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BIOGRAPHICAL CATALOGUE
OF THE PORTRAITS AT WESTON
THE SEAT OF THE EARL OF BRADFORD
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_BIOGRAPHICAL_
_CATALOGUE_
OF THE PORTRAITS
AT WESTON
THE SEAT OF
_THE EARL OF BRADFORD_
❦
‘_A true delineation, even of the smallest
man, and his scene of pilgrimage through
life, is capable of interesting the
greatest man; for all men are to an
unspeakable degree brothers, each man’s
life a strange emblem of every man’s, and
human portraits faithfully drawn are, of
all pictures, the welcomest on human
walls._’ CARLYLE.
_LONDON: ELLIOT STOCK_
1881.
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TO
LORD AND LADY BRADFORD,
THESE PAGES,
WRITTEN UNDER THE PRESSURE OF MANY DIFFICULTIES,
ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED
BY THEIR FAITHFUL KINSWOMAN
MARY BOYLE.
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IN completing the last contribution I shall make to the Biographical
Catalogues of the Portrait Galleries of four English noblemen, I must
make a few personal remarks. I began the pleasant task, which I
undertook at the request of my dear cousin, Lord Sandwich, now many
years ago, before my defective sight rendered the work difficult. The
respective collections of Lords Bath and Cowper at Longleat and
Panshanger next occupied my attention, but the increasing malady in my
eyesight rendered every fresh step more arduous. In this last work, to
other stumbling-blocks has been added the pressure of ill-health and
deep sorrow; against these obstacles I have fought as stoutly as I
could, cheered on by the hope of giving satisfaction to Lord and Lady
Bradford, to whose family my own for many generations has been connected
by ties of relationship and friendship. But I am well aware that in
spite of my best endeavours errors may have crept into this work, and
shortcomings must be but too evident. On the indulgence of the owners of
Weston, I must, therefore, rely for pardon; proffering at the same time
my best thanks to Lord Bradford himself for the kind help he has
afforded me; while to Mr. George Griffiths of Weston Bank I can scarcely
say enough to express my gratitude for his unwearied and valuable
assistance. I wish that, in relinquishing a task in which I have found
great delight, I could persuade some members of noble and gentle
families to follow my example in rescuing from oblivion the records of
portraits which adorn the walls of their homes. It has often been a
subject of deep concern to me, while staying in some beautiful
country-house, to find that the younger portion of the family, at least,
were often entirely ignorant of any details respecting the lives of the
men and women who look down upon them from the walls, and who in some
cases have lived, loved, enjoyed, suffered, and died in those very
apartments. To the dear old traditions of home such acquaintance with
our predecessors and their surroundings lends many a charm, and I have
found so much pleasure in my work that I cannot but regret my inability
to the further prosecution thereof; but I have reaped a rich reward in
the acquaintance I have made with particulars of the lives of the great,
the good, and the celebrated; and as I wander through a
portrait-gallery, the paintings of which are, alas! now but a closed
book to me, the names which my more fortunate companions read aloud
conjure up a whole host of delightful and interesting recollections.
22 SOUTH AUDLEY STREET,
_August 9th_, 1888.
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ENTRANCE HALL.
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ENTRANCE HALL.
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No. 1. RACHEL, LADY RUSSELL.
_In widow’s weeds. Leaning her cheek on her hand._
BORN (_circa_) 1636, DIED 1723.
BY VANDERBANK.
SHE was the second daughter of Thomas, last Earl of Southampton, of the
Wriothesley family, by his first wife, Rachel de Ruvigny, of an old
Huguenot race, by whom he had two daughters, Elizabeth married to
Edward, Lord Noel, eldest son of the Earl Campden, and Rachel, the
subject of the present notice. She lost her mother when still a little
child, and we do not hear much of her youth. Her father married a second
and a third time, and it must have been about 1653 that she became the
bride of Lord Vaughan, son of the Earl of Carbery. We are inclined to
deduce from a passage in one of her letters that this marriage was one
of _convenance_, as she says to a friend, ‘The selection of the partners
usually rests with the relations, and not with those most interested in
the matter.’ Of Lord Vaughan we have few records; but some letters
addressed to his wife leave the impression that indolence was one of his
chief characteristics, that he was dilatory in business and averse to
writing of all kinds. It is fair, however, to add that these remarks are
only based on surmise.
Lord and Lady Vaughan resided chiefly at an estate in Wales, belonging
to Lord Carbery, and at the present time (1888) the property of the Earl
of Cawdor. The Golden Grove is famed for its picturesque beauty, and
endeared to all admirers of Jeremy Taylor, by the tradition that he
composed _The Whole Duty of Man_ in the grounds adjoining the house.
