Memoirs of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, and of the Court of Queen Anne Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Mrs. A. T. Thomson

CHAPTER XI.

Return of the Duke and Duchess—Their reception—The Duchess’s advice to her husband—Political changes in which the Duke and Duchess were partly concerned.—1714.

On the day before the Queen’s demise, the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough arrived at Ostend from Antwerp, for the purpose of embarking for Dover. This step had been for some time in contemplation by the Duke, although the reasons which finally decided him to return to his country have never been exactly ascertained. He had refused, so late as the month of July, 1714, to sign the Whig association, presented for his approval by Lord Onslow, the deputy of that party.[^[221]] He was addressed both by Bolingbroke and by Harley, but not claimed as an adherent by either of these politicians. So confident were both these ministers of his aid, that they ordered him to be received at the ports with the same honours as he had met with on returning after his victories; but these directions were countermanded, when it was understood that he would not participate in any of the politics of the day.[^[222]]

The Duchess had already announced to her correspondents in England the project entertained by herself and the Duke, of again residing in their beloved England. On arriving at Ostend, she wrote to her friend, Mrs. Clayton, whose husband, a clerk in the treasury, was one of the managers of the Duke’s estates during his absence.

“July 30, 1714.

“I am sure my dear friend will be glad to hear that we are come well to this place, where we wait for a fair wind; and in the mean time, are in a very clean house, and have everything good but water. It is not to be told in this letter the respect and affection shown to the Duke of Marlborough, in every place where he goes, which always makes me remember our governors in the manner that is natural to do; and upon this journey, one thing has happened that was surprising and very pretty. The Duke of Marlborough contrived it so as to avoid going into the great towns as well as he could, and for that reason went a little out of the way, not to go through Ghent; but the chief magistrates, hearing he was to pass, met him upon the road, and had prepared a very handsome breakfast for all that was with us, in a little village, where one of their ladies staid to do the honours; and there was in the company a considerable churchman that was lame, and had not been out of his room for a great while, but would give himself this trouble. This is to show you how the Roman Catholics love those that have served them well. Among the governors of that town there were a great many officers that came out with them on foot; and I was so much surprised and touched at their kindness, that I could not speak to the officers without a good deal of concern, saying I was sorry for what they did, fearing it might hurt them; to which they replied, very politically or ignorantly, I don’t know which, sure it was not possible for them to suffer for having done their duty. The next day Mr. Sutton met us with other officers, and did a great many civilities, in bringing wine and very good fruits, but I was not so much surprised at that, because he is so well with the ministers he may do what he pleases. The Duke of Marlborough is determined to stay here till he has a very fair wind and good weather, and not to be at London till three or four days after he lands at Dover, because we have so many horses and servants, that we can’t travel fast.”[^[223]]

After a few days of suspense as well as of delay at Ostend, the Duke and Duchess set sail, and, after a stormy passage, were met, and their vessel was boarded, by a message from Sir Thomas Frankland, the postmaster-general, who announced the Queen’s death.[^[224]] The Duke landed on the first of August, memorable for the accession of George the First, and was received by the Mayor and Jurats of the town with all formalities, and saluted by a discharge of great guns from the platform, but not from the castle, which pays such tribute to no one but the sovereign. Amid the acclamations of the assembled crowds, the Duke and Duchess proceeded to the house of Sir Henry Furnese, whose hospitable roof had received the great general, previous to his departure for his exile on the continent.

These rejoicings were much censured, as being indecent on the very day after the Queen’s death; and it was affirmed in excuse, that even the worshipful authorities of Dover were not apprised of that event when they received the Duke with noisy honours.[^[225]] But the Duchess, sincere in all things, left in her narrative an explicit statement that the Duke had been informed of Anne’s decease whilst he was at sea.

Meantime, by an act of parliament passed in the fourth and fifth years of the late reign, a regency, consisting of the seven highest officers of the realm, came into immediate operation: and to these lords justices were added seventeen other noblemen, all heads of the Whig party, whom George the First was empowered, by the same act, to appoint. The Duke of Marlborough might reasonably have expected to find himself included among the persons thus honoured; but, on his progress to Sittingbourne, he was met by a former aide-de-camp, with the intelligence that neither his name nor that of Lord Sunderland was included in this catalogue.

