HINCHINGBROOKE
The name had been familiar to me from my earliest childhood as the home of my mother’s uncle and that of her contemporaries and favourite companions, George[[89]] and Mary[[90]]; but it was not till after my dear mother’s death that I became a frequent guest at the house she loved so well. For in the days of which I am speaking, the master[[91]] and mistress[[92]] were both friends of my own, and I had known them both before their marriage, and the cordial welcome they jointly gave me was gladly accepted and appreciated, particularly when the schoolboys came home for the holidays, for of schoolboys, I am proud to say, I have ever been a chum and crony.
[89]. George, afterwards sixth Earl of Sandwich.
[90]. Mary, afterwards Viscountess Templeton.
[91]. Seventh Earl of Sandwich.
[92]. Lady Mary Paget, second daughter of the Earl of Anglesey by his second marriage with Lady Charlotte Cadogan.
Hinchingbrooke is an interesting old house, and was originally a nunnery; some parts of the religious building are still standing. It was at one time the property of the Cromwell family, and was purchased by Sir Sydney Montagu, grandfather of the first Earl of Sandwich, from the uncle of the Protector.
There is a tradition of Oliver having met King Charles I., when they were both boys, in the garden of Hinchingbrooke, when the two who were destined to be future foes engaged in a juvenile encounter, but the story requires proof.
The present structure is irregular and picturesque, having been altered and added to at intervals during the last two hundred years by succeeding owners. The entrance is through the archway of a fine gate-house, where it is said the third Earl of Sandwich, a man of feeble intellect, was confined for some time by his unscrupulous wife, the daughter of the witty but unprincipled Earl of Rochester. It is surrounded by pretty grounds rich in evergreens, situated in a small park, and presents a very imposing aspect to the railway traveller as he passes the town of Huntingdon.
The ancestors of few families however noble appear to me to have more interest for outsiders than the house of Montagu. Edward, the first Earl of Sandwich, who was so instrumental in the restoration of Charles II., is familiar to all readers of Pepys’s Diary, being the god of that amusing gossip’s idolatry. Samuel prided himself on his relationship and intimacy with Lord and Lady Hinchingbrooke, of whom he was certainly the confidant and adviser. Indeed, he lived hard by in a little cottage at Brampton, within a stone’s throw of his patron’s house, where he would often go and confer with him or “with my Lady Countess” in her husband’s absence. That noble housewife was often “put to it” to make two ends meet, in consequence of her lord’s open-handedness and the too frequent card-playing with His Majesty and the Castle men. Brave, generous, noble-hearted and affectionate, we cannot but share in his kinsman Pepys’s partiality for a man whose faults and shortcomings may in some measure be condoned by the times he lived in and the society he frequented. As an Admiral his sailors adored him; as a courtier he was reckoned good—perhaps too good—company, and at home he was tenderly loved by his wife and children and dependants. We know that his lordship was comely in feature and of a commanding presence, and there is little doubt that he himself agreed in the universal opinion, as we have innumerable portraits of him at all ages. He died a hero’s death at the engagement at Southwolds Bay in 1672, a Dutch fire-ship having set his own vessel in a blaze. The gallant Admiral, after sending off his surviving officers and crew in the boats, remained on his own quarter-deck until his good ship, The Royal James, burned to the water’s edge. There is a splendid painting of this desperate fight by Vanderweldt in what is fondly called the “ship room” at Hinchingbrooke, and on the opposite wall hangs a frame containing two fine miniatures by Cooper of the first Earl and Countess, together with a small pocket compass and a piece of the blue ribbon of the garter, discoloured by sea-water, which were found on the Admiral’s body when it floated into Harwich Harbour.
Another prominent figure in the annals of the house and its portrait gallery is John, fourth Earl, a contrast in every way to the ancestor of whom we have been treating, yet a celebrity whose name is very conspicuous in the records of George III.’s reign. He was a man of eccentric habits but undoubted talent. An amusing anecdote is told of him when acting as plenipotentiary at Aix-la-Chapelle in 1746. It was at this time, during an international dinner when toasts were passing, that the different envoys became poetical as well as loyal in their phraseology. For instance, the Frenchman gave “His Royal master, the Sun, who illuminates the whole world;” the Spaniard “His master, the Moon, scarcely inferior in brilliancy or influence,” when Lord Sandwich rose, doubtless with the twinkle in his eye and the laughing curl round the corners of his mouth we see in most of his portraits, and toasted with all the honours “His master Joshua, who made both the sun and moon to stand still.”
This remarkable man was known in social circles by the nickname of “Jemmy Twitcher,” from the following incident. He had at one time been intimate with the notorious Wilkes, the so-called champion of liberty, but disgusted by a scurrilous and disloyal poem which his quondam friend had written, Sandwich read it aloud in the House of Lords, thus gaining for it deserved obloquy. A few nights afterwards, at the representation of The Beggar’s Opera, then much in vogue, Macheath exclaimed: “But that Jemmy Twitcher should preach I own surprises me.” The greater part of the audience, who were partisans of “Wilkes and Liberty,” burst into a round of applause, applying the passage to Lord Sandwich, who never afterwards lost the sobriquet.
