Vexations and disappointments which harassed the Duke and Duchess of
Marlborough—Vacillations of Anne—Her appointment of Tory bishops.
The ensuing five or six years of the life of the Duchess of Marlborough
present little else than annals of party rivalries and of court
dissensions. Those who once envied her had now their revenge. To thirst
still for power, and to be bowed down ever and anon by a secret but
all-pervading influence; to witness one day the altered countenance of
her royal mistress, and to experience, the next, relentings of her
sovereign’s weak mind; to suffer the sneers of her adversaries, and to
encounter the still more grating pity of her friends; to be blamed by
all parties, and even reviled by almost all the Whig leaders, save the
devoted and moderate Marlborough, or the faithful Godolphin,—these were
the trials of the Duchess’s middle age.
That her temper was soured by these vicissitudes of hope and fear, and
by the excitement of all those angry passions which disappointment
kindles, cannot be doubted. From the great age which she attained, and
from the clearness of her intellect until the close of her existence,
there is no reason to suppose that her health, or even her spirits, were
eventually impaired by the everlasting contentions of which she was the
centre.
For a while, after her explanatory letter to the Queen, and her
Majesty’s reply, “the great breach,” as the Duchess calls it, was not
made public.[123] It was some time before Marlborough and Godolphin
could be convinced of the secret influence which Harley exercised, or
that the former, especially, could be induced to take the matter
seriously to heart. The Duchess in vain importuned him to revenge her
wrongs, and harassed him until he was heart-sick with the details of all
that her enemies performed and projected. “You may be sure,” writes the
Duke to her from Helchin, on Sept. 19, 1707, “I shall never mention Mrs.
Masham, either in letter or discourse. I am so weary of all this sort of
management, that I think it is the greatest folly in the world to think
any struggling can do good when both sides have a mind to be
angry.”[124]
Yet, in spite of this simple philosophy, the poor Duke was constrained
to acknowledge himself “not the same man,” after vexatious and
embarrassing letters had reached him from England. It was not, however,
long before the Queen’s dispositions were completely manifest. It was
said that Prince George was brought into the scheme to co-operate with
Harley against the Whigs, and that his mind was worked on by
representations that he had not his due share in the government, and
that he was excluded from it by the great power which the Duke of
Marlborough and the Lord Treasurer exercised. The Queen, it was alleged
by the new favourites, was a mere cipher in the Duchess’s hands, whilst
the Duke controlled her affairs; and it was moreover declared to her
that there was not now a single Jacobite in the kingdom;[125] an
assertion made to dissipate her fears of the high church ascendency—with
what foundation, the succeeding years fully evinced.
There were now three bishopricks vacant; and the Queen quickly marked
the course which she meant to pursue, by appointing Dr. Blackhall to the
see of Exeter, and Dr. William James to that of Chester. These divines
were, indeed, men of excellent character, and so far the Queen was able
to justify herself to her ministry that she would have none but such men
appointed to bishoprics. But they were likewise strong Tories, who had
submitted to the Revolution, yet condemned it, and had objected to all
the measures by which that great event had been followed. To qualify
this proceeding, the Queen made other translations more acceptable to
the Whigs; and before the meeting of parliament, in a conference of the
leading members of that party, they were assured that her heart was
wholly with them; yet Harley’s industrious endeavours to convince the
Tories that such was not the case, and that the Queen was weary of their
adversaries, and knew her friends, were calculated to counteract that
impression.
Marlborough lost no time, when news of these nominations reached him
from England, of expostulating with the Queen upon her choice of the two
bishops. A letter, addressed by him to Lord Godolphin, being shown to
the Queen, drew from her Majesty a vehement defence of Harley, with an
explicit denial, at the same time, of her having been influenced by him
in her late conduct.[126] “Mr. Harley,” she assured her great general,
“knew nothing of her Tory appointments, until it was the talk of the
town.” She disclaimed my Lady Marlborough’s imputation, as she deemed
it, that she had an entire confidence in Harley; and wondered “how Lady
Marlborough could say such a thing, when she had been so often assured
from her that she relied on none but Mr. Freeman and Mr. Montgomery.”
The Duke, after an earnest expostulation in reply to this letter,
suspended his remonstrances, calmly awaiting the current of events by
which we are carried along in life, often independent of our free wills.