Marlborough received this communication with the calmness that became a superior mind. His exclusion is said to have been the result of pique in the Elector, father of the King of England, on account of some want of confidence reposed in him by Marlborough, with respect to the operations of the campaign of 1708. It was attributed by others to the reported correspondence between Marlborough and the Stuart family. Be the cause what it might, this ungracious conduct was received both by the Duke and Duchess with a becoming spirit. They continued their journey to the metropolis, intending to enter it privately; but their friends would not suffer that Marlborough should thus return to dwell among them again. A number of gentlemen had attended them to Sittingbourne, and by them, and by others who met him there, he was, in part, forced to permit the honourable reception which awaited him. Sir Charles Cox, the member for Southwark, met him as he approached the borough, and escorted him into the city. Here he was joined by two hundred gentlemen on horseback, and by many of his relations, some of them in coaches and six, who joined the procession, the city volunteers marching before. In this manner the Duke proceeded to St. James’s, the people exclaiming as he passed along, “Long live King George—long live the Duke of Marlborough!”

At Temple Bar the Duke’s coach broke down, but without any person sustaining injury, and he proceeded to his house in St. James’s, in another carriage, the city guard firing a volley before they departed. The evening was passed in receiving friends and relations; with what sweet and bitter recollections, it is easy to conceive.

On the following day the Duke was visited by the foreign ministers, by many of the nobility and gentry then in the metropolis, and by numerous military men. He was sworn of the privy council, and once more appeared in the House of Lords, where he took the oaths of allegiance. But, on the prorogation of parliament to the twelfth, he retired to Holywell-house, there to conquer the vexation and disappointment which his exclusion from the regency undoubtedly occasioned him. On this occasion, the spirit of Lady Marlborough displayed itself, with a magnanimity and sound discretion which redeemed her many faults. Bothmar, the Hanoverian minister, visited the Duke in his retreat, and sought to apologise for the omission of his illustrious name from among the distinguished statesmen who were appointed lords justices. The Duke listened to these excuses with his usual courtesy, but he wisely adopted the advice of the Duchess, and declined at present again holding any official appointment.

“I begged of the Duke of Marlborough, upon my knees,” relates the Duchess, “that he would never accept any employment. I said, everybody that liked the Revolution and the security of the law, had a great esteem for him, that he had a greater fortune than he wanted, and that a man who had had such success, with such an estate, would be of more use to any court than they could be to him; that I would live civilly with them, if they were so to me, but would never put it into the power of any king to use me ill. He was entirely of this opinion, and determined to quit all, and serve them only when he could act honestly, and do his country service at the same time.”[^[226]]

Six weeks elapsed between the death of Queen Anne and the arrival of her successor. On the sixteenth of August, the King embarked at Orange-Holder, and landed two days afterwards at Greenwich. Every ship in the river saluted the royal vessel as it sailed, and multitudes thronged the banks of the Thames, uttering loud acclamations of joy at the arrival of the monarch. Yet George the First, a man of plain understanding, without ambition, the romance of monarchs, felt, it is said, that he had arrived to claim a crown not his own, and had an uncomfortable notion all his life, that he was somewhat of a character to which nature had little disposed him, an usurper. In the evening of his landing, the royal house at Greenwich was crowded with nobility and gentry, amongst whom the Duke of Marlborough (who was regarded as a kind of martyr to the “criminals” of the last reign, as it was now the fashion to term Queen Anne’s last ministry) was pre-eminently distinguished by the new sovereign.[^[227]]

The character of King George the First was well adapted to put an end to the furious factions by which the court had now for many years been disgraced, public business had been impeded, and peace long delayed, and obtained by the sacrifice of consistency. Of a plain exterior, simple habits, devoid of imagination, ignorant of English, and endowed with a vast proportion of German good nature and German indolence, the King had little of that propensity to favouritism which had filled the courts of his Stuart predecessors, and even of the just and stern William, with cabals. It may be said, that the reputation of George the First was far greater before he came to the throne of England, than after he ascended to that, in his time, uncomfortable eminence. He had distinguished himself in military operations, yet, when King of England, had the wisdom to forego a desire of fame which might have proved ruinous to his adopted people. His career as a warrior began and ended early. He had governed his German subjects with regard to the principles of the English constitution. It was the work of a corrupt English ministry to lead him from these honest intentions and worthy practices. It has been wittily said by Lord Chesterfield, that “England was too large for him.[^[228]]” He found the court thronged with Whigs, to whom he showed marks of decided preference; yet not, it was suspected, without a design of borrowing strength to his still disputed title, by conciliating some of the Tory party.

One of the King’s first measures was to restore Marlborough to his post as captain-general of the land forces, to make him colonel of the first regiment of foot-guards, and master-general of the ordnance. The Earl of Sunderland was appointed Lord-lieutenant of Ireland; and a Whig cabinet was soon completely formed.

Dr. Arbuthnot, who, in his semi-medical, semi-political capacity, dived into the intricacies of court intrigues, remarks, that it were worth while living to seventy-three, from curiosity to see the changes in this strange medley of events, the world. It was but lately that the Duke of Marlborough had yielded to the solicitations of his Duchess, that he would accept of no employment whatsoever in the administration; he now broke through that wise resolution, tempted, it is supposed, by the appointment of his son-in-law to various offices in the royal household. Lord Godolphin had the post of cofferer to the household; and Lord Bridgwater was appointed chamberlain to the Prince of Wales. The Duke and Duchess of Montague had also preferments of importance.