Lord and Lady Vaughan made occasional visits to London, where in 1665
she gave birth to a daughter, who only lived a few days. The breaking
out of the plague drove them back to their Welsh home, and Lord Vaughan
died not long after their return. On becoming a widow, Rachel went to
reside for some time with her sister, Lady Elizabeth Noel, at their old
home of Titchfield, in Hampshire, which had come by inheritance to Lady
Elizabeth, as the eldest daughter of Lord Southampton,—Stratton, in the
same county, falling to Lady Vaughan’s share. It was not long before
(among many admirers) that William Russell, the second son of Francis,
fifth Earl (afterwards first Duke) of Bedford, made himself conspicuous
by the devoted court he paid to the beautiful young widow. The
circumstance is thus alluded to, in a letter from her sister by
half-blood, Lady Percy: ‘For Mr. Russell’s concern I can say nothing
more than that he professes a great desire (the which I do not at all
doubt) that he and every one else has to gain one who is so desirable in
all respects.’
Desirable indeed, for Lady Vaughan was young, beautiful, intellectual,
wealthy, of a most gentle and loving disposition, and possessing a fund
of unassuming piety. There was no disparity in the marriage, for William
Russell was her equal, we might almost say her counterpart, with the
exception of fortune, he being a second son at the time of his marriage.
It was on this account that his wife for some time, in fact until the
death of her brother-in-law, Lord Russell, still retained, according to
general custom, her widowed title of Lady Vaughan. During the fourteen
happy years of Rachel’s happy life, which were chiefly spent at
Stratton, and Southampton House in London (both of which were hers by
inheritance), she had to endure very few separations from her
husband—such as when he was called away on public or private business;
occasional visits to his father at Woburn; absences contingent on his
elections in three different Parliaments, and attendance during the
short session at Oxford. Then the correspondence between the married
pair was constant and detailed, and testifies to their sympathy on every
subject, whether important or trifling, political or domestic. Happy as
she was in the present, with every human probability of the continuance
of that happiness in the future, there was a strange foreboding, as it
would appear, in Rachel’s mind, of coming evil, and it was remarkable
how in those early halcyon days her mental eyes seemed fixed on the
little cloud, no bigger than a man’s hand, in the horizon. It was indeed
as if she heard ‘the footfall of fate on her ear’; for her letters to
her husband, not very long after their marriage, are written in a most
desponding spirit. After dwelling with gratitude and delight on the
complete unity of their hearts and minds, she goes on to write to her
dearest William, dated from Stratton: ‘Let us cheerfully expect to live
together to a good old age, and, if God wills otherwise, then firmly
believe that He will support us under whatsoever trial He may see fit to
inflict.’ Noble and pathetic words, of which the sadder alternative was
to be her allotted portion. The summer was usually passed at Stratton,
the winter in London. Three children were born to them—two daughters, in
1674 and 1676, and a son in 1680,—blessings which were counterbalanced
by the loss of her beloved sister, Lady Elizabeth Noel. The society of
the children enhanced the delight of their beloved home at Stratton. On
one occasion Rachel wrote to her husband at the last-mentioned place
from Southampton House in answer to a letter from him. She is so glad he
finds Stratton sweet, and hopes he will live for fifty years to enjoy
it, and that God may permit her to have his good company. But if it were
not so, she is sure he would be kind to ‘the brats.’ Flesh and blood
cannot have a truer sense of happiness than she has, his poor honest
wife. Such simple extracts are truly pathetic, when we call to mind that
in less than two years Rachel Russell was a widow. The circumstances of
Lord Russell’s arrest, his impeachment for high treason, his trial,
sentence, last days, and execution, with the part his devoted wife took
in all these proceedings, are all given in our notice of Lord Russell’s
life. In order to avoid repetition we simply give the dates here.
William, Lord Russell, was tried on the 13th of July 1683, and executed
the 21st August.
After the last sad scene of leave-taking, elsewhere described, Rachel
returned to her desolate home of Southampton House. On the anguish of
such moments it is useless to dwell. She heard the hours from the
neighbouring belfry, which sounded like a chime of knells, as she sat in
perfect solitude—the little ones having cried themselves to sleep. Her
favourite sister, Elizabeth, was dead; her surviving sister, Lady
Northumberland, was out of England, and there was no one near enough her
heart whose society she could tolerate at that supreme moment. Her grief
was embittered and her indignation roused, not long after her lord’s
death, by the report that was circulated calling in question the
authenticity of the papers which he had given to the sheriffs on the
scaffold. She found it incumbent on her to write to the King, speaking
in the highest terms in her letter of Bishop Burnet, who had lately
fallen into disfavour at Court. Burnet had been privy to the document
written by Lord Russell in prison, and Rachel characterises the prelate
as a loyal subject to the King, and the most tender and faithful
minister to her dear lord. One of the last injunctions laid upon her (by
one whose wishes were never disobeyed), was that she should take care of
her health, and live for her children; and in the fulfilment of that
duty she found her best consolation. In a letter to the Bishop of
London, she says that she considered there was something so sublime in
the subject of her deepest sorrow, she firmly believes it had in a
degree kept her from being overwhelmed. And now began the long dreary
period of widowhood which lasted so many years. ‘Time, that ancient
nurse,’ which ‘rocks us to patience,’ found her indeed submissive, but
had little power to deaden the poignancy of her grief. In a letter to
‘uncle John’ (her lord’s uncle), she begs him to make some compliment of
her acknowledgment to his Majesty for not having enforced the forfeiture
of Lord Russell’s fortune. She concludes by saying: ‘When I hear you are
well it is part of the only satisfaction I can have in this wretched
world, where the love and company of the friends and relations of that
dear blessed person are most precious.’