He remained abroad all the summer, endeavouring to draw his affairs in
Holland to a close, and solacing his wearied and vexed spirit with the
hopes of one day enjoying in tranquillity the shades of Woodstock. Much
of his time and thoughts was devoted to the completion and decoration of
that magnificent palace, destined for two as gifted beings and stately
inhabitants as ever trod its banquet-hall. In the midst of war, and,
what harassed him far more, of politics, he turned with almost youthful
delight to the minutiæ of those preparations for his luxurious home,
which had in his mind an association with a deep-felt sentiment.
“My glasses,” he writes from Meldert, “are come, and I have bespoke the
hangings; for one of my greatest pleasures is in doing all that in me
lies, that we may as soon as possible enjoy that happy time of being
quietly together, which I think of with pleasure, as often as I have my
thoughts free to myself.”[127]
And when the Duchess, in her letters, responded to these sentiments, his
pleasure was blended with affectionate gratitude.
“I am obliged to you for your kind expression concerning Woodstock; it
is certainly a pleasure to me when I hear the work goes on, for it is
there I must be happy with you. The greatest pleasure I have, when I am
alone, is the thinking of this, and flattering myself that we may then
live so as to anger neither God nor men, if the latter be reasonable;
but if they are otherways, I shall not much care, if _you_ are pleased,
and that I do my duty to God; for ambition and business is what after
this war shall be abandoned by me.”[128]
The Duke wrote habitually in this strain; but of late, the hollowness of
those whose personal advancement constitutes the sole business of their
lives, had been painfully manifested to him. Since the knowledge of the
Duchess’s downfal had become general, her failings, and the defects of
the whole “Marlburghian faction,” as it has been called by a
contemporary writer, constituted the subject of general conversation;
“being,” says the caustic, but not dispassionate Cunningham, “bandied
about the town by gossiping women, and by them greedily sucked in;
whilst the inexperienced multitude, who, for the most part, look with
envy on the grandeur and good fortune of their superiors, rejoiced at
the Duchess of Marlborough’s disgrace, and began to carry themselves
with great insolence, as if any one of themselves were to have succeeded
her in the Queen’s favour.”[129]
The Duchess, meantime, retired to Windsor; and, according to the same
authority, “lived in quiet, nor did she take any pains to appease the
anger of the incensed Queen;” although repeatedly advised by her friend
Mr. Mainwaryng, not to absent herself wholly from the court,—a line of
conduct which he urged, not solely on her own account, but for the good
of her friends. But the Duchess disregarded his admonitions; and by this
indifference the artful Mrs. Masham gained ground, skilfully availing
herself of her rival’s absence to ingratiate herself more and more in
the Queen’s favour. Prince George, it appears, was unfavourable to the
Masham faction. As a spectator, comparatively but little concerned in
all that passed, he probably dreaded the intrigues, the petty
commotions, among the female hierarchy, which disturbed his conjugal
repose. The Queen, at this time, fell into the inconvenient habit of
holding nocturnal conferences with the Harley and Masham confederacy,
and her health suffered in consequence. A humour in her eyes was the
subject of public concern; and Prince George remarked in public, that it
was no wonder she should suffer, but rather that she should not be
otherwise indisposed, from late hours. This remark is said not to have
fallen from him unawares. It was evident, in the sequel, that the Prince
deemed the removal of Harley from the confidence of her Majesty
indispensable.
The Duchess now aroused herself from her apathy; but it was too late.
She employed spies about the Queen, and gained intelligence of all that
happened. She worked upon the minds of Marlborough and Godolphin, and
besought, if she did not command, their interference in the matter.
Serious thoughts of quitting her employments, and of resigning her
offices in favour of her daughters, having received from the Queen a
sort of vague promise that her employments should be made over to them,
now occupied her mind. For some time, the advice of friends, and more
especially of her confidential correspondent, Mr. Mainwaring, delayed
the performance of her intention. Yet, before finally giving up the
game, she was anxious to make one more effort against the adverse party.
Before affairs came to a crisis, the discovery of a treasonable
correspondence between a man named Gregg, and the Queen’s enemies
abroad, arrested the downfal of the Marlborough family, and delayed the
elevation of Harley. Gregg was a clerk in the office of the Secretary of
State, and much in his confidence; and there were many who hesitated not
to consider the secretary as implicated in the delinquencies of his
clerk. Yet it was by Harley that the affair was first brought to
light.[130] More especially, Lord Sunderland charged Harley with being
privy to the crime of Gregg; nor could the asseverations of the culprit,
who was drawn in a sledge to the place of execution, and hanged, wholly
silence the bitter accusations and unworthy suspicions of Sunderland.