But, with respect to Marlborough, these marks of royal favour availed but little: he never regained political influence. Sunderland, whose active spirit might have re-established the interests of his family, was, in fact, banished from the court by his appointment, and his great father-in-law ceased to be consulted in matters of state, and sank, finally, into a private station. The routine of his office, indeed, rendered his visits to the metropolis imperative; but it was unconnected with any political importance.

The invasion of England by the Pretender drew Marlborough somewhat from the state of neutrality with regard to public affairs, in which he reposed. Whatever might have been his previous conduct with regard to the exiled Stuarts, he now, with other eminent and loyal men, contributed a voluntary loan to the Treasury, to meet the emergencies of the state, and, on his private credit alone, raised a considerable sum within the space of a few hours. With the foresight of long experience, he foretold the disastrous engagement at Preston, and even marked the distinct spot on which all the hopes of the gallant and ill-fated enemy were doomed to be foundered.[^[229]]

The Duke and Duchess of Marlborough retired almost wholly to their house at Holywell, where, assembling at times their children and grandchildren around them, they tasted at length of that happiness for which one of this distinguished couple, at least, had continually pined, in absence. The peaceful retirement, which had so often been the theme of Marlborough’s letters, came at last; but, like many long-desired blessings, it came hand in hand with care. It was not at this period that the broken health and weakened mind of Marlborough cast a gloom over that circle of young and old, of which he was the life and centre. For some years after the accession of George the First, Marlborough continued to be a healthy and an active man; riding on horseback or driving about, and delighting, when he was at Blenheim, in walking about the grounds, inspecting those beautiful ornate scenes which his taste and wealth had caused to flourish around him. In the evening he received his friends without ceremony, and joined in the games of ombre, basset, and picquet, or of whist, his favourite game; and the illustrious and amiable Marlborough often descended to a pool of commerce with his grandchildren.

It was during this season of retirement that the Duchess began the compilation of “Memoirs of the Duke,” a work which was not published. That she prized his fame far more than her own justification, is manifest from her commencing this undertaking when her faculties were in their full vigour, and her opportunities of consulting living testimony were still, in most cases, to be obtained; while she left the completion of her own Vindication until a late period of her existence.[^[230]]

Amongst the more important and less peaceful occupations which engaged the attention of the Duke and Duchess, the building of Blenheim formed one of the circumstances most obnoxious to his tranquillity of mind.

The disputes, to which the management of this national gift gave rise, might occupy a volume; they must, however, remain to be discussed at a more advanced period of this work. But the erection of that superb habitation, which the Duke of Marlborough lived not to see completed, induced an acquaintance with one of the most versatile wits of the day, Sir John Vanburgh.

The character and conduct of this distinguished dramatist and indifferent sculptor had no inconsiderable effect upon the tranquillity of the Duchess of Marlborough, with whose confidence this experienced man of the world was honoured. A very singular, and to both the writers a very discreditable correspondence, between the Duchess and Vanburgh, is preserved among the manuscript stores of the British Museum. Since it elucidates some passages of the Duchess’s domestic life, and unfolds some material points of character, a few extracts from this singular correspondence may not be uninteresting, more especially as the letters have never been introduced in any publication, either in their original form, or in substance. Before entering upon the occurrences to which it refers, a brief account of one of the parties is necessary.

Sir John Vanburgh was descended from a family originally from Ghent; his grandfather, Gibes Vanburgh, or Vanburg, being obliged to fly from that city on account of the persecution of the Protestants. The father of Sir John Vanburgh became a sugar-baker in Chester, where he amassed a considerable fortune, and, removing to London, obtained the place of comptroller of the treasury chamber. His mother was Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Dudley Carleton of Ember Court, Surrey.

The future dramatist and architect was one of eight sons, and was destined for the army. A love of desultory reading, and a youthful acquaintance with Congreve, led him, however, to the stage. So early as 1698, the youth, relinquishing a soldier’s life, produced two comedies, the “Relapse” and the “Provoked Wife;” both remarkable for the wit of their dialogue, and for the licentiousness of the sentiments.

For some years the fascinations of public applause riveted this capricious genius to the occupation of a dramatist. During the first years of Anne’s reign, he accomplished the erection, by subscription, of the Haymarket Theatre, for the building of which he had interest enough to obtain a sum of three thousand pounds from thirty persons of rank, each of whom subscribed a hundred pounds. At this time the courtly Vanburgh paid a public tribute to the Marlborough family, by inscribing on the first stone that was laid of the theatre, the words, “The Little Whig,” in compliment to Lady Sunderland, popularly known by that designation. It was in this theatre that, in conjunction with Congreve, he managed the affairs of Betterton’s company, and produced for their benefit comedies which would not now be tolerated for a single evening, on a stage, pure in its subjects as compared with that of the last century.

