(A.D. 1694-1714.)
We have already heard a great deal about Anne, because up to the death of her sister, Queen Mary, their lives are so closely connected that it is impossible to understand some of the incidents without mentioning both sisters. The death of Mary brought Princess Anne more into public notice as heir presumptive to the throne, though it was many years before she became Queen of England. Heretofore, as we have seen, she lived like a private person at Berkeley House, and had not even been permitted to appear at court, because of the ill-feeling that existed between her and her sister Mary. Lord and Lady Marlborough, whose devotion to Princess Anne had seriously offended the queen, still continued her warm friends, and the princess wrote letters to her father filled with professions of loyalty and affection as before. King James did not attach much importance to them; but how could he, poor man, after the sad experience he had had. He knew perfectly well that his daughter merely consulted her own interest whether she appeared in the light of his friend or his enemy; for never was a father worse treated than poor James had been by both his daughters.
The Duke of Gloucester was with his mother when Queen Mary's death was announced, and his attendants were surprised at the indifference he manifested. He had been fond of his royal aunt; but as he was only five years
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of age, he could not comprehend the full significance of death, and like most children, was more interested in those people and objects that immediately surrounded him. It was otherwise with his mother, for she and her sister had loved each other devotedly in early years; and when the grave closed over Queen Mary's body, all enmity was forgotten, and Princess Anne could only remember that a once fondly loved relative was irrevocably lost. The old affection returned, and she wept bitter tears. The memory of her sister made her heart warm towards King William, whom she had thoroughly detested for several years. Perhaps his desperate grief touched her, for he shut himself up in Kensington Palace and gave vent to the most agonizing sobs. Those who knew him best were surprised that a man of his disposition could take sorrow so to heart; but he had lost a devoted wife and friend,—one who had sought to place him in the foremost ranks on every occasion, and to gain for him the credit and praise that was really due to her own superior talent for ruling. William III. was well aware of this, and of the fact that henceforth his hold on the crown was by no means secure. His only right to his lofty position was through his wife, and now that she was removed might not a breath deprive him of it? While the war lasted he was compelled to absent himself from England nearly half the year. Hitherto Queen Mary had supplied his place, who was to do so now? His position seemed difficult and dangerous. One day, when he was sitting alone with his head bowed down in grief, Lord Somers entered the room. The king took no notice of him whatever. After waiting a few moments, Somers approached and stated the cause of his intrusion, which was a proposition he desired to make that the hostility of the court towards Princess Anne should terminate.
"My lord, do as you please; I can think of no business," was the reply of the sorrow-stricken king. Lord Somers chose to construe this undecided answer into consent, and so set to work to negotiate a reconciliation through Lord Sunderland, by whose advice Princess Anne was induced to write the following letter to the king:—
Sir,—I beg your majesty's favorable acceptance of my sincere and hearty sorrow for your great affliction in the loss of the queen. And I do assure your majesty I am as sensibly touched with this sad misfortune as if I had never been so unhappy as to have fallen into her displeasure.
It is my earnest desire your majesty would give me leave to wait upon you as soon as it can be without inconvenience to yourself, and without danger of increasing your affliction, that I may have the opportunity myself, not only of repeating this, but assuring your majesty of my real intentions to omit no occasion of giving you constant proofs of my sincere respect and concern for your person and interest, as becomes, sir,
Your majesty's affectionate sister and servant, Anne.
The princess must have felt her welfare at stake as well as that of her son; otherwise she could not have been induced to write so dutiful a letter to the brother-in-law who had treated her so unkindly for many years. It was Archbishop Tennison who took it upon himself to deliver the letter, and at the same time to say all he could in praise of the disinterested conduct of the princess during the period when she was debarred from appearing at court. King William knew better, but gave the archbishop credit for honesty, and concluded that he might with safety trust to the fidelity of Anne now, because her interest was closely linked with his own. He therefore sent her some of the late queen's jewels, in token of reconciliation, and appointed an interview at Kensington Palace.
