influence was undermined, was the refusal of the Queen to allow Lord
Cowper, the lord chancellor, to fill up the various livings belonging to
the Crown, in spite of the urgent solicitations of the Duchess. This
naturally produced a coolness between Mrs. Freeman and Mrs. Morley.
Harley was now the confidential adviser of the Queen, and counselled her
"to go alone,"--that is, to throw off the shackles which she had too
long ignominiously worn; and Anne at once appointed high-church
divines--Tories of course--to the two vacant bishoprics. The
under-stream of faction was flowing unseen, but deep and strong, which
the infatuated Duchess did not suspect.
The great victory of Ramillies (1706) gave so much _éclat_ to
Marlborough that the outbreak between his wife and the Queen was delayed
for a time. That victory gave a new lease of power to the Whigs. Harley
and St. John, the secret enemies of the Duke, welcomed him with their
usual smiles and flatteries, and even voted for the erection of
Blenheim, one of the most expensive palaces ever built in England.
Meanwhile Harley pursued his intrigues to effect the downfall of the
Duchess. Miss Hill, unknown to her great relative and patroness, married
Mr. Masham, equerry to Prince George, who was shortly after made a
brigadier-general and peer. Nothing could surpass the indignation of the
Duchess when she heard of this secret marriage. That it should be
concealed from her while it was known to the Queen, showed conclusively
that her power over Anne was gone. And, still further, she perceived
that she was supplanted by a relative whom she had raised from
obscurity. She now comprehended the great influence of Harley at court,
and also the declining favor of her husband. It was a bitter reflection
to the proud Duchess that the alienation of the Queen was the result of
her own folly and pride rather than of royal capriciousness. She now
paid no inconsiderable penalty for the neglect of her mistress and the
gratification of her pride. Pride has ever been the chief cause of the
downfall of royal favorites. It ruined Louvois, Wolsey, and Thomas
Cromwell; it broke the chain which bound Louis XIV. to the imperious
Montespan. It ever goes before destruction. The Duchess of Marlborough
forgot that her friend Mrs. Morley was also her sovereign the Queen. She
might have retained the Queen's favor to the end, in spite of political
opinions; but she presumed too far on the ascendency which she had
enjoyed for nearly thirty years. There is no height from which one may
not fall; and it takes more ability to retain a proud position than to
gain it. There are very few persons who are beyond the reach of envy and
detraction; and the loftier the position one occupies, the more subtle,
numerous, and desperate are one's secret enemies.
The Duchess was not, however, immediately "disgraced,"--as the
expression is in reference to great people who lose favor at court. She
still retained her offices and her apartments in the royal palace; she
still had access to the Queen; she was still addressed as "my dear Mrs.
Freeman." But Mrs. Masham had supplanted her; and Harley, through the
influence of the new favorite, ruled at court. The disaffection which
had long existed between the secretary of state and the lord treasurer
deepened into absolute aversion. It became the aim of both ministers to
ruin each other. The Queen now secretly sided with the Tories, although
she had not the courage to quarrel openly with her powerful ministers,
or with her former favorite. Nor was "the great breach" made public.
But the angry and disappointed Duchess gave vent to her wrath and
vengeance in letters to her husband and in speech to Godolphin. She
entreated them to avenge her quarrel. She employed spies about the
Queen. She brought to bear her whole influence on the leaders of the
Whigs. She prepared herself for an open conflict with her sovereign; for
she saw clearly that the old relations of friendship and confidence
between them would never return. A broken friendship is a broken jar; it
may be mended, but never restored,--its glory has departed. And this is
one of the bitterest experiences of life, on whomsoever the fault may be
laid. The fault in this instance was on the side of the Duchess, and not
on that of her patron. The arrogance and dictation of the favorite had
become intolerable; it was as hard to bear as the insolence of a
petted servant.
The Duke of Marlborough and Lord Godolphin took up the quarrel with
zeal. They were both at the summit of power, and both were leaders of
their party. The victories of the former had made him the most famous
man in Europe and the greatest subject in England. They declined to
serve their sovereign any longer, unless Harley were dismissed from
office; and the able secretary of state was obliged to resign.
