Funeral of the Duke of Marlborough—His bequests to the
Duchess—Immediate proposals of marriage made for her in her
widowhood—Character and letters of Lord Coningsby—Character of the
Duke of Somerset—His Grace’s offer of marriage to the Duchess.—1722.
All that funereal honours could add of splendour to the great hero’s
memory, was duly executed. His Majesty George the First, and the nation
in general, how divided soever in their tributes to his name when
living, were unanimous in paying such honours to it as the vulgar prize.
The King himself offered to defray the expenses of the funeral, but the
Duchess, with the Duke’s executors and relations, declined accepting
this gracious proposal.
We spare the reader the entire enumeration of those revolting details
which accompany the barbarous custom of a body lying in state; the bed
of black velvet, as Collins describes it with true heraldic pleasure,
“properly adorned;” the coffin, with its water-gilt nails; the suit of
armour placed upon that mournful symbol, decorated with all the honours
of the great defunct; a general’s truncheon in the hand; the garter, the
collar, the pendant George, and the now useless sword, in a rich
scabbard fastened to the side. These, with the ducal coronet, the cap of
a prince of the empire, the banner, the crest, were all duly examined
and appreciated by the nobility and others who thronged to
Marlborough-house, where this sad and absurd pageant was performed.
Suites of rooms were likewise opened, and adorned with escutcheons, with
ciphers and badges interspersed, all lighted by silver sconces and
candlesticks, with wax tapers, prepared for the crowds who were obliged
to wait, previous to penetrating into the room of death.
On the sixth of August, the solemn procession, one of the most imposing
that the metropolis of England had ever witnessed, took place, Garter
King-at-arms directing the whole ceremony. The coffin, with the suit of
armour, as on the bed of state, lying on an open bier, was preceded by
horse-guards, foot-guards, and artillery, all in military mourning,
amongst whose still gorgeous array, detachments of forty riders, at
intervals, in mourning cloaks, added to the solemnity of the scene,
whilst a band of out-pensioners of Chelsea Hospital, seventy-three in
number, corresponding to the age of the Duke, constituted an interesting
portion of the attendants. Many of these poor men doubtless remembered
the great general in the day of his fame.
The Duke of Montague, as chief mourner, followed the bier, in the coach
belonging to the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough; whilst the Earls of
Sunderland and Godolphin, as supporters to the chief mourner, succeeded
in that of the present Duchess of Marlborough. Then came eight Dukes and
five Earls, amongst the former of whom was the Duke of Somerset, who at
no very remote period proposed to the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough to
change her illustrious name to that of Somerset. The coaches of the King
and of the Prince of Wales preceded a long line of carriages in the
procession, which drove along Piccadilly, and through St. James’s, Pall
Mall, and Charing Cross, to the west door of Westminster Abbey. The body
was deposited in a vault at the foot of Henry the Seventh’s tomb. Amid
the sound of anthems, and the solemnities of our beautiful church
service, were the remains of Marlborough lowered to the dust.
The Bishop of Rochester, Dean of Westminster, in his cope, read,
“Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God,” &c.; and the choir sang, “I
heard a voice from heaven.” Then Garter King-at-arms advanced, and
recalling the spectators to the vain honours of the world, enumerated
the titles of the deceased, proclaiming, “Thus hath it pleased Almighty
God to take out of this transitory world, into his mercy, the most high
and noble prince, John Duke of Marlborough,” &c. The attendant officers
broke their staves of office, and delivered them to Garter, who threw
them into the grave. Thus the vain ceremonials, most exacted at the
period when they can least avail to elevate and honour the poor fragile
dust, were terminated.
The body was afterwards removed to the mausoleum at Blenheim, erected by
Rysbach, under the superintendence of the Duchess.[298]
And now was Sarah Duchess of Marlborough left alone, for the only
relative who truly loved her was in the tomb; her grandchildren were
young, and in her surviving daughters she had little or no consolation.
