law, the Duchess of Marlborough, was one of the most active
agents of the Whig party, in making overtures to Marlborough and
Godolphin. Of powerful talents, although taunted by Swift with the
imputation “of knowing a book better by the back than by the face,”[25]
and of multiplying them on his book-shelves without caring to read them,
Sunderland, or his politics, were never wholly acceptable to
Marlborough. Yet the Earl, though a violent party politician, knew how,
in circumstances sufficiently trying, to prove his sincerity, and evince
a real elevation of mind, by refusing from the Queen, upon his office of
secretary being taken from him, a pension by way of compensation. His
celebrated answer, “that if he could not have the honour to serve his
country, he would not plunder it,”[26] must have startled less
scrupulous politicians; and, possibly, it might even sound strangely in
our own days of boasted disinterestedness and enlightenment.
The Duke of Marlborough, in reply to advances made in behalf of the Whig
party by Lord Sunderland, made this memorable answer: “that he hoped
always to continue in the humour that he was then in, that is, to be
governed by neither party, but to do what he should think best for
England, by which he should disoblige both parties.”[27] Thus ended, for
the present, the negociation on the part of the Whigs.
The cabinet, therefore, continued to be composed of mixed ingredients.
The Duke persevered steadily in that course which he deemed necessary,
as far as foreign policy was concerned, to crush the reviving influence
of the Pretender, whose subsequent attempts to recover the throne of his
ancestors he plainly foresaw. From this conviction, he regarded a
continued good understanding with the Dutch to be of paramount
importance.[28]
“May God,” he says, writing to the Duchess, “preserve me and my dearest
love from seeing this come to pass;” alluding to a reconciliation with
the French, and consequently with the Pretender and his family, through
the medium of that nation; “but if we quarrel with the Dutch,” he adds,
“I fear it may happen.”[29]
The influence of the Duchess of Marlborough at the court of Anne was now
well understood by the continental powers of Europe. When England, this
year, received a foreign potentate as her guest, the Duchess was, of all
her subjects, the object peculiarly selected for distinction. Charles,
the second son of the Emperor of Austria, having recently been
proclaimed, at Vienna, King of Spain, in opposition to the Duke of
Anjou, completed his visits to sundry courts in Germany, whither he had
repaired to seek a wife, by paying his respects to Anne of England. He
landed in this country about Christmas, and immediately despatched one
of his attendants, Count Coloredo, to Windsor, to inform the Queen of
his arrival. He soon, conducted by Marlborough, followed his messenger
to Windsor, where Anne received her royal ally with great courtesy, and
entertained him with a truly royal magnificence. All ranks of people
crowded to see the young monarch dine with the Queen in public, and his
deportment and appearance were greatly admired by the multitude, more
especially by the fair sex, whose national beauty was, on the other
hand, highly extolled by Charles. The Duchess of Marlborough, though no
longer young, still graced the court which she controlled. It was her
office to hold the basin of water after dinner to the Queen, for the
royal hands to be dipped, after the ancient fashion of the laver and
ewer. Charles took the basin from the fair Duchess’s hand, and, with the
gallantry of a young and well-bred man, held it to the Queen; and in
returning it to the Duchess, he drew from his own finger a valuable
ring, and placed it on that of the stately Sarah. On taking leave of the
Queen, he received, as might be expected, assurances of favour and
support—a promise that was not “made to the ear, and broken to the
hope,” but was fulfilled by supplies of troops and money afterwards in
Spain. During the time of the King’s visit, open house was kept by the
Queen for his reception and that of his retinue; and the nobility were
not deficient in their wonted hospitality, and the Duke of Marlborough
was twice honoured by receiving the King as his guest.[30]
It was two years after this visit that Charles sent a letter of thanks
for the assistance granted him by the Queen against the French, which he
addressed to the Duchess of Marlborough, as “the person most agreeable
to her Majesty.” The King might have added, as a partisan most
favourable to the aid afforded him, and most inimical to the sway of
France, which, by the will of the late King of Spain, Charles the
Second, had been unjustly extended over the Spanish monarchy.
