State of parties—Friendship of Marlborough and Godolphin—Discovery of
Mr. Harley’s practices—Intrigues of the Court.
The Duke of Marlborough possessed at this time the confidence and amity
of the most eminent of the Whig leaders. Notwithstanding the efforts
which, in conjunction with Godolphin, he made to preserve a dignified,
and, as he deemed it, a salutary neutrality between the two great
parties, the Whigs had, during many sessions, regarded him as their own;
and the jealousy which they are said to have entertained of his
proceedings, guided by a more moderate spirit than their own, was not
manifested when their appreciation of his public character came to be
put to the proof.
In Godolphin, his dearest friend, his whole confidence was reposed.
These two great men had but one heart, one mind. On all important
subjects they saw, they felt, in the same manner and degree. Their
correspondence breathes the sentiments of a perfect union, and of the
most unreserved communication. Their friendship was the handmaid to
Marlborough’s glory; it was his rock of defence, when from the camp he
turned his longing gaze to England; it was his sure resource, when
buffeted by cabals abroad. To Godolphin, Marlborough owed much; and it
may be said that his glory was reflected upon the honest and experienced
Lord Treasurer. But Godolphin was indebted to his union with the
Marlborough family for some obloquy, and for much jealousy, both at
court and among the people. His close alliance with them was looked upon
ungraciously; and, by some, even the constitution was thought to be
endangered by the overweening influence of Marlborough, and by the fact
that the army, the treasury, and the ascendency at foreign courts, were
all centered in one family.[111]
Godolphin, however, seems to have been content to share the downfal of
his friends the Duke and Duchess. Hitherto he had supported the
continuance of the war, by every argument which he could suggest to the
Queen, and had thus incurred her displeasure.[112] He had listened to
the faction, whilst consolidating the Union with Scotland, in opposition
to the counsels of Somers, and of Chancellor Cowper, and had thus
forfeited their esteem. To this measure his ruin has been imputed.
“Though that man,” says Cunningham, “had nothing in him that was abject,
nothing mean, nothing low, except the lowliness of his mind, which was
naturally disposed to be humble, yet he had not spirit and magnanimity
equal to the settlement of the kingdoms; and, with regard to posthumous
fame, he was indifferent to all posterity but his own.”[113]
Yet, perhaps, the instrument which most effectually lowered the
influence of Godolphin was the hatred and consequent ill offices of
Harley. Between these two ministers disunion had long since widened into
entire aversion; and it was the aim of each to disparage and almost to
ruin the other.[114] This disgust added a fresh incentive to the thirst
for power to which Harley’s ambitious nature made him prone; whilst it
was confirmed by his dislike and dread of that Duchess who had ever
recourse to Godolphin’s counsels in times of difficulty.
The party which supported Marlborough was still, however, unbroken, and
still pre-eminent. Lord Cowper, the distinguished chancellor, who was
the greatest orator of his time, owed his elevation to the great men
with whom Marlborough was allied. Lord Somers, infirm in health, and
almost incapacitated from taking any part in public affairs, still gave
the Whigs the benefits of his wisdom and experience.
Lord Halifax was in the vigour of his physical strength, and of his
judgment; whilst Wharton, by his activity and industry, was ready to
probe the strength and weakness of those who opposed his party, and
generally succeeded in obtaining a knowledge of their intrigues. These
powerful-minded men were aided by Lord Sunderland and Mr. Boyle, the two
Secretaries of State—men in the prime of life, who with ease fulfilled
the laborious duties imposed on them by their offices.[115]
These distinguished politicians were now, according to the Duchess of
Marlborough, the objects of Harley’s intrigues. About the same time that
Mrs. Masham’s secret influence over the Queen was discovered, Lord
Godolphin obtained information of Mr. Harley’s practices, both within
and without. His design, according to this partial authority, was “to
ruin the Whigs by disuniting them from the ministry, and so to pave the
way for the Tories to rise again; whom he thought to unite in himself,
as their head, after he had made it impossible for them to think of a
reconciliation with the Duke of Marlborough and Lord Godolphin.”[116]
The Duchess lost no time in acquainting the Duke, who was still on the
continent, with this discovery. His answer to her communication bespeaks
a mind weary with the contentions of the court, and indifferent, so far
as his personal dealings were concerned, to the ascendency of his own,
or the opposing party.
“If you have good reason,” he replies, “for what you write of the
kindness and esteem the Queen has for Mrs. Masham and Mr. Harley, my
opinion should be, that my Lord Treasurer and I should tell her Majesty
what is good for herself; and if that will not prevail, to be quiet, and
to let Mr. Harley and Mrs. Masham do what they please; for I own I am
quite tired, and if the Queen can be safe, I shall be glad. I hope the
Lord Treasurer will be of my mind; and then we shall be much happier
than by being in a perpetual struggle.”
At a later time he remarks—
“What you write concerning the Queen, Mr. Harley, and Mrs. Masham, is of
that consequence, that I think no time is to be lost in putting a stop
to that management, or else let them have it entirely in their own
hands.”
