CHAPTER VI.
Character of Godolphin—His advice respecting the pension to the Duchess of Marlborough—Feuds of Mary and Anne—Deficiency of respect towards Prince George—Attachment of Marlborough to his wife—Her residence at Holywell House—Birth of her children—Cloud lowering over the fortunes of Lord Marlborough.—1789.
Whilst encountering many enemies, both male and female, whose hostility the Countess of Marlborough might set down to the score of envy, she possessed one friend who, through life, influenced all her actions, and who has been supposed to have gained her affections.
It would be a libel upon human nature to imagine, that the cherished wife of John Duke of Marlborough could be fascinated by the lesser constellation of talents and of virtues, displayed in the character of the minister Godolphin. The impure and consequently illiberal judges of conduct, who pride themselves on what is called knowledge of the world, may decree that a cordial and confidential friendship, in the simple acceptation of the word, cannot exist between the two sexes, where similarity of age is joined to congeniality of temper and taste. But, happily for society, some men are honourable, some women high-minded; reliance may gratify one party, and approbation and esteem secure the kindly feelings of the other. A friendship firm, generous, and delicate, may exist between persons of different sexes; and where it has this pure source, it will ever be found beneficial, permanent, and delightful.
Resembling, in one respect, his distinguished friends, Godolphin had early in life been attached to the service of the Stuart family. The first situation that he held was that of page to Charles the Second; the last appointment that he retained under the Stuarts was the painful and precarious office of lord chamberlain to the blameless and unhappy Mary of Modena, for whose beauty, misfortunes, and interests, he ever expressed admiration, compassion, and regard.[[175]]
Queen Anne, it is said,[[176]] had been touched by the merits of one whom it required merit to appreciate, and had loved Godolphin when young, but was prevented by state necessity from marrying a subject.[[177]] After the revolution, in the progress of which Lord Godolphin acted the part of an honest statesman, yet forgot not the duty of a grateful subject, he was approved and retained in the Treasury by William, who appointed him also one of the Lords Justices of the kingdom in his absence. Godolphin, indifferent to the blandishments of rank, absolutely declined the honour of the garter; and raised, unwillingly, to the Peerage, was as disinterested in respect to the gains, as in regard to the honours of successful ambition. In this particular he displayed a character totally unlike that of the gifted woman for whom he has been said, by Tory writers, to have cherished a passion which influenced his political bias.[[178]] His disposition, in other respects, little resembled hers. He was of a reflective, inquisitive turn of mind; slow but unerring in his conclusions; possessed of exquisite judgment in all the affairs of life; yet of a temper so peculiarly amiable, possessed of sentiments so unusually lofty, that he might have lived in the most innocent retirement, from the purity of his motives and the elevation of his general character. Superior to the low practices by which weaker spirits toiled for ascendency, Godolphin never condescended to a courtier’s arts. His promise was inviolate; he detested not only falsehood, but, what in his situation was most difficult, he never permitted himself to have recourse to the more prevailing, and as it is believed safer, form of that vice, dissimulation. Like Marlborough, Godolphin, when asked to confer favours, softened his refusals with a kindness and frankness which propitiated even the disappointed.
The notions of economy, which this great minister adopted, not grounded on a passion for wealth which sullied the brightness of the great Churchill’s virtues, were applied with the same rigid care to the public means, as to the expenditure of his own private fortune. Grave even to sternness, he won universal esteem from his inflexible justice, and in society was the object of affection, no less than of respect. Disfigured in countenance by the small-pox, and severe in expression, there was yet something bright and penetrating in his eye, something engaging in his smile, which procured him the favour of the female sex,—to whom, with all his profound experience of men and manners, with all his infallibility of judgment, and his gravity of deportment, Lord Godolphin was, during the whole of his life, passionately devoted.[[179]]
The name of Godolphin (signifying a white eagle) was of ancient origin. His immediate progenitors, country gentlemen of the county of Cornwall, were distinguished for their loyalty to the Stuarts during the civil war.[[180]] According to Dean Swift, who mentions the circumstance in that casual, careless way which answers the intentions of malice without wearing its aspect, Godolphin was intended for some trade, until his friends procured him the office of a page at the court of Charles the Second.[[181]] From this humble station he rose rapidly into political consequence; for he sat in the first Parliament after the Restoration, as member for Helston in Cornwall, and was shortly afterwards employed in various high offices, until appointed to the commissionership of the Treasury, at the same time that he was called to the House of Peers. During the reign of James the Second, Godolphin enjoyed the favour of Queen Mary, to whom he was chamberlain, and of James, who reappointed him one of the Lords of the Treasury. Educated in high church tenets, Godolphin, like his friend Lord Marlborough, became a Whig when the Protestant succession was in danger. Yet, whilst he managed, with consummate prudence, to act as one of the commissioners appointed by James to treat with William at his landing, and was so skilful and so fortunate as to retain his situation of Treasury Lord upon the accession of William,—Godolphin, courageous, and, like most courageous men, tender-hearted, was among the few of the deposed monarch’s courtiers who gave him the solace of their attendance and sympathy. He accompanied the abdicated King to the sea-side when he quitted England, and maintained a correspondence with him until his death.