Hitherto the achievements of Marlborough, however admirable, and
compassed as they were with the loss of health and the destruction of
happiness, had not contributed to effect the main objects of the war, in
the manner which he had anticipated. At home, the Tory, or, as some
historians of the day term it, the French faction, disseminated the
notion that Marlborough and his party were squandering away the
resources of the kingdom, in fruitless attempts against the wealthy and
powerful sovereign of France. To combat his political foes, an union was
effected between Lord Somers and Mr. Harley; and Godolphin, by the
directions of Marlborough, endeavoured by every possible means to
strengthen the moderate party in both Houses of Parliament.[31] The
Duchess attacked the Queen with never-ending counsels and arguments; but
all these exertions would possibly have been fruitless, had it not
pleased Providence to bless the arms of Marlborough with signal success
during the ensuing year.
“The Whigs,” as the Duchess observed, “did indeed begin to be favoured,
and with good reason.[32] For when they saw that the Duke of Marlborough
prosecuted the common cause against the French with so much diligence
and sincerity, they forgot their resentments for the partiality
previously shown by him to their opponents, and extolled his feats with
as much fervour as the Tories decried his efforts.”
Marlborough, in the spring of the year 1704, embarked for Holland, with
designs kept rigidly secret, embracing schemes of a greater magnitude
than he had hitherto hoped to execute, and sanguine anticipations which
were more than realised. The Duchess was left to combat at home the
prepossessions of her royal mistress, as well as to repel the frequent
projects which Marlborough, dispirited and home-sick, formed of
retiring. He had, after the last campaign, quitted the continent with
that intention; but, on reflection, a sincere and earnest desire to
complete the great work which he had begun, and, possibly, the counsels
of Godolphin and of the Duchess, who were both averse from his
relinquishing his command, had prevailed over feelings of disappointment
and chagrin.
Whilst affairs were in this position, the Tories made one expiring
effort for power, by reviving the bill against occasional conformity.
Until this time, the hopes of this ever vigorous and sanguine party had
been maintained by the preference of the sovereign, plainly manifested
in the creation of four Tory peers, after the last prorogation of
Parliament.[33] This had proved the more alarming, since it had been
hinted that an exercise of prerogative in the Upper House was the only
means of subverting the opposition of the Lords to the bill.
The discovery of what was called the Scotch plot, however, checked
materially the triumph of those who secretly favoured the claims of the
Pretender. This famous conspiracy, which had for its object the
interests of the Jacobite faction, produced a more effectual change in
the sentiments of the Queen, and made her more distrustful of her
favourite partisans, than all the services of Marlborough, or the
laborious and steady duty of Godolphin, or even the able arguments of
the Duchess, could possibly have rendered her. Yet, still Anne secretly
favoured the high church party; and it was with reluctance that she
abstained from giving to the last effort for passing the bill against
occasional conformity, her decided countenance.
The measure was introduced by a manœuvre, and it was further designed to
carry it by a stratagem. By the contrivance of Lord Nottingham, it was
announced in the Gazette, without Lord Godolphin’s knowledge or
concurrence.[34] “It was resolved,” says the Duchess, “to tack the
occasional conformity bill to the money bill, a resolution which showed
the spirit of the party in its true light.”[35] The Queen,
notwithstanding that the Prince of Denmark had been prevailed upon not
to vote on the question, still had her predilections in favour of the
measure, greatly to the irritation of the proud spirit which could not
overcome those deeply-seated notions.
“I must own to you,” observes Anne, writing to the Duchess, “that I
never cared to mention anything on this subject to you, because I knew
you would not be of my mind; but since you have given me this occasion,
I can’t forbear saying, that _I see nothing like persecution in this
bill_.”
“I am in hopes,” she adds, “I shall have one look of you before you go
to St. Albans, and therefore will say no more now, but will answer your
letter more at large some other time; and only promise my dear Mrs.
Freeman, faithfully, I will read the _book_ she sent me, and never let
difference of opinion hinder us from living together as we used to do.
Nothing shall ever alter your poor, unfortunate, faithful Morley, who
will live and die, with all truth and tenderness, yours.”[36]
There is every reason to suppose that the opinions of the Duchess upon
the subject of nonconformity coincided with those of Bishop Burnet, who
was the most energetic champion of the Whigs on this occasion. Dr.
