Three Portraits Unnamed.
Elizabeth, Countess of Northumberland:
By SIR PETER LELY.
Three-quarter Length.
(Auburn Ringlets. Orange Satin Gown with Pearls. Right Hand holding her Dress.)
Born, 1647. Died, 1690.—Elizabeth Wriothesley was the youngest daughter of Lord Treasurer Southampton, by Lady Elizabeth Leigh, sole daughter and heiress of the Earl of Chichester. Her eldest sister, Lady Audrey, was betrothed to Josceline, Lord Percy, son of the tenth Earl of Northumberland, but dying before her fifteenth year was completed, the name of her sister was substituted for hers (by family arrangement) in the marriage contract. In the year 1662, Elizabeth being then about fifteen, and Lord Percy barely 18, the marriage was solemnised. The bride’s sister, Lady Rachel Russell, observes it was acceptance rather than choice; yet the union proved very happy. At first the young pair were not much together; the bridegroom remained with his tutor, and the bride with her parents, at Titchfield, in Hampshire; but in 1664-5, her letters to Lady Rachel are dated from Petworth, where she was living with her husband. She had a daughter born in 1666, and a son and heir in 1668; in 1669, another daughter, who died an infant. Lord Percy succeeded his father in 1668, and the following year their son died, which made so sad an impression on Lady Northumberland, then just recovering from her confinement, that change of scene was considered necessary for her, and she left England for Paris with her husband and the celebrated Locke (as their physician), in whose care Lord Northumberland left his wife while he proceeded to Italy. At Turin he was attacked by fever, and died in the flower of his age, a brilliant future lying before him, with every prospect of happiness.
Lady Northumberland remained at Paris, where Ralph, Lord Montagu, was then Ambassador, and he soon became attracted by the beautiful young widow, paying her gradual and delicate attentions; but it was two years before he ventured to pronounce himself her ardent admirer. In the winter of 1672 she went to Aix, where Montagu followed her. Madame de la Fayette writes: “Je vous envoie un paquet pour Madame de Northumberland; on dit que si M. de Montagu n’a pas eu un heureux succès de son voyage, il passera en Italie pour faire voir que ce ne’est pas pour les beaux yeux de la Comtesse qu’il court le pays.”
But it seems he followed her back to Paris, in spite of those predictions. In another letter from Madame de la Fayette, she writes: “Madame de Northumberland me parait une femme qui a été fort belle, mais qui n’a pas un seul trait de visage qui se soutienne, ni oû il soit resté le moindre air de jeunesse; elle est avec cela mal habillée, point de grâce, etc.” She also alludes to her understanding, what Madame de la Fayette said to her as if her knowledge of the French language was limited. The same writer says: “J’ai fort parlé d’elle à Montagu; il ne fait aucun façon d’étre embarqué à son service, et parait rempli d’espérance.” (April 15, 1673.)
There were as usual fluctuations in his hopes and fears, the lady being at one time jealous, we are told, of the Duchesse de Brissac, a former “flame” of the Ambassador’s; but in 1673 they came to England, and were privately married at Titchfield, Lady Northumberland’s paternal home. Evelyn talks of her eight, or even ten years after this, as the “beautiful Countess,” a testimony we accept more willingly than that of the fault-finding Madame de la Fayette. She was in England in 1675, and was at issue for some time with the Dowager Countess of Northumberland, her mother-in-law, respecting the care and guardianship of Lady Elizabeth Percy, the only surviving child and heiress of the late Earl; the subject of the girl’s marriage, and the choice of a husband being a great bone of contention. Lady Rachel Russell says: “My sister urges that her only child should not be disposed of without her consent, and in my judgment it is hard, yet I fancy I am not partial.” The old lady was triumphant, however, and contrived to get the young heiress into her power, or rather to assert her power over her fortunes, and Elizabeth Percy had the strange fate of being three times a wife, and twice a widow ere she was sixteen. She married, when only thirteen, Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle, who immediately assumed the name and arms of Percy; but he died a few months after his marriage, in 1680. The child-widow had then among many other suitors, Count Königsmark, the celebrated adventurer, and Thomas Thynne, of Longleat, to whom her grandmother hastened to betroth her, lest she should show a preference for the foreigner. But before the marriage could be actually solemnized, he was murdered in his coach at the instigation of his rival; and the beautiful heiress married shortly afterwards the sixth Duke of Somerset, surnamed the Proud.
The girl’s mother does not seem to have been consulted in any of these matchmakings; her own married life was not a happy one. Montagu was boundlessly extravagant; he was now occupied in building Montagu House with his wife’s money; he was involved in political intrigues which did not redound to his honour, and in 1678 he went to Paris on his astrological mission, and renewed his loves and quarrels with the Duchess of Cleveland and others. He returned to England, to involve himself in fresh plots, and in 1680, accompanied by his wife, he went to Paris in disgrace and pecuniary difficulties; circumstances not calculated to improve a temper naturally irritable.
Lady Rachel Russell often speaks of her sister when in Paris; of that lady’s sympathy with the Protestants after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes; her anxiety on account of her daughter, Anne Montagu’s, health, etc. A year afterwards she lost her eldest son, aged 12; and it must have been a source of regret that she was not at hand to comfort Lady Rachel in the hour of her sorrow, Lord William Russell’s execution taking place while his sister-in-law was still in Paris. On Lady Northumberland’s return to England, we hear of her at Windsor with her “lovely boy,” and little Anne. On her husband’s creation as Earl, his wife dropped her widowed title, and called herself Countess Montagu. After the Revolution, Lord and Lady Montagu spent most of their time at Boughton, at which place the latter died in September, 1690, aged forty-four.
Lady Rachel Russell speaks thus of her death: “She was my last sister, and I loved her tenderly. It pleases me to think she deserves to be remembered by all who knew her; but after 40 years’ acquaintance with so amiable a creature, one must needs, in reflecting, bring to remembrance so many engaging endearments as are at present embittering and painful.”
One son and one daughter survived; John, Lord Monthermer, afterwards second Duke of Montagu; and Anne, mother to the Lady Hinchingbrook, by whose Will this picture was bequeathed to her son, the fourth Earl of Sandwich.
Edward, first Earl of Sandwich:
By SIR PETER LELY.
Three-quarter Length.
(Buff Coat and Cuirass. Lace Cravat and Ruffles. Blue Sash over the Shoulder. Broad Red Sash round the Waist. Right Hand holding a Truncheon, which rests on the Mouth of a Cannon; Left Hand on his Hip.)
Ralph, Duke of Montagu:
By RILEY.
Three-quarter Length.
(Curled Wig. Loose Gown of Orange Silk.)
Born, ——. Died, 1708. The only surviving son of Edward, second Lord Montagu of Boughton, by Anne, daughter of Sir Ralph Winwood. He was educated at Westminster and on the death of his elder brother succeeded him as Master of the Horse to Queen Catherine, Consort of Charles II. He was sent as Ambassador to Paris, in 1669, for which office, says a contemporary, he was more indebted to the partiality of the fair sex, than to his own merits. He told Sir William Temple he was resolved to become Ambassador in France, and Sir William asked him on what he founded his hopes, as neither the King nor the Duke of York were attached to him. “They shall act” said Montagu, “as if they were;” upon which Sir William Temple remarks that his appointment was brought about by the favour of the ladies, who were always his best friends, for some perfection the rest of the world did not discover.
He was famous when in France, for the state in which he lived. “He entered Paris,” (says Collins) “with a more than common appearance, having seventy-four pages and footmen in rich liveries, twelve led horses with their furniture, twenty-four gentlemen on horseback, and eighteen English noblemen and gentlemen of quality in four rich coaches with eight horses each, and two chariots with six, made as costly as art could contrive.” The King and the Duke of Orleans received him with great honour, and he was entertained both at St. Cloud and Versailles, the fountains of which played in his honour; and it was here he imbibed a taste for building and laying out gardens, which he afterwards indulged to a great extent. The beautiful and youthful Countess of Northumberland, who had lately become a widow, was residing in Paris, and as we mention in the notice of her life, Montagu became her suitor, and eventually her husband. They were married privately in England in 1673. After his marriage he became a Privy Councillor and Master of the Great Wardrobe, an office he bought of the Earl of Sandwich. He busied himself in building on a magnificent scale, and found his wife’s money most useful to him in carrying out his plans.
Although already rather in disrepute at Court, King Charles II. did not disdain to employ Montagu in 1678 on a new, and in every sense of the word, extraordinary mission to Paris. At that time there resided in the French capital, an astrologer who had gained great credit by predicting, not only the restoration of the English Monarch, but the exact date, May 29, 1660, of his return to England, and that some time before it actually happened. Charles, in consequence, had the firmest belief in the wise man’s auguries, and he despatched Montagu on an errand to ask his advice and predictions on some subject of political importance. The Envoy-extraordinary sounded the Necromancer, and finding the black art did not blind its professor to self-interest, the King’s messenger offered the wise man a large bribe to shape his predictions according to his (Montagu’s) directions; then, with an imprudence which was inconsistent with his previous cunning, he went off to the Duchess of Cleveland and confided his secret to her. But Barbara was angry with her former admirer, and jealous of his admiration for her own daughter, and she resolved to be revenged. Accordingly she wrote to the King and told him the whole story. “Montagu,” she says, “has neither conscience nor honour; he has told me several times he despises you in his heart, and that he wishes the Parliament would send you and your brother to travel, for you are a dull, ungovernable fool, and he is a wilful fool.” This version of the story is taken from Algernon Sidney’s correspondence.
In consequence of this letter Montagu was recalled, and found himself but coldly received at Court, and all hopes of a place under Government were at an end. The ex-Plenipotentiary now threw himself into all manner of contending intrigues of a political nature. He was accused of receiving a large bribe from Louis XIV. to compass the impeachment and ruin of Lord Danby (Treasurer) who was very obnoxious to the French Government, and an enemy to the Roman Catholics; yet at the same time he took a prominent position in the popular party. He was said to have been instrumental in bringing over Louise de la Quérouaille, afterwards Duchess of Portsmouth, and to have endeavoured to persuade her to use her influence with the King to exclude his brother from the succession. Finally his vote for the exclusion bill rendered him so obnoxious at Court, that he thought it best to depart once more to Paris with his wife and children. Hence he was summoned by a sad catastrophe, he had lent his magnificent house in Bloomsbury to the Earl of Devonshire, whose servant, in airing one of the rooms, set fire to it, and the “noble mansion” was burned to the ground. The conflagration was witnessed by Lady Rachel Russell, who says: “I heard a great noise in the square, and sent a servant to know what it was, and they brought me word Montagu House was in flames. My boy awaked and said he was nearly stifled, but being told the cause, would see it, and so was satisfied, and accepted a strange bed-fellow, for the nurse brought Lady Devonshire’s youngest boy, wrapped up in a blanket.” The loss was computed at £30,000; but Montagu rebuilt it on a more magnificent scale. Collins says: “It is not exceeded in London.”
Under William III. Montagu’s star was once more in the ascendant; he being one of the Lords who invited over the Prince of Orange. In 1689 he was created Viscount Monthermer and Earl of Montagu, and attended their Majesties’ coronation in his new dignity. In 1690, while engaged in beautifying and laying out Boughton, his excellent wife, who called herself Countess Montagu, died, but he soon gave her a successor. The new made Earl was not content with his coronet, and coveted the “strawberry leaves.” He applied to the King for a dukedom, mentioning among many other cogent reasons: “I am now below the younger branches of my family, my Lord Manchester and my Lord Sandwich;” also that he had taken to his second wife, the daughter of the Duke of Newcastle; and above all that he had been first and last to advocate the cause of William. “I hope it will not be to my disadvantage that I am alive, and ready to do so again, instead of having lost my head with Lord William Russell.” The King refused the dukedom, but showed Lord Montagu much favour, and was his visitor at Boughton, in Northamptonshire where the Court was sumptuously entertained.
Collins says: “My Lord was content with his fortune, and would accept no office save the one he had bought.” Of this he had been unlawfully deprived by James II., who bestowed it on Lord Preston. My Lord Montagu thought himself bound in honour to bring Preston to account, and when the office was restored to him and considerable damages awarded, he was so considerate of Lord Preston’s ill circumstances that he generously forgave him not only the damages, but the costs of the suit.
Queen Anne bestowed upon him the coveted dukedom; in the fourth year of her reign she created him Marquis of Monthermer, and Duke of Montagu. His first wife died in 1690; when he lost no time in soliciting the hand of the relict of Christopher Monk, second Duke of Albemarle, and daughter and sole heiress of Henry Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle. He does not appear to have been so disinterested in his views where money was concerned as Collins would have us believe; since this lady, in spite of her enormous wealth, was a confirmed lunatic, and an obstacle to their union existed in the fact that she had announced her resolution of wedding no one but a sovereign. Montagu was accordingly presented to her as the Emperor of China, and after a short period of eccentric wooing they were married. Until her death the poor maniac was addressed as Empress of China, and served on the bended knee. Lord Ross wished to marry her, and when the Duke prevailed in his suit wrote the following lines:—
“Insulting Rival, never boast
Thy conquest lately won;
No wonder if her heart was lost,
Her senses first were gone.
From one that’s under Bedlam’s laws
What glory can be had?
For love indeed was not the cause,
It proves that she was mad.”
