State of the Duchess of Marlborough with respect to her
family—Henrietta Duchess of Marlborough—Lord Godolphin—Pelham Holles
Duke of Newcastle—The Spencer family—Charles Duke of Marlborough—His
extravagance—John Spencer’s anecdotes of the Miss Trevors—Letter to
Mr. Scrope—Lawsuit.
It was not the happy lot of the Duchess of Marlborough to assemble
around her, in the decline of life, children and grandchildren,
affectionately attached to her, who would seek to soothe her
mortifications, and to repair the losses which she had sustained in the
early death of their brother and sisters, and in the still severer
calamity with which she had since been visited. A woman who is not
beloved by her own children can have very little claim to the affection
of others. The fault must originate in herself, however odious the
consequences appear in those, who, if they could not bestow upon her the
filial love which her temper had blighted, ought never to have omitted
that filial duty which no differences ought to destroy.
Henrietta Countess of Godolphin, who now, by an act of parliament passed
in 1706, succeeded to the title as Duchess of Marlborough, was long at
variance with her mother, and, according to some accounts, was never
reconciled.[336] She was beautiful, it is said, but in her disposition
her parents appear to have found but little comfort. The Duchess
survived this daughter, who died in 1733. Her son, Francis Earl of
Godolphin, appears, from the letters lately published, to have been an
especial favourite of his grandmother. She complains, indeed, of “his
not being so warm in some things as he should be,” (possibly in her
quarrels,) but commends his truth and goodness, and declares she never
forgot anything that his lordship said to her. By Dr. Hare, also, Lord
Godolphin is described as one of the most reasonable and dispassionate
creatures in the world. But this amiable character, unhappily for the
mother and grandmother, whose asperities he might have softened, was,
like most of the promising members of this ill-fated family, removed at
an early age: he died in 1731, two years before his mother, Henrietta
Duchess of Marlborough.
One daughter of the Godolphin branch of the Marlborough family remained.
This was Harriott, married, as we have seen, in 1717, to the extolled
and favourite minister, Pelham Holles, Duke of Newcastle, one of the
most liberal statesmen of those venal days. To his grace the Duchess
had, as we have already seen, addressed her complaints of the Duke of
St. Albans, and his siege in Windsor Park; and she could not have
bespoken the interest of any one more able to promote her wishes. The
Duke had been a steady promoter of the Hanoverian interests. Consistency
in those days was uncommon, and he was rewarded with honours and places
innumerable; yet, far from enriching himself by his public services, or
by no services at all, according to the mode then in fashion, the Duke
retired from his posts, according to Lord Chesterfield, at least four
hundred thousand pounds poorer than when he began life; at any rate,
with an income greatly reduced.[337]
The character of this amiable, and, in some respects, high-minded
nobleman, which gained, it may be presumed, upon her grace’s affections,
after she had with much pains and anxiety achieved that connexion which
has been alluded to,—has been ably, but perhaps unfairly, drawn by his
relation and contemporary, Lord Chesterfield. Satire was not only the
natural propensity of Lord Chesterfield’s mind, but the delight and
practice of the day. The pungent remarks of Horace Walpole, as well as
those of Chesterfield, must be taken with reservation. Neither friend
nor foe was to be spared, when a sentence could be better turned, or a
witticism improved, by a little delicate chastisement, all done in
perfect good humour, and with unspeakable good-breeding, by these not
dissimilar characters.
Lord Chesterfield depicts in the Duke of Newcastle an obsequious,
industrious, and timorous man, whom the public put below his level, in
not allowing him even mediocre talents, which Chesterfield graciously
assigns to him; a minister who delighted in the insignia of office; in
the hurry, and in the importance which that hurry gives, of business; as
one jealous of power, and eager for display. “His levées,” says the
Earl, “were his pleasure and his triumph;” and, after keeping people
waiting for hours, when he came into his levée-room, “he accosted,
hugged, embraced, and promised everybody with a seeming cordiality, but
at the same time with an illiberal and degrading familiarity.”[338] The
world, however, forgot these weaknesses, in the generosity, the romantic
sense of honour, and the private virtues of this respectable nobleman.