It is said by Cibber that Vanburgh eventually repented of the immoral tendency of his works, and that he would willingly have sought to retrieve his errors by more chastened publications. Those authors, who degrade themselves, and debase the minds of others, should remember, that it is impossible to counteract the baneful effects of that species of poison, which of all others is the most easily disseminated. The envenomed shaft of licentious wit never flies in vain, nor can its direful progress be recalled.

It is uncertain at what time Vanburgh became an architect; but he must very rapidly have attained eminence, since his first great work, “Castle Howard,” was completed before Blenheim became habitable.

Handsome in countenance, witty, accomplished, and not of lowly birth, Vanburgh soon won the favour of those with whom he was, from his occupations, brought into contact. His cheerfulness was never overclouded by any misfortune. Even during a temporary confinement in the Bastile, his spirits were unabated, and the great secret of his composure was employment.[^[231]]

It appears extraordinary that so inferior a sculptor as Vanburgh should have been selected to build a palace raised at the expense of the nation. Although satirised by Swift, Walpole, and Pope, Sir John Vanburgh had, however, his admirers, and received high encomiums from Sir Joshua Reynolds, who declares, “that in his architectural works there is a greater display of imagination than in any other.” “He had,” says Sir Joshua, “great originality of invention; he understood light and shadow, and had great skill in composition.” These, with other commendations, from the same great judge, might have rescued many characters from the reproaches of posterity; but Blenheim, massive without grandeur, and laboured in style, without unity of design, stands an everlasting reproach to its architect.

The intimacy of Vanburgh with all the leading characters of the day accounts for the confidence with which he was treated by the Duchess of Marlborough, on the nicest of all points—the disposal in marriage of those in whom she was deeply interested. The singular correspondence which we shall presently introduce to our readers, marks the intimacy which subsisted between the architect and the patron. Like many such unequal alliances, familiarity, in this instance, produced contempt.

The Duchess, indignant as she became at the impertinence and assurance of Vanburgh, never assisted him to any office; but, in 1704, Vanburgh was, by the interest of Charles Earl of Carlisle, promoted to the appointment of Clarencieux king-at-arms; a proceeding which was naturally resented by the whole college of heralds, who were indignant at having a stranger, and one without the slightest knowledge of heraldry or genealogy, made king-at-arms.[^[232]]

Sir John was appointed controller of the royal works, and surveyor of the works at Greenwich Hospital. He resided at Vanburgh Fields, Maize Hill, Greenwich,[^[233]] where he built two seats, one of them called the Bastile, and built on the model of that prison, where, it is said, the whimsical architect had once been confined and treated with humanity.[^[234]] Another house, built in the same style, at Blackheath, and called the Mincepie House, was lately inhabited by a descendant of its first proprietor.[^[235]]

Alluding to Blenheim, Swift observes—

“That if his Grace were no more skilled in

The art of battering walls than building,

We might expect to see next year

A mouse-trap-man chief engineer.”

Such was the opinion entertained by a contemporary wit, of Vanburgh’s architecture. In heraldic science he is said to have been less skilled than the least of the pursuivants. His comedies, renowned for the well-sustained ease and spirit of the dialogue, are, to those who deem the gratification of curiosity cheaply bought by an acquaintance with all that is accounted most licentious, curious as pictures of the manners of the times in which they were written.

We have seen how successfully the Duchess of Marlborough contrived to connect her family, by alliances of her daughters, with several of the most exalted families in the kingdom. Her energetic mind now devoted itself with equal zeal and perseverance to the proper settlement of her eldest granddaughter, the Lady Harriot Godolphin, in whose matrimonial prospects she took a lively interest, notwithstanding that the Countess of Godolphin, the young lady’s mother, was still alive. The Duchess fixed her hopes, as a son-in-law, on Thomas Pelham Holles, maternal nephew of John Holles, Duke of Newcastle, whose title he obtained by creation. Pelham Holles, at the time when the Duchess’s speculations were first directed towards him, was Earl of Clare, under which designation we find, in the correspondence between her grace and her confidential agent, that the future Duke was mentioned.