Burnet considered that measure as infringing on the principles of
toleration which he upheld; he represented it as a design of the
Jacobites, to raise such dissensions as might impede the progress of the
war. He has declared, in a lively passage of his celebrated history,
that it was his resolution never to be silent when the subject should be
debated; “for I have looked,” he adds, “on liberty of conscience as one
of the rights of human nature, antecedent to society, which no man can
give up, because it was not in his own power: and our Saviour’s rule, of
doing as we would be done by, seemed to be a very express decision to
all men who would lay the matter home to their own conscience, and judge
as they would willingly be judged by others.”[37]
It would be agreeable to conclude that the Duchess of Marlborough acted
on principles as high as those which the bishop here maintains. But it
must be allowed that her general conduct would not induce the
supposition. The cherished satisfaction of triumphing over her political
adversaries, and of exhibiting the Queen enchained under her influence,
if not convinced by her arguments, must be regarded as the source of the
steady warfare which she maintained against the predilections of her
sovereign.
Anne wrote in a strain of humility, which proceeded from the politeness
natural to her, and which impelled her to support the assumed character
of an equal, even when the prejudices of the two friends came into
collision, had ignited, and caused an explosion.
“I am sure,” she writes, “nobody shall endeavour more to promote it
(union) than your poor, unfortunate, faithful Morley, _who doth not at
all doubt of your truth and sincerity to her_, and hopes _her not
agreeing in everything you say_ will not be imputed to want of value,
esteem, or tender kindness for my dear Mrs. Freeman, it being impossible
for anybody to be more sincerely another’s than I am yours.
“I am very sorry you should forbear writing upon the apprehension of
your letters being troublesome, _since you know very well they are not,
nor ever can be so_, but the contrary, to your poor, unfortunate,
faithful Morley. Upon what my dear Mrs. Freeman says again concerning
the address, I have looked it over again, and cannot for my life see one
can put any other interpretation upon that word _pressures_, than what I
have done already. As to my saying the church was in some danger in the
late reign, I cannot alter my opinion; for though there was no violent
thing done, everybody that will speak impartially must own that
everything was leaning towards the Whigs, _and whenever that is, I shall
think the church beginning to be in danger_.”[38]
The bill was again, by a large majority, rejected, and the Queen and
Prince George became, in consequence, extremely unpopular with the high
church party, for the coolness with which they had abstained from using
their influence on this second occasion.[39]
But the triumph of the Whig party was now fast approaching. Marlborough,
after passing the winter in military preparations proportioned to the
public danger, had, as we have seen, embarked for Holland; “but few,”
says Cunningham, “perceived that England was about to unite her forces
to those of Germany.”
The progress of the great general through the territories of Cologne to
Colburg, where he left a camp; his march up the Rhine, on which he
carried his sick and wearied in boats between the two armies, marching
on either side of the “abounding river;” his encampment on a vast plain,
beyond Andernach, and his rapid progress to the Danube, are events which
demand almost a separate and distinct history, to relate them as they
merit. It was in this campaign that the gallant Eugene passed high
compliments on the spirit and deportment of the British army, and
requested to serve under the illustrious Marlborough as a volunteer. It
was here that the mutual partiality of these two brave men began, and
that a friendship was contracted between them, which proved no less
delightful to themselves than important to the interests of the war.
The march of the allied troops to Schellenberg, and the encampment
around its church, on a hill, commanding a plain, bounded by the Danube,
followed this memorable meeting. The battle of Blenheim, which
annihilated the ascendency of France, was the glorious climax of a
series of less important, yet brilliant engagements. It destroyed, at
the same time, the influence of that party in our own country, who had
prophesied, not many weeks before the important victory, that all would
end fatally for Holland and for England. Sir Edward Seymour, the leader
of the opposition in the House of Commons, inveighed against
Marlborough, before the decisive action, and whilst he lay before
Schellenberg, in the bitterest terms, and even threatened the Duke with
a severe censure of Parliament for marching his army to the Danube.
Nor was the arrogant but able Seymour a solitary railer against the
great deliverer of his country. There was a host of malcontents who
accused Marlborough of exceeding his commission, and of consulting his
private interests in the steps which he had taken; and a clamour was
raised, that the British army was led away to slaughter, in order to
serve the purposes of a single individual.