She survived her husband twenty-six years, and died at Newcastle House in Clerkenwell, being interred in Westminster Abbey, as became her Imperial dignity.
Ralph, Duke of Montagu was, as his picture shows, of a middle height, inclining to fat, and of a dark complexion. He was a man of pleasure, and self-indulgence, but of refined taste in architecture, and his gardens at Boughton were world famed. On one occasion he was showing them to the Duke of Marlborough, who said he believed the water-works were the finest in the world. “They are not to be compared,” replied the courteous host, “to your Grace’s fireworks.” St. Evremond, who was a constant visitor at Boughton and in London, and who met the Duke frequently at the Duchesse de Mazarin’s little salon in Chelsea, was a pensioner on his bounty, and is never tired of extolling his hospitality and generosity, also the charms of the Saturday and Wednesday receptions, at Montagu House.
“On admire avec raison
Votre superbe maison,
A tous étrangers ouverte;
Les jets d’eau de Boughton,
Les meubles de Ditton, etc.”
He says the cascade at Boughton, though smaller than the one at Versailles, is more beautiful. The old gourmet is never tired of praising the good living and extolling the comestibles that the Duke had sent him, and he says: “J’ai été à Boughton voir milord, la bonne compagnie, l’érudition, les perdreaux, les truffes;” in fact all that had charms for him in the absence of the Duchesse de Mazarin herself, to whom he writes. The two men met frequently at the house of the beautiful Hortense, one of whose most fervent admirers was the Duke of Montagu. To her he was most generous, for in one of her letters she says that if Montagu discovered you liked or admired a thing, you need take no more thought about it: “‘Quelque dépense qu’il faille faire, quelque soin, quelque peine qu’il faut employer pour l’avoir, la chose ne vous manquera pas.’ Ce sont les propres paroles de la feue Duchesse de Mazarin.” But it seems that there was some interruption in their intimacy, for in one of Algernon Sidney’s letters there is this passage: “Montagu goes no more to the Duchesse de Mazarin; whether his love or his politics proved too pressing, I know not, but the town says he is forbid the house.”
His Grace departed this life on the 9th of March, 1708, at Montagu House in Bloomsbury, afterwards the British Museum.
Anne, Viscountess Hinchingbrook:
By MRS. BEALE.
Three-quarter Length.
(Seated. Light Auburn Hair, Dove-coloured Dress. Pearl Ornaments. Holding a Flower in the Left Hand.)
Lady Anne Boyle was the fourth daughter of Richard, second Earl of Cork and first Earl of Burlington, by Lady Elizabeth Clifford, only daughter and heiress of the fifth Earl of Cumberland. In 1667 she married Viscount Hinchingbrook, eldest son of the first Earl of Sandwich, by whom she had two sons and one daughter. Pepys seemed well contented with the marriage for his patron’s son, though he is dissatisfied at not having a favour sent him, and Lady Sandwich was so much pleased with her new daughter-in-law as apparently to be consoled for her first born having lost the chance of marrying the great heiress, Mistress Mallet.
The first time Pepys saw her at Lord Crewe’s he saluted her and invited her to his house; he thought her mighty pleasant and good humoured, but neither did he count her a beauty or ugly, but a comely lady; and when she accepted his hospitality next day he found her “a sweet natured and well disposed lady, a lover of books and pictures, and of good understanding;” and he goes on to visit her and her lord afterwards at Burlington House next to Clarendon House, which he was glad to see for the first time.
Lady Hinchingbrook and her sister Henrietta, Countess of Rochester, were undoubtedly shining lights of modesty, and domestic virtue in this profligate age.
She was buried in the family vault at Barnwell, where a touching inscription records her many virtues, and the regret her death occasioned.
Elizabeth Popham, Viscountess Hinchingbrook:
By HIGHMORE.
Three-quarter Length.
(In an Orange Gown, Lace Tippet and Ruffles. Holding a Fan. A Blue Hood tied under the Chin.)
The Honourable Mary Montagu:
By WHOOD.
Full-Length.
(As a Child: in a Rich Crimson Dress, embroidered with Silver. White Apron, Lace Cuffs, and Stomacher. Holding a Basket of Cherries, with which she is Feeding a Parrot.)
The eldest daughter of Edward Richard, Viscount Hinchingbrook, by Elizabeth Popham. Died in childhood.
Louisa, Sixth Countess of Sandwich:
By SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE.
Full-Length.
(In a White Dress with Brown Drapery. Leaning on an Anchor.)
Born, 1781. Died, 1862. The only daughter of Armar Corry, first Earl of Belmore, by Harriet, eldest daughter and co-heiress of the second Earl of Buckinghamshire. Married in 1804, George, Earl of Sandwich, who died at Rome; by whom she had John William, seventh Earl; Harriet, Lady Ashburton, and Caroline, Comtesse Walewska.
Pendant to the First Earl of Sandwich:
By VAN ZOORST.
Portrait of a Youth in Black. Unknown.
(Brown Hair and Eyes. Small Moustache.)
Edward, First Earl of Sandwich:
By VAN ZOORST.
Half-Length.
(Purple Vest, Broad Belt, Buckle on Shoulder.)
Elizabeth, Countess of Sandwich:
By WISSING.
Three-quarter Length.
(Loose Dress. Blue Scarf. Seated on a Bank, putting a Wreath of Flowers round the Neck of a Lamb.)
The Honourable Edward Montagu:
By HOGARTH.
Small Half-length.
(A Fair Boy in Crimson Coat and Waistcoat, and Frilled Shirt.)
The fourth son of John, fourth Earl of Sandwich. Born, 1745. Died, 1752. Buried at Barnwell.
The Honourable Elizabeth Montagu:
By WHOOD.
Three-quarter Length.
(Seated, with her Hand on the Neck of a Lamb.)
The second daughter of Edward, Viscount Hinchingbrook, by Elizabeth Popham. Married first to Reginald Courtenay, second son of Sir William Courtenay, of Powderham Castle, Devon, by whom she had one son, Charles, (killed at the battle of Dettingen), and two daughters, co-heiresses: Isabella, wife of William Poyntz, Esq., of Midgham, Berks; and Anne, married to the Earl of Cork and Orrery. Mr. Courtenay died in 1745, and his widow re-married in 1759, William Smith, comedian, better known as “Gentleman Smith.” They lived together at Leiston, near Saxmundham, an estate bequeathed to her by her grandmother, Lady Anne Harvey, where she died. Mr. Smith survived her 57 years. There is a portrait of him by Hoppner, in the National Portrait Gallery. Her brother was very much averse to her marriage with the actor, but the correspondence seems to show they lived happily.
DRAWING ROOM.
The Duchesse de Berri:
By RIGAUD.
Half-Length: Oval.
(Hair Dressed High. White and Gold Boddice. Blue Velvet Mantle, lined with Ermine.)
Born, 1694. Died, 1719. Marie Louise, daughter of Philip, second Duke of Orleans, afterwards Regent, by Mademoiselle de Blois, daughter of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan. This marriage, which had been determined on by the King, was not only strongly opposed, by the Duchess of Orleans, his mother, but Philip himself, then Duc de Chartres, was repugnant to the mésalliance. He was at length overruled by the commands of his father, and the King his uncle, and proceeded to break the announcement of his engagement to the proud German Princess his mother, who congratulated the fiancé with a blow. One son and five daughters were born to Philip, the second of whom, Marie Louise, married in 1710 the Duc de Berri, third son to the Dauphin, and consequently grandson to Louis XIV. He was a handsome Prince, full of endearing and sterling qualities, but his education had been shamefully neglected, and on this point he was most sensitive. It made him shy of society, and fearful of speaking in public, and on one occasion he was subjected to terrible mortification. At the general Treaty of Peace, when it was settled that the crowns of France and Spain should never devolve on the same person, the Dukes of Orleans and Berri proceeded to the Parliament House to attend to some necessary formalities, on the occasion of the death of the Duc de Bourgogne, and the Duc de Berri found himself compelled to speak. After stammering and stuttering for some time he entirely broke down, and retired in confusion. Relating the circumstance to a friend, he was said to have shed tears of mortification, bitterly complaining at the same time of the manner in which his education had been neglected for the express purpose of keeping him in the background. “J’avois,” said he, “autant de disposition [for learning] que les autres; on ne m’apprit qu’à chasser, on n’a cherché qu’à m’abattre.” In spite of these disadvantages the Duc de Berri was very popular, and is said to have won all hearts, save that of the ill-conditioned Princess whose outward charms had subjugated him. Even at an early age Marie Louise d’Orléans laid herself open to the tongue of scandal, and had been censured for habits of intemperance. On finding there was a chance of making a brilliant marriage she changed her whole line of conduct, and persuaded every one, including the wary Madame de Maintenon, that she was a reformed character. But no sooner was the marriage consummated than the young Duchess threw off the mask, and returned to all her evil ways. In nowise touched by the kindness and devotion of her husband, she thwarted him on every occasion, and delighted to turn him into ridicule, which was easy in the case of one so diffident and sensitive. But even his forbearance had a limit; her conduct disgraced them both, and one day, maddened by jealousy and the insolence of his wife’s Chamberlain, he sought the advice of his trusty friend, the Duc de St. Simon.
St. Simon spoke strongly on the subject, urging the Duc de Berri to seek redress from the King, and strengthening his counsel by producing a correspondence that had fallen into his hands, between the Duchess and the aforesaid chamberlain. These letters left no doubt of their guilt: in one of them the lady proposed to elope, but her lover refused on the plea that the step would not be conducive to his advancement in life. The Duc de Berri, in conformity with his friend’s advice and his own convictions, determined to carry the correspondence to Rambouillet where Louis XIV. was then staying; but unfortunately his movements were not sufficiently prompt. The Duchess discovered that her husband and the Duc de St. Simon had been closeted together for some time over some animated and highly confidential business; it was not difficult to guess the subject, and no sooner had the Duc de Berri started, than she leaped into her coach, and pursuing him with all haste, broke into the Royal presence just in time to find the King examining the contents of the fatal correspondence. A scene of disgraceful violence and altercation ensued, and so exasperating and shameless was the language of the Duchess, that the hitherto indulgent and forbearing husband raised his heavy riding boot and with one kick sent his wife spinning into the arms of Madame de Maintenon. The King, whose dignity was outraged on all sides, lifted his cane to strike the unhappy Prince, but he had already withdrawn, full of shame at the violence into which he had been betrayed. As for the Duchess, no sooner had she recovered from the shock, than without a word to her sovereign, or Madame de Maintenon, she left the room in a paroxysm of rage. “It is true,” she said afterwards to one of her ladies, “that I have sustained no bodily injury, but the mark will ever remain here,” placing her hand upon what, by courtesy, she called her heart. It undoubtedly remained in her memory; the Duke apologised, and she pretended to be appeased; a reconciliation was patched up, and at a wolf hunt held by the King in the Forest of Marly, the Duc de Berri, who was passionately fond of the sport, rode hard and well. He was suffering from intense thirst when he fell in with his wife’s coach, and riding up asked anxiously if she could supply him with a draught of any kind. The Duchess smiled benignly, and drew from the pocket of the carriage a beautiful little case containing a bottle in which she said she always carried some excellent Ratafia in the event of over-fatigue. The unsuspecting man raised it to his lips and drained the last drop with many expressions of gratitude. The Duchess smiled again: “It is fortunate we met,” she said; and the heavy coach rolled on. In a few hours the Duke was taken ill, and after four days of suffering he expired on May 4th, 1714, at the early age of 28. As in the case of Madame no one doubted the existence of poison, and at first, public opinion was so violent against the Duke of Orleans that he had a narrow escape of his life from the fury of the mob, at the funeral of his son-in-law. Later evidence, however, seemed but too strong against the guilty wife, although the matter was gradually hushed up, as in those days the art of poisoning had become a fashionable pastime. The Duchess did not long survive her victim; she gave herself up to excesses of all kinds, and concluded her ill-spent life of 24 years in 1719.
In some letters of “Madame, veuve de Monsieur,” the first Duke of Orleans, the Princess of Bavaria to whom allusion has already been made, we are told that the Duchesse de Berri at the time of her death was undoubtedly married clandestinely to Captain de Rious, whose portrait Madame paints in the most unflattering terms as remarkable for his ugliness, in spite of which he was a great favourite with the ladies. He was absent on duty with the regiment the Duchess had bought for him at the time of her death. Madame goes on to say: “Pour se tirer de l’embarras que pouvoit lui donner une oraison funêbre, on a pris le parti de n’en point faire du tout.” Apparently a prudent decision. The same authority states that the Duchesse de Berri had grown very large and florid, (and that she often jested on the change in her own appearance), which would account for her looking twice her real age in this picture.
Elizabeth, Countess of Sandwich:
By KNELLER.
Half-Length.
(White Déshabille with Coloured Scarf. Hair en Négligé.)