It was in the beginning of 1714 that a marriage treaty between the house of Marlborough and that of Newcastle was first contemplated by the Duchess.[^[236]] It is needless to specify, what is well known, that in those times, and in the rank which the Duchess filled, marriage was seldom an affair in which those mainly interested were allowed to judge, or to reject. It was usually a contract between relations, acting, as they considered, most effectually for the happiness of two individuals whom they wished to see betrothed; the condition being that the parties were well assorted in station, the portion of the lady competent, and the fortune of the gentleman equivalent to what she or her friends had a right to expect. The negociation which is unfolded in the correspondence of the Duchess and Sir J. Vanburgh, is a perfect specimen of this species of contract, in which the parties had not even seen each other, until matters had advanced somewhat too far to be withdrawn.

Lord Clare, or, to call him by his subsequent title, the Duke of Newcastle, appears, however, to have had higher and juster views of the state of matrimony than most of the noblemen of his day, who regarded it as a mere tie of convenience, or means of aggrandisement, and who troubled themselves very little about the disposition or sentiments of the family into which, for sundry reasons, they entered. The character of Pelham Holles, Duke of Newcastle, seems, at the period of the correspondence of which he was the subject, to have been singularly discreet and amiable. He was not, indeed, a man of high qualities, nor of such extensive and solid attainments as to justify the extraordinary success which afterwards, in attaining the highest posts in the government, he enjoyed. Devoted to politics, and to the party of Townshend and Walpole; a zealous promoter of the Protestant succession; he led a life of bustle, and was constantly in search of popularity; always in confusion, often promising what he could never grant, yet performing well the domestic duties of his station. Kind, though exact, as a master, and energetic in all his official duties, he might certainly be deemed highly respectable.

Not foreseeing the great eminence to which he was destined to rise, the young nobleman, at this period of his life, earnestly desired to connect himself in marriage with some family suitable to his own in wealth and influence. His views might not have been directed to the Marlborough family, had not the Duchess, to whom Vanburgh was at that time a willing agent, imparted from her grace some hints that a matrimonial connexion between her granddaughter and Lord Clare would not be unacceptable.[^[237]] Vanburgh, like a true votary of the great, in those days of patronage, took his cue from the Duchess’s expressions; and as the dramatist had many opportunities of sharing Lord Clare’s leisure hours, the Duchess could not, in some respects, have employed any person more likely to promote her speculations.

Vanburgh thus described the commencement of those operations which were intended to unite the great houses of Churchill and Pelham Holles. Writing to the Duchess, he says—“I have brought into discourse the characters of several women, that I might have a natural occasion to bring in hers, (Lady Harriott’s,) which I have then dwelt a little upon, and, in the best manner I could, distinguished her from the rest. This I have taken three or four occasions to do, without the least appearance of having any view in it, thinking the rightest thing I could do would be to possess him with a good impression of her, before I hinted at anything more.”[^[238]]

This skilful generalship for some time did not appear to meet with the success which it merited. Lady Harriott, unfortunately, was not handsome; the family stock of beauty which she inherited from her mother had been sadly amalgamated with the flat and homely features of Sidney Lord Godolphin, than whom a more ordinary individual, if one may judge from his portraits, seems not to have existed. Moreover, her portion was undecided, and the noble suitor whom her friends sought for her, at first but coldly allowed her merits; hinting, though “but very softly,” that whilst he admired the fine qualities which Sir John described, he could have wished her external charms had been equal to those of her heart and understanding.[^[239]]

This half-disclosed objection, Sir John Vanburgh met with the observation, that though he “did not believe Lady Harriott would ever have a beautiful face, he could plainly see that it would prove a very agreeable one, which he thought infinitely more valuable, especially when he observed one thing in her—namely, a very good expression of countenance.” “In short,” added the skilful reasoner, “it was certain Lady Harriott’s figure would be good; and he would pawn all his skill in such matters, if in two years time the Lady Harriott would not be as much admired as any lady in town.”

Lord Clare did not in the least contradict what Sir John said, but allowed “that he might very possibly be right.” This conversation took place in January, 1714; and two years elapsed before the subject was formally resumed between the Duchess’s subservient friend, and his patron, Lord Clare. In the course of these two years, Lord Clare became Duke of Newcastle, and the Duchess of Marlborough’s anxiety to hail him as a relative was probably not diminished by that circumstance. The Duke, meantime, had seen no woman who exactly came up to his ideas of what his wife ought to be, in order that he might expect from her that domestic happiness to which he appears to have aspired. The idea of being connected with the Marlborough family, and the expectation of a considerable fortune if he connected himself with a member of that wealthy house, added to the constant representations of Sir John Vanburgh in favour of the alliance, maintained the desire, which the Duke had always in some degree cherished, of uniting himself with the Lady Harriott. At the same time, having made many observations upon the bad education given to ladies of rank in that day, the Duke felt, as he expressed to his friend Vanburgh, a much greater anxiety to find in his wife an intelligent and amiable friend and companion, than to carry away what would be commonly considered a prize, either of beauty or of fortune. But at length, weary of delay, he wrote to his friend Vanburgh that he had formed a resolution of marrying somewhere before the winter was over, and again entered upon the subject of Lady Harriott.[^[240]]

This cessation of the treaty is explained by the Duchess of Marlborough, in the curious correspondence from which this narrative is taken. The original proposal, on her side, to Lord Clare, was to be so managed as to save him the pain of sending her grace a refusal, if he declined it: a negociation, with respect to fortune, was carried on between Vanburgh and a mutual friend of Lord Clare and of the Duchess.