What were her feelings on the final separation with the partner of so
many years, we can but conjecture. It is said that there were certain
traits of his conduct to her that she could not, long after the Duke’s
death, recal without tears.[299] She had attended him sedulously, and
even devotedly, during his long illness;[300] and that the Duke
appreciated her devotedness, is obvious from a passage in one of the
numerous codicils to his will.
The Duchess’s personal comforts, as far as they depended on her
pecuniary interests, were carefully considered in the Duke’s disposal of
his property. On the first arrangement of his affairs, he bequeathed to
her the income of ten thousand a year, free from all taxes and charges,
with the option of changing five thousand pounds a year which his grace
received from the post office, for an annuity on his property,
reflecting that the public grant ought to devolve on the person who
should bear his title. But, some years after this bequest was made, the
Duke, in the following terms, added another, to mark more forcibly his
affection and gratitude to the Duchess.
“And whereas in and by my said herein-before recited will, I gave to my
said wife and her assigns, during the term of her natural life, the sum
of ten thousand pounds per annum, clear of taxes; and whereas my
personal estate is since greatly increased, and my said wife has been
very tender and careful of me, and had great trouble with me during my
illness; and I intending, for the consideration aforesaid, and out of
the tender affection, great respect, and gratitude which I have and bear
to her, and for the better increase of her title and honour, to increase
her said annuity five thousand pounds a year,” &c.[301]
The title and the honours of the dukedom of Marlborough descended upon
his daughter Henrietta, Countess of Godolphin, with a reversionary
entail upon the male issue of any of her sisters. The Countess’s son,
Lord Rialton, was to receive, in consequence, a more ample allowance
than his cousins, together with various heirlooms of great value.
Amongst these, the service of gold plate presented to the Duke by the
Elector of Hanover, and the diamond sword given to him by the Emperor
Charles, are particularly enumerated.
To the Duchess of Marlborough were left the plate and jewels belonging
to the Duke. She was permitted to dispose, by will, of the estate at
Sandridge, which the Duke had purchased; but was requested to leave
Marlborough-house, the site of which had been granted to her by the
crown, to the successor in the title. She was also appointed one of the
trustees to the Duke’s will, in conjunction with his three sons-in-law,
and with several gentlemen.
The Duchess was likewise entrusted with a bequest of much importance, as
matters then stood. This was the sum of fifty thousand pounds to be
expended in equal instalments, in five years, for the purpose of
completing the palace and other works at Blenheim, under the sole
control of the Duchess. Wealthy, independent, and still agreeable in her
person, the Duchess had not been many months a widow before endeavours
were made to induce her to change that state, and to enter once more
into matrimonial life. Those who thus sought to ensnare her, were,
however, but little acquainted with the Duchess’s real sentiments.
The earliest, and not the least ardent suitor to her grace, was Thomas
Earl of Coningsby, whose admiration of the Duchess appears to have
commenced even before Marlborough was committed to the tomb. Lord
Coningsby was a politician of a sort peculiarly acceptable to the
Duchess; and, as was her habit with other friends, she had maintained an
occasional correspondence with this active Whig peer, who had always
expressed the most sincere devotion to her husband. This attachment
appears to have been returned by Marlborough, who professed, in writing
of Lord Coningsby, to place considerable reliance upon his judgment;
whilst Coningsby, on occasion of the Duke’s leaving the kingdom in 1712,
went so far as to say, that “he had now not a friend in the country.”
Such were the terms on which the subsequent suitor stood with the
husband of his “dearest, dearest Lady Marlborough,” for so he repeatedly
calls her in his letters.
Lord Coningsby, when he offered his hand and fortunes to the Duchess,
did not degrade her by the addresses of a man unknown to distinction.