But Anne could not forget that she was forced to part with her
confidential minister, and continued to be ruled by his counsels. She
had secret nocturnal meetings in the palace with both Harley and Mrs.
Masham, to the chagrin of the ministers. The court became the scene of
intrigues and cabals. Not only was Harley dismissed, but also Henry St.
John, afterwards the famous Lord Bolingbroke, the intimate friend and
patron of Pope. He was secretary of war, and was a man of great ability,
of more genius even than Harley. He was an infidel in his religious
opinions, and profligate in his private life. Like Harley, he was born
of Puritan parents, and, like him, repudiated his early principles. He
was the most eloquent orator in the House of Commons, which he entered
in 1700 as a Whig. At that time he was much admired by Marlborough, who
used his influence to secure his entrance into the cabinet. His most
remarkable qualities were political sagacity, and penetration into the
motives and dispositions of men. He gradually went over to the Tories,
and his alliance with Harley was strengthened by personal friendship as
well as political sympathies. He was the most interesting man of his age
in society,--witty, bright, and courtly. In conversational powers he was
surpassed only by Swift.
Meanwhile the breach between the Queen and the Duchess gradually
widened. And as the former grew cold in her treatment of her old friend,
she at the same time annoyed her ministers by the appointment of Tory
bishops to the vacant sees. She went so far as to encroach on the
prerogatives of the general of her armies, by making military
appointments without his consent. This interference Marlborough
properly resented. But his influence was now on the wane, as the nation
wearied of a war which, as it seemed to the Tories, he needlessly
prolonged. Moreover, the Duke of Somerset, piqued by the refusal of the
general to give a regiment to his son, withdrew his support from the
Government. The Duke of Shrewsbury and other discontented noblemen left
the Whig party. The unwise prosecution of Dr. Sacheverell for a
seditious libel united the whole Tory party in a fierce opposition to
the Government, which was becoming every day more unpopular. Harley was
indefatigable in intrigues. "He fasted with religious zealots and
feasted with convivial friends." He promised everything to everybody,
but kept his own counsels.
In such a state of affairs, with the growing alienation of the Queen, it
became necessary for the proud Duchess to resign her offices; but before
doing this she made one final effort to regain what she had lost. She
besought the Queen for a private interview, which was refused. Again
importuned, her Majesty sullenly granted the interview, but refused to
explain anything, and even abruptly left the room, and was so rude that
the Duchess burst into a flood of tears which she could not
restrain,--not tears of grief, but tears of wrath and shame.
Thus was finally ended the memorable friendship between Mrs. Morley and
Mrs. Freeman, which had continued for twenty-seven years. The Queen and
Duchess never met again. Soon after, in 1710, followed the dismissal of
Lord Godolphin, as lord treasurer, who was succeeded by Harley, created
Earl of Oxford. Sunderland, too, was dismissed, and his post of
secretary of state was given to St. John, created Viscount Bolingbroke.
Lord Cowper resigned the seals, and Sir Simon Harcourt, an avowed
adherent of the Pretender, became lord chancellor. The Earl of
Rochester, the bitterest of all the Tories, was appointed president of
the council. The Duke of Marlborough, however, was not dismissed from
his high command until 1711. One reason for his dismissal was that he
was suspected of aiming to make himself supreme. On his return from the
battle of Malplaquet, he had coolly demanded to be made captain-general
for life. Such a haughty demand would have been regarded as dangerous in
a great crisis; it was absurd when public dangers had passed away. Even
Lord Cowper. his friend the chancellor, shrunk from it with amazement.
Such a demand would have been deemed arrogant in Wallenstein, amid the
successes of Gustavus Adolphus.