Among Lady Russell’s most frequent and most intimate correspondents was
Dr. Fitzwilliam, the friend of her childhood, who had been her father’s
domestic chaplain. She also continued her intercourse with Bishop
Burnet, and tells him how diligently she superintends the education of
her children, Mistress Rachel, little Mistress Katey, and that precious
boy with whose wild freaks in happier days she was wont to entertain
papa. She confesses to the Bishop that she occasionally finds the
employment of teaching irksome to her overtaxed spirit; yet on the whole
it refreshes her, and she is resolved to prosecute the task alone and
unassisted. This plan the Bishop highly approves, and he alludes to the
circumstance in these words: ‘I am glad your children will need no other
governess, for as it is the greatest part of your duty, so the
occupation will be a noble entertainment, and the best diversion and
cure for your wasted and wearied spirit.’ It is to Bishop Burnet that
she describes her sensations on visiting her husband’s tomb at Chenies:
‘I did not go to seek the living among the dead, for I well knew that I
should see him no more, wherever I went, and I had made a covenant with
myself not to break out into unreasonable and fruitless passion, but
quicken my contemplation of his happiness.’
There are two classes of mourners most prevalent in the world, those who
give way to enervating emotion, nursing and encouraging the outward
expression of grief, and those who fly to some frivolous and unworthy
expedient to ‘lull the lone heart and banish care.’ To neither of these
classes did Lady Russell belong; she faced her affliction bravely but
submissively, believing with the poet[1] that
‘They who lack time to mourn, lack time to mend.
Eternity mourns that.’
Footnote 1:
Philip van Artevelde.
She spent a great deal of her time at Woburn, with her parents-in-law,
where she and her children were ever welcome; often meditating, and
frequently delaying her return to the once happy home of sweet Stratton.
But she was detained at Woburn first by the death of her mother-in-law,
and then by the dangerous illness of her son, which crushing anxiety she
thus turns to good account. Speaking of the possibility of losing ‘the
little creature,’ she writes to Dr. Fitzwilliam, ‘God has made me see
the folly of imagining I had nothing left, the deprivation of which
could be matter of much anguish, or its possession of any considerable
refreshment.’ But the blow was averted and the boy recovered. She left
Woburn, and instead of going direct to Stratton she started for
Totteridge in Hertfordshire, with him and her eldest girl, while little
Katey was left at Woburn to keep company with her aged grandfather.
No one was more alive to the noble and loveable qualities of Lady
Russell than her dear lord’s father, and he writes her a most tender and
pathetic letter, evincing the deepest interest in her and her children,
especially in the recovery of the young heir, whose illness had caused
so much anxiety to the whole family. He addresses her as his dearest
daughter, and expresses himself in the quaint and courteous, though
somewhat stilted style of the day, hoping soon to have some comfortable
tidings of her and her dear little ones, assuring her that his grandson
is the subject of his constant prayers, and that while he has breath he
remains her affectionate father and friend to command. Written from
Woburn Abbey, the 7th day of June 1684; with a postscript: ‘My dear love
and blessing to my dear boy, and to Mistress Rachel. I am much cheered
by Mistress Catherine’s company; she is often with me, and looks very
well.’ It is interesting to remember that the respective ages of these
two playfellows were nine, and eighty.
Lady Russell moved afterwards with her family to Southampton House, so
full of memories, sweet and bitter, of early happiness, subsequent
anxiety, and utter desolation. She was in London at the time of the
King’s death, and although she had no reason to regret Charles, yet to
one whose interest was never deadened in the course of public affairs,
there was little to be hoped for in the accession of James the Second.