Not only their old friendship, and a correspondence bordering all along
upon the line which separates friendship from love,[302] but a high
reputation for courage and abilities, might authorise his lordship not,
at least, to expect a contumacious rejection. Early in life he had
signalised himself at the battles of Aughrim and the Boyne; and, upon
the latter occasion, had the honour to be near his Majesty King William
the Third, when slightly wounded in the shoulder, and the good fortune
to be the first to apply a handkerchief to his Majesty’s hurt.[303]
For his services on this occasion, Coningsby was elevated by William to
the peerage of Ireland; and in 1715 the honour was extended by George
the First, and he was created Earl of Coningsby, with his title in
remainder to his eldest daughter Margaret.
Lord Coningsby having thus graced an ancient name by well-merited
distinction, acquired the confidence and good-will of his political
friends by his consistency as an advocate for the Protestant succession,
and by the solidity of his judgment upon all parliamentary affairs. It
appears to have been the desire of Godolphin and Marlborough,
frequently, to consult one who had taken an active share in the
settlement of the great national question at the time of the Revolution.
“Upon all parliamentary affairs,” says Godolphin, writing to Marlborough
in 1708, “I value very much Lord Coningsby’s judgment and experience.”
Lord Coningsby, at the time of Marlborough’s death, having been twice
married, his eldest daughter by his second marriage[304] was created, in
her father’s lifetime, Baroness and Viscountess Coningsby of Hampton
Court, in the county of Hereford. Besides this favoured daughter, Lord
Coningsby had four others, two of whom appear still to have been
unmarried, and residing under his parental care, at the time of his
lordship’s singular correspondence with the Duchess of Marlborough.
Scarcely four months after the death of the Duke,[305] we find, by a
letter preserved among the Coxe Papers in the British Museum, that the
Earl of Coningsby had begun his invasion upon the Duchess’s new state of
independence, and had commenced his siege like a skilful pioneer. He
begins by expressing the most poignant apprehensions on account of her
grace’s health. The letter is dated London, Oct. 8, 1722.[306]
“When I had the honour to wait on your grace at Blenheim, it struck me
to the heart to find you, the best, the worthiest, and the wisest of
women, with regard to your health, and consequently your precious life,
in the worst of ways.
“Servants are, at the best, very sorry trustees for anything so
valuable; and that which terrified me, and which has ever since lain
dreadfully heavy on my thoughts, was the coolness I imagine I observed
in yours, when you lay, to my apprehension, in that dangerous condition
which it was my unhappiness to see you in.
“Think, madam, what will become of those two dear children which you,
with all the reasons in the world, love best, should they be (which God
in heaven forbid) so unfortunate as to lose you.
“I can preach most feelingly on the subject, having been taught, from
the ingratitude of the world, the want of true friendship in it; and,
from the most unnatural falsehood of nearest relatives, how uneasy it
is, upon a bed of sickness, to think of leaving helpless and beloved
children to merciless and mercenary (and it is ten million to one but
they prove both) trustees and guardians; and had I not trusted in God,
in my late dangerous indisposition, that he would not bereave my two
dearest innocents of me their affectionate father, such thoughts had
killed me. But God has been merciful to me, and so I from my soul pray
he may be in preserving you to them.
“I could give many more reasons for your grace’s being in this place at
this time; but these will prove sufficient to one so discerning,” &c.
Lord Coningsby’s children appear, indeed, to have been the objects of
his tender solicitude; and it seems to have been his aim to have
interested the heart of the Duchess in behalf of these little innocents,
as he calls them; to whose newly acquired rank, doubtless, some portion
of the courted lady’s wealth would have been an agreeable addition. It
must have been, indeed, no easy task to address in terms of passion the
Duchess, whose shrewd mind would instantly dispel the colouring which
was so coarsely dashed over the real purpose of the valiant lord. The
Duchess, be it remembered, was now in her sixty-second year, at which
age women may be venerable, but never attractive. It would be well if
our sex would learn discrimination, and remember the difference.
In November, the Earl gained courage to write a still more explicit
letter to his beloved friend; and his letter contains something like an
intimation that the subject of a more intimate union than that of
friendship had already been broached between himself and the Duchess.