The Duchess, in her narrative, refers to the battle of Blenheim in one
short paragraph only, and that in reference to its effect upon the state
of politics in England.
“The church, in the meanwhile, it must be confessed,” she writes, “was
in a deplorable condition,—the Earls of Rochester, Jersey, and
Nottingham, and the Whigs, coming into favour.” Great were the exertions
used to reanimate the party, and also to resume the great measure
against non-conformists. “But it happened,” says the Duchess, “that my
Lord Marlborough, in the summer before the Parliament met, gained the
battle of Blenheim. This was an unfortunate accident; and, by the
visible dissatisfaction of some people on the news of it, one would have
imagined that, instead of beating the French, he had beat the church.”
It might be supposed that, from this cool and almost flippant mention of
an event in which her warmest affections ought to have been interested,
the Duchess was an indifferent witness of those stirring and important
scenes in which John Duke of Marlborough played a conspicuous part, and
in which all Europe, figuratively speaking, participated. But, whatever
were her failings, the unpardonable fault of not appreciating _him_; of
not sharing in his lofty hopes nor suffering in his anxieties; of not
prizing his safety, of not being elevated with an honest pride at his
success,—so great a deficiency in all that is healthy in moral or
intellectual condition, could not be imputed to this haughty and
capricious, but not heartless, woman. Yet, notwithstanding this
vindication of the Duchess’s character, she had parted from her husband
(will it be believed?) in anger. Amid the dangers and difficulties to
which Marlborough was exposed, he carried with him the remembrance of
other annoyances, which, whilst it neither abated his ardour nor
weakened his exertions for the great cause, added to the pressure of a
mind overcharged, and of faculties overtasked, a sense of chagrin which
must have aggravated every other care.
The stings which domestic quarrels always inflict, and which sometimes
can never, by any gentle arts, be removed, were still poignant when the
Duke quitted England for the Hague. Repentance in violent but generous
tempers quickly succeeds the indulgence of the angry taunt, or bitter
sarcasm; and when absence had cooled down those ebullitions of
irritability, which wanted, perhaps, the accustomed object to vent
themselves upon, the Duchess appears to have suffered her better
feelings to prevail, and to have experienced sincere regret that she had
parted unkindly, and perhaps for ever, from him whose life was now
exposed to every possible risk, whilst she sat at home in safety. Her
restless, but not callous mind began to be possessed with nobler
resolutions than, as it seems from his reply, the Duke ever anticipated
from his wife. Soon after his departure, she wrote to offer to join him,
to share in the anxieties, and even in the dangers, to which he was
exposed. To accede to the request was impracticable; but it gratified
the warm and generous heart of Marlborough to know that the Duchess, of
whose affection he seems never to have been fully assured, should wish
to resign for him the attractions of ease and safety, and the luxuries
of home. His letter to her, in reply to this offer, is too beautiful to
be abridged.[40]
“_Hague, April 24–May 5._
“Your letter of the 15th came to me but this minute. My Lord Treasurer’s
letter, in which it was enclosed, by some mistake was sent to Amsterdam.
I would not for anything in my power it had been lost; for it is so very
kind, that I would in return lose a thousand lives, if I had them, to
make you happy. Before I sat down to write this letter, I took yours
that you wrote at Harwich out of my strong box, and have burnt it; but,
if you will give me leave, it will be a great pleasure to me to have it
in my power to read this dear, dear letter often, and that it may be
found in my strong box when I am dead. I do this minute love you better
than I ever did in my life before. This letter of yours has made me so
happy, that I do from my soul wish we could retire, and not be blamed.
What you propose as to coming over, I should be extremely pleased with;
for your letter has so transported me, that I think you would be happier
in being here than where you are; although I should not be able to see
you often. But you will see, by my last letter as well as this, that
what you desire is impossible, for I am going up into Germany, where it
would be impossible for you to follow me; but love me as you do now, and
no hurt can follow me. You have by this kindness preserved my quiet, and
I believe my life; for, till I had this letter, I have been very
indifferent of what should become of myself. I have pressed this
business of carrying an army into Germany, in order to leave a good name
behind me, wishing for nothing else but good success. I shall now add
that of having a long life, that I may be happy with you.”