As it might be expected, the treaty had gone on very smoothly, until the conversation turned upon money. Some “civil things about the alliance,” to use the Duchess’s phrase, had been said; but the dowry required to make the plain Lady Harriott saleable was no less a sum than forty thousand pounds. Upon this demand the Duchess had broken off the negociation, concluding, as she afterwards declared, that the Duke of Newcastle or his friends must think such a demand the most effectual way of breaking off the affair; “since,” as she added, “Lady Harriott was neither a ‘monster nor a citizen,’ and she had never heard of such a fortune in any other case, unless it were an only child.” Yet to show, as she states, that she was not mercenary, she had afterwards refused a most considerable offer for her granddaughter, where she could have had her own conditions. In such business-like and bartering terms did the custom of the day lead the Duchess to express herself upon a matter of no less importance than happiness, or unhappiness, the utmost bliss or the most hopeless misery.

Two years, therefore, had elapsed before anything more was done; and Lady Harriott, meantime, had been introduced by her grandmother into the fashionable circles of Bath; and that circumstance again aroused the apprehensions of the cautious Pelham Holles. Whether he dreaded that she would there have formed some acquaintance which might have produced an entanglement of the heart—whether he fancied that the influence which her grandmother exercised over her might induce the young lady to accept a desirable match when her affections were elsewhere bestowed; or whether he was merely desirous of ascertaining how far the scenes of dissipation had power to elicit foibles and failings in the young Lady Harriott—does not appear. From the strict inquiries which he anxiously and repeatedly made when the treaty was renewed, of her conduct at Bath, we must however conclude that the peer, in spite of his determination to marry before the winter was over, was not so indiscreet in his haste as to rush into bonds, unless he were well satisfied that they would produce a happy union. Such were his notions of the sex at this time, that, to use his own words to Vanburgh, he almost despaired of meeting with a woman whose ideas of conjugal duty would accord with his own expectations. Impressed with the difficulty of a choice, he earnestly and emphatically entreated Sir John Vanburgh to inform him if he knew anything of the lady, that could abate the extraordinary impression that he had received of her merits.

Sir John could add nothing disparaging to the high encomiums which he had passed on Lady Harriott, and a fresh negociation was accordingly entered upon with the Duchess, who expressed herself delighted with the renewal of a treaty which she had considered as finally abandoned. Sir John, meantime, was very zealous, and the affair proceeded flourishingly, and ended, eventually, in the marriage of Lady Harriott and the Duke of Newcastle.[^[241]]

So far Vanburgh seems to have acted well his part of a friend and mediator; but he soon found that matchmaking was by no means the most desirable occupation in the world. Although he had, by successful arguments, brought the Duke of Newcastle “into the mind to marry Lady Harriott,” the Duchess appears to have acted towards him unhandsomely and ungratefully. It seems to have been her grace’s mode for avenging Sir John’s errors of taste and miscalculations at Blenheim, to remove her confidence from him in the nice affair which he had had her commands to bring about to another useful friend. Whilst the architect and his patroness were together at Bath and at Blenheim, she never mentioned a syllable of the projected marriage to him, but, by transferring the negociation to one Mr. Walter, implied that Vanburgh was no longer worthy of the trust she had reposed in him. It was not long before Vanburgh, indignant at her conduct, addressed to her grace a letter, explanatory but respectful, excepting when, in the conclusion, he declares that he should be surprised, but not sorry, to find that she had imposed her commands and entrusted her commission to some other person.[^[242]]

The Duchess, in her reply to Sir John Vanburgh, entered distinctly into the whole process by which the match had been revived and perfected. She acknowledged her obligations to Sir John Vanburgh; she explained her conduct, if not satisfactorily, at least graciously; and concluded by declaring, “that if any third person should say that she had behaved ill to Sir John, she should be very sorry for it, and should be very ready even to ask his pardon.”[^[243]]

Before this temperate letter reached him, Sir John Vanburgh, not to his credit, had sent a very abusive, coarse, and insolent epistle. It appears that he had discovered that the Duchess had devolved the completion of Blenheim into other hands. Under the excitement produced by this discovery, he gave vent to a torrent of invective, which seldom accompanies a good cause.