The reader may judge for himself, from the following extracts, since it
is difficult and dangerous to take the interpretation of love-letters
entirely into one’s own hands. The letter is so extremely characteristic
and absurd, that since it has never before been published, we are
disposed to give it almost ungarbled to the reader.
After premising that he found the innocent glee of his children his
great and only solace, when returning tired, and more heartless than
ever, on account of the dismal state of the country, from the House of
Lords, his lordship observes—[307]
“Albemarle-street, Nov. 20, 1722.
“And these little innocents have been my only comforters and
counsellors, and, under God, my support, from the most dismal day I was
so unfortunate to be deprived of the most delightful conversation of my
dearest, dearest Lady Marlborough, to whom alone I could open the
innermost thoughts of my loaded heart; and by whose exalted wisdom, and
by a friendship more sincere than is now to be met in any other breast
among all the men and women in the world, I found relief from all my
then prevailing apprehensions, and was sometimes put in hope that the
great and Almighty Disposer of all things would, out of his infinite
goodness to me, at his own time and in his own way, establish those
blessings (which he then showed me but a glimpse of, and suffered me to
enjoy but a moment,) to me for the term of my happy life.
“How these pleasing expectations were frightfully lessened by the ill
state of health I found you in at Blenheim, I need not tell you, because
you could not but see the confusion the melancholy sight put me into.
And it was no small addition to my concern to see (as I imagined at
least) so much indifference in the preservation of a life so precious
amongst those entrusted with it; and had I not been deluded to believe
that I should soon have the honour to see your grace here, I had, before
I left Woodstock, sent to you to know by what safe method I might
communicate to you any matter necessary for you to be informed of,
relative to my dear country, or your still dearer self.
“But I was not only disappointed of these intentions by the long
progress you have made, and during which time, by inquiring every day at
your door, I learnt from your porter that he knew not how to send a
letter to you till you returned to St. Albans, and where, the moment I
knew you were arrived, I presumed to send you the letter to which you
honoured me with an answer by the post, but likewise by your letter
coming in that way; and now I am altogether at a loss to tell my dear
Lady Marlborough whether the pleasure that dear letter brought me, or
the terrors it gave me, had the ascendant in me, and of this doubt you,
and you alone, must judge.
“First, then, the pleasure was infinite to hear that your health was
restored to you.
“But then the terror was unutterable when you took so much pains to let
me know how little you valued a life that I thought inestimable.
“Again, the pleasure was vastly great in reading those delightful words
which so fully expressed sincere Lady Marlborough’s regard to me, and
concern for me and my dearest children.
“But then the terror was insupportable upon me, when I found you were
unalterably determined not to see this place this winter, but likewise
your letter being sent by the post, and which was opened by the
miscreants of the office, seemed to be a sort of dreadful indication to
me that you designed to put an end to all future correspondence with me.
“And when I had the additional mortification of being assured that you
had been in town, and at your own house, for a day and a night, and
would not allow me or mine the least notice of it, which, with the
dismal thoughts that it brought into my head and heart, I will for my
own ease strive for ever, for ever to forget.
“Your commanding my dearest Peggy to show me the letter your most
beloved writ to her will help me to this happiness, and makes me hope I
shall receive an assurance, under your dearest hand, that you designed
it for that purpose.
“Though I desire above all things in this world to see you for a moment,
yet so much do I prize Lady Marlborough’s safety above my own
satisfaction, that I would not have you in this distracted place, at
this dismal juncture, for any consideration under heaven. I intend, by
God’s permission, to leave it myself soon; but whither to go, or how to
dispose of a life entirely devoted to you, I know not till I receive
your orders and commands.
“But I live in hopes that the great and glorious Creator of the world,
who does and must direct all things, will direct you to make me the
happiest man upon the face of the earth, and enable me to make my
dearest, dearest Lady Marlborough, as she is the wisest and the best,
the happiest of all women.
“I am, your grace knows I am, with the truest, the sincerest, and the
most faithful heart,
“Your Grace’s
Most dutiful and most obedient
Humble Servant,
CONINGSBY.
