Final separation between the Queen and the Duchess—Some anecdotes of
Dr. and Mrs. Burnet—Dr. Burnet remonstrates with the Queen—The
Queen’s obstinacy—Dismissal of Lord Godolphin—Letter from the
Duchess to the Queen—1710.
The Queen and the Duchess never met again. But, in the midst of enemies,
there were not wanting friends, faithful to the Duchess, and true to the
Queen and constitution, who ventured to remonstrate with her Majesty
upon the hazardous change in her counsels which her whole demeanour
augured.
Amongst those who privately and earnestly pointed out the impending
dangers and difficulties, was the Bishop of Salisbury, Dr. Burnet, who
has done ample justice to the “economy and fidelity of the Duchess to
the Queen, and justice to those who dealt with the crown,” which the
Duchess of Marlborough manifested in her brilliant, but arduous
career.[166]
Dr. Burnet had been assimilated with the Duchess in political, and in
what was then considered almost as the same thing, religious, opinions.
A close intimacy existed between the Duchess and the exemplary and third
wife of the excellent prelate, the last of his three consorts, all of
whom had been distinguished either in rank, in piety, or attainments.
Mrs. Burnet took an active part in the concerns of the Duchess, who
frequently communicated with her, and received letters in return,
discussing the topics which then agitated the world, within the
precincts of the court. At this time a staid matron of nine-and-forty,
Mrs. Burnet could well remember the agitated times of James the Second,
during whose reign she had retired with her first husband, Mr. Berkley
of Spetchley Castle, Worcestershire, to Holland, to avoid the calamitous
scenes which she expected to witness, and had remained at the Hague
until the Revolution. Distinguished for piety, benevolence, and virtue,
it was the lot of Mrs. Berkley, after a happy union with her first
husband, to be left an opulent widow, in the prime of life. It was her
choice to devote herself, for the seven years of that isolated, but
possibly not dreary state, to works of charity, and to studies which
would have adorned the leisure of the learned lords of creation. By her
exertions, schools for the poorer classes, then little regarded in
general, were established in the neighbourhood of Worcester and
Salisbury. By her superior, although not classical attainments, she
obtained the friendship of Dr. Stillingfleet, who declared that he knew
not in England a more considerable woman than Mrs. Berkley. In his union
with this amiable woman Bishop Burnet was eminently happy. Her influence
in society tended, as that of every woman should, to make virtue throw
its beams “far in a naughty world;” to elevate domestic, sober qualities
in the eyes of men, by proving them to be compatible with the highest
attainments; to be the counsellors as well as the solace of those whose
vocation leads them to dive into the troubled waters of life.
The Bishop, who proved to all his wives an excellent husband, left to
this, his last and his best, the disposal of her own fortune, and the
entire charge of his numerous family. Mrs. Burnet, it is evident from
many passages in the Duke of Marlborough’s letters, was not only the
intimate associate and correspondent of the Duchess, but the object of
respect and esteem to all the great leaders of the Whig ministry. She
gained that ascendency, doubtless, in a great measure by her
moderation—a quality which proves to the actors in difficult times as
beneficial as the mariner’s compass to a vessel at sea. It was a quality
in which her eminent husband was peculiarly deficient, and the want of
which obscured those great and good qualities, and that real regard for
truth, for which his contemporaries did not give him justice, and which
posterity has slowly and, as it were, reluctantly assigned to him.
Mrs. Burnet, unhappily for those whom she instructed by her example, or
guided by her influence, was, at this time, no more. The winter of 1708
had witnessed her death, from a pleuritic fever attending the breaking
up of the frost in January. With consistent attention to all her
engagements, she was buried at Spetchley, by the side of her first
husband, in compliance with a promise made to him. And on this delicate
point she thought it proper to leave an explanation in her will, for the
consolation of her second helpmate, Dr. Burnet.[167]
The afflicted and then aged prelate did not survive his wife more than
six years; and the close of his eventful and laborious life was saddened
by seeing those principles which he had consistently contemned, triumph,
and produce renewed confusion and contention. Dr. Burnet was, however,
unhappily for his party, but little qualified to advance its popularity
by his courtesy, or to gain proselytes by any other measures than an
earnest, sincere preference of certain principles. His conversation was
singularly deficient in the arts of address; his sincerity was
involuntary, and in certain situations provokingly obtrusive. His love
of politics, in which he took perhaps too great a share for one engaged
in concerns of far higher importance, was derived, according to his own
account, from the conversation of his father, who had the same fondness
for politics as the excellent prelate himself, and whose arguments and
anecdotes engendered that taste in the mind of his son.[168] Hence
sprang up that ardent, active, and unquiet character, adapted to do some
good, but to incur much censure, in such times as those in which the
Bishop lived. The character of Burnet, written by the Marquis of
Halifax, and given by that nobleman himself to the Bishop, portrays with
much delicacy of touch, and probably in not too severe a light, both the
brilliant parts and the strong shadows of Burnet’s mind: it brings to
view the singleness of heart, the impetuosity of temper, the quickness
to be offended, the readiness to forgive, the disinterestedness, the
christian heroism, which were offensive to lesser men, from the high
example which they presented, and which could not, without inconvenience
to more selfish minds, be imitated.