Anne Countess of Sunderland, the second daughter of the Duchess, left
four sons and one daughter, with a paternal estate greatly impoverished.
It was, amongst all his faults, a redeeming point in Lord Sunderland’s
character, that his patriotism aimed not at gain. We have already
referred to a fact not to be forgotten: when, on being dismissed from
the ministry in Queen’s Anne’s reign, he was offered a pension, he nobly
refused it, with the reply, that “since he was no longer allowed to
serve his country, he was resolved not to pillage it.”[339] His children
were, however, amply provided for by the will of their grandfather. The
eldest son, Robert Earl of Sunderland, the object of his mother’s
peculiar solicitude on her deathbed, perhaps from being more able to
comprehend the characters of both of these distinguished parents before
he lost them, displayed symptoms of the same aspiring mind that his
father possessed. The aversion which George the Second had imbibed
towards his father, prevented the spirited youth from obtaining any
employment. At last, in despair, and wishing to bring himself before the
notice of men in power, the Earl entreated Sir Robert Walpole to give
him an ensigncy in the guards. The minister was astonished at this
humble request from the grandson of Marlborough, and inquired the
reason. “It is because,” answered the young man, “I wish to ascertain
whether it is determined that I shall never have anything.”[340] He died
early in 1729,[341] and the Duchess appears, from a letter addressed to
Lady Mary Wortley Montague, to have very deeply lamented the loss of
this scion of the only branch she could “ever receive any comfort from
in her own family.” On this occasion the poor Duchess remarks, “that she
believes, having gone through so many misfortunes with unimpaired
health, nothing now but distempers and physicians could kill her.”[342]
She is said to have, indeed, loved Lord Sunderland above every other tie
spared to her by death.
Two sons and a daughter now remained of this beloved stock. Charles, who
succeeded his brother Robert, and became afterwards Duke of Marlborough,
was never, according to Horace Walpole, a favourite of his grandmother,
although he possessed many good qualities. He was not, however, endowed
with the family attribute of economy; neither could he brook the control
of one, who expected, probably, far more obedience from her
grandchildren than young persons are generally disposed to yield from
any motive but affection. Unhappily, the Duke’s sister, Lady Anne
Bateman, whom the Duchess had, in compliance with her mother’s wishes,
brought up, was but ill disposed to soothe those differences which often
arose between her grandmother and the young Duke. She introduced her
brother, unhappily for his morals, to Henry Fox, first Lord Holland, one
of those unprincipled, but agreeable men, whose conversation soon
banishes all thirst for honour, and sense of shame. By Fox, a Jacobite
at heart, but an interested partisan of Sir Robert Walpole, the young
Duke was won over to the court party; upon which occasion was uttered
the Duchess’s sarcasm, “that is the Fox that has won over my goose;” a
remark which, like every thing that she said, was industriously
circulated. Fox considered public virtue in the light of a pretext in
some, as an infatuation in others: self-interest was, in him, the
all-prevailing principle;[343] Sir Robert Walpole being, in that
respect, his model.
Lady Anne Bateman, intriguing and high-spirited, exercised over her
brother an ascendency which was shared by the “Fox.” Influenced by
dislike to her grandmother, she introduced the Duke into the family of
Lord Trevor, one of whose daughters he married. The Duchess had a
peculiar antipathy to Lord Trevor, who had been an enemy of her husband,
and with her usual violence she banished the Duke from Windsor Lodge,
and then, in derision of the new Duchess, who had, she alleged, stripped
the house and garden, she set up eight figures, to personate the eight
Misses Trevor, cousins of the young Duchess, representing them, in a
puppet-show, as tearing up the shrubs, whilst the Duchess was portrayed
carrying away a hen-coop under her arm. This anecdote originates with
Horace Walpole, and, from its source, it must be regarded with caution:
there are other exhibitions of passion in this extraordinary woman,
which rest upon better authority.