“There is no such cattle or sheep as your grace desires, to be had till
July next.”
Such were the terms in which the devoted Lord, devoted certainly to some
fascinating object personified in her form as its representative,
addressed the venerable Duchess. Her reply, most unfortunately, is not
preserved; and with this remarkable letter the correspondence, as far as
we can glean, closes. Dr. Coxe, whilst with tantalising brevity he has
described Lord Coningsby’s letters as “the rapturous effusions of a
love-sick swain,” has not deemed it important, nor perhaps correct, to
leave us any further details of these singular addresses, which so grave
an historian, as he who has commemorated the fortunes of John Duke of
Marlborough, has considered as impertinent in so serious a narrative.
Lord Coningsby did not long survive his disappointment. He died in 1729;
and his daughter, Lady Coningsby, leaving no issue, the title, in 1761,
became extinct.
The Duchess was, at the time of the Duke’s death, sixty-two years of
age. Her health appears to have been still unbroken; her beauty far less
impaired than that of many much younger women. Her income was more than
ample, since she found means, even when maintaining a princely
establishment, to accumulate sums, and to purchase lands, which she left
to her grandchildren. Her wit, her experience, her consequence in
society as the widow of Marlborough, all contributed to give her a proud
distinction in that gay world to which she was devoted.
After the Duke’s decease she resided principally at Windsor Lodge,
employing herself chiefly in the management of the affairs which had
devolved upon her, and in the superintendence of those cares which she
had bound herself to bestow upon her grandchildren. But there were those
who thought that Sarah Duchess of Marlborough, her wealth, or her former
influence, might add dignity even to those already exalted in their own
estimation above the majority of their fellow creatures.[308]
Charles, sixth Duke of Somerset, at this time a widower, proposed,
within a year or little more after the death of the Duke of Marlborough,
to the Duchess to unite herself to him. He pleaded even a long and
respectful passion, and addressed her grace with a humility which only
the fashion of those times could have extracted from one who bore the
appellation of the “proud Duke.”
This nobleman had long been acquainted with the widowed Duchess of
Marlborough. In former days, before the Duchess of Somerset had
supplanted the proud Sarah in the affections of Queen Anne, the Duchess
of Marlborough appears to have occasionally employed her talents and
address in soothing the offended pride of the Duke of Somerset, whom it
was necessary for the Whig party to conciliate.[309] Lord Godolphin,
however, could not be brought to enter into the Duke’s scheme “of being
a great man at court.”[310] For the “proud Duke” did no injustice to the
quality of his intellect by the absurd state, and wearisome
self-importance which he affected, even to the annihilation of natural
feelings. He was a man of no talent, but of unbounded pretensions. Mr.
Maynwaring justly observes, in writing to the Duchess, speaking of the
Duke’s desire to exalt his importance as a party-man, “For a man that
has no talents to do any one thing in the world, to think that he is to
do everything, and to have all preferments pass through his hands, is
something so much out of the way, that it is hard to find a name for
it.”
The Duchess of Marlborough had, in former days, thoroughly understood,
and as thoroughly despised, the shallowness of his grace of Somerset’s
understanding, and the unbounded arrogance of his pretensions. The Duke
was one of those beings, of whom a simple delineation in works of
fiction would be called exaggeration. Holding his exalted station by a
disputed right,[311] he took precedence in his degree, in consequence of
the first Duke of the nation being a Catholic. This pre-eminence,
hazardous to one of limited capacity, was maintained by the Duke almost
in a regal style. He intimated his commands to his servants by signs,
not vouchsafing to speak to them. When he travelled, the roads were
cleared of all obstruction, and of idle bystanders. His children never
sat down in his presence; it was even his custom, when he slept in the
afternoon, to insist upon one of his daughters standing on each side of
him during his slumber. On one occasion, Lady Charlotte Seymour, being
tired, ventured to sit down, and he left her, in consequence, twenty
thousand pounds less than her sister. He gave precedence to no one but
the Duke of Norfolk.