Born, ——. Died, 1757. She was the second daughter of John, Earl of Rochester, by Elizabeth Mallet. She married Edward, third Earl of Sandwich, in 1691. As we have mentioned in the short notice of his life, the marriage was very unhappy, and Lady Sandwich’s conduct in every respect most reprehensible, in spite of her numerous panegyrists. She was a brilliant member of society, and we are told that at the early age of ten years, she already showed a great taste for reading, and had begun to cultivate several foreign languages. She spoke French, Italian and Spanish; Montaigne was one of her favourite authors. She danced and sang, and played on several instruments, and though learned was in no wise pedantic. Neither did she waste so much time on dress, as was usual with ladies of her time. Lady Sandwich went to Paris not very long after her marriage, and St. Evremond, whose admiration she appears to have shared with the Duchesse de Mazarin and Ninon de l’Enclos, thus speaks of her in a letter (without date) to the latter: “Le Docteur Morelli, mon ami particulier, accompagne Madame la Comtesse de Sandwich qui va en France pour sa santé. Feu Monsieur le Comte de Rochester, Père de Madame Sandwich, avoit plus d’esprit qu’homme en Angleterre. Madame de Sandwich en a plus que n’avoit Monsieur son père; aussi généreuse que spirituelle, aussi aimable que spirituelle et généreuse. Voilà une partie de ses qualités.” According to St. Evremond’s implied wishes, his two friends formed a close intimacy, and Lady Sandwich at Paris seems to have merited Ninon’s report of her when she says: “J’ignore les manières Anglaises, mais elle a été très française.” It must have been during this first visit to Paris that Lady Sandwich made the acquaintance of the French celebrities whose portraits now adorn the Drawing-room at Hinchingbrook, as on her return to the French metropolis in 1729 they were all dead. Mademoiselle de l’Enclos is never tired of praising her English friend; in a letter dated August, 1698, she says to St. Evremond: “Madame Sandwich m’a donné mille plaisirs, par le bonheur que j’ai eu de lui plaire; je ne croyois pas sur mon déclin, pouvoir être propre à une femme de son âge. Elle a plus d’esprit que toutes les femmes de France, et plus de véritable mérite. Elle nous quitte; c’est un regret pour tous qui la connoissent, et pour moi particulièrement. Si vous aviez été ici nous aurions faits des repas dignes du temps du passé. Vous allez revoir Madame Sandwich, que nous voyons partir avec beaucoup de regret.” Again in July, 1699: “Vous allez voir Madame Sandwich, mais je crains qu’elle n’aille à la campagne; elle sait tout ce que vous pensez d’elle; elle vous dira plus de nouvelles de ce pays ci que moi. Elle a tout approfondi et tout pénétré: elle connoit parfaitement tout ce que je hante, et a trouvé le moyen de n’être pas étrangère ici.” In the lengthened correspondence between Mademoiselle de l’Enclos and her faithful Abbé, she constantly reverts to the English lady after her departure from Paris: “Madame Sandwich conservera l’esprit en perdant la jeunesse. Faites la souvenir de moi; je serois bien fâchée d’en être oubliée;” while St. Evremond on his part tells her: “Tout le monde connoit l’esprit de Madame la Comtesse; je vois son bon goût par l’estime extraordinaire qu’elle a pour vous. Elle est admirée à Londres comme elle fut à Paris.”
There is a long tedious poem from the same pen, describing the presents (comestibles) which Lady Sandwich had sent the Duchesse de Mazarin, with whom she had become very intimate: “Des moutons et des lapins de Bath.” He speaks of Morelli as friend and physician of all three:
“Sandwich et Mazarin que le Ciel vous unisse,
Et que cette union de cent ans ne finisse.”
He alludes to meeting her often in society, more especially at Boughton, the beautiful country house of Lord (afterwards Duke of) Montagu. “Jamais personne n’a mieux mérité d’être reçue magnifiquement, et galamment régalée, que Madame Sandwich; jamais homme ne fut plus propre pour la bien recevoir que my Lord Montagu. J’espère que la cascade l’octagone, les jets d’eau, etc., auront fait oublier la France à Madame Sandwich, et comme my Lord est assez heureux pour inspirer son goût et ses desseins sur les bâtiments et les jardins, je ne doute point qu’elle n’entreprenne bientôt quelque nouvel ouvrage à Hinchinbrooke. On ne sauroit être plus sensible que je le suis à l’honneur de son souvenir. Il ne manquoit rien pour combler mon déplaisir de n’avoir pas vu Boughton et le maître du lieu, que de ne point voir Hinchinbrooke et sa maîtresse, qui est le plus grand ornement de tous les lieux où elle se trouve.” He writes to Ninon to tell her of a wager he had with Lady Sandwich, respecting their eating powers at a dinner at Lord Jersey’s: “Je ne fut pas vaincu,” boasts the epicure, “ni sur les louanges ni sur l’appétit.”
At Bath she evidently was the head of a coterie; and Pope writes: “I am beginning an acquaintance with Lady Sandwich, who has all the spirit of the past age, and the gay experience of a pleasurable life. It were as scandalous an omission to come to the Bath, and not to see my Lady Sandwich, as it had been to have travelled to Rome, and not to have seen the Queen of Sweden. It is, in a word, the best thing the country has to boast of, and as she has been all that a woman of spirit could be, so she still continues that easy and independent creature, that a sensible woman always will be.” Such is Pope’s standard of female excellence! In another letter to his friend, Charles Boyle, Earl of Orrery, he says: “This lady is both an honour, and a disgrace to her native country. She resided in France for some time; but it is a melancholy reflection that we have either nothing in England, valuable enough to make her prefer her own country to another, or that we will not suffer such a person to reside quietly among us.”
In 1729, on the death of her ill-fated husband, the object of so much praise and admiration, returned to the more genial atmosphere of Paris, for the remainder of her life.
In June 1751, Lord Chesterfield writes to his son, then at Paris, as follows: “A propos of beaux esprits, have you les entrées at Lady Sandwich’s, who, old as she was, when I saw her last, had the strongest parts of any woman I ever knew in my life. If you are not acquainted with her, the Duchesse d’Aiguillon or Lady Hervey can, and I daresay will, introduce you. I assure you it is worth while both on her own account, and for the sake of people of wit and learning, who frequent her salon. In such companies there is always something to be learned as well as manners; the conversation turns on something above trifles; some point of literature, customs, history, etc., is discussed with ingenuity and good manners; for I must do the French people of learning justice; they are not bears as most of ours are, but gentlemen.”
Lady Sandwich died at Paris, at her house in the Rue Vaugirard, July 1, 1757, in the Faubourg St. Germains. In a letter of Horace Walpole’s, to John Chute, Esq., the same year, he says: “Old Lady Sandwich is dead at Paris, and my Lord (her grandson) has given me her picture of Ninon de l’Enclos in the prettiest manner in the world. If ever he should intermeddle in an election in Hampshire, I beg you will serve him to the utmost of your power. I fear I must wait for the picture.” At Lady Sandwich’s death in Paris, although she had taken every precaution to prevent such a casualty, there arose a great difficulty in securing the property to her grandson and heir. The French officers rushed in, put seals on everything, and claimed le “mobilier, les tableaux, etc., par le droit d’aubaine.” Lord Sandwich sent over his solicitor, who had a roughish time of it, with these “harpies.” He appealed to the Duchesse d’ Aiguillon and other illustrious friends of the deceased countess, who promised him every assistance, and as he discovered afterwards, were working against him all the time. But the good lawyer was triumphant in the end and wrote to his noble client that everything was safe, including the pictures, and he especially notes that of Ninon de l’Enclos, “which is very valuable,” he says, “and innumerable offers have been made for it, here.” But it was reserved for Horace Walpole’s Gallery, and some letters passed on the subject, for although Horace could express his opinion of Lord Sandwich in no flattering terms, he did not object to receive a present at his hands; and he offers in return (later) a copy of the memoirs of the Comte de Grammont, printed at his own press at Strawberry Hill, which contains an engraving of the afore-mentioned portrait of Mademoiselle de l’Enclos, Lord Sandwich’s letters on the subject are in his most jocose style.
Ninon de l’Enclos:
By PIERRE MIGNARD.
(Oval. Crimson and Orange Dress.)
Born at Paris, 1615. Died, 1705.—The early education of Anne de l’Enclos was not calculated to lead to favourable results. The characters of her parents were strangely opposed to each other, and remarkable for violent extremes. “M. de l’Enclos, duelliste, musicien, homme de plaisir, gentilhomme; Madame de l’Enclos, sévère, exacte.” The mother’s wish was to immure her daughter in a convent, a project which the father strenuously opposed. But by the time the girl had attained her fifteenth year she was left an orphan, at liberty to follow her own devices. Scepticism and Epicureanism were very prevalent at this epoch, and of these schools Ninon became a too willing disciple. She soon became the centre of attraction; her conquests were legion. Voltaire said: “There will be soon as many histories of Ninon as there are of Louis XIV.” Voltaire was only thirteen years old when he was first presented to Mademoiselle de l’Enclos, who was much struck with him, and evidently detected some promise of his future greatness. At her death she bequeathed him 2000 francs to buy books. She was a strange mixture of self-indulgence and self-restraint: at one time her conduct was so outrageous in its immorality as to scandalize even the Court of the Great Monarch, and it was reported that she was advised to emigrate, “Mais elle ne partit point,” says St. Beuve; “elle continua la même vie, en baissant légèrement le ton.” Later on, he says: “Elle rangea sa vie et la réduisit petit à petit, sur le pied honorable, où on la vit finir.” St. Simon “le sévère,” says: “Ninon eût des amis illustres de toutes les sortes, et elle les conserva tous. Tout se conduisit chez elle, avec un respect et une décence extrème—jamais ni jeu, ni ris élevés, ni dispute; sa conversation était charmante, désinteressée, fidèle, secrète au dernier point.” She was temperate in eating and drinking, and would never suffer drunkards at her table; indeed in her youth, she appears to have drunk no wine, though occasionally in some of her later letters to St. Evremond, she discourses somewhat enthusiastically on a subject so near to her correspondent’s heart, and speaking of her advanced age she says: “L’appétit est quelque chose dont je jouis encore.” St. Beuve tells us: “Qu’elle réfléchissait dans un âge, et dans un train de vie, où à peine les autres sont capables de penser, et elle, qui resta si longtemps jeune par l’esprit, se trouva mûre par là aussi avant l’âge.” La Force says: “Je n’ai pas connu cette Ninon dans sa beauté, mais à l’âge de cinquante et de soixante [the report ran until past 80] elle a eu des amants qui l’ont fort aimé, et les plus honnêtes gens de France pour amis.” Her salon was the most brilliant in Paris; parents schemed that their children’s débût in the world should be made under Ninon’s auspices, and Madame de Coulanges observes: “Les femmes courent après elle aujourd’hui, comme d’autres gens y couraient autrefois.” Even the straight-laced Madame de Maintenon, in speaking of her brother, writes to her thus: “Continuez, Mademoiselle, à donner de bons conseils à M. d’Aubigné: il à bien besoin des leçons de Leontium; [this was Ninon’s nickname, so called from the favourite disciple of Epicurus] les avis d’une amie aimable persuadent toujours plus que les conseils d’une sœur sévère.” Tallemant says that her beauty was never very remarkable: “Son esprit etoit plus charmant que son visage—dès qu’elle parloit, on était pris et ravi.” She sang, and played on the lute. “‘La sensibilité,’ dit elle, ‘est l’ame du chant.’” Her portrait is drawn by Mademoiselle de Scudéry in her novel of “Clélie.” “Elle parle volontiers; elle rit aisément, elle aime à faire une innocente guerre à ses amis. Les cheveux d’un beau chatain, le visage rond, le teint vif, la bouche agréable, les lèvres fort incarnates, une petite fosse au menton, les yeux noirs, brillants, pleins de feu, souriants, et la physionomie fine, enjouée, et fort spirituelle.” It can scarcely be denied that this description entitles to beauty, and so indeed do the portraits at Hinchingbrook and Althorp, though she was apparently at an advanced age when the latter was painted. “On a dit d’elle, qu’à la table elle étoit ivre dès la soupe! ivre de bonne humeur, et de saillies;” for as we have seen before, she was always temperate. Her letters to St. Evremond when they were both old, are most characteristic. They occasionally lament together over their age, but appear to have had many gleams of consolation. From the highest and truest of all comfort, they seem to have cut themselves off; and yet, in Ninon’s touching and eloquent letter to her correspondent, on the occasion of the death of the Duchesse de Mazarin, his dearest friend, there is this passage: “Si on pouvoit penser comme Madame de Chevreuse, qui croyoit en mourant, qu’elle alloit causer avec tous ses amis en l’autre monde, il seroit doux de le penser.” In another letter to the same, she says: “Nous allons mériter la louange de la postérité, pour la durée de nos vies, et celle de l’amitié; je crois que je vivrai autant que vous. Adieu Monsieur; pourquoi n’est ce pas un bon jour?” This was something like a prophecy, as they died within two years of each other, one having completed, the other within a few months of, ninety years of age. In speaking of her reception of a friend, whom St. Evremond had recommended to her notice, she says: “J’ai lu (devant lui) votre lettre avec des lunettes, mais elles ne me sieyent pas mal; j’ai toujours eu la mine grave.” Again: “Tout le monde me dit, que j’ai moins à me plaindre du temps qu’une autre; de quelque sorte que cela soit, qui m’aurait proposé une telle vie, je me serois pendue.” In spite of which, her letters are invariably cheerful. St. Evremond says, in very nearly the same strain as he writes to his other frequent correspondent the Duchess of Mazarin: “La nature commence à faire voir par vous, qu’il est possible de ne point vieillir. Vous êtes de tous les pays, aussi estimée à Londres qu’à Paris: vous êtes de tous les temps, vous êtes la maîtresse du présent et du passé.” Ninon died at her house at Paris about five o’clock in the evening, having outlived her ninetieth birthday by five months.