The Duchess, as it happened, received this singular ebullition from her former confidante before her own letter was despatched; whereupon she took up her pen, and, in the excess of her wrath, added a postscript; concluding in these words:—“Upon the receiving of that very insolent letter, upon the eighth of the same month, ’tis easy to imagine that I wished to have had the civility I expressed in the letter back again, and was very sorry that I had fouled my fingers in writing to such a fellow.”[^[244]]

Sir John Vanburgh’s reply had called forth this elegant conclusion; he appears to have been resolved to prove that he could equal her grace in vituperation. In order clearly to understand the merits of the case, it is necessary to give at length the letter which the Duchess “fouled her fingers” to answer. It would be a pity to garble so characteristic a document.

SIR JOHN VANBURGH TO THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.[^[245]]

“Whitehall, Nov. 8th, 1716.

“Madam,—When I writ to your grace on Thursday last, I was much at a loss what could be the ground of your having dropped me, in the service I had been endeavouring to do you and your family with the Duke of Newcastle, upon your own sole motion and desire. But having since been shown, by Mr. Richards, a large packet of building papers sent him by your grace, I find the reason was, that you had resolved to use me so ill in respect of Blenheim, as must make it impracticable to employ me in any other branch of your service.

“These papers, madam, are so full of far-fetched laboured accusations, mistaken facts, wrong inferences, groundless jealousies, and strained constructions, that I should put a very great affront upon your understanding if I supposed it possible you could mean anything in earnest by them, but to put a stop to my troubling you any more. You have your end, madam, for I will never trouble you more, unless the Duke of Marlborough recovers so far to shelter me from such intolerable treatment.

“I shall in the mean time have only this concern on his account, (for whom I shall ever retain the greatest veneration,) that your grace having, like the Queen, thought fit to get rid of a faithful servant, the Tories will have the pleasure to see your glassmaker, Moor, make just such an end of the Duke’s building as her minister Harley did of his victories, for which it was erected.

“I am your Grace’s

“Most obedient servant,

“J. Vanburgh.

“If your grace will give me leave to print your papers, I’ll do it very exactly, and without any answer or remark but this short letter attached to the tail of them, that the world may know I desired they might be published.”

The Duke of Marlborough, it appears, was kept in ignorance of all the missiles of abuse which were passing between his Duchess and her once faithful servant. But, observing that Vanburgh absented himself from Marlborough-house and Blenheim, the kind-hearted Marlborough inquired into the cause of that circumstance. Throughout the whole affair he seems to have been moderate, unoffending, and just, as it was his nature to be; but eventually he coincided with his wife, and the building of Blenheim was transferred to other hands.

Upon hearing that the Duke had inquired for him, Vanburgh wrote a long explanation, in which some traces of regret are discoverable. Since it is, in the main points, merely a recapitulation of the whole affair, we must refer the reader, who may be curious to judge for himself upon this amusing controversy, to the Appendix of this volume.

Severe and real trials awaited the Duchess, and ought to have bowed her head in humility, and softened her vindictive feelings to others. But the discipline of events appears to have effected but little change in her proud and fierce disposition.

Whilst wealth and undisputed honours might procure a cheerful retirement, it was the will of Providence that the decline of these two celebrated persons into the sear and yellow leaf should be visited by those bereavements which anticipate Time in his devastations upon the frame of man, and aid him of his privilege in furrowing the brow, and making the cheek wan. From the period when they could discern the opening characters of infancy in their children, the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough had considered themselves peculiarly blessed in two of their daughters—Elizabeth Countess of Bridgewater, and Anne Countess of Sunderland. The world corroborated by its testimony the good opinion of the parents. Lady Bridgewater was domestic in her habits, affectionate, dutiful, and religious. She appears to have taken less part in political affairs than her sisters, Lady Rialton and Lady Sunderland, who were evidently esteemed by the Tory party to be the chief female supporters of their adversaries.[^[246]] Yet Lady Bridgewater, in common with the rest of her family, had evinced her displeasure at the dismissal of her mother, and the change of the ministry in 1711–12. When, at that time, it happened that the presentation of Prince Eugene took place, and all the Tory courtiers, “monstrous fine,” as Swift described them, thronged to see the Queen present him with a diamond sword, the Countess of Bridgewater is thus mentioned among the “birth-day chat” with which Swift consoled Stella for his absence.

“I saw Lady Wharton, as ugly as the devil, coming out in a crowd, all in an undress; she had been with the Marlborough daughters and Lady Bridgewater in St. James’s, looking out of the window, all undressed, to see the sight.”[^[247]]

This is one of the few instances in which we find Lady Bridgewater mentioned in public; and, in March 22nd, 1714, her brief career closed, the small-pox proving fatal to her, as it had done to her brother. She was only twenty-six years of age at the time of her death.