It is not always possible to calumniate noble and popular characters, but it is generally easy to ridicule the greatest and the best. Lord Godolphin’s weakness, according to one whose inimitable strokes of satire sink into the memory, were love of play and vanity.
“Physiognomists would hardly discover,” says Dean Swift,[[182]] “by consulting the aspect of this lord, that his predominant passions were love and play—that he could sometimes scratch out a song in praise of his mistress with a pencil and a card—or that he hath tears at his command, like a woman, to be used either in an intrigue of gallantry or politics.” Conformably to this devotion to dames and damosels was his lordship’s romantic admiration of the beautiful exiled Queen, Mary of Modena, whom he used to address in letters, in which love was ambiguously mingled with respect; “whilst little presents of such things as ladies like”[[183]] accompanied these epistles,—such tokens of regard to one so unfortunate and so interesting being always first shown to King William, though with the knowledge of James’s Queen. But in these minor traits, mentioned as inconsistencies and follies, there is a touch of generous sentiment, at the disclosure of which Lord Godolphin, amidst all his vast concerns and political pursuits, need not have blushed.
It was to this valued friend, both her own and her husband’s best counsellor, that the Countess of Marlborough applied for advice, about a year after the settlement on the Princess had been made, in a matter of some delicacy. The Princess, from gratitude for her friend’s exertions, wrote to offer her a pension of a thousand pounds. The manner in which this proof of a generous friendship was offered, speaks honourably for Anne’s goodness of heart and propriety of feeling.[[184]]
“I have had something to say to you a great while, and I did not know how to go about it. I have designed, ever since my revenue was settled, to desire you would accept of a thousand pounds a year. I beg you will only look upon it as an earnest of my good-will, but never mention anything of it to me; for I shall be ashamed to have any notice taken of such a thing from one that deserves more than I shall be ever able to return.”
Some delay having taken place in the payment of this annuity, the Princess wrote a letter, couched in terms of the most sincere affection, to her “dear Mrs. Freeman,” begging her not to think meanly of her faithful Morley for the negligence of her treasurer.
Upon this the Countess began to take seriously into consideration the propriety of accepting her Highness’s kindness. The circumstances of her family were not, as she alleged, great; yet she was far from catching at “so free and large an offer,” until she had sent the first letter from the Princess to Lord Godolphin, and consulted him upon the matter.
Lord Godolphin’s opinion was favourable to the wishes of the Princess. He replied, that there was no reason in the world for Lady Marlborough to refuse the pension, knowing, as he did, that it was entirely through her activity, and the indefatigable industry of Lord Marlborough, that the Princess had obtained her settlement;[[185]] and the proffered income was gratefully accepted.