There is a charming picture by Gainsborough[[93]] of the unfortunate Miss Ray, whose romantic story tempts me into a further digression. She was serving in a haberdasher’s shop in Covent Garden when she first attracted the notice of Lord Sandwich, who was so smitten by her charms, that he took her under his protection, and she resided with him for many years both in London and the country, where her gentle, unassuming manners and remarkable talent for singing made her a great favourite. One evening Lord Sandwich brought home with him to dinner a Captain Hackman, who was on a recruiting party at the time at Huntingdon; he fell in love with Miss Ray, and proposed to her several times, until Lord Sandwich with judicious kindness secured him an appointment in Ireland, thinking it safest to place St George’s channel between him and the object of his admiration. But Hackman’s passion was strong and lasting; he left the army, entered holy orders, repaired to London where Lord Sandwich and Miss Ray then were, frequently waylaid the latter, renewed his offers of marriage, and even promised to adopt the children she had by Lord Sandwich. The refusal he received to this proposition was so decided and uncompromising as to drive him to the verge of madness. He watched Margaret Ray enter Covent Garden with some musical friends, rushed out, bought a brace of loaded pistols, and returned to the door of the theatre to await the appearance of his victim. Her coach was called in the name of Lady Sandwich, and while proceeding to it on the arm of a gentleman Hackman aimed one pistol at her and the other at himself; she fell dead, he fell wounded, and they were both conveyed to the Shakespeare Tavern. Lord Sandwich was deeply distressed at the tragic end of his fair friend; yet he wrote a letter to the murderer in Newgate, offering to intercede on his behalf, signing himself, “the man you have most injured.” But Hackman’s reply, couched in grateful terms, assured his “lordship that his only wish was to die,” and he met his death with firmness and courage.
[93]. Bought for a comparatively small sum by the late Earl.
But to return to more modern times. Many were the delightful social gatherings, many the gay dances, tableaux vivants, private theatricals, and other festive doings in which I took a willing part. How well I remember the night of the 8th of September, 1855! We had had an unusually merry evening; our theatricals had gone off brilliantly, and we had danced ourselves in to the next morning, when Lord Sandwich proposed that all his guests staying in the house should adjourn to the smoking-room to finish up what we had already made “a night of.” We presented a most motley appearance, most of the actors, male and female, having retained their dramatic costumes, some of which were especially grotesque. The ladies were laughing and talking, the gentlemen smoking and sipping, when we were all alike startled by the sound of the door-bell at that unearthly hour. Lord Sandwich rose, and said he would answer the summons himself, and a moment of suspense, not unmingled with fear, ensued. The door re-opened, our host re-entered, his handsome face illuminated with joy and triumph. Glorious news! Sevastopol was taken! the war was at an end! How we all shouted, while some clapped their hands, and leaped on chairs, and one and all drank to the health of our brave soldiers, and to their safe return.
It was in January 1859 that a very large party was assembled at Hinchingbrooke in honour of the visit of H.R.H. the Duchess of Cambridge[[94]] and Princess Mary Adelaide.[[95]] One evening, in hopes of amusing the company, I imagined to array myself in the costume of a hundred years before, and stepping from a frame which had been set up for that purpose, I spoke an address in the character of the Countess of Sandwich of 1759, which concluded with the following tribute to our much-loved Royal guests:
[94]. The late Duchess of Cambridge.
[95]. The late Duchess of Teck.
“It does rejoice my heart the time was mine
To come among you all in Fifty-nine,
To see with living eyes the fair array
Of noble, gentle company to-day;
It proves you keep the spirit of your race,
When guests like these our ancient dwelling grace.
Those who esteem the will beyond the deed,
Who no stiff forms or rigid customs need,
Who claim respect, yet kindle love the while,
Reward the smallest service with a smile,
Meet all half-way, accept each proffered part,
And draw the court we pay them from the heart.”
This was a feeble but honest expression of the affection we all bore to that noble lady whose loss we are mourning in this present year of 1889, and who, although she had outlived by far the generally allotted span, was so much beloved that England was unwilling to spare her.
Often after this time I saw a great deal of the Duchess of Cambridge in different country houses, and on different occasions, and the unceasing kindness I have met with for years from Princess Mary is repaid by all I have to offer, “the grateful homage of a loving heart.” I took the deepest interest in her marriage with the Duke of Teck, to whom at that period we gave the name of “Prince Charming.” But I am once more wandering from my subject and indulging in the flittings of a butterfly.
The party to which I have alluded, as I said before, was in the opening of the New Year of 1859, but alas! the good wishes and happy auguries which that merry company had interchanged were not destined to be fulfilled. Before the month of March was over Hinchingbrooke was hung with black, and the sudden death of Lady Sandwich plunged us all in the deepest mourning. Her bright blue eyes were closed, the tones of her bird-like voice were hushed, and in her I lost one of the truest and most indulgent of friends. But my visits to that dear old house were not discontinued, for, on Lord Sandwich’s second marriage to Lady Blanche Egerton[[96]] I found one willing to keep up the old traditions and retain the old friendships of the family, and ever ready to reinstate me in the place I had so long looked upon as a home. Nor is my case altered with passing years and changed circumstances, for the present owner,[[97]] whom I have known and loved since he was an Eton boy, is continually reminding me that the doors of Hinchingbrooke are ever open to his own and his mother’s friend.
[96]. Daughter of the first Earl of Ellesmere.
[97]. Edward, eighth Earl of Sandwich.