Notwithstanding these absurdities, the Duke possessed some fine
qualities. His pride was accompanied by a sense of honour, and his
conversation graced by a nobleness of sentiment, which, in spite of a
hesitation in his speech, must have well become a man who aimed at so
much. He was a firm and generous friend; patronised the fine arts, and,
what was perhaps of some importance to a widower disposed to marry
again, possessed a fine exterior. At the time when he made proposals to
the Duchess of Marlborough, he had, however, passed his prime, and was
sixty-five years of age. Already had he linked himself to one of the
noblest families in the land by his marriage with his first Duchess, the
Lady Elizabeth Percy, the heiress of the Percys, and the widow
successively of two husbands, Lord Ogle, and Thomas Thynne, Esq., the
last of whom was shot in his coach by Count Coningsmark, in hopes of
carrying off the heiress of the Percys. This Duchess of Somerset had
been on apparently friendly, but actually, scarcely on good terms with
the Duchess of Marlborough, who perceived, through the veil of courtesy
and submissive sweetness, the ambitious designs of the “great lady,” as
Swift termed her. She fixed her eyes, as the Duchess discovered, upon
the place of groom of the stole, an office which proved a temptation to
many; “but covered the impertinence of her ambition and expectation
within, with the outward guise of lowliness and good humour.”[312] Such
was the Duchess of Marlborough’s opinion of the Duke’s first wife; and
when she further discovered that the Duchess of Somerset was secretly
undermining her at the very time that she pretended to lament the
misunderstandings between her and the Queen, it is not to be supposed
that the pretended good-will which was still maintained, was anything
but a very hollow alliance.
To the Duke, however, the Duchess of Marlborough’s conduct had been
friendly. She gave him timely notice, through the Duchess, of a
resolution of a “certain great man,” probably Harley, to dismiss the
Duke from the post of master of the horse, for telling cabinet council
secrets. Eventually the Duke was dissatisfied with the conduct of the
Queen, and retired from court, but his Duchess remained, to gain
unbounded ascendency over the weak Queen’s mind, and to continue her
attendance on her, until her demise.
Notwithstanding the difference of their political career, the Duke of
Somerset never forgot that his first Duchess was a Percy, and, as such,
entitled to devotion and respect. Possibly he thought that he could
alone pay her a suitable compliment in soliciting the Duchess of
Marlborough to succeed her, and to console him for the loss of his first
Duchess.[313] But she to whom he addressed himself answered his proposal
in a manner worthy of her superior understanding, becoming her years,
and admirable as addressed to the “proud Duke.” She declined a second
marriage as unsuitable to her age; but added, that were she addressed by
the emperor of the world, she would not permit him to succeed in that
heart which had been devoted to John Duke of Marlborough.[314]
The Duke received this refusal with submission, and even consulted the
Duchess respecting the choice of a wife. At her grace’s recommendation,
he married the Lady Charlotte Finch, second daughter of Daniel Earl of
Nottingham and Winchilsea.[315] The Duke, it is said, never forgot the
distinction between a Percy and a Finch. “The Duchess,” says Granger,
“once tapped him familiarly on the shoulder with her fan;” he turned
round, and with an indignant countenance said, “My first Duchess was a
Percy, and she never took such a liberty.” Whatever had been the early
opinion entertained of the Duke by the Duchess of Marlborough, she
became, in the latter part of her life, extremely friendly towards this
absurd nobleman of the old school, and consulted him frequently on the
management of her affairs.[316]
The Duchess, notwithstanding such temptations to her resolution, formed
no second marriage. The Duke of Somerset survived her grace, and lived
to attend the funeral of George the Second, as he had done that of
Charles the Second, James the Second, Queen Mary and William the Third,
of Anne, and of George the First. The long period of twenty-two years,
during which the Duchess of Marlborough survived her husband, if they
proved less eventful than her youth and middle age, are not wholly
devoid of interest, when considered in conjunction with the eminent
characters who figured at the same era.