The good understanding which had subsisted between the two royal sisters had never been based upon sincere affection, and the slightest accident served to discompose, and even to annihilate, their apparent friendship. Anne, who had repented, with tears, of her conduct to her father,[[186]] and was not consoled for filial disobedience by her husband’s expected aggrandisement, was doubtless scandalised by the manifest determination of her sister to encourage every demonstration of public opinion which her father had discountenanced. An occasion soon offered. The only dramatic exhibition which the retiring Queen witnessed was the play of the “Spanish Friar,” which had been forbidden by the late King. But Mary was duly punished for this want of good taste, to say the least of it, or deficiency in filial feeling. The repartees in the drama happened to be such as the spectators, hearing them with preoccupied minds, could readily appropriate to the Queen. Mary was abashed, and forced to hold up her fan, and, to hide her confusion, turned round to ask for her palatine, her hood, or any article of dress she could recollect; whilst the audience, not yet softened towards her by those respectable qualities which afterwards gained their esteem, directed their looks towards her, whenever their fancy led them to make any application of what was said, to the undutiful and unpopular daughter of James; and the Queen, upon another diversion of this kind being proposed, excused herself upon the plea of some other engagement, whilst the affair furnished the town with discourse for a month.[[187]]
It was evidently the policy or pleasure of Mary to retain the different members of her family, as much as circumstances permitted, in subjection. In particular she insulted her sister by a marked indifference to Prince George, her brother-in-law, who, though remembered by posterity as the “Est-il possible” of King James, was a man of respectable conduct, of valour, humanity, and justice.[[188]] William, however, held his brother-in-law in utter contempt; and the manner in which he repaid the Prince’s desertion of his father-in-law, would have been peculiarly galling to a gentleman of a warmer temper than, fortunately, the Prince appears to have been. When William was obliged to go to Ireland, and to enter upon that memorable campaign which finally decided the peace of the United Kingdom, Prince George involved himself in a great expense to attend his Majesty, with a zeal returned only by ungracious and unbecoming conduct,—William not even suffering the Prince to go in the same coach with him; an affront never before offered to any person of the same rank.[[189]]
Prince George, a pattern of patience, one of those characters who have not, and who cannot have, a personal enemy, submitted not only to this indignity, but to every possible species of irreverence, during the whole campaign. He distinguished himself at the battle of the Boyne, and was yet treated by the King, says the Duchess in her “Conduct,” “with no more respect than if he had been a page of the back-stairs.”[[190]]
These slights and disappointments came to a crisis, when the ill-used Prince, determined not again to be exposed to such contumely, requested permission of the King to serve him at sea as a volunteer, without any command. The King, who was going to Flanders, embraced him by way of adieu, but said nothing; and silence being generally taken for consent, the Prince made preparations, and sent his baggage, arms, &c., on board. But the Queen, according to the Duchess, had “her instructions neither to suffer the Prince to go to sea, nor to forbid him to go, if she could so contrive matters as to make his staying at home appear his own choice.”
Mary, in conformity with her invariable practice, followed to the very letter the wishes of her royal husband, and endeavoured to make the Countess of Marlborough her agent upon this occasion. But her Majesty had yet to learn the fiery temper of her with whom she attempted to deal. “She sent a great lord to me,” says the Duchess, “to desire I would persuade the Princess to keep the Prince from going to sea, and this I was to compass without letting the Princess know that it was the Queen’s desire.” The Countess’s reply was, that she had all the duty imaginable for the Queen, but that no consideration could make her so treacherous to her mistress as she should consider herself, if she attempted to influence her in that matter, without telling her the reason; and she intimated that she “would say what her Majesty pleased to the Princess, if she were allowed to make use of the Queen’s name.”
The affair ended in Prince George’s submission to a peremptory message, forbidding him to go to sea, and conveyed through the Earl of Nottingham. He justly felt himself rendered ridiculous to the public, by being obliged to recal his preparations, to obey like a school-boy, and to remain at home.
Whilst these minor events were disturbing the peace of the royal household, the first campaign in Ireland called Marlborough away from the home and the wife whom he loved so well. Every letter to the Countess which he penned during his absence, breathes a devotion which time and distance seem only to have heightened. In the hurry of military movements, in the excitement of unparalleled triumphs, his heart was ever with her. “I am heart and soul yours,” was his constant expression. “I can have no happiness till I am quiet with you.” “I cannot live away from you.”[[191]] Again, he beautifully concludes one letter: “Put your trust in God as I do, and be assured that I think I can’t be unhappy as long as you are kind.” So true and elevated was the attachment of that affectionate heart. “Pray believe me,” he says, writing in 1705, immediately after the battle of Ramilies, “when I assure you that I love you more than I can express.”[[192]] These and other innumerable fond asseverations, even when his wife had passed the bloom of youth, and, it appears, no longer possessed (if she ever did) equanimity of temper, speak an attachment not based upon evanescent advantages. With a candour inseparable from a great mind, he generously took upon himself the blame of those contentions by which the busy and harassing middle period of married life, that period in which love often dies a natural death, is, in all stations, apt to be embittered. On one occasion, after thanking her, as for a boon, for “very many kind expressions” to him in a letter, he says, “in short, my dear soul, if I could begin life over again, I would endeavour every hour of it to oblige you. But as we can’t recal what is past, forget my imperfections, and as God has been pleased to bless me, I do not doubt but he will reward me with some years to end my days with you; and if that be with quietness and kindness, I shall be much happier than I have ever yet been.”