No insignificant cause of the triumph of the Tory party at this time was
the patronage which the Tory leaders extended to men of letters, and the
bitter political tracts which these literary men wrote and for which
they were paid. In that age the speeches of members of Parliament were
not reported or published, and hence had but little influence on public
opinion. Even ministers resorted to political tracts to sustain their
power, or to undermine that of their opponents; and these were more
efficient than speeches in the House of Commons. Bolingbroke was the
most eloquent orator of his day; but no orators arose in Anne's reign
equal to Pitt and Fox in the reign of George III. Hence the political
leaders availed themselves of the writings of men of letters, with whom
they freely associated. And this intercourse was deemed a great
condescension on the part of nobles and cabinet ministers. In that age
great men were not those who were famous for genius, but those who were
exalted in social position. Still, genius was held in high honor by
those who controlled public affairs, whenever it could be made
subservient to their interests.
Foremost among the men of genius who lent their pen to the service of
nobles and statesmen was Jonathan Swift,--clergyman, poet, and satirist.
But he was more famous for his satire than for his sermons or his
poetry. Everybody winced under his terrible assaults. He was both feared
and hated, especially by the "great;" hence they flattered him and
courted his society. He became the intimate friend and companion of
Oxford and Bolingbroke. He dined with the prime minister every Sunday,
and in fact as often as he pleased. He rarely dined at home, and almost
lived in the houses of the highest nobles, who welcomed him not only for
the aid he gave them by his writings, but for his wit and agreeable
discourse. At one time he was the most influential man in England,
although poor and without office or preferment. He possessed two or
three livings in Ireland, which together brought him about £500, on
which he lived,--generally in London, at least when his friends were in
power. They could not spare him, and he was intrusted with the most
important secrets of state. His insolence was superb. He affected
equality with dukes and earls; he "condescended" to accept their
banquets. The first time that Bolingbroke invited him to dine, his reply
was that "if the Queen gave his lordship a dukedom and the Garter and
the Treasury also, he would regard them no more than he would a groat."
This assumed independence was the habit of his life. He indignantly
returned £100 to Harley, which the minister had sent him as a gift: he
did not work for money, but for influence and a promised bishopric. But
the Queen--a pious woman of the conventional school--would never hear of
his elevation to the bench of bishops, in consequence of the "Tale of a
Tub," in which he had ridiculed everything sacred and profane. He was
the bitterest satirist that England has produced. The most his powerful
friends could do for him was to give him the deanery of St. Patrick's in
Dublin, worth about £800 a year.
Swift was first brought to notice by Sir William Temple, in the reign of
William and Mary, he being Sir William's secretary. At first he was a
Whig, and a friend of Addison; but, neglected by Marlborough and
Godolphin,--who cared but little for literary genius,--he became a Tory.
In 1710 he became associated with Harley, St. John, Atterbury, and
Prior, in the defence of the Tory party; but he never relinquished his
friendship with Addison, for whom he had profound respect and
admiration. Swift's life was worldly, but moral. He was remarkably
temperate in eating and drinking, and parsimonious in his habits. One of
his most bitter complaints in his letters to Stella--to whom he wrote
every day--was of the expense of coach-hire in his visits to nobles and
statesmen. It would seem that he creditably discharged his clerical
duties. He attended the daily service in the cathedral, and preached
when his turn came. He was charitable to the poor, and was a friend to
Ireland, to whose people he rendered great services from his influence
with the Government. He was beloved greatly by the Irish nation, in
spite of his asperity, parsimony, and bad temper. He is generally
regarded by critics as a selfish and heartless man; and his treatment of
the two women whose affections he had gained was certainly inexplicable
and detestable. His old age was miserable and sad. He died insane,
having survived his friends and his influence. But his writings have
lived. His "Gulliver's Travels" is still one of the most famous and
popular books in our language, in spite of its revolting and vulgar
details. Swift, like Addison, was a great master of style,--clear,
forcible, and natural; and in vigor he surpassed any writer of his age.
It was the misfortune of the Duchess of Marlborough to have this witty
and malignant satirist for an enemy. He exposed her peculiarities, and
laid bare her character with fearless effrontery. It was thus that he
attacked the most powerful woman in England: "A lady of my acquaintance
appropriated £26 a year out of her allowance for certain uses which the
lady received, or was to pay to the lady or her order when called for.