Upon the entreaty being renewed in the summer, Marlborough again
refused;[41] for he was at that time on his march to the Danube, and, in
case of an unfortunate issue to his projects, he had no place, as he
assured the Duchess, to which he could send her for safety.
“I take it extremely kind,” he writes, “that you persist in desiring to
come to me; but I am sure, when you consider that three days hence will
be a month, and that we shall be a fortnight longer before we shall get
to the Danube, so that you could hardly get to me, and back again to
Holland, before it would be time to return to England. Besides, my dear
soul, how could I be at ease? for if we should not have good success, I
could not put you in any place where you could be safe.”[42]
The courageous character of the Duchess was fully requisite to sustain
her during the events of the ensuing months of this memorable summer.
August drew on, and the crisis of the war approached. We know not how
she was supported through anxieties multiplied by rumour, and embittered
by the slanderous accusations of the envious; but the Duke her husband
had one resource, which never failed—he trusted in Providence. Whilst
weaker minds vainly confide in their own strength, or in the effect of
circumstances, which are as reeds driven to and fro by a mighty wind,
the great Marlborough, humbling himself before his supreme Creator, had
recourse to prayer. Previous to the engagement which crowned his fame,
he received the holy sacrament, and “devoted himself to the Almighty
Ruler, and Lord of Hosts,” whom it might please to sustain him in the
hour of battle, or to receive him into everlasting peace if he fell.[43]
There are those who will justly think that the pious ordinances of our
religion were profaned by the cause of bloodshed; and that an
all-merciful Father would look down with displeasure upon the deliberate
destruction of thousands, even when projected with the purest and most
patriotic motives. The better sense of our own peaceful times has
brought us to a due conviction of the wickedness of all war not
defensive: that in which Marlborough was engaged may, nevertheless, be
considered to have borne that character.
When the great victory was won, Marlborough’s first thoughts were of the
Queen, of the people, of his wife. After a battle which lasted five
hours, having been himself sixteen hours on horseback, and whilst still
in pursuit of the enemy, Marlborough tore a leaf from his pocket-book,
and with a black-lead pencil wrote these hasty lines:
“_August 13, 1704._
“I have not time to say more, but to beg you will give my duty to the
Queen, and let her know that her army has had a glorious victory. M.
Tallard and the other generals are in my coach,[44] and I am following
the rest. The bearer, my aide-de-camp, will give her an account of what
has passed. I shall do it in a day or two by another more at large.
“MARLBOROUGH.”
The battle of Blenheim silenced everything but acclamations of joy and
gratitude. The Duke, after various other successes, returned to England
on the fourteenth of December, 1704, worn out with hardships, rather
than elated with success. Throughout the whole of the campaign, his
coolness had been combined with an ardent courage, which never lost
sight, for an instant, of the interests of humanity, in so far as the
great lessons of forbearance handed down to us can be united with the
profession of arms. His modesty, as he returned, bringing with him as a
prisoner the famous Marshal Tallard, was no less remarkable. Abroad, he
was treated as a prince, and he consented to wear the character for the
benefit of that cause which he espoused, and for the honour of those
allies whom he represented; but, on returning home, Marlborough became
again the subject, the least obtrusive of men; and, “in point of
courtesy,” on an equal footing with the lowest in England.[45]
This note was written on a slip of paper torn from a memorandum-book; it
had probably been taken from some commissary’s bill, as it was written,
along with the important intelligence, on a list of tavern expenses, and
an entry of bread furnished to the troops. The precious despatch is
preserved in the archives of Blenheim. Colonel Parker, who carried it to
the Queen, requested, instead of the usual donation of five hundred
pounds, to be honoured by the gift of her Majesty’s picture. The Queen
granted the permission, and presented him with her miniature; and the
gallant officer chose to be represented himself, by the pencil of
Kneller, as wearing the miniature, with the despatch in his hand, and
the battle in the back-ground.[46]
After innumerable honours paid to the victorious general, and, among
others, a combat of wild beasts for his entertainment at Berlin,[47] the
Duke was able to return to his home, where all his real happiness was
centered. He had owned, in one of his letters from Weissemberg, that his
heart ached at the anticipation of a journey of eight hundred miles,