The Duchess never forgave Lady Anne Bateman; and whilst we acknowledge
the wickedness of that vindictive spirit, it must be owned that the
Duchess had much provocation from this grandchild. In addition to the
ingratitude of Lady Anne, she had the vexation, when Lord Charles
succeeded to the Marlborough estates, to see him and his younger
brother, Lord John, squander away their patrimonial property, and vie
with each other in every wild and mad frolic. At length their
complicated quarrels ended in what was professedly an amicable lawsuit
between the heir and his grandmother, for the settlement of some
disputed portion of the property. To the amusement of the world, and
certainly _not_ to the annoyance of those of her relatives who rejoiced
in exposing her eccentricities, the Duchess, who was capable of any act
of effrontery, appeared in court to plead her own cause. The
diamond-hilted sword, given by the Emperor Charles to the great
Marlborough, was claimed by Lord Sunderland. “What!” exclaimed the
Duchess, indignantly, “shall I suffer _that_ sword, which _my_ lord
would have carried to the gates of Paris, to be sent to a pawnbroker’s,
to have the diamonds picked out one by one?”[344] Harsh and revolting as
this exhibition of passion was, her prognostic was somewhat verified in
the career of Charles Duke of Marlborough. His life presents a history
of embarrassments, which, as the Duchess truly asserted, nothing but
prudence on his own part could have prevented. To her correspondent, Mr.
Scrope, for whom she appears to have imbibed a sincere regard, she
unfolds all her troubles respecting her grandson in the subjoined
paragraph. The tenor of the letter from which this passage is taken,
places the Duchess’s character, as a grandmother, in a very different
light from that in which the popular writers of her day have chosen to
place it. The world, judging, as it often does, most erroneously when it
takes up family quarrels, had condemned the Duchess as hard-hearted and
relentless. The following simple statement of facts is calculated to
mitigate that sentence.[345]
“When I saw you (Mr. Scrope) last, you said something concerning the
Duke of Marlborough, which occasions you this trouble, for you seemed to
have a good opinion of him, and to wish that I would make him easy. This
is to show you, that as to the good qualities you imagine he has, you
are mistaken, and that it is impossible to make him easy. I will now
give you the account of what has happened not long since.
“When he quitted all his employments, he wrote me a very good letter,
saying that he had heard I liked he had done it; there are expressions
in this letter full as strong and obliging to me as those in this, dated
from Althorpe, October 26th, 1733. I answered this civilly, saying, that
as his behaviour to me had been so extraordinary for many years, I
thought it necessary to have a year or two’s experience how he would
perform his great promises, and that I wished him very well. This was
giving him hopes, though with the caution of a lawyer. Soon after this
he treated with a Jew to take up a great sum of money. He wanted my
assistance to help in the security, for Lamb has secured all in his
power, and would not lessen his own securities on any account. To this
letter I gave him a grandmother’s advice, telling him the vast sums he
had taken up at more than twenty per cent. were as well secured as when
the people lent the money; that I thought he would make a much better
figure if he lived upon as little as he possibly could, than ever he had
done in throwing away so much money, and let his creditors have all that
was left out of his estate as far as it would go, and pay what more was
due to them, when accidents of death increased his revenue, for I could
not join in anything that would injure myself, or the settlement of his
grandfather. I should have told you this before, but in this last
professing letter to me, he tells me that he would rather starve than
take up money that I did not approve of: notwithstanding which, in a
very few days after my letter, I am assured that Lamb has found a way to
help him to a great sum of money; and without saying one word to me, the
Duke has mortgaged my jointure as soon as I die, which he certainly may
do for his own life; and if he lives till his son is twenty-one, he may
starve him into joining with him, and destroy his grandfather’s
settlement upon the whole family; for when the settlement was made,
there were so many before him, that the lawyers did not think of giving
his son any allowance in his father’s lifetime; and I can think of but
one way to prevent all this mischief, which I have a mind to do, and
that is, when he is of a proper age, to settle out of my own estate such
a sum to be paid yearly by my trustees which will hinder him from being
forced by his father, upon condition that if he does join with him to
sell any of the estate, that which I gave him shall return back to John
Spencer, who I make my heir. Whether this will succeed or not, as I wish
it, I cannot be sure, but it is doing all I can to secure what the late
Duke of Marlborough so passionately desired. He has a great deal in him
like his father, but I cannot say he has any guilt, because he really
does not know what is right and what is wrong, and will always change
every three days what he designed, from the influence and flatteries of
wretches who think of nothing but of getting something for themselves;
and if I should give him my whole estate he would throw it away as he
has done his grandfather’s, and he would come at last to the Treasury
for a pension for his vote. But I believe you have seen, as well as I,
that pensions and promises at court are not ready money.”