This longing for home, and for the undisturbed enjoyment of all that home gives, appears in every effusion of that warm heart, the natural feelings of which neither the dissipations of a court, nor the possession of power, nor the incense of nations, could alienate from the fondest objects which life presents to a mind not vitiated by selfishness. Marlborough, amidst all his troubles, was happiest in his nursery. There the guilelessness, the freshness of the infant mind appeared to him in beautiful contrast with the measured phrase, and the mask of prudence, adopted insensibly in the world; the petty cares and wants of children, so easily solaced—their unconsciousness of all that is painful, all that is anxious—operate as a charm on the sickened heart and harassed mind, and bring to the wearied passenger through life some sense of happiness, some trust and hope that all is not disappointment and deception in this probationary state. Those parents who turn with disgust and indifference from children, as merely sources of care, may picture to themselves the great Marlborough the playfellow of his little girls.
“You cannot imagine,” he writes from Tunbridge to Lady Marlborough, “how I am pleased with the children; for they, having nobody but their maid, are so fond of me, that when I am at home they will always be with me, kissing and hugging me. Their heats are quite gone, so that against you come home they will be in beauty.
“If there be room I will come on Monday, so that you need not write on Sunday.
“Miss is pulling me by the arm, that she may write to her dear mamma; so that I shall say no more, only beg that you will love me always as well as I love you, and then we cannot but be happy.”
To this charming and natural letter the fond father added, in his own handwriting, the following little postscript from his daughter:—
“I kiss your hands, my dear mamma.—Harriet.”[[193]]
Happy and amiable Marlborough! and blessed the parents, to whom still the affectionate though unconscious dependence of their children brings a thousand minute and indescribable enjoyments!
With the affections of such a man, Lady Marlborough might have been the happiest, as well as one of the most distinguished of women, had she risen superior to the temptation of intrigue, and discarded the workings of tea-table politics with the scorn which they deserved. But her unquiet spirit allowed her no real happiness. External circumstances, which were peculiarly in her favour, contributed to ruin her peace, by fostering her domineering and busy temper. Indulged by her husband in living at her birthplace, he gratified her inclination still further, by purchasing the respective shares of her sisters, Frances and Barbara, joint co-heiresses with herself, and built a mansion on the spot, called Holywell House. At this place Lord and Lady Marlborough resided, the house being described as one of great magnificence, and they left it only to enter upon the yet more majestic pile of Blenheim House, when repeated success had raised them to the climax of their greatness. The birth of six[[194]] children successively—of two sons and four daughters—added to their domestic felicity, whilst yet those children were spared to them, and continued amenable to the domestic control. Some troubles, incident to human nature generally, were allotted to the distinguished parents, but mitigated by advantages so abundant, that the early portion of their married life must be considered as peculiarly blessed.
During the first two years after the accession of William, Lord Marlborough only enjoyed his home and country at brief intervals, that were tantalising even to one who felt himself destined to high offices, and framed for glorious enterprises. On his return from the Netherlands, the King, though secretly nettled at his interference in the affair of the settlement, was obliged to acknowledge that it was to Marlborough that the success of his troops at the siege of Walcourt, a small town in the Low Countries, was to be chiefly attributed.[[195]] In the close of the year 1690, Marlborough was entrusted with the command of troops sent to Ireland, in which country he had refused to act whilst James the Second, his former benefactor, remained in that island. But when James retired to France, Marlborough prepared to use his utmost exertions, in conjunction with others, to reduce the remainder of that kingdom to obedience. The success of his endeavours enabled him to return to England on the 28th of October, and to experience a favourable reception from King William; but he was obliged almost immediately to resume his command in Ireland, where he remained during the winter. The following year found him still active in military affairs, serving under William himself in Flanders, with a distinction and success that wrung praises from his enemies. Even William was forced to acknowledge that “he knew no man so fit for a general who had seen so few campaigns;”[[196]] and to the praises of the Prince de Vaudemont, who prophesied of Marlborough that he would attain a higher point of military glory than any subject William possessed, the phlegmatic monarch relaxed so far from his usual taciturnity as to reply with a smile, “he believed that Marlborough would do his part to make his words good.” But all these services were obliterated shortly afterwards from the royal mind; and a cloud of adversity, though not of disgrace—for nothing can disgrace the virtuous—lowered over the fortunes of Marlborough.