Note.—The Abbé Charles de St. Evremond, to whom we are indebted for so much information relating to Ninon de l’Enclos, and the Duchesse de Mazarin, was (originally) a soldier, an author, and a statesman—likewise a bon vivant, in all of which characters, he distinguished himself. He was in great favour at one time with Cardinal Mazarin, but having incurred that potentate’s displeasure, he thought it prudent to take refuge in England, where he remained till his death, in 1703, having made friends with all the leading men in that country, and being in great favour with the ladies, for his agreeable conversation and delicate flattery.
Hortense Mancini, Duchesse de Mazarin:
By MIGNARD.
Half-Length.
(Oval. Dark Hair and Eyes. Very loose Déshabille.)
Born, 1646. Died, 1699.—The five nieces of the Cardinal Mazarin were all remarkable for beauty and intelligence, and for lives full of dramatic interest. Ninon de l’Enclos says: “Toutes les nièces du Cardinal avaient un don singulier d’attrait, et comme une magie: la source des charmes est dans le sang Mazarin.” They were the daughters of Lorenzo Mancini, by the Cardinal’s beloved sister. Lorenzo was a great astrologer, and had not only correctly foretold his own death, and that of their only son, but had also predicted that his widow would not survive her fifty-second year. The prophecy weighed on her mind, and perhaps hastened the fulfilment. Her eldest daughter Laura, Duchesse de Mercœur, died in childbed, it is supposed brokenhearted at her mother’s loss. Hortense Mancini, the fourth, and apparently the favourite niece of the Cardinal, was born at Rome in 1646, and on her arrival in Paris, became the centre of attraction from her surpassing beauty. After many negociations, the Cardinal bestowed her hand, and an enormous fortune on the Duc de Meilleraye, on condition that he would assume the name of Mazarin. No sooner was she betrothed, than Hortense received at the hands of her uncle, who had hitherto been very niggardly towards her, a splendid corbeille de noces, and a large sum in gold. She was so elated by this sudden accession of fortune, that she sent for her brother, and sisters, and encouraged them to take what they pleased, and when this curious trio had helped themselves, she took handfuls of money, and flung them out to the lacqueys in the court-yard beneath, and was much amused by watching the scramble. The Cardinal, at that time very near his end, was furious at this wanton manner, of disposing of his bounty.
The marriage proved most unhappy; the husband morose, jealous, exacting; the wife beautiful, brilliant, wayward. In her later correspondence with St. Evremond, she makes many excuses for having left her husband, and not returning to him, in spite of all his solicitations and the action which he brought against her, for separating herself from him. She fled from his roof, in the disguise of a man, and by all accounts not empty handed; “mais tous les chemins mènent à Paris,” and on her return there she received a pension from the King, which, however, she did not consider sufficient to enable her to reside there. She accordingly retired to Chambéri. But in the year 1675 she went to England in the train of Mary of Modena, the youthful Duchess of York. The real object of this journey is believed to have been a mission, with which she was entrusted by the numerous enemies of Mademoiselle de Quérouaille (afterwards Duchess of Portsmouth) to destroy that favourite’s influence by supplanting her, in the affections of Charles II. Nor did such a result appear improbable, as Hortense surpassed her rival, both in wit, and beauty, and it was well known that the King had already admired her so much, as to entertain serious notions of making her his wife. He gave her a most warm reception, and settled a pension on her, the Duke of Mazarin having already found means to possess himself of the pittance, allowed her by Louis XIV. But unfortunately for all these deep-laid schemes, Hortense was so much enamoured of the Prince de Monaco, then in England, as to incur the King’s anger, and cause him for a while even to suspend her pension.
She never left England; persuasions, stratagems, and menaces, all were useless to induce her, to return to France. Her husband sent over Madame de Rutz to try and bring her back to him, or induce her to enter a convent, but she says to St. Evremond: “La liberté ne coute jamais trop chére à qui se délivre de la tyrannie.” She speaks of the alternative of returning to the Duke’s roof, or immuring herself in a convent, as “deux extrémités à éviter, autant l’une que l’autre.” Yet at one time, on the occasion of a lover being killed in a duel in Spain, she seems to have entertained the notion of embracing the latter alternative; but the easy-going St. Evremond advised her strongly against such a step, assuring her the loss of a lover, might soon be repaired. Her enemies in France, founded a scandal on the discovery that she did not reside under the roof of her Royal mistress, at Whitehall, “mais dans un Pavillon tout près du Château de St. James.” She also incurred blame in many quarters, for not sharing Queen Mary’s exile in 1688; but she excuses herself, by saying that if she did so, not only would she place herself once more in the power of her enemies, but that it was impossible for her to leave England. She was deeply in debt; she scarcely dared leave the house, for fear of being arrested. She makes a most pitiful lament, (probably about the time of the escape of James II. to France) over her destitution, always to the same friend, and confidant. “Nul bien de moi, nulle assistance où je suis, nulle espérance d’ailleurs.” Yet she received at different times, pensions from four different monarchs, for William III. continued her allowance. Be this as it may, she contrived to amuse herself, in her house at Chelsea, where St. Evremond was a constant visitor, in spite of his complaints to Lady Anne Hervey, of the occasional cold and discomfort. She assembled round her bassette table, (for in later years she was much addicted to play) a brilliant, aristocratic, literary circle. She gave dinners too, and the St. Evremond correspondence shows us, that presents of meat, wine, and fruit, were as common in those days, as baskets of game in the nineteenth century. Her friends, Lady Sandwich, and the Duke of Montagu in particular, appear to have been very generous, in such contributions, and both the Duchess, and St. Evremond, appreciated to their fullest extent, the pleasures of eating, and drinking, although the latter often expostulates with the former against over-indulgence in stimulants. He warns her against excess in white wine, absynthe or usquebaugh, which are bad for the lungs; her heart, and her head, were given her for better things. There seems every reason to believe the learned man’s precepts, and example, were not always in unison. She occasionally played too high, or too frequently at bassette, to please him. He wrote a poetical scene in which, playing with the handsome “Madame Middleton,” Hortense discusses with her the comparative beauties of “Madame Grafton, Madame Kildare, and Madame Lichfield.” In another letter, an answer no doubt to some lamentations over her pecuniary distresses, he says: “Demandez toujours de l’argent; s’il n’en vient point, c’est vous qui avez sujet de vous plaindre.”
She numbered amongst her friends and acquaintance the habitués of her house at Chelsea, many of the noblest names in England; the Duke of Montagu, one of her warmest admirers; Lord Godolphin, the Duke of St. Albans, Mr. Villiers, etc. Most of these gentlemen seem at a loss “où passer leurs soirées” when she is absent from London. Lady Sandwich, a kindred spirit, Lady Anne Montagu, and many other members of the English aristocracy frequented her house. This was again in accordance with the exhortations of her counsellor, for he writes soon after her flitting to Chelsea: “Tout est triste à Londres; il n’est pas de même à Chelsea. Montrez vous de temps en temps, où laissez vous voir à Chelsea.” The picture that he draws of her charms, although in the high-flown language of the period, and of his nation, does not appear over-done when we look at Mignard’s beautiful portrait, of this undoubtedly beautiful woman. Her venerable adorer bids the young beauties of England tremble, at the name of Hortense; he describes her white teeth, her mouth a lovely opening flower, her pretty dimples, her bright dark eyes, (which were sometimes a source of great suffering to her), and her luxuriant hair; and in his description he begs you not to let the modelling of her dainty ear, escape your notice. He also assures her, that it is a pity to conceal her attractions in splendid robes, for that a simple déshabille becomes her best. Surely she acted on this hint, when she sate to Mignard. The titles of Madame, or Duchesse, ought not to be given her in speaking to, or of her: “Vous êtes au dessus des titres, et il me semble qu’on ôte à votre mérite tout ce qu’on donne à votre qualité.” She did not disdain to dine with St. Evremond, but he was well aware how particular she was in her tastes, and provided for her accordingly. “Le mouton de Windsor cède au mouton de Bath, c’est la décision de Hortense; Bath aura donc la préférence. Si vous voulez du fruit, apportez en; le vin j’en ai de bon.” In one of her temporary absences, at Bath, or elsewhere, he went to Chelsea, and describes how melancholy, and deserted were the house, and household, her waiting maid Isabelle, her little Moorish page, the parrot Pretty, the lap-dog Chop, and Filis the canary bird; nothing is wanting to complete this picture of the English house of Hortense, Duchesse de Mazarin, in the country, which a contemporary and a compatriot designated as “un pays hérétique, l’objet du courroux du Ciel, et de la haine des hommes.” The beautiful exile had little to complain of, in the welcome she received in this vilified country.
St. Evremond’s letters to Ninon de l’Enclos, on the death of his dearest and best friend, are expressive of deep and sincere grief. She died heavily in his debt, but he would have given that, and all he had, to bring her back to life. People might live a century, and never see her equal: “Tout le monde vous imite, personne ne vous ressemble,” were the words, he once addressed to her. She scolded her friends at times, but in so charming a manner:
“‘Hélas, autre source de larmes,
Tous ses défauts, avoient des charmes.’
Elle n’avoit jamais su ni tromper, ni haïr.” He praises the manner of her death, and says: “Les Anglais, qui surpassent toutes les nations à mourir, la doivent regarder avec jalousie.” What added poignancy to his regret, was the conviction that her own imprudence hastened the end, a circumstance over which he, and Ninon lament together. To the man who was within four years of ninety, Hortense at fifty-three, and evidently still most attractive, must have appeared comparatively young. She died in her house at Chelsea in the summer of 1699.
Mary, Queen of James II., King of England:
By L’ARGILLIERE.
Half-Length.
(Murrey-coloured Dress. Blue Scarf. Pearl Necklace and Ornaments.)
Born, 1658. Died, 1691.—The daughter of Alfonso the Fourth, Duke of Modena, by Marie Mancini. Became an orphan at an early age; was married to the Duke of York (soon after the death of his first wife, Anne Hyde) first by proxy, and then in London in 1673. Young, handsome, single-minded, impulsive, full of affection to a husband twenty years her senior, remarkable in an immoral Court for the modesty, and decorum of her conduct, Mary devoted herself to the restoration of the Catholic religion, and in consequence became the idol of its votaries, and was hated in proportion by the Protestants.
James had a great respect and even affection for his wife, in spite of the frequent causes he afforded her for jealousy, and there is no doubt that she influenced him very much in religious matters, and contributed to his downfall. They had several children who died in their infancy; but in 1688 the unfortunate Prince of Wales, afterwards called the Old Pretender, or Chevalier de St. George, was born. The Queen’s romantic adventures when, aided by the Duc de Lauzun, she escaped in the dead of night, with her infant in her arms, are too well known to be recorded here. She fled to St. Germains, where Louis XIV received her with royal honours, and human sympathy, and she was soon joined by her husband. Madame de Sévigné’s portrait of Mary of Modena on her first arrival, might well be said to rival that of L’Argillière: “La Reine a des yeux beaux, et noirs, qui ont pleuré, un beau teint un peu pâle, la bouche grande, de belles dents, une belle taille, et pleine d’esprit, tout cela compose une femme qui plait beaucoup. Tout ce qu’elle dit est juste, et de bon sens.” She was most grateful to the French King, and on one occasion when he held the Prince of Wales in his arms she said: “Hitherto I have been glad that my son was too young to understand his misfortunes; now I pity him that he cannot appreciate the goodness of your Majesty.”
Nothing could equal the consideration and generosity of Louis XIV. towards the exiled sovereigns. The ex-Queen of England had a small Court of her own, at St. Germains, where she presided with gentle quiet dignity, cheering the declining days of her unhappy husband, by her unceasing devotion. Whatever the faults of Mary of Modena may have been in public life, no one could deny to the exiled Princess a reputation for virtue, tenderness, and charity, very uncommon in the age in which she lived.
She was witness to the unsuccessful attempts of both her husband, and son, to recover the Crown, and died after a short illness in the “very odour of sanctity.”
Henrietta Maria, Duchess of Orleans:
By MIGNARD.
Half-length.
(Oval. Auburn Hair. White Satin Dress. Pearls.)
Born, 1644. Died, 1670.—Daughter of Charles I., King of England, by Henrietta Maria of France. When the Queen of Charles I., a fortnight after her confinement, was compelled to fly before the Parliamentary army, she confided the infant Princess to the care of her governess, Lady Morton, who retired with her charge to Oatlands. Two years afterwards, when the Parliament threatened to deprive that lady of her little ward, she determined to thwart them in the attempt. She disguised herself as a poor French servant, and provided herself with a humpback, in which she carried little Henrietta dressed as a boy. They proceeded in this way on foot to Dover, where they embarked, and the faithful governess restored the child to her mother at Paris. But Lady Morton had an enemy to contend with in the proud spirit of the English Princess, who was indignant at being clothed in a coarse dress, and still more at being mistaken for a boy; and she kept informing the passers by of her royal state, which information was fortunately unintelligible.