But after eight years it appeared upon the strictest calculation that
the woman had paid but £4, and sunk £22 for her own pocket. It is but
supposing £26 instead of £26,000, and by that you may judge what the
pretensions of modern merit are when it happens to be its own
paymaster." Who could stand before such insinuations? The Duchess
afterwards attempted to defend herself against the charge of peculation
as the keeper of the privy purse; but no one believed her. She was
notoriously avaricious and unscrupulous. Swift spared no personage in
the party of the Whigs, when by so doing he could please the leaders of
the Tories. And he wrote in an age when libels were scandalous and
savage,--libels which would now subject their authors to punishment. The
acrimony of party strife at that time has never since been equalled.
Even poets attacked each other with savage recklessness. There was no
criticism after the style of Sainte-Beuve. Writers sought either to
annihilate or to extravagantly praise. The jealousy which poets
displayed in reference to each other's productions was as unreasonable
and bitter as the envy and strife between country doctors, or musicians
at the opera.
There was one great writer in the age of Queen Anne who was an exception
to this nearly universal envy and bitterness; and this was Addison, who
was as serene and calm as other critics were furious and unjust. Even
Swift spared this amiable and accomplished writer, although he belonged
to the Whig party. Joseph Addison, born in 1672, was the most fortunate
man of letters in his age,--perhaps in any succeeding age in English
history. He was early distinguished as a writer of Latin poems; and in
1699, at the age of twenty-seven, the young scholar was sent by
Montague, at the recommendation of Somers, to the Continent, on a
pension of £300 a year, to study languages with a view to the diplomatic
service. On the accession of Anne, Addison was obliged to return to
literature for his support. Solicited by Godolphin, under the advice of
Halifax, to write a poem on the victories of Marlborough, he wrote one
so popular that he rapidly rose in favor with the Whig ministry. In 1708
he was made secretary for Ireland, under Lord Wharton, and entered
Parliament. He afterwards was made secretary of state, married a
peeress, and spent his last days at Holland House.
But Addison was no politician; nor did he distinguish himself in
Parliament or as a political writer. He could not make a speech, not
having been trained to debate. He was too timid, and his taste was too
severe, for the arena of politicians. He is immortal for his essays, in
which his humor is transcendent, and his style easy and graceful, As a
writer, he is a great artist. No one has ever been able to equal him in
the charming simplicity of his style. Macaulay, a great artist himself
in the use of language, places Addison on the summit of literary
excellence and fame as an essayist. One is at loss to comprehend why so
quiet and unobtrusive a scholar should have been selected for important
political positions, but can easily understand why he was the admiration
of the highest social circles for his wit and the elegance of his
conversation. He was the personification of urbanity and every
gentlemanly quality, as well as one of the best scholars of his age;
but it was only in an aristocratic age, when a few great nobles
controlled public affairs, that such a man could have been so
recognized, rewarded, and honored. He died beloved and universally
lamented, and his writings are still classics, and likely to remain so.
He was not an oracle in general society, like Mackintosh and Macaulay;
but among congenial and trusted friends he gave full play to his humor,
and was as charming as Washington Irving is said to have been in his
chosen circle of admirers. Although he was a Whig, we do not read of any
particular intimacy with such men as Marlborough and Godolphin.
Marlborough, though an accomplished and amiable man, was not fond of the
society of wits, as were Halifax, Montague, Harley, and St. John. As for
the Duchess, she was too proud and grand for such a retired scholar as
Addison to feel at ease in her worldly coteries. She cared no more for
poetry or severe intellectual culture than politicians generally do. She
shone only in a galaxy of ladies of rank and fashion. I do not read that
she ever took a literary man into her service, and she had no more taste
for letters than the sovereign she served. She was doubtless
intellectual, shrewd, and discriminating; but her intellect was directed
to current political movements, and she was coarse in her language. She
would swear, like Queen Elizabeth, when excited to anger, and her wrath
was terrible.