Qualified thus to obtain respect, and having long exercised a
considerable control over the Queen’s spiritual concerns, Dr. Burnet now
undertook, in the crisis of her affairs, to remonstrate with his
obstinate, and as he considered, misled sovereign. Perhaps, if certain
anecdotes be true, there could not be a person less qualified in manner,
although admirably in intention, for so delicate a task. The Bishop had
an awkward habit of remembering any circumstance disgraceful to an
individual, and a still more awkward practice of letting those facts
escape, in conversation, just at the moment when all the proprieties of
life required that they should be concealed. When Prince Eugene, some
time after this period, visited England, Dr. Burnet, anxious to see so
remarkable a person, requested the Duke of Marlborough to accomplish a
meeting between him and the Prince in society. The Duke consented, on
condition that the Bishop would be careful to let nothing drop from him
which might offend the feelings of his illustrious guest; and Dr. Burnet
was invited to dine, in company with the Prince, at Marlborough-house.
It was not beyond the remembrance of most of the party assembled, and
certainly still in that of the Bishop, that Prince Eugene’s mother, the
famous Countess of Soissons, had been imprisoned, about thirty years
previously, with several other ladies of Paris, on suspicion of
poisoning.[169] The Bishop had assuredly no intention of reminding
Prince Eugene of this circumstance, and indeed, conscious of his
infirmity, he resolved to sit incognito during dinner, and to listen,
not to converse. Unluckily for the rest of the party, however, the brave
Eugene, seeing a prelate at table, inquired of the Duke of Marlborough
who it was, and being told it was Bishop Burnet, addressed himself to
him, and inquired, by way of conversation, when he had last been in
Paris. The Bishop answered with precipitation, “that he did not exactly
remember the year, but it was at the time that the Countess of Soissons
was imprisoned.” As he spoke, his eye met that of the Duke of
Marlborough, himself the quintessence of caution and courtesy; the poor
Bishop was overpowered, and, by way of making the offence ten times
greater, hastily asked pardon of his highness for his error.
The worthy Bishop’s asking after “that wicked wretch, the Countess of
Wigton,” of her son, the Earl of Balcarres, and his avoiding Lord Mar
because he did not like him, and knew that he could not avoid “babbling
out something which would give him offence,” proved his involuntary
propensity of speaking his thoughts, and his consciousness of that
inconvenient propensity.
Dr. Burnet now, during the winter of 1710, undertook to speak to the
Queen on her affairs, more freely than he had ever in his life done
before. He told her the reports that prevailed, of her intention to
favour the design of bringing the Pretender to the succession of the
crown, on condition of her holding it during her life. He represented to
her Majesty that her accordance in such a scheme would darken all the
glory of her reign, and would arouse her people to a sense of their
danger, and to the necessity of securing the Protestant succession; in
which, the good Bishop assured her, he would plainly concur. He sought
to work upon Anne’s timid temper, by declaring to her, that if such were
her plans, he believed that her brother would not wait until the term of
her natural life for his possession, but take some means to shorten it;
and that he doubted not, when the Pretender was on the sea, there were
“assassinates” here, who, upon the news of his landing, would try to
despatch her. To these emphatic arguments the Queen listened patiently,
and for the most part in silence, and, with her usual timid and crooked
policy, gave the Bishop to understand that she thought as he did. Yet
his remarks produced no effect upon her mind; and no other consolation
was left to the Bishop than that of having honestly and forcibly
delivered his sentiments.[170]
The appointment of the Duke of Shrewsbury to the office of Lord
Chamberlain, in room of the Marquis of Kent, who was made a peer, was
the next event talked of, after the last stormy interview between the
Queen and the Duchess. Godolphin, who was at Newmarket when the staff
was given to Shrewsbury, remonstrated in vain with the Queen; and
although the most positive assurances of fidelity to the Whigs were
given by Shrewsbury, it was impossible for the ministry not to entertain
considerable suspicions of his sincerity.