The Queen, when urged to investigate the conduct of Harley, showed
considerable reluctance to act in the matter. She was “moved,” to use an
old-fashioned expression, when Marlborough and Godolphin spoke to her on
the subject.[131] When, irritated by her determined though meek
opposition, they told her plainly that it was impossible for them to do
her Majesty any service whilst Mr. Harley remained in the council, she
was still firm; and to the expressed resolution of Godolphin to leave
her, she seemed insensible. But when Marlborough proffered his
resignation, her royal heart was touched, and she studied by arguments
and compliments to change his determination; but both her Treasurer and
her General quitted her presence in disgust.
Anne repaired on the same day to the council, where Harley opened some
matters relating to foreign affairs. The whole board seemed to be
infected with sullenness; and, upon the Duke of Somerset remarking that
it was impossible to transact any business whilst the General and the
Treasurer were away, a deeper gloom overspread the faces of those who
were present. The Queen then perceived that she must yield—a conviction
which she received with feminine wrath and perverseness. She sent the
next day for Marlborough, and told him that Mr. Harley should in two
days be dismissed; but she gave her concurrence to this desired measure
with a deep resentment, which her tenacity of impressions rendered
indelible.
It might now be expected that the Duchess’s restoration to favour would
ensue; but those who looked for such a termination of the political
broil knew nothing of human nature. Anne never forgave being compelled
to part with Harley. Her ministers perceived that they had lost her
confidence; and Harley, through the favour of Mrs. Masham, still enjoyed
opportunities of “practising upon the passions and credulity of the
Queen,” as Lady Marlborough expresses it.
Among those members of the ministry who went out of office in
consequence of Harley’s dismissal, was the celebrated Henry St. John,
who immortalised the name of Bolingbroke.[132] He at that time held the
office of Secretary at War; but his rise to political influence had
begun in the earliest years of the Queen’s reign.
Of a most powerful natural capacity, to which were added splendid
attainments, the result of a careful education acting upon an ardent and
grasping mind,—of great but misdirected ambition,—Lord Bolingbroke was
one of those men by whom Fate dealt unkindly, in subjecting them to the
temptations of a political career. There is, indeed, no reason to
conclude that Bolingbroke, untempted by that ambition to which he
sacrificed so much, would have adorned private life by purity and
temperance,—which were not the fashionable virtues of the day. When even
the high-minded and reflecting Somers could tarnish his great qualities
by licentious habits, there can be little cause to wonder that one who,
like Bolingbroke, lived in a whirlwind, could be profane without a
blush, and grossly immoral without contrition. Born not only with strong
passions, but more especially with the most perilous of all, the passion
for notoriety, Bolingbroke had not the protecting influence of a
religious faith to temper his extravagances, nor to chasten his erring
spirit when the dark hour had passed away, and had left his mind free to
admire and worship the beauty of virtue; and to draw the comparison
between his own conduct, and that rule which should have been his guide.
The cable by which he was connected with that anchor which alone can
keep the frail bark firm, was cut away. The infidelity of Bolingbroke,
and his endeavours to impress his opinions upon others, are too well
known to require further comment.
It may be well, from his intimate connexion with the political affairs
of the day, as well as from the regard which the Duke of Marlborough
once entertained for him, to trace the progress of that extraordinary
mind, and of that inconsistent yet lofty character, of which
Bolingbroke, both in his works and in the history of his life, has left
us ample records.
It may seem unfair to say, that his early scepticism and his youthful
thirst for distinction may be attributed, in some measure, to his
education among individuals of the Presbyterian persuasion. Not that we
mean, by such an assertion, to cast the slightest reflection upon the
pious and generally conscientious body of non-conformists. But
Bolingbroke, like many other young persons whose friends are opposed on
matters of controversy, was the object of persuasion—the innocent cause
of polemical discussion—the victim of well-meant efforts which drew in
contrary ways.
This gifted descendant of a long line of eminent and ennobled warriors
and statesmen was born at Battersea, in Surrey, in the year 1672, at the
house of his paternal grandfather, Sir Walter St. John. The civil
commotions, in which his grandfather had taken a prominent part, were
then, in those later days of Charles the Second, hushed, not quelled;
and the effects of political and polemical differences not only still
existed, but were cherished as sacred recollections by the elder
branches of the St. John family, of whom Lady St. John, the grandmother
of Bolingbroke, was an influential member. This excellent and zealous
lady, although a charitable benefactress to the orthodox institutions of
her village, was a steady adherent to the Puritans, and an earnest
promoter of their principles in the mind of her youthful grandson.