On the dismissal of the great Duke from all his offices, and the
"disgrace" of his wife at court, they led a comparatively quiet life
abroad. The Duchess had parted with her offices with great reluctance.
Even when the Queen sent for the golden keys, which were the badge of
her office, she refused to surrender them. No one could do anything with
the infuriated termagant, and all were afraid of her. She threatened to
print the private correspondence of the Queen as Mrs. Morley. The
ministers dared not go into her presence, so fierce was her character
when offended. To take from her the badge of office was like trying to
separate a fierce lioness from her whelps. The only person who could
manage her was her husband; and when at last he compelled her to give up
the keys, she threw them in a storm of passion at his head, and raved
like a maniac. It is amazing how the Queen could have borne so long with
the Duchess's ungovernable temper, and still more so how her husband
could. But he was always mild and meek in the retirement of his home,--a
truly domestic man, to whom pomp was a weariness. Moreover, he was a
singularly fortunate man. His ambition and pride and avarice were
gratified beyond precedent in English history. He had become the
foremost man in his country, and perhaps of his age. And his wife was
still looked to as a great personage, not only because of her position
and rank, but for her abilities, which were doubtless great. She was
still a power in the land, and was surrounded by children and
grandchildren who occupied some of the highest social positions
in England.
But she was not happy. What can satisfy a restless and ambitious woman
whose happiness is in external pleasures? There is a limit to the favors
which fortune showers; and when the limits of success are reached, there
must be disappointment. The Duchess was discontented, and became morose,
quarrelsome, and hard to please. Her children did not love her, and some
were in bitter opposition to her. She was perpetually embroiled in
family quarrels. Nothing could soften the asperity of her temper, or
restrain her unreasonable exactions. At last England became hateful to
her, and she and her husband quitted it, and resided abroad for several
years. In the retirement of voluntary exile she answered the numerous
accusations against her; for she was maligned on every side, and
generally disliked, since her arrogance had become insupportable, even
to her daughters.
Meanwhile the last days of Queen Anne's weary existence were drawing to
a close. She was assailed with innumerable annoyances. Her body was
racked with the gout, and her feeble mind was distracted by the
contradictory counsels of her advisers. Any allusion to her successor
was a knell of agony to her disturbed soul. She became suspicious, and
was even alienated from Harley, whom she dismissed from office only a
few days before her death, which took place Aug. 1, 1714. She died
without signing her will, by which omission Mrs. Masham was deprived of
her legacy. She died childless, and the Elector George of Hanover
ascended her throne.
On the death of the Queen, Marlborough returned to England; and it was
one of the first acts of the new king to restore to him the post of
captain-general of the land forces, while his son-in-law Sunderland was
made lord-lieutenant of Ireland. A Whig cabinet was formed, but the Duke
never regained his old political influence, and he gradually retired to
private life, residing with the Duchess almost wholly at Holywell. His
peaceful retirement, for which he had longed, came at last. He employed
his time in surveying the progress of the building of Blenheim,--in
which palace he was never destined to live,--and in simple pleasures,
for which he never lost a taste. His wife occupied herself in
matrimonial projects for her grandchildren, seeking alliances of
ambition and interest.
In 1716 the Duke of Marlborough was attacked with a paralytic fit, from
the effects of which he only partially recovered. To restore his health,
he went to Bath,--then the fashionable and favorite watering-place,
whose waters were deemed beneficial to invalids; and here it was one of
the scandals of the day that the rich nobleman would hobble from the
public room to his lodgings, in a cold, dark night, to save sixpence in
coach-hire. His enjoyments were now few and transient. His nervous
system was completely shattered, after so many labors and exposures in
his numerous campaigns. He lingered till 1722, when he died leaving a
fortune of a million and a half pounds sterling, besides his vast
estates. No subject at that time had so large an income. He left a
military fame never surpassed in England,--except by Wellington,--and a
name unstained by cruelty. So distinguished a man of course received at
his death unparalleled funeral honors. He was followed to his temporary
resting-place in the vaults of Westminster by the most imposing
procession that England had ever seen.