This, however, was an easier task for the Duke to advise, than for the
Duchess to adopt. The Queen had still so great a portion of regard left
for her early playmate and friend, that she might yet have relented, if
the Duchess would at least have remained passively in the shade, or
sustained her reverse of favour with dignified equanimity. Such a part
would have been politic, and it might have been successful; for in most
quarrels it is the petty provocations which embitter enmities, whilst
the first grave cause is comparatively but little felt.
It is evident that Queen Anne had neither the inclination nor the
courage to undertake an open quarrel with her ministry, nor with her
early, and still dreaded, perhaps still beloved, friend. Upon hearing
from Lord Godolphin his suspicions of the mischief that Harley intended
to the party to which he and Marlborough were attached, her Majesty was
at first incredulous; but when assured by the Lord Treasurer that if
Harley remained in the royal favour, he and Lord Marlborough must quit
her Majesty’s service, she became alarmed, and immediately wrote a
letter full of affection, and indeed of submission, to her “dear Mrs.
Freeman.” These extraordinary productions, such as were never perhaps
addressed before, nor since, by a sovereign to a subject, were either
the effect of artful advice, or of pusillanimous caution; since they
were followed by no amendment in respect to certain matters complained
of, nor by any returning kindness for the discarded friend whom she
addressed.[117]
Lord Godolphin also touched upon private matters, and endeavoured to
enlighten the mind of her Majesty upon the ever-recurring feuds of Mrs.
Masham and the Duchess. “I remember,” relates the latter in her
manuscript Vindication, “he told me he had convinced the Queen indeed
that Mrs. Masham was in the wrong, but that she showed she was very
desirous to think her in the right.”[118]
This disposition in her Majesty rendered any hopes of a final
reconciliation visionary. But the explanation brought some symptoms of
relenting, from the haughty and elated Abigail.
The Duchess remained some time at St. James’s, in anxious expectation of
hearing from Mrs. Masham, who, she now supposed, would endeavour to
clear up all uneasiness that had arisen between her and her noble
relative. But, to her surprise, day after day passed, and not even a
message arrived, although the wrathful Sarah and her rival slept twelve
days under the same roof. “At length,” relates the Duchess, “she having
passed by her window one night on my return home, sent one of her maids
to my woman, to ask _her_ how I did, and to let me know she was gone to
Kensington.”
This behaviour appeared so ridiculous, and probably so absurdly
condescending to the Duchess, that she could not forbear speaking of it
to the Queen, the next time she saw her Majesty. To her surprise and
consternation, the Queen defended Mrs. Masham; she looked grave, and
answered that Mrs. Masham was “mightily in the right not to go near her
grace.” Upon this reply, a sharp altercation ensued. The Duchess
returned with spirit, “that she did not understand _that_, since a
clearing up of a mutual misunderstanding had been left until a meeting
took place between her and her cousin.” To this Anne, who had gained an
unwonted supply of resolution, returned, that “it was very natural that
Mrs. Masham should be afraid of going near the Duchess, when she saw
that she was angry with her.” The Duchess retaliated by saying, “that
her cousin could have no reason to be afraid, unless she knew herself
guilty of some crime.” But she could elicit no further explanation from
the Queen; for Anne was not fertile in argument, and had besides a
practice, when she was obstinately bent upon any point, of repeating
over and over again the same words. This provoking custom of
substituting repetition instead of argument, which, according to the
Duke of Marlborough, the Queen inherited from King James, she now called
into requisition, to repel the fierce interrogatories of her exasperated
and awful friend. “So she continued,” relates the Duchess, “to say it
was very natural, and she was very much in the right.” And all that her
mortified but unsubdued listener could glean from this conversation was,
that the new favourite was deeply rooted in her Majesty’s heart, and
that it would be more advisable to come to open hostilities with her
ungrateful cousin, than to take any measures to mend the breach between
them. It was on one of these occasions that the Duchess closed the door
of the closet in which she and the Queen sat, with such violence, that
the noise echoed through the whole apartment.[119]
Incensed as she was, a visit from Mrs. Masham, two days afterwards,
failed to soothe the offended Duchess. She was abroad when the lowly
Abigail called; but she took care, on her return, to give a general
order to her servants, to say, whenever Mrs. Masham came, that she “was
not at home.” But, after some time, an interview took place by mutual
appointment. The scene was such as might have been expected. The
conversation began by the Duchess reproaching Mrs. Masham with the
change in the Queen’s sentiments towards her, which she could not fail
to attribute entirely to Mrs. Masham’s secret influence over her
Majesty. She upbraided her cousin for her concealment of that intimacy
and confidence with which the Queen honoured her; and told her that she
considered such artifice as a very bad sign of the motives which
dictated such conduct. “It was certain,” the Duchess added, “that no
good intentions towards herself could influence her actions.”