Anne was in such a dreadful state of health, and so puffed up with dropsy, that she had to be carried to the presence-chamber in a chair. Both she and the king were affected to tears when they met, and after a few remarks they retired to a private room, where they conversed for nearly three-quarters of an hour. The details of that interview are not known; but it is certain that the royal brother and sister-in-law agreed to combine all their interests against James II. and his son, and William further consented to an amnesty with the Earl of Marlborough, for whom he felt supreme contempt.
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When Bentinck was consulted as to his opinion of the reconciliation, he warned the king against putting any trust in the professions of either Marlborough or the princess; but he had withdrawn himself from the side of his once beloved master for some mysterious reason, and another was required to take his place, so in course of time we shall find the much-despised earl courted and honored by King William. The reconciliation between Anne and the king had not been effected too soon, for the Jacobites began to agitate the question whether the princess was not the real Queen of Great Britain, and Ireland; and those provinces that were not kept in subjection by the dread of a standing army were prepared to rebel against a foreign king, who held his position merely by permission of parliament. These were all prepared to support Anne, with the hope that once placed upon the throne she would not hesitate to resign in favor of her father and brother, because her friendly correspondence with the former was known. Many important arrests were made, and many agitators escaped from the kingdom. Anne continued writing to her father, and made promises that she had no idea of fulfilling; but he was not deceived, though he deeply deplored the alliance she had formed for the second time with his enemy.
When William returned to Flanders he left no power in the hands of Anne whatever, but the council of nine took entire charge of government affairs, and the Archbishop of Canterbury was one of their number.
King William's reign, contrary to the expectation of all the statesmen of Europe, was decidedly more prosperous and more tranquil after Queen Mary's death than it had been during her life.
In course of time Princess Anne's health improved, and she became a great huntress. This exercise was begun for the cure of gout and dropsy, but was continued on account of the pleasure the princess derived from it. She was too fat to hunt on horseback, but went in a sort of sedan chair, hung between two very high wheels, and drawn by one horse. How the stag was ever brought down when hunted from such an equipage is a mystery that experienced sportsmen may be able to solve. The young Duke of Gloucester still lived at Campden House, because it was considered a healthful spot, and his health was so delicate that it was feared he might die if not carefully watched. He had a disease called water on the brain, which made his head larger than it ought to have been, and often threatened to prostrate him. There were times when he could not bear to go up or down stairs without having a person to hold him on either side. This fancy was indulged for a time, but at last it was attributed to cowardice, for there was no one sufficiently well-informed as to the nature of his disease to suspect that he felt dizzy. His mother once shut herself up in a room with him for an hour to try and reason him out of being led about, as he was then past five years of age, but he obstinately refused to stir alone until he was whipped again and again. The fact of a child of his vivacity fearing to go up and down stairs without assistance ought to have been sufficient evidence that something was wrong with him; but after the whipping, which certainly ought not to have been administered to a person suffering from any disease of the brain, the young prince dispensed with support, though his head must often have ached and felt very confused. Prince George of Denmark was particularly anxious that no infirmity should be observed in his son, because he could not bear to have him held up to ridicule by the scribblers, who considered no calamity sacred from the merciless attacks of their pens. The brutal articles that appeared daily against the "the young pretender" prompted him to shield his son from similar ones by the opposite party. That was all very well; but disease cannot be whipped out of anybody, and so the prince was encouraged to fight against his malady until he became very ill. Doctor Radcliffe was summoned from Oxford, and did all he could for the little sufferer, who had a fever which kept him in bed two whole weeks. But he was not permitted to be quiet, for his small soldiers were constantly at his bedside blowing their trumpets, beating drums, building toy fortifications, and making a great deal more noise most of the time than was good for the invalid. The old nurse of Princess Anne sent the sick boy a large doll dressed as a warrior by one of his attendants named Wetherby. This present occasioned much indignation among the young soldiers, because it was full six months since any of them had condescended to play with toys of so effeminate a nature, and sentence of destruction was immediately pronounced on the doll. No sooner was it carried into effect than it was decided that the messenger ought to receive punishment, too.