On the death of the King, she accompanied her mother to France, where they lived in great seclusion; on her first arrival indeed, the widowed Queen of England had established a small court, and some degree of state, but the niggardliness of the Cardinal-Minister, Mazarin, soon reduced her means. The first appearance of the young Princess was on the occasion of a select ball at court, given by Anne of Austria in her own private apartments. The Queen-Mother had taken a fancy to the beautiful girl, and the entertainment was given in her honour: Anne was therefore most indignant, when the King selected one of the beauties of her own Court, as his partner for the first dance. She separated their hands sharply, and in a peremptory tone, desired her son to dance with the English Princess. Louis XIV., in a pet, replied, “he did not care to dance with little girls,” and that in so audible a tone, as to be overheard by mother, and daughter. In vain Queen Henrietta Maria, stung to the quick by the slight put upon her child, declared she could not dance, having sprained her ancle; Anne of Austria insisted, and the King reluctantly led out his unwilling partner, whose crimson cheeks, and streaming eyes, drew the attention of the whole society upon her. For some time the King cherished a feeling of dislike towards the young Princess, so much so as to oppose the union between her, and his brother Monsieur, the Duke of Orleans. But this marriage was resolved on by the two royal mothers, and it was finally arranged that the nuptials should take place, on the return of the Queen and Princess Henrietta from England, whither they went for the ostensible motive of congratulating Charles II. on his restoration to the throne, although it was well known that political intrigues were mixed up with these congratulations.
At her brother’s Court the young Henrietta “turned all heads, and inflamed all hearts,” says a contemporary. The Duke of Buckingham, who accompanied them on their return to France, incurred the maternal anger, by his undisguised devotion to the fiançée of Monsieur. The voyage was a disastrous one, the vessel struck on a rock, and nearly went to pieces, and no sooner had they gained the shore in safety, than the Princess sickened of the measles. The Duke of Buckingham, maddened by the dangers both by sea, and land, to which the beautiful object of his sudden passion, was exposed, became so demonstrative in the expressions of his grief, and affection, that the English Queen judged it prudent, to despatch him as avant-courier, to Paris. On her recovery, and return thither, the Princess found herself as much admired as she had been at her brother’s Court, and the King opened his eyes and wondered at himself for not caring to dance with “such a little girl.” “Les yeux vifs, noirs, brillans, pleins de feu,” says Choisy, “elle fut l’objet de tous les empressemens imaginables, compris ceux de Monsieur. Elle a l’esprit aussi aimable que le reste.” The Duke of Orleans was not supposed to be much in love with his wife, but that did not prevent his being very jealous of the Dukes of Buckingham, and Guiche, in particular. Buckingham indeed had brought the husband’s jealousy on his own head, by his absurd demeanour, and had been the means of instilling suspicion into his mind, with regard to the Duc de Guiche, a remarkably handsome, and attractive young courtier. In another quarter, jealousy was rife, for the newly married Queen of France, Maria Theresa, deeply attached to a husband who remained always indifferent to her, watched with dismay the influence “Madame,” (as Henrietta was now called) exercised over the King.
The second Court under “Madame’s” auspices, with its young beauties, its easy conversation, and pleasant pastimes, was exactly suited to the Monarch’s taste, and he was known to have said, in speaking of the Duchess of Orleans, “qu’il connoissoit en la voyant de plus près, combien il avoit été injuste, à la plus belle personne du monde.” The admiration she excited, and the influence she obtained over her brother-in-law, ended indeed, only with her life. Her small Court was brilliant, in the extreme, and they amused themselves in divers ways. “Madame, montoit à cheval, suivie de toutes ses dames, habillées galamment, avec mille plumes sur leurs têtes, accompagnées du Roi, et de la jeunesse de la Cour.” Monsieur lived a great deal in the Palais Royal, and there she would go to sup with him, taking all her ladies, and chosen friends with her. Mademoiselle de la Vallière was one of her Maids of Honour, and the liaison with the King, began under Henrietta’s roof. She had been very fond of the beautiful girl, but treated her with marked displeasure, in the latter days.
Madame made a second journey to England, for the purpose of concluding a private treaty, between her brother, and the French monarch, and of detaching the former from his alliance with Holland. On this occasion, she was accompanied by the celebrated Mademoiselle de la Quérouaille, afterwards Duchess of Portsmouth, who had also her sealed orders. The mission was successful, though neither advantageous, nor honourable, as far as England was concerned. Madame returned in triumph, took up her abode at the Palace of St. Cloud, and appeared to have reached the zenith of worldly prosperity, always excepting the unhappy difference, with her husband, which commenced so soon after their marriage, and had increased rather than diminished. Her tried friend, and trusty confidant in these trials, was Cosnac, Bishop of Valence, afterwards Archbishop of Aix, a distinguished, but eccentric man. At twenty-four years of age, he preached a sermon, which made such an impression on the mind, of Mazarin, the Cardinal Minister, that on the conclusion of the service, he promised the preacher a bishopric; what he called “faire un maréchal de France sur la brêche.” Cosnac was afterwards appointed almoner to Monsieur, and resided with him, for some time, during which period, he endeavoured to gain an influence for good, over the mind of this fickle, and vacillating Prince, and often expostulated with him, on his conduct to the Duchess. They quarrelled, and separated, but his indignation against Monsieur’s unworthy favourite, the Chevalier de Loraine, so enraged the Duke that he contrived to procure a sentence of exile, against Cosnac. But absence could not sever the bonds of friendship, which bound him to Henrietta, and of which he gave a valuable proof, on the occasion of a libel, that was published against her in Holland, at the time of her negociations between England, and France. The Duchess dreaded lest the scurrilous pamphlet, most damaging to her reputation, should fall into her husband’s hands, and she wrote off in terror to her exiled friend, to ask his assistance. Cosnac immediately despatched an emissary to Holland, who did his work so effectually, that the whole edition was bought up, the publication stopped, and all the extant copies brought over, to be destroyed by this zealous friend. As in duty bound, “Madame” worked hard to obtain the Bishop’s recall, so much so that the King thought her attachment to him, must be of a more tender nature than she confessed. Louis XIV., in all probability, was not a good judge of friendship, or a believer in it, where a woman was concerned.
In her correspondence with Cosnac, in speaking of her mission to England, she hints at the hope of Charles II. becoming a Roman Catholic, in the event of which she promises that he shall obtain a Cardinal’s hat. On her return from England, four days before her death, describing the affectionate reception, she had met with from the French King, she says: “Le Roi même à mon retour m’a témoigné beaucoup de bonté; mais pour Monsieur rien n’est égal à son acharnement, pour trouver moyen de se plaindre. Il me fit l’honneur de me dire, que je suis toute puissante, et que par conséquent si je ne fais pas revenir le Chevalier de Loraine, exilé par le Roi, je ne me soucie pas de lui plaire, et il fait ensuite des menaces, pour le temps à venir.” To the same correspondent, she complains that her little girl is brought up, to hate her. Three days later, towards five o’clock in the afternoon, the Duchess of Orleans asked for a glass of iced chicory water; a short time after drinking which, she was seized with excruciating pain, and strong convulsions. As her condition grew worse, it became evident to herself, and all around her, that the end was approaching. Her confessor, Feuillet, was sent for, and in his questions, and exhortations, he did not spare his dying penitent, but both he, and Bossuet, who was also present, became deeply affected, by the humble devotion, and pious resignation, to the Divine Will, which the unhappy Princess, evinced in the midst of all her sufferings. She was most anxious not to forget any one, and recalling a promise she had made, some time ago to a friend, she called one of her weeping attendants to her, and gave orders where she would find a ring, and to whom it should be sent, as her parting gift. As the last moment approached, she placed her hand in that of her husband, and gazing earnestly in his face said most emphatically: “Monsieur, je ne vous ai jamais manqué.” She thought of every one in her last moments, and closed an adventurous, and chequered life, at the early age of twenty-six, at peace, with all mankind, repentant, and trusting in the mercy of God.
That her death was the effect of poison, none could doubt: the question arose, who was the murderer. The King sent for his brother, and charged him with the crime, and a violent scene ensued between them; but the real criminal appears to have been the exiled Chevalier de Loraine, and evidence of the strongest nature was brought to show, that he sent the poison from Rome by a Monsieur Morel (who was not in the secret) to the Marquise d’Effiat, and a footman deposed, to seeing the Marquise rubbing the inside of the cup, which was immediately afterwards given to Madame, with the chicory water, when she complained of thirst. Be this as it may, no sooner was she dead, than the Chevalier de Loraine was recalled from exile, and the whole matter hushed up.
Cosnac’s description of Madame, was as follows: “Elle avoit l’esprit solide, et du bon sens, l’âme grande, et fort éclairée, sur tout ce qu’il faudroit faire, mais quelque-fois elle ne le faisoit pas, par une faiblesse naturelle.... Elle mêlait dans toute sa conversation, une douceur qu’on ne trouvoit point dans les autres personnes royales; ce n’est pas qu’elle eût moins de majesté, mais elle en savoit user d’une manière plus facile, et plus touchante. Pour les traits de son visage, on n’en trouve point de plus achevés; les yeux vifs, sans être rudes, la bouche admirable, le nez parfait (chose rare), le teint blanc et uni, la taille médiocre mais fine: son esprit animait tout son corps; elle en avoit jusqu’aux pieds; elle dansait mieux que femme au monde.” She loved poetry and befriended poets: Corneille in his old age, and Racine, whose heart she gained by shedding tears at the first reading of his “Andromaque.” La Force said after her death: “Le goût des choses de l’esprit avoit fort baissé. Il est certain qu’en perdant cette Princesse la cour perdoit la seule personne de son sang, qui était capable d’aimer et de distinguer le mérite, et il n’y a eu depuis sa mort, que jeu, confusion, et impolitesse.”
Charles V., Emperor of Germany:
By TIZIANO VECELLI.
Three-quarter Length.
(In Armour, Standing by a Table, on which is his Plumed Helmet.)
Born at Ghent, 1500. Died 1558.—The son of Philip, Archduke of Austria, by Joan the Mad, heiress of Castile, and daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella. Became King of Spain in 1516, and Emperor of Germany in 1519, on the death of Maximilian. Francis I., King of France, was his competitor for the imperial dignity, and a war was the result, when the French King was defeated, and made prisoner. But Charles’s whole life was spent in warfare, until his abdication, and final seclusion from the world, in the Convent of San Yuste, in Estremadura, where he died. He married the daughter of the King of Portugal, by whom he had Philip II. and two daughters.
Prince Rupert:
By VANDYCK.
Three-quarter Length.
(Rich Dress of Murrey Coloured Satin, with Cuirass.)
Born, 1619. Died, 1682.—The fourth son of Frederic, Elector Palatine, afterwards King of Bohemia, by Elizabeth, daughter of James I., King of Great Britain. His birth at Prague was hailed with great joy, and his baptism was an occasion of extraordinary pomp. He was an intelligent and merry child, and as a youth, his elder brother writes home accounts of his proficiency in study, and in athletic exercises, describing “our Rupert,” as a species of Admirable Crichton. Both he, and his brother Charles were educated at Leyden, and stood very high at the collegiate examination, when their father, the unfortunate King of Bohemia, travelled thither, and saw his boys for the last time. Rupert studied war under Henry, Prince of Orange: at thirteen he was present at the siege of Rhymberg; at eighteen he commanded a regiment of cavalry. After her husband’s death, Elizabeth was advised to send her two elder sons to colonise in distant countries; the elder in Madagascar, and Rupert in the West Indies: but the high spirited Princess declared “no son of hers, should become a knight errant.” Prince Rupert’s later career might well have entitled him to the epithet, Elizabeth so much disapproved. He distinguished himself in several campaigns, was made prisoner, and at the termination of his captivity, accepted the invitation of his uncle, Charles I., to repair to England.
The Queen of Bohemia had considered herself aggrieved, by the unsatisfactory replies which her brother returned to her frequent applications for sympathy and assistance, but on the arrival of Rupert and his brother in England, the former was granted an English title, installed as Knight of the Garter, and made Commander in Chief of Cavalry. The Prince was zealous and loyal, and his courage undoubted; but he laid himself open to just censure by his imprudence, and temerity. Charles loved his nephew, but the blame which attached to his tactics in the fatal battle of Naseby, was confirmed by the Prince’s feeble defence of Bristol, for the safety of which place, he had pledged himself. The King deprived him of his command, and wrote him so severe a letter, that Rupert sought an audience of his royal uncle at Belvoir Castle, indignantly denying the charge of treason imputed to him, but honestly confessing his imprudence, and shortcomings. Pepys many years afterwards, alludes to this incident when he says: “The Prince was the boldest attaquer in the world, and yet in the defence of Bristol, no man ever did worse, wanting in patience and a seasoned head, etc.” Pepys did not love Rupert, who once rated him roundly, in the presence of the King, Charles II. The same authority says on another occasion, that the nation was displeased at Rupert’s obtaining a command, as he was accounted a “most unhappy man.” His next adventure was especially so: Charles I. sent him to Ireland, in charge of that portion of the fleet, which had remained faithful to the royal cause, but his unlucky star was still in the ascendant. He was compelled to seek safety at Lisbon, pursued by the Parliamentary squadron, and after many losses, and disasters, he took refuge in America, where he remained some years. Thence to France, where, says, one of his biographers, “ses aventures romanesques, ses esclaves Maures, son train bizarre, le firent un objet de curiosité et le héros de plus d’une intrigue galante.” He returned to England on the restoration of Charles II. “The Prince Rupert is come to Court,” says Pepys; “welcome to nobody;” yet his great courage and the frequency of his exploits in the war against Holland, when he was appointed to a command in the fleet, first under the Duke of York, then conjointly with the Duke of Albemarle, and finally in 1673, when he had the sole command, might well have entitled him to the gratitude of the King and the nation.