Unluckily she adopted that course of instruction which has been found to
be peculiarly unsuccessful in training the minds of youth to certain
religious impressions. It is universally remarked how little we respect
what we have been forced to commit to memory,—however valuable may be
the subject, however attractive the form of what we are thus compelled
to receive into our rebellious imaginations. The spiritual adviser of
Lady St. John, and the instructor of Bolingbroke, was Daniel Burgess,
one of those singular compounds of fanaticism, shrewdness, humour, and
obstinacy, who often obtain so remarkable an influence over the
strongest intellects, as well as the most devout hearts. This zealous
man acted with the usual blindness to the inclinations of youth, and
with the ignorance of human nature which such persons display. “I was
obliged,” says Lord Bolingbroke, writing almost with loathing of his
earlier days, “while yet a boy, to read over the Commentaries of Dr.
Manton, whose pride it was to have made an hundred and nineteen sermons
on the hundred and nineteenth Psalm.”
These spiritual exercises were, it is more than probable, counteracted,
or at least discouraged, by his grandfather, who, after the Restoration,
conformed to the national church, and received into his family, as
chaplain, the learned Dr. Patrick, afterwards Bishop of Chichester and
Ely, who remained many years in his family.
Henry, the object of these well-intended cares, claimed, on his mother’s
side, an alliance with the ancient and noble family of Rich, Earl of
Warwick; from which loyal house he probably received those predilections
for the Tory party which a mother could so easily implant; an influence
which no non-conformist divine could readily counteract. But whilst thus
he grew up, culling from different sources contrary opinions, it is
probable that from his Presbyterian tutor he acquired that ardour for
singular distinction, which is the characteristic mark of sectarianism
of every description, and by which, indeed, in conjunction often with
higher motives, its ramifications are extended and maintained.
It was not until after Bolingbroke had passed the period of early youth,
that this love of display, not to dignify it with the name of ambition,
took a higher aim than the desire of being the most lavish, the most
fearless, the most eccentric, and the most profane profligate of his
age. At Oxford, his powerful comprehension, his ready wit, the subtility
of his reasoning, the extent of his memory, raised expectations of his
career, which were soon dissipated by his mad and outrageous, rather
than sensual course of pleasures. When he moved into the sphere of
fashion to which his birth entitled him, it became his degrading boast
that his mistress was the most expensive of her class; and that he could
drink a greater quantity of wine, without intoxication, than any of his
companions. Yet, in the midst of such associates as envied or extolled
his supremacy, St. John never wholly lost that desire for better things,
that love of knowledge, and value of intellectual excellence, which
afterwards raised him from debasement, and which still ennoble his name,
in spite of his unprincipled political career, and of the obliquity of
his moral conduct.
It was not until the latter end of the reign of William, and after his
first marriage, that Henry St. John applied himself to politics. He was
then twenty-eight years of age. Unhappily for him, he consulted what he
deemed expediency (his guide through life) in the first respectable
connexion that he formed. He married the daughter and co-heiress of Sir
Henry Winchescomb, a descendant from the famous clothier, Jack of
Newbury, who entertained Henry the Eighth and his suite. The union which
St. John thought proper to form might have been considered prudent by
his friends, but it proved adverse to all improvement in his domestic
conduct. His wife, though commended for her personal and mental
accomplishments, yet failed in fixing the gay, inconstant Bolingbroke. A
separation ensued; and though much of the lady’s fortune, which amounted
to forty thousand pounds, became the portion of her husband, it was
subsequently, with the exception of some estates, given back to her
family after his attainder.
So far his worldly interests were concerned; but it was Bolingbroke’s
fate, in after life, to attach himself strongly to the wife of the
Marquis de Villette, the niece of Madam de Maintenon, and to be truly,
passionately, and long hopelessly attached. His jealousies, his
uncertainties, the sickness of hope deferred, were a retribution to his
former indulgence of what are too lightly termed the pleasant vices; in
which his vanity, perhaps his passions were concerned, but in which the
heart participated not.
Bolingbroke entered parliament in 1700, as member for Wotton-Basset, on
the Whig interest. His wife’s connexions, as well as his own, had
considerable influence in the political world. But the natural and
acquired attributes of the young politician were far more potent than
family influence, which can place a man in the national assembly, as one
may plant a tree, but cannot make it grow, nor enable it to stand the
wintry blast.