A.D. 1695. But Wetherby knew what a rough lot of boys surrounded the prince, and, taking warning by the treatment the doll had received at their hands, hastened down Campden-Hill and hid himself. In the afternoon the unfortunate fellow was discovered and captured,—four grown men having been pressed into the service,—and locked up all night. The next morning he was brought before the Duke of Gloucester, who pronounced his sentence. Wetherby was forthwith bound, hand and foot, mounted on a large hobby-horse and soused all over with water from large syringes. This was all done for the amusement of the duke; and as Wetherby had taken part on various occasions in playing similar jokes on the men who assisted the boys, they showed him no mercy now. When the poor prisoner was half-drowned, he was drawn into the presence of the invalid, who enjoyed immensely his woeful plight.
The following summer change of air was strongly recommended for the royal boy by Dr. Radcliffe, and, after seeking accommodation at several watering-places, the Princess Anne decided to take him to Twickenham. There she was offered three adjoining houses which belonged to Mrs. Davies, a gentlewoman more than eighty years of age, who had belonged to the court of Charles I. This lady was bright, cheerful, healthy, and excessively pious. She was simple in her habits, and had lived on fruit and herbs nearly all her life. She was well-born and rich, and owned a large estate, on which were planted a number of fine fruit trees. Her cherries, which were just ripe when the princess went to Twickenham, were the finest in all the country around; and the old lady gave the people of the royal household full permission to gather as many as they chose, providing that they would not injure her trees, of which she was very proud.
At the end of a month Princess Anne ordered her treasurer to hand Mrs. Davies a hundred guineas for rent and the trouble her people had given; but the aged hostess positively refused to accept a farthing, and when pressed to receive the money, she indignantly arose, and, letting the gold-pieces that had been placed in her lap, roll all over the floor, quietly walked out of the room. The princess was astonished at such generosity, and declared that, although it would have been a pleasure to her to reward the old lady to the utmost of her power, her feelings must not be hurt by a further offer of money.
The little Duke of Gloucester formed such a warm attachment for Mrs. Davies that he loved to nestle in her lap and confide to her all his secret woes. His younger and fairer associates, who lavished flattery and attention on him, were not half so attractive as the honest dame, who, having nothing to gain or lose, always told him the truth. The royal boy's religious education had not been neglected; prayers had been read to him twice every day by his chaplain; but he never knew what they meant, nobody had taken the trouble to explain them; and he had naturally paid little attention to what he had failed to understand. Mrs. Davies soon comprehended where the difficulty lay; and it was from her lips that the duke learned the Lord's Prayer, the Creed, the Ten Commandments, and several hymns, all of which were carefully and patiently explained until they were made clear to his infant mind.
One Sunday, when the princess was preparing to go to church, her son asked if he might accompany her. She was surprised, because he had never made such a request before, but gave permission. Then the little Duke of Gloucester ran to inform his governess, Lady Fitzharding, who asked him if he would say the psalms,—a performance to which he had always objected.
"I will sing them," proudly replied the boy; thus showing the effect of his aged friend's instruction.
One day, while the princess was making her toilet, the boy looked up into her face and asked: "Mamma, why have you two chaplains, and I but one?"
"Pray," returned the mother, with an amused smile, "what do you give your one chaplain?" She merely asked this question to hear what sort of a reply her son would make, and to find out whether he knew that the chaplains of the royal household received no pay.
The little duke looked at her earnestly for a moment, and then said: "Mamma, I give him his liberty!"
The princess laughed heartily at the little boy's unconscious repartee.
On his return to Campden House the Duke of Gloucester found his soldier company posted as sentinels on guard, and they received their commander with presented arms and all the honors of war. After that the daily drill took place regularly on an open plain, called Wormwood Common. One morning the duke fell with a pistol in his hand, and hurt his forehead against it. The wound was still bleeding when he reached Campden House, and the ladies began to pity him; but he put on a bold air and told them "that a bullet had grazed his forehead, but that as a soldier he could not cry when wounded."