The trials of Algernon Sidney, Hampden, and others, who were associated
with the memory of her lord, made her wounds bleed afresh, more
especially the execution of the Duke of Monmouth, Lord Russell’s most
intimate friend. ‘Never,’ she writes, ‘had a poor creature more
_awakers_ to quicken and revive her sorrow’; yet in alluding to
Monmouth’s fate she owns herself void of reason, that she should weep
when she ought to rejoice ‘that so good a man is safely landed on the
blessed shores of a safe eternity.’ She was detained in London longer
than she wished by the arrival of her uncle the Marquis de Ruvigny, who
had come over from France to assist in the endeavour to gain from the
King and Government the subversion of the attainder which affected the
Russell children. Very interesting letters and documents on this subject
are extant at Woburn Abbey. Lady Russell was very much attached to her
uncle, and welcomed him, his wife, and a favourite niece, to her house,
where the last-mentioned relative fell sick of malignant fever and died,
to the inexpressible grief of De Ruvigny. Rachel’s anxiety on account of
her own children may be imagined; she removed them to the country, and
then returned to London to comfort her sorrowing uncle. De Ruvigny later
on resided permanently in England, and became the centre of a small
colony of French refugees which settled at Greenwich, and he ended his
days in this country. The Earl of Devonshire, the faithful friend (when
Lord Cavendish) of William Russell, who had offered to change clothes
with him and remain in his stead in prison, had never slackened in his
friendship for his friend’s widow; and he now came forward with a
proposal of marriage between his eldest son and Rachel’s eldest daughter
and namesake.
In those days no time was lost in such matters. My Lord Cavendish was
sixteen, Mistress Rachel fourteen. There were difficulties about
settlements (_car l’histoire se répète_) among the lawyers, but the
marriage did come off at last in spite of those everlasting impediments
to the course of true love. Deeply interested as she was in domestic
details and in arrangements for the future of her child, Lady Russell
was no indifferent spectator to the rapid strides which James the Second
was making towards the downfall of political and religious liberty which
he was too short-sighted to foresee would include his own. When M.
Dykeveldt, the minister plenipotentiary from Holland, arrived in London,
he waited on Lady Russell by the commands of the Prince and Princess of
Orange, being the bearer of autograph letters and the most flattering
messages from their Highnesses, speaking in terms of the highest
admiration and esteem of her patriot lord and the noble family to which
he belonged, and assuring her of friendship and sympathy and the hope
that they might in the future be useful to her and her son. Thus
commenced a correspondence which brought forth important fruits in the
coming changes. Her first visit to Stratton was very trying to her
heart, and though grateful that the children were too young to share
those feelings to any great extent, she could not but rejoice to
perceive in Mistress Rachel some memory of the loss they had sustained,
but then to be sure, as the reader will take into consideration, Rachel
Russell the younger was already fourteen years of age and a promised
wife! Three days the poor widow always gave to seclusion and reflection,
the anniversaries of the arrest, trial, and execution of her lord. In
the winter the family removed to London, and preparations were now going
on briskly for the marriage, when the poor _fiancée_ fell sick of the
measles, and it was not till midsummer 1689 that the celebration of the
marriage actually took place, being hurried at the last, we are told,
because my Lord (Devonshire, the bridegroom’s father) was in haste to go
to the Bath.
The young couple spent their (crescent) honeymoon between Southampton
House and Woburn Abbey, and then the bridegroom set forth on a course of
foreign travel to finish his education which lasted two years, while my
Lady Cavendish remained an inmate of her mother’s home. The leading
members of the houses of Cavendish and Russell were among those
influential personages who had invited the Prince and Princess of Orange
to come over to England to the rescue of the kingdom; and when they
actually landed Rachel put herself in constant communication with her
old friend Bishop Burnet, at that time in the suite of the future
monarchs. She accompanied her aged father-in-law to London, in time to
witness the flight of James the Second, and there is extant an amusing
letter from young Lady Cavendish in which she describes to a bosom
friend, the decision of the two Houses of Parliament that William and
Mary of Orange should be King and Queen. She goes on to say she was
present at the proclamation, which gave her great pleasure, ‘for were
they not in the room of King James, my father’s murderer?’ At night she
went to Court to kiss the Queen’s hand, the King’s also, with her
mother-in-law, the Countess of Devonshire. She describes William ‘as a
man of no presence; he is homely at first sight, but when one looks long
on him he has something both wise and good.’ The Queen she considers
very handsome, and most graceful.
One of the first acts of the new King and Queen was the reversal of the
attainder of William, Lord Russell; his execution had already been
declared to be a murder by the vote of the House of Commons. Honours of
different kinds were showered on the aged Earl of Bedford, the Earl of
Devonshire, and many of Lady Russell’s connections and friends, while
she herself was constantly referred to for advice and counsel by people
whom she held in great esteem, such as Dr. Fitzwilliam and Archbishop
Tillotson, who discussed with her questions of doctrine and faith, and
the propriety or expediency of accepting preferment under the new
_régime_. People of all opinions applied to Rachel to secure her good
offices with the new Sovereigns, and Lady Sunderland, whose husband had
been most instrumental in Lord Russell’s downfall, did not scruple to
ask her intercession. Passing years brought fresh trials in their train
for one who seemed indeed born for sorrow. In 1690 she lost her
remaining sister, the wife of Ralph, Lord afterwards Duke of Montagu,
and within a few weeks of her death she mourns that of her nephew Lord
Gainsborough, ‘that engaging creature,’ she writes, ‘the only son of the
sister whom I loved with so much passion,’ and now as a crowning grief
she is threatened with blindness. It had been said that this infirmity
proceeded from her constant weeping; and though one of her biographers
argues that it was impossible on account of the particular nature of the
disease, being cataract, those who unfortunately have experience in such
cases know well how noxious to the sight is the briny nature of sorrow’s
flood. It is piteous to read her sad anticipations of the coming evil,
and how she will have to forego that great relaxation and comfort to
her, of what she terms ‘society at a distance. But while light is left
her she will work.’