Mrs. Masham was, as it seems, prepared with a reply full of
condescension and insult. “To this,” says the Duchess, “she very gravely
answered, that she was sure the Queen, who had always loved me
extremely, would always be very kind to me. It was some minutes before I
could recover from the surprise with which so extraordinary an answer
struck me. To see a woman whom I have raised out of the dust, put on
such a superior air, and to hear her assure me, by way of consolation,
that the Queen would always be very kind to me!” Yet restraining the
impetuous burst of passion which might have been expected, she remained
silent; “for I was stunned,” she observes, “to hear her say so strange a
thing.”[120]
The Duchess then taunted Mrs. Masham with carrying to the Queen tales
against some, and petitions in favour of other members of her Majesty’s
household. Mrs. Masham, on the other hand, defended herself by saying
that she only took to her royal mistress certain petitions which came to
the back-stairs, and with which she knew that the Duchess did not care
to be troubled. This perversion of facts did not blind the Duchess to
the actual state of affairs, and the conversation ended in a long and
ominous silence, broken by Mrs. Masham’s rising, and saying she hoped
that the Duchess would sometimes give her leave to inquire after her
health. Notwithstanding this condescending speech, the lady in power
never once deigned, nor dared, to visit the dejected and deserted
favourite.
Partly from policy, and, probably, partly from curiosity to see how
matters stood, the Duchess thought proper, when her cousin’s marriage
was publicly announced, to visit her with Lady Sunderland, purely,
however, as she alleged, out of respect to the Queen, and to avoid any
noise or disagreeable discourse which her refusing that ordinary act of
civility might occasion. Fortunately, however, for the peace of St.
James’s, the ungrateful bride was not at home when this undeserved
honour was paid to her, by one from whom she had merited nothing but
neglect.
The breach, however certain, and however sure the process by which it
was widened, was not, as yet, perceptible to the court. Possibly all
were reluctant to open a battery of anecdote and scandal against the
redoubtable Sarah, who might be restored to her long-asserted
ascendency. The Duchess was not without hopes of resuming her influence.
During the Christmas holidays, she went to pay her respects to the
Queen; but had the misery of learning from the page, before she went in,
that Mrs. Masham had just been sent for. The last interview in which the
least traces of friendly regard might be observed, must be told in the
Duchess’s own words. It is evident that she had some lingering
expectations that all differences might yet be healed, and that the
Queen’s regard could be revived.
“The moment I saw her Majesty, I plainly perceived she was uneasy. She
stood all the while I was with her, and looked as coldly on me as if her
intention was that I should no longer doubt of my loss of her
affections. Upon observing what reception I had, I said ‘I was sorry I
had happened to come so unseasonably.’ I was making my courtesy to go
away, when the Queen, with a great deal of disorder in her face, and
without speaking one word, took me by the hand. And when, thereupon, I
stooped to kiss hers, she took me up with a very cold embrace, and then,
without one kind word, let me go. So strange a treatment of me, after my
long and faithful services, and after such repeated assurances from her
Majesty of an unalterable affection, made me think that I ought, in
justice to myself, as well as in regard to my mistress’s interest, to
write to her in the plainest and sincerest manner possible, and
expostulate with her upon her change to me, and upon the new counsels by
which she seemed to be wholly governed.”
The letter addressed on this occasion by the Duchess to the Queen was
truly characteristic of the honest mind by which it was framed. There is
neither flattery nor violence, in the simple declaration of wounded
feeling, expressed in the Duchess’s forcible language; and Queen Anne
appears to have been touched by the direct appeal to her best
dispositions, which it contains.[121] For some days, indeed, no notice
was taken of this remarkable epistle; but after a short time had
elapsed, an answer was presented to the Duchess, who found in it
symptoms of a relenting spirit in her altered sovereign; and, anxious on
account of others, as well as for her own comfort, to avoid an open
rupture, “she endeavoured once more to put on as easy an appearance as
she could.”[122]
Upon a review of the circumstances which attended this notable quarrel,
the character of the Duchess appears in a much more favourable light
than, from the many defects of her ill-governed mind, could reasonably
have been expected. In the first instance, she was generous to her
kinswoman, confiding, and lenient. Slow in being aroused to suspicion,
her conduct was straightforward and judicious when the truth was forced
upon her unwilling conviction. She acted with sincerity, but not with
address; and feelings too natural for a courtier to indulge were
betrayed in the course of those altercations in which the character of
Abigail is displayed in the worst colours. Artful and plausible, yet
daring and insolent, according to circumstances—shameless in her
ingratitude, the mean and despicable tool of others, with few advantages
of education,—that abject but able woman acquired an ascendency over the
mind of Anne that was truly astonishing.
The poor Queen is to be pitied—we dare not say despised—for her
subserviency, her little artifices, her manœuvres in closets and the
back stairs, her degrading connivance at duplicity, her thirst for
flattery, or for what she termed friendship. Her confidence and
affection, thus extended towards an unworthy object, henceforth weakened
rather than adorned her character.
It is remarkable, that when she learned to dispense with the friendship
of the Marlborough family, the Queen ceased to be great abroad and
respected at home.