There was so much ceremony observed among the royal attendants all the time that Mr. Tratt, the tutor, considered it an infringement of his rights when Jenkins, the Welsh usher, undertook to give the Duke of Gloucester his first lessons in fencing and mathematics.
The child ran to his mother every time he learned anything new to make a display of his knowledge; but Jenkins was told to "mind his own business" by those who considered that he ought to be otherwise employed. Lady Fitz-harding, in particular, found great fault with his filling the duke's head with such "stuff" as mathematics, and seemed to regard the figures drawn in geometry some sort of magic-signs that savored of witchcraft. But her husband eased her mind by assuring her that Lewis Jenkins "was a good youth, who had read much, but meant no harm." The princess ordered Lord Fitzharding to hinder Jenkins from teaching her son anything, because he might get wrong ideas, that it would be hard to correct when he began to study according to the regular method.
Shortly after she saw the duke fencing with a wooden sword, and defending himself against the attack of an imaginary foe. "I thought I forbade your people to fence with you," observed her royal highness.
"Oh yes, mamma," replied the child; "but I hope you will give them leave to defend themselves when I attack them."
He never tired of hearing tales from ancient history, and could recite many exploits of the heroes, much to the disgust of the tutor, who knew that the knowledge had not been imparted by him.
On the return of her brother-in-law in the autumn, Princess Anne wrote him a letter of congratulation on his conquest of Namur. The one she wrote after the death of the queen had resulted so favorably to herself that she expected equally pleasant effects from the present one; but she soon found her mistake, for the king had come home in a bad humor, and treated her letter with silent contempt. Perhaps congratulations seemed out of place when he remembered that the lives of twelve thousand men had paid the cost of his victory, besides an enormous sum of money.
A few weeks later he made a state visit to Campden House, when the duke received him with military honors. The king was very much amused, and asked the child "whether he had any horses yet."
"Oh yes," replied he, "I have one live horse and two dead ones."
"You keep dead horses, do you?" asked his majesty. "That is not the way with soldiers, for they always bury their dead horses."
The little duke was impressed by what his uncle had said, and determined to be as much like a real soldier as possible; so he summoned his regiment as soon as the king had departed, and buried his two hobby horses that he had designated as dead ones. A Shetland pony, no larger than a Newfoundland dog, was his riding animal.
During the king's absence Princess Anne had received all due honors, as first royal lady of the realm, and this gratified her ambition entirely; but when his majesty thought fit to confer upon his favorite, Bentinck, and his heirs forever, all the rights of the Princess of Wales, not only was Anne justly indignant at seeing her son deprived of his privileges, but the whole country viewed the action with extreme disfavor, and the House of Commons contested it with great warmth. William III. was compelled to revoke the grant; but the hard feeling it had aroused in the mind of Princess Anne remained, and his majesty took no pains to conciliate her. On the contrary, as soon as he was convinced that the removal of his wife had not affected his position, he began to regret the alliance he had formed with his sister-in-law, and treated her with marked disrespect. He even forbade the members of the clergy to bow before her previous to beginning their sermons, according to the custom in the Church of England at that time. To be sure, the Dean of Canterbury and the rector of St. James's Church did not pay the slightest attention to the prohibition, and the princess always returned their salute with marked civility.
King William had become dreadfully irritable since the death of his wife. We know that he was naturally surly and ill-natured; but his fondness for Holland gin excited him to such a degree that he would cane his inferior servants if they chanced to neglect even the most trifling duty. The way they tried to dodge his majesty when he was in an unusually fractious mood was amusing, and the members of the royal household called those who were obliged to submit to the blows "King William's Knights of the Cane."
A French servant, who had charge of his majesty's guns, and who attended him in his shooting excursions in the Hampden Court park, forgot one day to provide himself with shot, although it was his duty to load the fowling-piece. He did not dare to acknowledge his neglect, but kept charging the gun with powder only, and every time the king fired would exclaim, "I did never,—no, never, see his majesty miss before." Thus are petty tyrants invariably deceived.