Lord Cavendish having now returned from the Continent was joined by his
young wife, and there was a sad gap when dearest Rachel left her home.
The fond mother writes to Lady Derby, Mistress of the Robes to Queen
Mary, recommending her daughter, who was much at Court, to that lady’s
kind protection; and now yet another of the young birds was called on to
leave the nest. Mistress Kate was asked in marriage by Lord Roos, eldest
son of the Earl of Rutland, esteemed the best match in all England. Yet
there were reasons of a political and domestic nature which caused Lady
Russell to hesitate before giving her final consent to the marriage.
There is an amusing description of the grand reception which the newly
married pair met with at the paternal estate of Belvoir, falling very
little short of the pomp and splendour due to royalty on such occasions.
We regret that our want of space precludes the introduction of some
interesting details. Rachel did not go to the marriage, for noise and
too much company made her eyes ache, and she was desirous to keep ‘the
little bit of sight she had left,’ which deserted her as soon as a
candle was lighted. There was still balm in Gilead. The operation for
couching was successfully performed, and the patient, after making use
of an amanuensis for some time, was able once more to resume her
correspondence and enjoy ‘society at a distance.’ Following this
inestimable blessing came the mark of royal favour which must have been
a source of intense gratification to Rachel, Lady Russell. Her
son-in-law and her father-in-law were both advanced to the rank of Dukes
of Devonshire and Bedford. And in the case of the latter, the honour was
enhanced to the old man, Lady Russell, and the whole family, by the
tribute paid in the words of the patent to the memory of his patriot
son. Sure never was sentiment so mingled before or since with legal and
formal documents, but the words (or preamble as it is called) were those
of the eloquent and refined Lord Chancellor Somers. The King in
bestowing the highest dignity in his gift declares, ‘We think it not
sufficient that his (Lord Russell’s) conduct and virtues should be
transmitted to all future generations upon the credit of public annals,
but will have them inserted in these our royal letters-patent as a
monument consecrated to the most accomplished and consummate virtue,’
etc. etc. All honour to the house whose patent of nobility well deserves
the name!
A general election was now impending, and Lady Russell received the most
flattering proposals from the leading members of the Government, that
her son should represent Middlesex in the House of Commons. She makes a
very gracious answer, and after taking counsel with the aged Duke, she
writes they have both come to the conclusion that a Parliament life
would interfere with the progress of Lord Tavistock’s education, he
being only fifteen. Strange times when schoolboys married and sat in
Parliament! The young heir went to Oxford (instead of to the House),
where he was more than once visited by his mother.
When about seventeen Lord Tavistock started with a private tutor on a
continental tour, which lasted over two years, and which the young man
enjoyed perhaps a little too much. He made his mother a confidante of
all his pleasures, extravagancies, and escapades, for Tavistock was one
of those who loved the beautiful, whether in sights, sounds, or people.
He had also grand notions of the style in which the heir to an English
dukedom should live—must have a carriage with a fine pair of steppers
and two running footmen; his cravats must be of rich point lace, and his
suits finely embroidered. Moreover he found himself constrained to send
all the way from Rome to Leghorn to procure a periwig, as the world’s
capital could not furnish him with one to his taste. Then there were
flowers and gifts of jewels to please the fair Romans, and added to all
these ways and means of getting rid of his pocket-money, our traveller
had a decided inclination for gambling. His letters are the natural
outpourings of an enthusiastic youth in the heyday of spirits and
enjoyment, rather too easily led astray, and although they caused his
mother some distress, they contained nothing likely to diminish her
esteem for her only son. He confessed his delinquencies so frankly,
solicited help so humbly, and begged his beloved mother’s pardon, and
her intercession for that of his grandfather, in a most irresistible
manner.