The wear, and tear, of an adventurous life, the effects of a deep wound, received in Flanders, determined Rupert at length, to retire from public life, and seek the repose so necessary to him. He was made Governor of Windsor Castle, and he found great resource in the cultivation of arts, which had always occupied the few leisure hours he had hitherto enjoyed; physics, chemistry, the improvement of fire-arms, etc. Horace Walpole says: “It is a trite observation, that gunpowder was invented by a monk, and printing by a soldier: and it is an additional honour to the latter profession, to have invented mezzotinto;” upon which he relates the following anecdote: Prince Rupert, when in Holland, was one morning, attracted by seeing a sentinel rubbing the barrel of his musket, vehemently. On approaching, and examining the gun, he found that the damp of the early morning, had rusted the metal, and this, combined with friction, had produced a kind of arabesque, or pattern on the metal, like a friezed work eaten in with numerous little dots, part of which the soldier was scraping away. This set the Prince thinking, how he could produce a lasting effect of the same kind, and in combination with his friend, Vaillant the painter, he invented a steel roller, cut with tools to make teeth in the manner of a file, or rasp, with projecting points which produced the black ground, and this being scraped away, or diminished at pleasure, left the gradations of light.
Prince Rupert was never married, but he left two illegitimate children.
Grammont says: “Il étoit brave, et vaillant, jusqu’à la témérité. Il avoit le génie fécond en expériences de mathématique, et quelque talent pour la chimie. Poli jusqu’à l’excès, quand l’occasion ne le demandait pas, fier, et même brutal quand il étoit question de se humaniser, son visage étoit sec, et dur....” But Lely, and Vandyck paint more comely portraits of the brave “Knight-errant.” He was a messmate of the Earl of Sandwich, and it is no wonder the portraits of the two brave sailors, should hang together in the Englishman’s ancestral home. Lely painted, (as we are told by Pepys,) “all the Flaggmen; and in his studio I saw the pictures of the Earl of Sandwich, Prince Rupert, etc.” But from his account of the campaign at sea, he leads us to believe that both Rupert, and the Duke of Albemarle, were jealous of the popularity, and fame which Lord Sandwich has justly gained in England, through his prowess.
Henrietta Maria, Queen of England:
By VANDYCK.
Three-quarter Length.
(White Satin Dress. Lace, Pearls. Standing by a Table, on which the Crown is placed.)
Born, 1607. Died, 1669.—Daughter of Henry IV., King of France, by Marie de Medicis. Attracted the notice of Charles, Prince of Wales, on his route to Madrid, where he travelled in disguise, with the Duke of Buckingham, to ask the hand of the Infanta of Spain. On the failure of the negociations between France and Spain, Charles remembered the young French Princess, and became her suitor. The marriage was concluded, under circumstances which appeared to promise great prosperity; but alas, for human foresight! the young Queen’s life was destined to be one prolonged struggle, of sorrow, distress, and difficulty. She took refuge in France, soon after the birth of her daughter Henrietta, and was there warmly welcomed, and treated with liberality by the King; her constant pecuniary difficulties being usually attributed to her generosity, to the English Royalists.
When Charles I., took leave of the Princess Elizabeth, who had remained in England, he sent his last farewell to the Queen, assuring her that during the whole course of their union, he had never been unfaithful to her, even in thought. In 1660, Charles II. having been proclaimed King in London, his mother, accompanied by the Princess Henrietta, visited him, ostensibly to offer her congratulations, but really to recover part of her dowry, and also to prevent, if possible, the acknowledgement of the private marriage of her son, the Duke of York, with Anne Hyde. But her opposition to this marriage was overruled, from political, and prudential motives. On her return to Paris, and after the union of her daughter, with the Duke of Orleans, Queen Henrietta Maria, bought a house at Colombes, where she lived a most retired life. “Elle étoit,” says Madame de Motteville, “sans nulle façon.” In her frugal manner of life, and the courage she displayed in danger, and vicissitude, this Princess resembled her father, the great Henry. She was much disfigured by illness and sorrow: “Elle avoit même la taille un peu gatée; sa beauté,” says Madame de Motteville, “n’avoit duré que l’espace d’un matin, et l’avoit quitté avant son midi; elle maintenoit que les femmes ne peuvent plus être belles, passé vingt-deux ans. Elle avoit infiniment de l’esprit; elle étoit agréable dans la société, honnête, douce, et facile; son tempérament étoit tourné du côté de la gaieté.” Henrietta Maria died suddenly at her house at Colombes, and was buried at St. Denis, but she desired that her heart should rest in the Convent of Ste. Marie de Chaillot, a Sisterhood, for whom she had much affection.
Edward, first Earl of Sandwich:
By SIR PETER LELY.
(When Young. In a Brown Dress. Pointing to a Globe. Curtain in Background.)
MORNING ROOM.
Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough:
By SIR GODFREY KNELLER.
Half-Length: Oval.
(Light Coloured Dress. Blue Scarf.)
Born, 1658. Died, 1744.—The youngest daughter of Richard Jennings, Esq., of Sundridge, near St. Albans, by the daughter and heiress, of Sir Gifford Thornhurst. She was presented when quite young at Court, where her sister Frances, (afterwards Lady Tyrconnel) had already distinguished herself by her laxity of conduct, as well as her beauty. Sarah’s features may not have rivalled her sister’s in regularity, but her countenance was full of expression, her complexion delicate, and the profusion of her fair hair, formed a most attractive combination. She became the centre of a host of adorers, amongst whom she preferred, in spite of his poverty, “the young, handsome, graceful, insinuating, and eloquent Churchill.” On his side, the young Colonel who, even in early days, had established a character for avarice, was so enamoured of the portionless girl, as to refuse a rich heiress with a plain face, who had been proposed to him. But in her beauty, her ambition, her indomitable will, and the close friendship which united her to the Princess (afterwards Queen) Anne, the bride brought her husband, a dowry which made him “a Duke, a sovereign Prince of the Empire, the Captain General of a great coalition, the arbiter between mighty Princes, and the wealthiest subject in Europe.” The friendship between Lady Churchill, and Anne, the tyranny which the high-spirited, hot-tempered and wilful Lady of the Bedchamber, exercised over her royal mistress, for many years, are matters too well known, to be here recapitulated. The romantic friendship of Mrs. Morley, and Mrs. Freeman, the manner in which Anne as Princess, and Queen, even after her marriage to the Prince of Denmark, gave herself up to the dominion of her favourite, until the self-imposed yoke became unbearable, and was suddenly and completely discarded, are historical facts, bound up with public events.
The Duchess of Marlborough was supplanted by her own protégée, Mrs. Masham, and peremptorily dismissed, in spite of prayers, rages and “scenes.” Voltaire says: “Quelques paires de gants qu’elle refusa à la Reine, un verre d’eau qu’elle laissa tomber par une méprise! sur la robe de Madame Masham, changèrent la face de l’Europe,” alluding to the political changes, which ensued on the downfall of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough. In her latter days, her temper, embittered by these untoward circumstances, became ungovernable; she quarrelled with her husband, her son-in-law, her grandchildren, and gave way to the most violent outbursts of passion. The Duke of Marlborough was a constant, and affectionate husband, and it is related that on one occasion, when he strove to pacify her rage by a compliment to the beauty of her luxuriant hair, she seized the scissors, cut it off, and flung it in his face. When the Duke died, the long fair tresses, were found carefully preserved in a drawer.
Sarah was a widow for twenty-two years; in spite of her age, perhaps on account of her immense fortune, the Duke of Somerset, and Lord Coningsby were both suitors, for her hand. To the latter, she replied, after reminding him that she was sixty-three, “but were I only thirty, and could you lay the world at my feet, I would never bestow on you, the heart and hand, which belonged exclusively to John, Duke of Marlborough.”
John, Second Duke of Montagu:
By PHILLIPS.
Full-Length.
(Right Hand on a Table, Left on the Back of a Chair, on which a Greyhound is standing. Court Suit, Star, Garter, and Ribbon of the Order.)
Born, 1682. Died, 1749.—The only surviving son of Ralph, first Duke of Montagu, by his first wife, the Countess of Northumberland. In 1705, he married Lady Mary Churchill, youngest daughter, and co-heiress of the Duke of Marlborough, by Sarah Jennings, his wife, by whom he had several sons, who all died in their childhood, as did one of his daughters; but two survived him, Lady Isabella, married to the Duke of Manchester, and Lady Mary, to the Earl of Cardigan. He was Lord High Constable of England, at the coronation of George I., Knight of the Garter, and one of the first Knights of the Bath, as well as Great Master of that new Order, with several other honours. Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, in her unpublished volume of remarks and axioms, (which does her little honour) is very hard upon her son-in-law. She declares he had no just claim for place, or favour on the Government, on account of services, by sea, or land; but this statement is emphatically contradicted, in a marginal note, stating that Montagu had served under the great Duke of Marlborough himself. He seems by all accounts, to have been a kind hearted, and benevolent man, but undoubtedly whimsical, and eccentric; witness an anecdote told of him in one of the periodicals of the day. In his walks in St. James’s Park, he was attracted by the daily sight of an old gentleman, of military aspect, but shabby, and poverty stricken in his dress, who usually sat, and sunned himself, on one of the benches in the avenue. The Duke sent his servant, one day to the old soldier, and asked him, to come and visit him. Nothing loth, but much bewildered, the stranger followed the lacquey, through the corridors, and well furnished rooms, to the ducal presence. Here he was asked, and had to tell, his sorrowful tale. He had served his country, but had no pension; he had married a wife without a dowry, and she and her children were half starving, down in Wales, while he had come to London on the sad, and hopeless errand, of getting something, to live upon. He had a wretched room, where he slept, and spent most of his time, on a bench, in the Park. The Duke listened, and fed him, gave him a trifling sum, and said he hoped to see him again, ere very long. Accordingly, some time afterwards, the old man received a letter from the Duke, begging him to come to dinner, telling him that he had a most mysterious, and confidential communication, to make. The soldier, to whom his whole acquaintance with Montagu appeared like a fairy tale, brushed up his thread-bare suit, and presented himself to the Duke, who in a most private, and mysterious manner, assured him, that there was a certain lady, who admired him very much, and who had earnestly desired an interview with him; indeed, the Duke went on to say, so entirely was her heart set on the meeting, that he had consented to be the go-between. More bewildered than ever, the soldier pleaded his wrinkled face, his scanty grey hairs, and, above all, his allegiance to the poor wife, far away among the Welsh mountains. The Duke was jocose, treated the matter with levity, and gave his arm to lead the astonished guest to the hospitable board, where the lady would be seated; and there indeed, smiling amid her tears, sate his wife, and her children, and after a sumptuous repast, the happy couple left the ducal roof, with their pockets sufficiently well lined (with the addition of a small pension also promised by their noble friend), to keep the wolf from their humble door. Such whimsical fancies as these, would not have suited the stern and economical Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough.
John, Duke of Montagu, died at Montagu House, Whitehall, in the sixty-eighth year of his age, when his title became extinct.
John, Fourth Earl of Sandwich:
By ZOFFANY.
Small Full-length.
(Seated near a Table, on which he rests his Left Arm. Crimson and Gold Court Dress.)
Miss Margaret Ray:
By GAINSBOROUGH.
Half-Length.
(Blue Dress.)
Born, 1742, Murdered, 1779.—Some say the daughter of a stay-maker in Covent Garden, others that she was born at Elstree, in Herts, where her father was a labourer. In early life, she was apprenticed to a dressmaker in Clerkenwell, but her first meeting with John, fourth Earl of Sandwich, was at a shop in Tavistock-street, where he was buying some neck-cloths. Struck with her extreme beauty, his lordship took her under his protection, established her at Hinchingbrook, and superintended her education. Margaret repaid the pains that were bestowed on her, but her especial talent was for music, and under the tuition of Mr. Bates, (afterwards secretary to Lord Sandwich) and Signor Giardini, her sweet and powerful voice, was fully developed, and she sang to perfection, in the Oratorio of “Jephthah,” in Italian bravuras, and in the catches and glees, which so often formed part of the varied entertainments, at Hinchingbrook. Every Christmas, indeed, Lord Sandwich caused an oratorio to be performed, at his country house, where Miss Ray was the principal attraction, although she had several rivals in musical talent, both professional, and amateur. On one occasion Mr. Cradock, an intimate friend of Lord Sandwich’s, tells us that he accompanied his lordship, Mr. Bates, Miss Ray and another lady, to Vauxhall, where some musical friends met them, and they sang catches, and glees, in the box, to the delight of the audience, who greatly admired the beauty and vocal powers, of the fair (to them) unknown performer.
Miss Ray was remarkable, while under Lord Sandwich’s roof, for her discreet and circumspect conduct, in a most equivocal position; and his lordship appears to have been very strict, lest anyone, as he expressed himself, “should exceed the boundary line,” that he had drawn. For example, at the oratorios where she shone so conspicuously, the society were not expected to notice her, and she herself was sadly embarrassed one evening, when Lady Blake advanced between the scenes to converse with her, the singer well knowing such a step would arouse the noble host’s displeasure; a well grounded suspicion as he went so far as to say “such a trespass might occasion the overthrow of our music meetings.” The Bishop of Lincoln’s wife pays this tribute to Margaret: “She was so assiduous to please, so excellent and unassuming, I felt it cruel to sit directly opposite to her, and yet find it impossible to notice her.”