before he could reach the Hague: and innumerable obstacles delayed his
return until the fourth of December, when the wearied general sailed up
the Thames in one of the royal yachts, landed at Whitehall stairs, and
proceeded the same afternoon to St. James’s, where he was graciously
received by the Queen and Prince George.[48] The French prisoners, whom
he was said by his political enemies to have brought for the purpose of
adorning his triumph, were sent to Nottingham, for the ministry did not
venture to trust these foreigners at Oxford this year; a singular, and
as some persons thought, an indecorous respect and attention having been
shown two years before, by the Oxonians, to some French prisoners of war
who were quartered in their city.[49]
This was a proud era in the life of the Duchess of Marlborough. The year
1705 began with splendid processions, in which she and her husband acted
a conspicuous part. On the third of January the trophies reaped in the
battle of Blenheim were removed from their first place of deposit, the
Tower, to Westminster Hall. Companies of horse and foot-guards led the
way; persons of rank were intermixed with the troops, and a hundred and
twenty-eight pikemen, each bearing a standard, closed the triumphal
procession. The Queen viewed the whole from the windows of the Lord
Fitzharding’s lodgings in the palace, attended by her favourite, who
heard, in the triumphant acclamations of the excited multitude, signals
of destruction, ominous not only to our foreign foes, but presaging the
downfal of political party opposed to her at home.
A grand entertainment at the city, in the Goldsmiths’-hall, succeeded
this interesting display. Marlborough was conveyed to the banquet in one
of the royal carriages, and gazed upon with curiosity and enthusiasm by
the multitude. At Templebar he was received by the city marshals with
the usual ceremonies.[50]
On the eleventh of the same month, the House of Commons unanimously
agreed to send up an address to the Queen, humbly desiring that she
would graciously be pleased to consider of some proper means to
perpetuate the memory of those services which had been performed by the
Duke of Marlborough.[51]
The Queen, having returned an answer that she would give the subject her
consideration, on the seventeenth sent a message to the House,
acquainting the members that she did incline to grant the interest of
the crown in the honour and manor of Woodstock, and hundred of Wootton,
to the Duke of Marlborough and his heirs; and desired the assistance of
the House on this extraordinary occasion.
The lieutenancy and rangerships of the Park of Woodstock and Wootton,
with the rent and profits of the manor and hundreds, having been already
granted for two lives, her Majesty thought proper that the encumbrance
should be cleared.
In compliance with her Majesty’s wishes, a bill was immediately brought
in and passed, enabling her to carry into effect both these
propositions; and the ancient royal domain of Woodstock, under the
illustrious name of Blenheim, became the possession of the Duke of
Marlborough and his heirs, upon the tribute of “a standard, or colours,
with three flowers-de-luce painted on them, for all manner of rent,
services,” &c., to be presented annually, on the second of August, to
the Queen, her heirs and successors.[52]
This munificent reward was increased soon afterwards by an order from
the Queen to the Board of Works, to build, at the royal expense, a
palace, which was to be entitled the Castle of Blenheim. A model of this
edifice was framed for the approbation of the Queen, and the work begun
under the superintendence of the celebrated John Vanburgh, then
considered to be one of the most able architects of his time.
The important results of the battle of Blenheim could not be disputed,
even by the bitterest enemies of Marlborough. The French, on their part,
attached such direful effects on their country to this victory, that a
proclamation was published in France, making it unlawful to speak of
it;[53] nor could its consequences be concealed from those who would
have been most desirous not to perceive them. “The power of France was,”
says the Duchess, “broken by it to a great degree, and the liberties and
peace of Europe were in a fair way to be established on firm and lasting
foundations.”[54] Yet scandalous reports were, nevertheless, circulated
respecting Marlborough, and the ungrateful world scrupled not still to
say that he carried on the war for his own private advantage, more
especially for the accumulation of wealth, to which he was generally
supposed to be addicted. But the Duke, although invited by his friends
to spend more freely the vast fortune which he was yearly accumulating,
adhered to those habits of frugality for which he had been remarkable
even in his youth, and which, evincing an orderly mind, may be supposed
to have conduced to the success of his plans through life.