The Duke died in 1758, having, according to Horace Walpole, greatly
impoverished his estate; so that his death, before his son came of age,
was considered to be an advantage to the property, since the young man
might have been induced to join his father in the last mournful
resource, according to the same writer, “to sell and pay.”[346]
On the honourable John Spencer, commonly called by the writers of those
days Jack Spencer, the affections of the Duchess were, after the death
of his eldest brother, chiefly centered. Not all his extravagance, nor
the low-lived pranks in which he figured; not even the prospect of
seeing him squander away every shilling which he possessed, could
alienate from him this fantastic and unjust partiality on the part of
his grandmother. He died, after a profligate and disgraceful career, at
the age of six or seven and thirty, “merely,” says Horace Walpole,
“because he would not be abridged of those invaluable blessings of a
British subject, namely, brandy, small-beer, and tobacco.”[347]
Notwithstanding these propensities, the Duchess left him in her will a
clear income of thirty thousand a year, to the enjoyment of which was
annexed a condition, characteristic enough, that he should not accept
any place or pension from any government whatsoever. Whilst she thus
enriched her unworthy grandson, she disinherited Charles Duke of
Marlborough of all the property which was vested in herself to bequeath.
Lady Diana Spencer, the youngest of the Sunderland family, was also a
favourite of her grandmother. She appears to have been an object of
solicitude to the Duchess, who, it may be remembered, expressed much
satisfaction when the Princess of Wales, afterwards Queen Caroline,
called “her Dy” back to bid her hold her head up, which, added the
Duchess, “was what I was always telling her.” She also quoted “her Dy,”
with much satisfaction, in her letter to Dr. Hare, when she extenuated
her behaviour to Sir Robert Walpole.
In 1731, the Duchess was much gratified by the marriage of “her Dy” with
Lord John Russell, afterwards third Duke of Bedford. Writing from
Blenheim to Lady Mary Wortley Montague, the Duchess, in speaking of this
wedding, declares to her gifted correspondent, that it is very much to
her satisfaction. “I propose to myself more satisfaction than I thought
there had been in store for me.” These were the expressions of hope;
but, alas! like almost every other object of the Duchess’s regard in her
own family, Lady Diana Russell died early, surviving her marriage only
four years. It is impossible to note these successive deprivations
without feeling sincere compassion for the harassed and bereaved old
Duchess, who beheld, one by one, her only comforts taken from her old
age.
Lord John Russell, when Duke of Bedford, became Secretary of State, and
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. The well-known strictures on his character
by Junius, though not historically just, were not without foundation;
but, whatever were his faults, he attained eminence as a statesman; and
to see her favourite grace the high station in which this alliance would
have placed her, would, doubtless, have gratified the heart, already too
proud, of her aged but worldly grandmother.
“Her Torrismond,” as the Duchess termed John Spencer, indeed survived
her, though not many years. His marrying suitably was an event which she
had much at heart. “I believe you have heard me say,” writes her grace
to Lady Mary Wortley, “that I desired to die when I had disposed well of
her, (Lady Diana,) but I desire that you would not put me in mind of it,
for I find I have a mind to live till I have married my Torrismond,
which is a name I have given long to John Spencer.”[348] Unhappily,
Torrismond was too frequently to be found in the watchhouse, in company
with other young noblemen, to think of domesticating according to the
Duchess’s desire.