At these oratorios, the Duke of Manchester’s band generally attended, and Lord Sandwich took the direction of the kettledrums, as, indeed, he sometimes did at public music meetings, at Leicester (and elsewhere), where Mr. Cradock says: “The Earl and the Otaheitan, Omai, (whom he had brought with him) divided public attention.”
Mr. Cradock was with Lord Sandwich, when he first became acquainted with Hackman. My Lord had taken Mr. Cradock to Cambridge, to vote for a candidate for a professorship in whom he was interested, and brought his friend back with him, in his chaise to Hinchingbrook. Under the gateway they met a neighbour, Major Reynolds, with a brother officer, who was presented as Captain Hackman. Lord Sandwich, with his usual hospitality, invited the two officers to a family dinner, and in the evening, he and Miss Ray encountered Major Reynolds, and Mr. Cradock at whist, Captain Hackman preferring to overlook the game. There can be little doubt that Miss Ray inspired the young soldier with love, at first sight. Hackman at that time was on a recruiting party at Huntingdon; he became a constant visitor at Hinchingbrook, and it seems that whenever Miss Ray drove out, he constantly waylaid her, bowing low as she passed. There was evidently a great difference of opinion as to Miss Ray’s feelings, with regard to her new admirer. One account of the transaction affirms that she was not insensible to his devotion, and that the black servant, believing she was false, imparted his suspicions to Lord Sandwich. The same authority states that his Lordship taxed his beautiful companion with her inconstancy, and either through his influence, or that of Major Reynolds, Hackman obtained a recommendation to Sir John Swaine, Adjutant-general in Ireland, where he remained nearly two years. But he never forgot the beautiful Margaret, and leaving the army, he entered the Church, obtained a living in Norfolk, and wrote her a passionate love letter, in which he proposed marriage, and went so far as to promise tenderness, and protection for her children by Lord Sandwich. This offer was refused with decision, whether from fidelity to her protector, anxiety for her children’s welfare, or indifference to her adorer, we cannot say. Her situation was certainly not one of calm enjoyment. One evening at the Admiralty she complained to Mr. Cradock, that she did not believe either Lord Sandwich, or herself was safe to go out, from the fury of the mob, and that coarse ballads, and libels were sung under the windows, which looked upon the Park. Bursting into tears, she besought Mr. Cradock to intercede with Lord Sandwich, to make some settlement on her, not from mercenary motives, but because she wished to relieve my Lord from greater expense, and to go on the stage. Her voice was at its best, Italian music her forte, and she was sure that through her friend Signor Giardini, and Mr. Cradock’s friends Mrs. Brooke and Mrs. Yates, she could secure an advantageous engagement. As might have been supposed, Mr. Cradock declined to interfere, and the matter dropped.
In the meantime, Hackman, on the receipt of Miss Ray’s letter, which put a stop to his long cherished hopes, stung to the quick, and in such distress of mind, as brought him to the verge of madness, rushed up to London. He strove to effect an interview with the singing master, Signor Galli, but this was prevented by the vigilance of Lord Sandwich, who entrusted the Italian with the task of informing Mr. Hackman that Miss Ray would have no more communication with him. He took a lodging in Duke’s Court, St. Martin’s Lane, and on the 7th of April, 1779, he passed the morning in reading Blair’s Sermons, and dined with his sister, and her husband, a newly married couple. He then went out, proceeded to the Admiralty, and seeing Lord Sandwich’s coach at the door, he imagined it likely that Miss Ray might be going in it, to call on her friend Signora Galli, at her lodgings in the Haymarket. Thence he walked to the Cannon Coffee-house, Charing Cross, and watching the carriage pass, he followed it in time to see Miss Ray, and Signora Galli enter Covent Garden Theatre. On going in, he was distracted with jealousy at seeing her addressed by “a gentleman of genteel and handsome appearance,” whom he afterwards found to be Lord Coleraine. The performance was “Love in a Village.” He went out, furnished himself with a brace of loaded pistols, and returned to Covent Garden. When the play was over, he kept Miss Ray with her two companions in view, through the lobby, where there was a great crowd, until she was under the piazza, and her coach was called, in the name of Lady Sandwich. He was pushed down by a chairman, running suddenly against him, but recovered himself in time to pursue his victim to her coach, in which Signora Galli had already taken her place. Stepping between Miss Ray, who had accepted the arm of Mr. McNamara (of Lincoln’s Inn Fields), and the coach, he discharged his right hand pistol at her, and his left at himself. The beautiful and unfortunate woman, raised her hand to her head, and dropped down dead at his feet. Hackman fell at the same moment, but finding that he was still alive, he beat himself about the head, with the pistol, crying to the bystanders to kill him. The murderer, and the victim, were both carried to the Shakespeare Tavern; the corpse lay in one room, while the wounded man was attended to, in another. He enquired for her, and declared he only meant to kill himself, and had failed in his object. He was taken before Sir John Fielding, who committed him to Tothill Fields Bridewell, and afterwards to Newgate, where he was constantly watched to prevent his making away, with himself. He was attended on his trial by a friend, and on first entering the court, was much agitated, sighing, and weeping while the evidence was being given, yet at the same time showing a courageous, and even noble deportment as concerned his own fate. He made a most pathetic speech, in which he confessed his guilt, but attributed it to sudden phrensy, as regarded murder. The suicide, he said, was premeditated. He had no wish to avoid punishment; he was too unhappy to care for life, now she was gone, and he submitted himself to the judgment of Almighty God. A letter found in his pocket, to his brother-in-law, taking leave of him, and speaking in the most affectionate terms of his “beloved woman,” seemed to bear out his testimony. His hearers were much affected, but on his return to the cell he became composed, and said he was rejoiced to think, his time on earth was so short. After his sentence was passed, he received the following letter in prison:
“If the murderer of Miss —— wishes to live, the man he has most injured, will use all his interest to procure his life.”
The prisoner’s reply was as follows:
“Condemned Cell, Newgate.
“The murderer of her, whom he preferred, far preferred to life, suspects the hand from which he has just received, such an offer as he neither desires, nor deserves. His wishes are for death, not life. One wish he has: Could he be pardoned in this world, by the man he has most injured? Oh, my Lord, when I meet her in another world, enable me to tell her—if departed spirits are not ignorant of earthly things—that you forgive us both, and that you will be a father to her dear children.”
He suffered death calmly, and thus ended the career of a man, who seemed formed for better things.
Mr. Cradock, who was sincerely attached both to Lord Sandwich, and the unfortunate cause of so much sorrow, tells us that on the day following the murder, he went to the Admiralty, and saw old James, the black servant, whom he found overwhelmed with grief. It was he who began to break the terrible news to his master, when Lord Sandwich interrupted him, by bidding him “allude no more to the ballads and libels, of which he had heard enough.” “Alas,” said the faithful old man, “it is something more terrible than that.” Others then came in from the theatre and related the dreadful intelligence. Lord Sandwich, stood for awhile transfixed with horror, then raising his hand exclaimed, “I could have borne anything but this,” and rushed upstairs, desiring that no one should follow him. He shunned society, for a long time after the dreadful catastrophe, and his friend Cradock tells us, that he went to see him, and found him terribly depressed one day, sitting under the portrait of Miss Ray, “a speaking likeness;” doubtless the one in question.
By Miss Ray, Lord Sandwich had four children, viz., Admiral Montagu, Basil Montagu, Q.C., John Montagu, and Augusta, married to the Comte de Viry, of Savoy, an Admiral in the Sardinian Navy.
This beautiful portrait by Gainsborough, belonged to Admiral Montagu, and was purchased by John, seventh Earl of Sandwich, in 1857, of a picture dealer, at the instigation of Mr. Green, of Evans’s Rooms, who told him he much wished to possess it himself, having a collection of portraits of celebrities, but the price was beyond his mark.
Lady Louisa Corry, Afterwards Countess of Sandwich:
By HAMILTON.
Small Half-length.
John William, Seventh Earl of Sandwich:
By the HON. HENRY GRAVES.
Half-Length.
(Peer’s Coronation Robes, over Lord Lieutenant’s Uniform.)
Mary, Countess of Sandwich:
By the HON. HENRY GRAVES.
Oval.
(Leaning on her Hand.)
Born, 1812. Died, 1859.—She was the youngest daughter of the first Marquis of Anglesey, by his second wife, Lady Emily Cadogan, (whose first husband was Lord Cowley.) Lady Mary Paget was married in 1838, to John William, seventh Earl of Sandwich, and died, universally regretted, on the 20th of February, 1859, in Curzon Street, Mayfair.
Edward George Henry, Viscount Hinchingbrook, and his Brother, The Hon. Victor Alexander Montagu:
By HURLSTONE.
(Children of the Seventh Earl of Sandwich.)
Lord Hinchingbrook was born in London on July 13, 1839. Educated at Eton. Joined the Second Battalion Grenadier Guards, December 18, 1857. Lieutenant and Captain, May, 1862. Adjutant, 1864. Captain and Lieut-Colonel, July, 1870. Has been employed as Commandant of a School of Instruction of the Reserve Forces, and Military Secretary at Gibraltar. Was attached to Lord Stratford de Redcliffe’s special Embassy to Constantinople, 1858. Accompanied H.R.H. the Prince of Wales to North America, 1860. Attached to Lord Breadalbane’s Mission, (to confer the Order of the Garter on the King of Prussia) 1861, and in the same year to Lord Clarendon’s Embassy, when the King of Prussia was crowned at Königsberg. On the occasion of the marriage of H.R.H. the Duke of Edinburgh, when Lord Sydney represented the Queen of England at the Court of St. Petersburg, Lord Hinchingbrook accompanied his uncle to the Russian capital; and in 1875 he went with Sir John Drummond Hay, K.C.B. to the Court of the Sultan of Morocco. Was elected M.P. for Huntingdon, February, 1876.
The Hon. Victor Montagu was born in 1841. Entered the Royal Navy in 1853, as naval cadet on board H.M.S. “Princess Royal,” Captain Lord Clarence Paget (his uncle). On the declaration of war with Russia, in 1854, he proceeded to the Baltic, with the Fleet under Sir Charles Napier. Early in 1855 he went to the Black Sea, and remained on that station till the fall of Sebastopol. In 1856 he sailed to China, under Admiral Keppel in the “Raleigh,” 50 guns, (which vessel was lost off Macao, in April, 1857,) and in the Chinese War, he served in a gun-boat at the operations up the Canton River. On the news of the Mutiny in India, in 1857, Victor Montagu was ordered to join the “Pearl” at Hong-kong, and left in company with the “Shannon” for Calcutta, where he landed with the Naval Brigade, and joined the field force under Brigadier Rowcroft, and Sir Hope Grant, with which he was employed until February, 1859.
In the Oude and Goruckpore districts, he was in seventeen out of twenty-six engagements; and in 1859 he returned to England, having seen four campaigns before he was eighteen years of age. He afterwards served as lieutenant in the Channel, and Mediterranean Fleets, and in 1864, was appointed to H.M.S. “Racoon,” in which vessel H.R.H. Prince Alfred was also serving as lieutenant. In 1866, he was Flag-Lieutenant to Lord Clarence Paget, Commander in Chief in the Mediterranean; and in the autumn of the same year commanded the “Tyrian” gun-boat on the same station. In 1867, he was promoted, returned to England, and has since commanded the “Rapid” steam sloop in the Mediterranean.
In 1867, Victor Montagu married Lady Agneta Harriet Yorke, youngest daughter of the fourth Earl of Hardwicke, by the daughter of the first Lord Ravensworth, by whom he has two daughters, Mary Sophie, and Olga Blanche, and one son, George Charles.
The Honourable Oliver George Powlett Montagu:
By the HON. HENRY GRAVES.
Born, 1844. Youngest son of the seventh Earl of Sandwich. Educated at Eton. Appointed lieutenant in the Huntingdon Rifle Regiment of Militia, in 1862; cornet in the Ninth Lancers, in 1863; exchanged into the Royal Horse Guards, in 1865.
Portrait of a Lady, supposed to be Lady Rochester:
By SIR PETER LELY.
Half-Length.
(Blue Dress with Pearls.)
CORRIDOR—DOWNSTAIRS.
Edward, Viscount Hinchingbrook:
By KNELLER.
Three-quarter Length: Oval.
(Red Jacket with Frogs. Blue Cap.)
Born, 1692. Died, 1722.—The eldest son of Edward, third Earl of Sandwich, by the daughter of the Earl of Rochester. Member for the Town, and subsequently for the County of Huntingdon; also Lord Lieutenant, and Custos Rotulorum; was in the army. Noble says his unfortunate father “became so much a cypher, that all the duties of his station devolved on Lord Hinchingbrook, who was an amiable, active and spirited young man.” He married Elizabeth, only daughter of Alexander Popham, Esq., of Littlecote, Wilts, by Lady Anne Montagu, (afterwards Harvey) daughter of Ralph, Duke of Montagu. His portrait and that of his wife, are alluded to by Noble.