The dismissal of the Earl of Sunderland from the post of secretary of
state, in the month of June, was the first decisive blow struck against
the power of the Marlborough family. It was aggravated by the refusal of
the Queen to listen to the remonstrances of Marlborough, and the
epistolary arguments of Godolphin.
“No consideration proper to myself,” writes the Duchess, “could have
induced me to trouble the Queen again, after our last conversation. But
I was overcome by the consideration of Lord Marlborough, Lord
Sunderland, and the public interest, and wrote in the best manner I
could to the Queen, June seventh, 1710, begging, for Lord Marlborough’s
sake, that she would not give him such a blow, of which I dreaded the
consequence; putting her in mind of her letter about the victory of
Blenheim, and adding the most solemn assurances, that I had not so much
as a wish to remove Mrs. Masham, and that all the noise that there had
been about an address for that purpose had been occasioned by Lord
Marlborough’s discontents at that time, which most people thought were
just. To this the Queen wrote a very short and harsh answer, complaining
that I had broken my promise of not saying anything of politics or of
Mrs. Masham; and concluding that it was plain, from this ill usage, what
she was to expect for the future.”[171]
There is little doubt but that the Duchess’s interference in this
design, as she herself says, hastened its execution; certainly it did
not retard it; for Lord Sunderland was dismissed from his office,
greatly to the joy of the high church party, who extolled the Queen for
her spirit in delivering herself from that arbitrary junto by whom she
had been kept in an inglorious dependence. The Duke of Beaufort, one of
this party, on appearing to pay his respects to her Majesty,
complimented her “that he could now salute her as Queen indeed.” But
poor Anne, unfortunately, scarcely ever enjoyed more than the shadow of
that authority which was disputed by factions, both equally intent upon
personal aggrandisement.
Changes in the ministry were now of daily occurrence. Henry St. John,
the eloquent advocate of Tory principles, was made secretary of state.
The Duke of Marlborough, whose skill in discovering the depth of any
man’s capacity was acknowledged to be most profound, had already
prognosticated that he would become an eminent statesman; but he wanted
the firm foundation of integrity. Lord Chancellor Cowper resigned the
seals, at first much to the discomposure of the Queen, who, with an
unusual earnestness, begged him to keep them one day longer; but the
next day, having consulted Harley and Masham, she received them readily,
and gave them to Sir Simon Harcourt, an avowed adherent of the
Pretender.[172]
Yet it was not until after other steps had been taken that affairs
arrived at that point, according to the opinions of Godolphin and the
Duchess, in which the game might be considered as utterly lost. For some
months, indeed, the Whigs agreed to unite more firmly on these
occasions, and determined that none of them should think of quitting,
“but should rub on in that disagreeable way as long as they could.”
Eventually, however, the current against them proved to be too strong
even for an unanimous cabinet to contend against.
The most ungracious act of Anne’s reign was her dismissal of the
disinterested, the faithful, loyal, and hard-working Godolphin. His
disagreement with the Duke of Somerset, called, in derision, by his
party, “the sovereign,” tended doubtless to split the forces which the
Whigs could ill spare. Somerset was a proud, interested, and equivocal
politician, whose personal views made him vacillate from side to
side.[173] From the correspondence between Mr. Maynwaring and the
Duchess of Marlborough at this time, it is evident that the Whigs
depended much on the Duke of Somerset’s movements to decide the balance
of power, notwithstanding the opinion entertained by the Duke of
Marlborough “that he was an ill-judging man.” It is also obvious that
the utmost persuasions were adopted, both by Maynwaring and by Mr.
Craggs, to induce the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough not prematurely,
nor unnecessarily, to throw up their employments; and there were even
many persons who recommended the Duchess to “live easy with Mrs.
Masham,” and who resented the Duchess’s indignant refusals to truckle,
as the Duke termed it, to her arch-enemy.
At last the final blow against the ministry was struck, by the dismissal
of Lord Godolphin. The probability of this event had been asserted ever
since the removal of Lord Sunderland, but had been positively denied by
Anne,—who, through her former secretary, Mr. Boyle, had sent assurances
to foreign courts that no more changes would be made in her ministry.
“And yet,” relates the Duchess,[174] “in less than two months after
this, and even the very day after the Queen had expressed her desire to
my Lord Godolphin himself that he would continue in her service, she
dismissed him; and her letter of order to him to break his staff was
sent by no worthier a messenger than a man in livery, to be left with
his lordship’s porter,—a proceeding which in all its parts would remain
very unaccountable, if the Queen had not, to those who expostulated with
her, made this undoubtedly true declaration, that she was sorry for it,
but could not help it. Unhappy necessity!”