Within a year after Lord Tavistock’s return to England, he succeeded to
his grandfather’s titles and estates on the death of that good old man,
and in compliance with personal request made by his mother, the King
bestowed on him the Garter, and shortly afterwards he was appointed
Lord-Lieutenant of the three counties of Bedford, Middlesex, and
Cambridge, while at the Coronation of Queen Anne he acted as Lord High
Constable of England, and was made a Privy Councillor. He had married in
1669 the daughter of John Howland, Esquire, who was created Lord Howland
of Streatham, in order to obviate any appearance of a _mésalliance_. But
all this prosperity was of short duration; eleven years after his
accession to the title, at the early age of thirty-one, Wriothesley, the
second Duke of Bedford, fell a victim to the terrible disease, which in
those days (before inoculation or vaccination was known) wrought such
ravages in England. When the character of the illness was announced, the
Duchess and his children were sent to a distance, but the fond mother
watched by his bedside to the last, and writes, after all is over, to
her cousin Lord Galway: ‘I am in such disorder of spirits, so full of
confusion, and amazement, that I am incapable of saying or doing what I
should. I did not know the greatness of my love for his person, till I
could see it no more.’ The poor mourner had scarcely time to lift her
head, bowed by the combined weight of age and sorrow, before another
crushing blow fell on her. Her sweet Katey (now Duchess of Rutland) died
in giving birth to her tenth child, at the same moment that the Duchess
of Devonshire was expecting her confinement. From her Lady Russell had
the arduous task of concealing the fact of the other’s death. The two
sisters had loved each other tenderly, and there was great difficulty in
evading the inquiries which the Duchess constantly made after her dear
Katey. ‘I saw her yesterday,’ was the sad subterfuge, ‘out of her bed.’
Alas! it was in her coffin.
The Duke of Rutland was not slow in providing himself with a second
wife, and this unseemly haste was not calculated to soothe Lady
Russell’s mind, but when she found that his intentions with regard to
her daughter’s children were just and generous, she thought it advisable
‘to let the matter pass easily.’ She had now arrived at an advanced age,
somewhat infirm in body, but unimpaired in mind, with a trembling hand,
but an unclouded intellect, and she busied herself in composing prayers
and meditations for her own use, and in making, as it were, a full
confession of her failings and shortcomings (which she called sins);
reviewing as she did so the whole of her past life. This document was
left unfinished at the time of her death. When at the age of eighty-six,
her health gave way.
A letter from Lady Rachel Morgan (wife of Sir William Morgan of
Tredegar) to her brother, Lord James Cavendish, says: ‘The bad account
we have received of Grandmamma Russell has put us into great disorder
and hurry. Mamma has left us and gone to London. I believe she has
stopped the letters, so we are still in suspense; the last post brought
us so bad an account that we have reason to fear the worst. I hope mamma
will get to town in time to see her alive, because it would be a great
satisfaction to both.’ This letter is dated 26th September. On the 29th
of the same month 1723, Rachel, Lady Russell, ended her exemplary and
blameless life, so replete with stirring incidents, both of a public and
private nature, so full of transient joy and abiding sorrow. She lived
to see her children raised to honour and prosperity, but, alas! she had
the misfortune to survive those who, in the common course of nature,
should have wept her loss. She was buried by the side of her dear lord
at Chenies, in Buckinghamshire, where an elaborate monument is erected
to their memory.
-------
No. 2. LADY ROBERT RUSSELL.
_Oval. Tawny and blue dress._
BY SIR GODFREY KNELLER.
SHE was the daughter of Edward Russell, and widow of Thomas Cheek of
Pirgo, county Sussex. She married her cousin, Lord Robert Russell.
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No. 3. SIR ORLANDO BRIDGEMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE.
_In robes of office: scarlet and ermine, with cap and gold chain.
Gloves in left hand._
BORN 1609. DIED 1674.
BY RILEY.
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No. 4. LORD ROBERT RUSSELL.
_Oval. Dark brown dress. Wig. Lace cravat._
DIED 1722.
BY SIR GODFREY KNELLER.
HE was the fifth son of the first Duke of Bedford, by Anne Carr,
daughter of the Earl of Somerset. He married his cousin in 1690, the
widow of Thomas Cheek, by whom he had no children. In 1660 and 1661 he
travelled on the Continent, accompanied by his brother Edward, and a
tutor. He served in seven Parliaments for Tavistock.
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No. 5. HUGO DE GROOT, OR GROTIUS.
_When a boy. Black dress. White collar._
BORN 1583. DIED 1645-6.
BY MIEREVELDT.
BORN at Delft, the son of John de Groot (Dutch for ‘Great’), of an
ancient family, Burgomaster of the town, and Curator of the recently
founded University of Leyden, which was destined to become so famous.
Hugo was one day totally to eclipse the fame of his father, though he
too was a man of great learning and cultivation. Hugo was remarkable for
his proficiency in Latin and Greek when a mere child, and, unlike most
precocious geniuses, he fulfilled his early promise. He was placed with
an Arminian minister at the Hague, and when only eight years old,
composed some Latin verses, which are still extant. At the age of eleven
he was entered as a student at Leyden, and became the pet (so to speak)
of a circle of learned professors, of whom he was destined to become the
foremost. In those early days Hugo distinguished himself in every branch
of learning, addressed a Greek ode to the Prince of Orange, which gained
him great κυδος, as did shortly afterwards a Latin poem in honour of
Henry the Fourth of France.