Lord Hinchingbrook, in his early youth, appears to have been a great swain, if we can trust the bantering style of the Tatler, in the pages of which, he figures constantly under the soubriquet of Cynthio. In a paper dated White’s Chocolate House, North Side of Russell Street, Covent Garden, he comes in, and gives an elaborate lecture on the art of ogling.
He says: “Twenty men can speak eloquently, and fight manfully, and a thousand can dress genteelly at a mistress, who cannot gaze skilfully.” He gives the benefit of his experience, on the subject at some length; speaks of the late fallings off in the passion of love, boasting that he himself is the only man who is true to the cause. One day, while cleaning his teeth at the window of a tavern, he caught sight of a beautiful face, looking from the window of a coach, and he followed the fair object up, and down the town—a long time, indeed, without success; but this incident is proof of his zeal. There is a ludicrous account of his (imaginary) death from a broken heart; his companions had hoped, that good October and fox hunting would have averted this catastrophe. They propose to erect a monument to his memory, with a very long inscription. The paper is signed by the witty, and mirth-loving Dick Steele. Collins says Lord Hinchingbrook died much regretted: “He had a martial spirit, tempered with fine breeding, which made his company much coveted, and gained him great ascendancy in the House of Commons.” He was a strenuous upholder of the Protestant Succession, and of the rights and liberty of the subject.
By his wife he had two daughters, Mary and Elizabeth, and a son who succeeded his grandfather in the Earldom of Sandwich.
Lady Anne Montagu:
By KNELLER.
Three-quarter Length.
(Blue Satin Gown. Rows of Pearls round the Waist. A Scarf over the Shoulder, a long White Glove in Left Hand.)
Born, 1674. Died, 1742.—The only surviving daughter of Ralph, first Duke of Montagu, by his first wife, the Countess of Northumberland. Lady Anne’s delicate health in her childhood, seems to have given great uneasiness, to her mother. Lady Rachel Russell often mentions the little fair, pale girl. She married; first, Alexander Popham, Esq., of Littlecote, in Wiltshire, (by whom she had Elizabeth, Viscountess Hinchingbrook); and secondly, Daniel Harvey, of Combe, in Surrey. The parents were friends, and cousins, and Lady Northumberland often visited at Combe. By her second marriage, she had no children.
St. Evremond constantly corresponded with Lady Anne, who was a friend of the Duchesse de Mazarin, and an habituée of her salon at Chelsea. He writes a poetical epistle complaining of the cold of this miserable bit of a room, where all the doors were left open, and where the beautiful hostess occasionally cheated at cards. All this, however, is couched in most flattering language, extolling the charms, moral (query) and physical, of the lovely gambler. “Prenez garde à Madame,” he goes on to say, after describing his losses at Ombre, for she will cheat you “avec la plus belle main du monde.”
La Fontaine dedicated one of his Fables, to Lady Anne Harvey, who had a great admiration for his talent. St. Evremond says: “L’estime que M. de la Fontaine s’est acquis en Angleterre étoit si grand, que Madame Harvey, et quelques autres personnes d’un très grand mérite, ayant su, qu’il ne vivoit pas commodément à Paris, résolurent de l’attirer auprès d’elles, oû rien ne lui auroit manqué.” La Fontaine was grateful to his English friends, but declined, on the plea of being too old, to seek a strange country. Lady Anne, or Madame Harvey, as the Abbé calls her, is constantly mentioned in the letters of St. Evremond.
Elizabeth, Third Countess of Sandwich:
By KNELLER.
Three-quarter Length.
(Seated. Resting on her Left Arm. Right Hand holding Flowers. Loose Coloured Déshabille.)
General Daniel Harvey:
By KNELLER.
Three-quarter Length.
(In Armour, with a Blue Scarf. Right Hand resting on Hip; Left on the Hilt of Sword.)
Born, ——. Died, 1732.—The youngest son of Sir Edward Harvey, of Combe, near Kingston-on-Thames, by Lady Elizabeth, daughter of Francis, first Earl of Bradford. In 1712, he was appointed Lieutenant-governor of Guernsey, which office he held till 1726. He married his cousin, Lady Anne, daughter of Ralph, Duke of Montagu, by the Countess of Northumberland, relict of Alexander Popham, of Littlecote, Wilts, by whom he had no issue. General Harvey died at Mitcham, in Surrey, and was buried within the rails of the altar, in that church.
Captain the Hon. William Montagu:
By T. HIGHMORE.
Three-quarter Length.
(In a Brown and Red Uniform laced with Gold. Pointing to a Ship with his Right Hand; holding a Telescope in his Left.)
Born, 1720. Died, 1757.—He was the youngest son of Edward, Viscount Hinchingbrook, and entered the Navy, at an early age, in which profession he was destined to distinguish himself, not only by his courage, and skill as an officer, but by his extraordinary eccentricity, which gained him the soubriquet of “Mad Montagu.” He commanded the “Mermaid” at the taking of Cape Breton, in 1745, whence he brought letters from Commodore Warren, with an account of the surrender of the fortress of Louisburg, and the adjoining territories, after a siege of forty-nine days. He commanded the “Prince Edward,” and the “Bristol,” and took the “Orvena,” a rich Spanish register ship. He appears to have been in constant scrapes, both private, and public, frequently writing to his brother, Lord Sandwich, in extenuation of some escapade, usually accompanied with a confession that he had erred through his propensity for drinking. But his genial humour, and untiring fun, generally extricated him from the difficulties, into which his folly had plunged him, and his mad freaks were a constant topic of conversation, and amusement. When under the orders of Sir Edward Hawker, in 1755, he solicited permission to go to town. The Admiral, thinking to compromise the matter and palliate his refusal by a jest (as he had no intention of complying with so improper a request), said he might go in his barge as far as he pleased from the ship, but no farther. Captain Montagu immediately caused a truck to be constructed at Portsmouth, to be drawn by horses; on this truck he placed his barge filled with provisions and necessaries for three days, and entering it with his men, gave orders to imitate the action of rowing with the oars. Sir Edward, it is said, having heard of this wonderful proceeding, in every sense of the word, soon after the boat was landed, sent the coveted permission to the Mad-cap.
In the sea-fight of May 3rd, 1747, Captain Montagu, and Captain Fincher, were rival competitors for fame. The “Bristol” having got up to the “Invincible,” and brought her to action, the “Pembroke” (Captain Fincher) attempted to get in between them, desiring Montagu, to put his helm a-starboard, or he should be aboard of him. “Run on board and be d——d! Neither you nor any other man shall come between me and my enemy,” was his answer. This action is the subject of a fine picture, in the Ship-room at Hinchingbrook, by Scott.
While commanding the same vessel in the Channel, Montagu fell in with a fleet of outward bound Dutch merchantmen, to whom he gave chase and overtook. Having done so, he ordered two boats to be manned, and sent a carpenter’s mate in each, desiring them to cut off the heads of twelve—not of the ship’s company, but of the ugliest of the grotesque ornaments with which the Dutch usually decorated the extremity of their rudders. When brought back to him, he arranged them, in as ridiculous a position, as he could devise round his cabin, and inscribed them with the names of the twelve Cæsars. A jest of a more ghastly nature, is recorded of Mad Montagu. Landing one day at Portsmouth, just after a Dutch vessel had been wrecked, he perceived about a dozen of her crew lying dead, on the shore. He immediately ordered his men to put all the poor fellows’ hands, into their pockets. He then proceeded to the coffee-house, where he found the Dutch captain, with whom every one was condoling. “D—— the idle lubbers!” said Montagu, “they were too lazy to take their hands out of their breeches pockets, even to save their lives.”
The Dutch captain was naturally indignant, when Montagu proposed to bet him six dozen of wine, that if any of the crew chanced to be washed on shore, his words would be proved. The waiter was despatched to reconnoitre; the result of course, was in the English captain’s favour, and not only had the poor foreigner to pay the forfeit, but the laugh on a most melancholy matter was turned against him. Captain Montagu sat in Parliament for a borough in Cornwall. He married Charlotte, daughter of Francis Nailor, of Offord, Huntingdonshire, but died in 1757, without issue.
John, fourth Earl of Sandwich:
By ZOFFANY.
Three-quarter Length.
(In a Plum-coloured Court Suit, embroidered in Gold. Seated by a Table, on which he rests his Arm. In his Right Hand a Letter directed to himself.)
Edward Richard, Viscount Hinchingbrook:
By KNELLER.
Three-quarter Length.
(Painted at the Age of Eighteen, in 1710. In Armour. Right Hand on Hip, Left Hand on a Helmet.)
Edward, Second Earl of Sandwich:
By SIR PETER LELY.
Three-quarter Length.
(Long Fair Curling Hair, or Wig. Loose Brown Dress, Lace Cravat and Ruffles. Left Hand on Hip.)
Born, 1648. Died, 1688.—The eldest son of the first Earl, by Jemima Crewe. Born at Hinchingbrook, baptized at All Saints’ Church, Huntingdon. Pepys does not tell us much about his young Lord, but he seems to have been much attached to him. He relates how sorry he was for the misfortune that had befallen him through killing his boy, by the accidental discharge of his fowling-piece; and another time he mentions that Lord Hinchingbrook, with some other gentlemen, visited him at his house, having been to inspect the ruins of the city, (after the great fire) where he “set before them good wines of several sorts, which they took mighty respectfully, but I was glad to see my Lord Hinchingbrook.” While Mistress Mallett, (the great heiress whom Lady Sandwich desired for her son’s wife) was still unsettled, “my young Lord” attended her to Tunbridge; but there she told him plainly her affections were engaged; besides, Lord Hinchingbrook was not much pleased with her vanity, and liberty of carriage. A better marriage in every respect, was in store for him, and though not quite so wealthy as Mistress Mallett, Lady Anne Boyle had a dowry of £10,000, and was indeed a great alliance, coming of a noble stock. She was daughter of Richard, second Earl of Cork, and first Earl of Burlington. The match appears to have been arranged between the parents, and confided as a secret to Pepys, before Lord Hinchingbrook himself, was acquainted with the project. It seems to have been made by Sir George Carteret: “A civil family, and a relation to my Lord Chancellor, whose son has married one of the daughters, [this was Lord Rochester, son to Lord Clarendon, who had married Lady Henrietta Boyle] and the Chancellor himself, do take it with great kindness.” What a pity that the amusing chronicle should have come to so sudden an end, through the weakness of poor Pepys’ eyes; otherwise we should have heard details of how the sad news of the hero’s death was received in his family, and more particulars respecting his son and successor. We only know he attended his father’s funeral, as chief mourner, that he was sent Ambassador to Portugal in 1678, and died in 1688, being buried at Barnwell. He left issue: Edward, who succeeded him; Richard and Elizabeth, who both died unmarried.
Edward, First Earl of Sandwich:
After LELY.
Three-quarter Length.
(In a Cuirass with Red Sash. Holding a Bâton. Left Hand on the Mouth of a Cannon.)
George, Sixth Earl of Sandwich:
By BEACH.
Three-quarter Length.
(In a Trinity College Gown, over a Green Coat. Standing by a Pillar. View of Trinity College in Background.)
Born, 1791. Died, 1818.—Second son of John, fifth Earl of Sandwich, by Lady Mary, daughter and heiress of the sixth and last Duke of Bolton. He was born in Wimpole Street; married in 1804 at the house of Lord Castlereagh, in Upper Brook Street, Lady Louisa Corry, daughter of Armar, first Earl of Belmore. In 1798, he was appointed Deputy Lieutenant for Hunts, and in 1804, Lieutenant-Colonel of the Hunts Volunteers. Lord Sandwich died at Cardinal Gonsalvi’s villa, near Rome, in 1818, both he and Lady Sandwich having contracted a sincere friendship with the Cardinal. His remains were brought to England, and interred with those of his ancestors at Barnwell.
He left issue by his wife, (who survived him forty-four years), one son, John William, present and seventh Earl, and two daughters; Lady Harriet, born 1805, married to Bingham Baring, (afterwards Lord Ashburton,) (she died in 1857), and Lady Caroline, born 1810, married in 1831, to Count Walewski, and died in 1834.
Edward, third Earl of Sandwich:
By CLOSTERMAN.
Full-Length.
(Blue Velvet Coat and Coronation Robes. Standing near a Table, on which is placed his Coronet.)
Born, 1670. Died, 1729.—The eldest son of Edward, second Earl of Sandwich, by Lady Anne Boyle. Born at Burlington House; married in 1691 Lady Elizabeth Wilmot, daughter of the Earl of Rochester, by whom he had one son, and one daughter. He was Master of the Horse to Prince George of Denmark, Doctor of Laws in the University of Oxford, Lord-Lieutenant and Custos-Rotulorum of the County of Huntingdon. The Earl of Sandwich died at Burlington, in Yorkshire, but was buried in the family vault at Barnwell. His union with the unprincipled daughter, of an unprincipled father, was a most unhappy one. Noble affirms that his “eccentric” Countess put him in durance vile in his own house, whether on a plea of insanity, or not, does not appear; but much mystery hangs round her extraordinary proceedings. Tradition still points to an apartment, in the house at Hinchingbrook, as the place of Lord Sandwich’s imprisonment, which for many years bore the name of the “Starved Chamber,” for it is said the cruel wife denied her husband sufficient food, and would allow no one to have access to him. The dates of these transactions are difficult to identify.