The Duchess could not view these changes without making one more
struggle. It was probably at the united desire of the party that she
wrote a long, an able, and a characteristic letter to the Queen, of
which the precise date (for, like many ladies, she did not always date
her letters) is unknown. It was written, however, before the dismissal
of Lord Sunderland, whilst yet the ministry remained entire, and whilst
the “collection,” (as the Duchess termed those statesmen who were talked
of to succeed her friends) were in expectation only of the places and
honours which they attained.
This celebrated and extraordinary epistle, penned with the freedom of an
equal, was intended by the Duchess, as she declared, to express to the
Queen freely those truths which no one else appeared to speak to her
Majesty. It contained the strongest remonstrances, not only on the
injustice done to the Duke of Marlborough by the new system of policy
pursued, but on the injury which public affairs would receive, from the
loss of credit and of confidence in the government. With respect to the
proposed dissolution of parliament, the Duchess says—“When once the
parliament is dissolved, and the credit of the nation lost, it will be
in nobody’s power to serve you, but the French will come upon you
unawares. I heard a comparison of our credit, as it now stands, which I
was pleased with. It was said to be like a green flourishing tree full
of blossoms, which, upon the least change of ministry, would be nipped
and blasted, as fruit is by a north-east wind. And I was told of a very
unlikely man to understand the matter of parties, that is, Sir Godfrey
Kneller, who, upon the news of Lord Sunderland’s being out, was going to
sell all he had in the stocks, but a friend advised him to wait till it
was done. If such a man as this thinks of doing so, it is easy to
imagine that the alarm will work very far. And I cannot for my soul
conceive what your Majesty would do all this for.”[175]
These exhortations were of no avail; and perhaps added fresh inducements
to the strong determination of the exasperated Queen; they certainly
served to put the new favourites on their guard. But the Duchess wrote
no letters to her Majesty without submitting them to the perusal of
Godolphin,—the Duke of Marlborough being unfortunately abroad at this
critical period.
The Duchess, in the meantime, resided chiefly at Windsor; the works
were, nevertheless, still going on actively at Blenheim; and the Duke,
in his letters of this period, earnestly entreats her to hasten the
completion of the great court leading to the offices, and of the north
side of the house, that he and the Duchess might have one side of the
house “quiet;” “for, one way or other,” adds the wearied and
broken-spirited Marlborough, “I hope to be there next summer.”[176]
Early in June, however, the Duchess, it appears, was prevailed upon to
come to London, not entirely with the Duke’s approbation, for he was
fearful that her coming to town, and not waiting upon the Queen, might
have an awkward appearance. He commended her letter to the Queen, yet,
in a subsequent despatch, begged her to write no more, since the
behaviour of her Majesty did not warrant nor encourage other addresses.
The summer passed in anxious surmises on the part of the Duchess, whose
sanguine spirit was sometimes buoyed with hope, though checked by the
experienced Marlborough’s more rational fears of utter ruin to their
cause. At length, in the beginning of August, the dismissal of Godolphin
destroyed every prospect of recovering the favour that had been so long
actually withdrawn. Even Marlborough was not, it appears, prepared for
this last blow, although sufficiently expecting mortifications.[177] The
event was unexpected even by Godolphin, to whom the Queen had, only the
day previously, as has been already stated, expressed her wish that he
should continue in office.
Mr. Harley was made one of the first of the seven lords commissioners of
the Treasury;[178] and, in September, Lord Somers was dismissed, and the
Earl of Rochester appointed president of the council in his place.
Various other changes were made, which sufficiently proved to the
country that henceforward a total change of measures would be adopted;
and from this time the glory of Anne’s reign may be said to have
departed.
Whilst these occurrences were passing in London, Sacheverell was
parading the country after the manner of a royal progress, and great
violences were committed by the mob who followed him. Yet government
took no notice whatsoever of these outrageous and scandalous
proceedings, so derogatory to the cause of religion, which was made a
pretext for these insults to her sacred name.
The Duchess, meantime, received the condolences and counsels of her two
friends, Mr. Maynwaring and Dr. Hare, afterwards Bishop of Chichester.
She also still assembled about her a little party of friends, and
received without displeasure the compliments of a certain nobleman, Lord
Lindsey, whom her friends called “her lover,” and on whose devotion many
jests were passed by her familiar associates. The joke was too freely
used to infer any foundation for it, even in the most scandalous
chronicles of that scandalous day; yet was the Duchess still beautiful;
still did she surpass the four most noted toasts of the times, her
lovely daughters; still, and even to a late age, did she retain the
freshness and vigour of youth—hair unchanged, complexion, spirits,
activity, and a sparkling wit, to which the utmost candour gave an
indescribable charm.[179]