Lady Anne Egerton, the only child of Lady Bridgewater, was also
undutiful, according to the Duchess’s notions, and to be derided and
insulted accordingly. She had been brought up by her grandmother, who,
finding that she was neglected after the death of her mother, took
charge of her when her other grandchildren were left to her care. Lady
Anne married Wriothesley Duke of Bedford, the elder brother of Lord John
Russell, to whom his title descended.
In Lady Anne the grandmother’s spirit was apparent. Their quarrels were
continual and violent; and the Duchess, charmed, one must suppose, with
her conceit of the eight puppet Misses Trevor, invented the same sort of
vengeance in effigy for Lady Anne. She had procured her granddaughter’s
picture, of which she blackened the face over, and writing on the frame
in large letters, “She is much blacker within,” placed it in her own
sitting-room, for the edification and amusement of all visiters.[349]
The Duchess of Montague, (Lady Mary Churchill, the youngest of her
grace’s daughters,) like her eldest sister Henrietta, lived in constant
altercation with her mother, whom she survived; the only one of her
children whom the Duchess did not follow to the grave. The character of
the Duke of Montague, and the honours which he received, have been
before mentioned. The Duchess mingled greatly in the world; her concerts
and assemblies are mentioned frequently in the letters of Lady Mary
Wortley. Her daughter Isabella, Duchess of Manchester, by her sweetness
of temper and superior qualities, fastened herself upon the affections
of that heart where so few could find a place.
Such are some of the details which relate to the domestic troubles of
the aged Duchess. Her frequent absence from her children when they were
young; the absorbing nature of political pursuits, for which she
sacrificed the blessings of affection, and the enjoyment of a peaceful
home; the consequent necessity of consigning her children wholly to
instructors and servants; perhaps, too, the manners of the times, which
conduced to banish love between parent and child by a harsh, unnatural
substitution of fear as the principle of conduct;[350] all contributed
to alienate those young minds from her, whilst yet the angry passions
which maturity draws forth were unknown. Consistency, impartiality, and
a freedom from selfishness, are the qualities essential to win back the
filial affection of which nature has implanted the germ in every bosom
if, unhappily, it be destroyed. The Duchess was not only totally
deficient in these attributes, but she possessed not that easy and
kindly temper which can secure affection, even if it fail to command
respect. In her family, notwithstanding all their advantages of person
and fortune, she was singularly unfortunate; and she affords a striking
instance of the incompatibility of a political career with the habits
and feelings of domestic life. It cannot be, therefore, a matter of
surprise that her latter days were clouded by depression; that she found
herself neglected, and that she hovered between a state of irritated
pride, and that condition of low spirits in which we fancy ourselves of
no importance to the world, and as well out of it as cumbering the
ground. Often, describing herself as generally very “ill and very
infirm,” she declares that life has ceased to have any charms for her;
that she only wishes “to make the passage out of it as easily as
possible.” To her correspondent, Mr. Scrope, from whom she declares she
received more civility than she had met with for years, the Duchess
partially discloses her feelings. He seems kindly, and we hope with no
interested motive, to have entered into the feelings of a morose old
woman, who had placed all her felicity in a consciousness of importance,
and who found herself “insignificant.”[351] A few short years
previously, and who would have anticipated such a confession? Yet the
mortifications of an unhonoured old age appear, if we may trust Mr.
Scrope’s charitable version of the case, to have improved the chastened
character on whose tenderest points they bore. In reply to one of her
low-spirited letters, he thus addresses her: “I hope your grace will
excuse the freedom with which I write, and that you will pardon my
observing, by the latter part of your letter, that the great Duchess of
Marlborough is not always exempted from the vapours. How your grace
could think yourself insignificant, I cannot imagine. You can despise
your enemies, (if any such you have;) you can laugh at fools who have
authority only in their own imaginations; and your grace hath not only
the power, but a pleasure in doing good to every one who is honoured
with your friendship or compassion. Who can be more insignificant?” And
he concludes this well-meant expostulation with professions of respect
and regard.