It was, perhaps, not among the least of Bolingbroke’s advantages, that
he was one of the handsomest men of his time. Notwithstanding the
dissolute life which he had led up to the period of manhood’s prime,
when he became a noted politician, St. John retained a sweetness of
countenance which usually belongs to innocence alone, combined with a
dignity, the outward token of a high quality of mind, and perhaps the
hereditary mark of ancient blood. His manner was eminently fascinating;
and the awe which his acknowledged abilities might have inspired, was
dispelled by a vivacity which, strange as it may appear, has been almost
invariably the accompaniment of the most profound thinkers, and of the
most energetic actors on the stage of public life.
To these personal advantages, Bolingbroke, in the maturity of his
intellect, added an astonishing penetration into the motives and
dispositions of men. Perhaps he trusted too greatly to this faculty, for
he was often deceived, where duller spirits might have perceived the
truth. He possessed the art of acquiring an ascendency over all with
whom he conversed. If he could not convince, he was contented to waive
contention, and to gain his point by entertaining. His powers of
eloquence, even in that age, when the art of rhetoric was sedulously
cultivated, were supereminent. Perhaps the greatest merit of eloquence
is perspicuity; and this Bolingbroke displayed in a very uncommon
degree. A prodigious memory, the handmaid of oratory, did not ensnare
him into the fault of pedantry, common to men so endowed. How admirably
he has avoided this defect in his Letters on the Study of History, must
be remembered with gratitude by those who have perhaps sat down to
peruse the work with dread, but have arisen from it, not wearied, but
delighted and informed.
His eloquence possessed the charm of a noble simplicity. Yet his
language, although apparently only such as would be suggested to any
person speaking familiarly on similar subjects, was selected with a
skill the more refined that it could not be detected. Sometimes he would
pause for a moment’s reflection, when in the midst of an harangue; but
the pause was succeeded by a full, clear, impassioned burst of
eloquence, to which all the stores of his memory, the depth of his
logic, and the elegance of a mind never debased, whatever might be his
immoralities, contributed, like pellucid streams flowing into the one
mighty torrent.[133]
It was in the dawn of his political career that St. John gained the
approbation, almost the affection, of Marlborough.[134] Until after the
defection of Harley from the ministry, Marlborough and Bolingbroke were
more than political allies. The great general admired the talents of the
young debater, and loved his society; as men who have lived long enough
to appreciate all the various sorts of excellence, love the promise of
the young, and hail its progress with almost prophetic accuracy.
Bolingbroke, on the other hand, whatever were the differences of after
life, whatever the wrongs sustained by Marlborough, whatever his own
tergiversation, reverenced, almost affectionately, the hero of
Ramillies,—a victory achieved whilst he himself was in office. His
eloquent tribute to the great hero’s memory is well known.[135]
It has been supposed, and not without reason, that St. John was indebted
both to the Duke of Marlborough and to Harley for his introduction to
office, in 1704, as Secretary at War and of the Marine. That he
considered himself chiefly bound in honour and gratitude to Harley, is
evident from his resigning his post, upon the dismissal of that
minister. A friendship of some years had, indeed, at the time of that
event, subsisted between Harley and St. John. But it was a friendship
such as worldly men could alone avow and endure; hollow, interested, and
already verging into rivalry,—as the closest intimacies are found to be
sometimes nearest to the deadliest hatred. Never was there an alliance,
bearing the name of friendship, so ill assorted. Harley was a man of
industry, research, method; a statesman of no extended views, yet an
adept in the craft. His morals were, for his time, more than
respectable, his integrity unimpeachable, although it was not of a
description suited to the nicer notions of our modern days. It was his
aim to conciliate both Whigs and Tories; to maintain the Protestant
succession, yet to conciliate the adverse courts of St. Germains. To
effect his ends, he scrupled not to employ any means which appeared to
him expedient. If not actually deceptive, he was, at any rate,
constantly treading on the brink of that moral precipice, falsehood:
versed in all Parliamentary forms and records, he was at once an able
leader of the House of Commons, as well as a consummate manager of
courts.
Bolingbroke, on the other hand, with a less share of principle than
Harley, displayed a decision and courage which bore the aspect of
consistency and disinterestedness. His devotion to the Tories, which
proved his ruin, caused him to disapprove the half measures of his
friend and subsequent rival. Yet he was not wholly devoid of a deep,
designing spirit; for Bolingbroke, though in this instance he
misunderstood the general sentiments of the nation, yet was not deceived
in the real, heartfelt secret wishes of his royal mistress, on which he
relied.
At the period when the “great breach,” as the Duchess of Marlborough
called it, took place, Bolingbroke was, however, the warm adherent of
Harley; and in compliance with their mutual bond, he quitted office,
after three years’ enjoyment of its dignity and emoluments.[136]