In 1598 Hugo accompanied Count Justin of Nassau (natural son of William
the Silent) and John Olden Barneveldt on a diplomatic mission to Paris.
Henry the Fourth, remembering the tribute paid him by the young
foreigner, showed him especial favour, presented him with his picture
and a chain of massive gold, and pointed him out to the courtiers as ‘a
miracle of learning, and the wonder of Holland.’ The young Prince of
Condé also took great delight in his society, and called him his
secretary. To this youthful patron Grotius dedicated his first printed
work, _Martianus Capella_.
Hugo remained in Paris for about a year, when a summons from his parents
called him home. On his return he took up his abode at the house of
Prince Maurice of Nassau’s chaplain, a learned and pious man, where he
studied law without neglecting his literary labours. He pleaded his
first cause at Delft when only seventeen, gaining thereby the greatest
applause. He published works on astronomy, physics, navigation, both in
dead and living languages, and his description of the siege of Ostend
(which place had held out three years against the Spaniards) was
considered a masterpiece. His writings on contemporary history, in which
he did full justice to the noble and patriotic deeds of his countrymen,
also called especial attention to the merits of the young author, and
the Government were easily induced to listen to the recommendation of
Olden Barneveldt, and in due time Hugo Grotius was selected as
historiographer, and this in preference to many candidates, all of whom
were his seniors, while the salary was increased in consideration of the
nominee’s acknowledged talents. The French King wished to secure him as
President of the Library at Paris, and the star of Grotius was now in
the ascendant. He was named to the post of Pensionary of the city of
Rotterdam, vacant by the death of Elias, brother to Olden Barneveldt,
with whom Grotius now contracted an intimate friendship. This office,
together with other privileges, entitled the holder to a seat in the
Assembly of the States of Holland, and afterwards to the same honour in
that of the States-General. On this promotion, Grotius’s father was
desirous that his son should marry, and an alliance was accordingly
agreed on with Maria von Reigensberg, a lady of noble family in Zeeland,
the daughter of a Burgomaster of Veer, in that province. The bride, it
would seem, was by no means comely in appearance; she was stoutly built
and of a swarthy complexion, but the future proved Maria von Grotius to
be a woman of strong affection, acute intelligence, and indomitable
courage. Shortly after his arrival in Rotterdam, Grotius was sent to
England on a mission connected with some dispute which had arisen
between the Dutch and English, connected with the whale fisheries, and
here he was cordially welcomed by James the First, with whom he had many
conferences, on matters theological, as well as diplomatic, while his
society was eagerly courted by all the men of eminence in this country.
But a storm was gathering over the calm horizon of Hugo Grotius’s
hitherto bright career. On his return to Rotterdam he found that the
religious differences which had been gradually waxing hotter and hotter
throughout the United Provinces had now assumed a most formidable
aspect. The whole country was divided into two separate factions of the
Arminians and the Gomarites; the former party strongly opposing, and the
latter strenuous upholding, the doctrines of Calvin. After some
wavering, or perhaps we had better say investigation, of the subject,
Grotius decided on embracing the tenets of Arminius. Remonstrances and
counter-remonstrances were brought forward by the two parties, Synods
were convened, public disturbances ensued, and the disputes which had
commenced in a question of dogma developed into political animosity. A
decree was issued by the States, with a view to putting down the serious
riots which had lately occurred, and extraordinary powers were granted
to magisterial bodies, a measure which, combined with others equally
obnoxious to him, gave great offence to Maurice of Nassau, the
Stadtholder, and he was violently incensed against the men at whose
instigation the step had been taken. Between the prince and the friend
of his youth, John Olden Barneveldt, great differences of opinion had
for some time existed, and it was in the year 1619 that this venerable
patriot and his friend Grotius were both thrown into prison—whence the
former, after a summary and unjust trial, only came out on his way to
the scaffold. In that solemn moment Barneveldt showed great solicitude
as to the fate of his friend, and learning in answer to his question
that Grotius did not lie under sentence of death, he exclaimed, ‘I
greatly rejoice, for he is young, and will, I firmly trust, live long to
be of service to his country.’ The trial of Grotius followed, and
accusations as groundless as those which had been brought forward
against the grand Pensionary were laid to his charge, including treason
to his country, complicity with Spain, etc. etc., and he was sentenced
to imprisonment for life and the confiscation of his entire property. He
was conveyed from one prison to another, until the castle of
Loevenstein, near Gorcum in South Holland, was chosen for his final
resting-place. This gloomy old fortress was considered impregnable, and
the most stringent measures were taken against escape; indeed the
internal arrangements of the building and its contiguity to the river
seemed to preclude all possibility of evasion. Here Grotius and his
learned friend Hogersbaert were immured, and by dint of manifold
petitions and ‘continual wearying,’ their faithful wives were allowed to
share their captivity. But all intercourse was forbidden between the two
men who were attached to each other, not only by friendship, but
sympathy in literary pursuits, while the poor ladies were altogether
denied the consolation of each other’s society; and when Hogersbaert’s
wife fell ill, Madame Grotius petitioned in vain for the privilege (so
dear to every gentle-hearted woman) of ministering to her friend in
sickness, or cheering her last moments with the promise of watching over
the dying mother’s six helpless children. The only proof of sympathy
which one captive was allowed to show the other was in the transmission
of a pathetic epitaph by Hugo Grotius, which was gratefully received by
the unhappy widower.
Madame Grotius had contrived to retain a portion of her own, when her
husband’s property was confiscated, and with this small sum she
endeavoured to make his condition less intolerable. She rejected with
disdain the scanty dole allowed by Government for the maintenance of the
prisoner, and constantly ferried over to Gorcum, on the opposite side of
the river, to cater for little dainties for her lord, and the noble dame
would stand for hours over the kitchen fire preparing the daily banquet
for him and for their children. Maria was indeed one of those characters
of combined strength and tenderness, which go near to form ‘the perfect
woman.’ When her husband was first arrested, her anxiety for his life
never betrayed her into weakness or cowardice; on the contrary, she
wrote constantly, urging him to maintain his principles, and rather die
than ask pardon, which could only be obtained through servile
submission. Her admiration for Grotius, and her pride in his genius,
could only be equalled by her affection. To think that a man, with whose
name Europe already rang, whose writings were fated to influence the
destinies of nations—that he should waste the best days of his life in
prison—wither away, as it were, in a living tomb,—the thought was
intolerable to her. The Commandant of the fortress, one Deventer,
cherished a spite against his noble prisoner, arising from some family
feud which had been handed down from the last generation, and he took
especial delight in riveting the heavy chains as tightly as he could,
and making captivity unbearable. Air and exercise were seldom
vouchsafed, and Grotius, the philosopher, the metaphysician, the
historian, the world-famed author, might be seen spinning a large top in
the lobby adjoining his apartments for the best exercise he could get!
Even the society of his beloved wife and that of his children did not
suffice to prevent the hours from dragging heavily along, deprived as he
was of the joys of a scholar’s heart, the books in which he could study
the thoughts of others, the writing materials with which he could record
his own; therefore Maria never rested until she had wrung from the
authorities the permission to obtain from Grotius’s own library the
volumes most coveted, together with pen, ink, and paper. Henceforth the
captive’s life was no longer a blank. He devoured his classics, he made
notes and translations, he wrote works on History, Theology,
Jurisprudence, and thus shed a light on the outer world from behind the
walls of his gloomy fortress. But these alleviations were not sufficient
to content the faithful wife; she had more daring schemes in view. Had
she ever heard, or does the Dutch language, so rich in proverbs, contain
an equivalent for our ‘Love laughs at locksmiths’? Certain it is she was
destined to realise the words of a lowly poet of our own days—
‘Oh! woman all would do, would dare;
To save her heart’s best cherished care
She’d roam the world tract wide,
Nor bolts nor bars can ’gainst her stand,
Or weapons stay her gentle hand,
When love and duty guide.’
She laid her train most carefully, most skilfully, nor did she allow any
undue haste to mar its fulfilment. She had in her constant marketings at
Gorcum cultivated the acquaintance and gained the friendship of many of
the bettermost tradespeople of the town, and her maid Lieschen, who was
market-woman in turn, was instructed to do the same. They both talked
constantly to the good burghers’ wives, and interested them in behalf of
the captive, the great writer and philosopher, and, what came nearer the
women’s hearts, the tender husband and father. The plot was ripening in
the devoted conspirator’s mind; but there came a moment of suspicion and
alarm; it was reported that Madame Grotius had bought a coil of ropes in
Gorcum, doubtless to facilitate her husband’s escape. An inquiry was
instituted, when the suspected lady herself pointed out to the
emissaries of justice, that ropes, even wings, could they be procured,
would be unavailing in a dungeon where the captive on his entrance had
to pass through thirteen different doors, each of which was bolted after
him. She had in fact other means in store, and fortune favoured her in
one particular, namely, that the cross-grained commandant was summoned
to a distant town on military business, and Maria Grotius had already
ingratiated herself with Madame Deventer by occasional presents of
luxuries, to which the good lady was by no means insensible, such as
venison, poultry, and the like. When the books were first allowed to
enter the prison walls, the chest was submitted on its entrance and exit
to a strict search, which had of late been deemed unnecessary.