Lady Sunderland had a more distinguished, and, as far as we may judge, a more arduous part in life to act, than either of her sisters. Unlike Lady Rialton, afterwards Lady Godolphin, and the Duchess of Manchester, she retained the affection of her imperious mother, even through political turmoils, in which the Duke of Sunderland often differed from the Duchess, and displeased the Duke of Marlborough. The Countess was one whom remarkable worldly advantages could not withdraw from a consciousness that this state, however blessed, is only a preparatory process by which the human heart is to be purified. She lived in the world uncorrupted; uninjured by admiration, which pursued her, from friend or foe; untainted by ambition, the besetting failing of her family; beautiful, but nobly aspiring to be somewhat more than the beauty paramount of the day; accomplished, yet humble; of a lively imagination, yet of unimpeached prudence, and of sound judgment. Station, fashion, and, yet more, the conscious influence of her fascinating qualities, were enjoyed by her in safety; for she had that within, a pure and devout heart, which kept her unspotted from the world.

Lady Sunderland had been much at court, until, upon the Queen’s dismissal of her mother, she resigned her offices. Her social reputation was such, and her power in consequence so acknowledged, that Swift, who stood watching which way the gales of royal favour blew, was not ashamed to own his adulatory advances towards her, on one occasion when the Queen’s indecision left him in considerable doubt as to which party would prevail.

“I was to-day at court,” writes the double and obsequious divine, in 1711, “and resolved to be very civil to the Whigs, but saw few there. When I was in the bedchamber talking to Lord Rochester, he went up to Lady Burlington, who asked him who I was, and Lady Sunderland and she whispered about me. I desired Lord Rochester to tell Lady Sunderland, I doubted she was not as much in love with me as I was with her, but he would not deliver my message.”[^[248]]

After the return of the Duke and Duchess to England, it was the arduous office of the Countess of Sunderland to interpose her mild influence between the hasty temper of her husband and the overbearing spirit of her mother. She was the only one of “Marlborough’s daughters” who could brook the maternal authority, exercised even over her grown-up children with unsparing rigour; and Marlborough regarded this dutiful and forbearing child with peculiar affection, on that very account. Yet it was evident, after her decease, that she both respected and loved her mother, since to her care she confided those whom she herself most loved.[^[249]]

In her husband’s temper and propensities, Lady Sunderland found that counterbalance to her many worldly advantages, which those who enjoy the happiest lot must in this world experience. Lord Sunderland, from the account of historians, appears to have been of a factious, unhappy spirit; to have quarrelled with his best friends; to have failed in his ambition, not from want of abilities, but from want of conduct, and to have been alienated, by his rash and conceited deportment, from those who could alone save and serve him.[^[250]] He had also a turn for extravagance, and a passion for gaming; and the last years of his more discreet wife were embittered by anxiety respecting a suitable provision for his children, an anxiety which events fully justified in the imprudent marriage which the Earl formed after her death.

Yet was the Countess sincerely devoted to this uncongenial being, to whom political interests had caused her to be united at an age when she was too young to form a judgment upon such matters. When he was absent in Vienna, on an embassy, she composed a prayer, found among her papers after her death, dictated by the most ardent attachment to her husband, and by the purest and most exalted devotion to her Maker.[^[251]] One would be apt to think highly of that man who could inspire such a woman with such an affection, but that daily and hourly we witness how the most disinterested and warmest feelings are bestowed by female hearts on unworthy objects, and how they are perpetuated by a sense of duty, by habit, by gratitude.

Lady Sunderland had long suffered from the approaches of a mortal disorder, which she sustained with the spirit that became her. In her patience and christian resignation, she was consistent to the rest of her conduct. On the 15th of April, 1714, very shortly after the death of her sister, she was removed to a happier state; a fever, with which her impaired constitution could not struggle, closing, thus abruptly and mercifully, a life which might have lingered underneath the less violent attacks of a chronic disease.

Her death was a severe blow to both her parents. In her, the Duchess lost the only solace which filial duty could supply; for her remaining daughters loved her not, and even from her grandchildren she failed to experience comfort. Among her mother’s papers was found the following letter, eloquent in its simple beauty, and deeply affecting to the parents, who could trace, in its touching requests, the pure but fretted spirit of their anxious child. The Duchess, according to her usual custom, had endorsed it with these words: “A copy of what my dear daughter wrote to her Lord, not to be given to him till after she was dead.”[^[252]]

“Altrop, Sept. 9, 1716.

“I have always found it so tender a subject (to you, my dear,) to talk, of my dying, that I have chose rather to leave my mind in writing, which, though very, very insignificant, is some ease to me. Your dear self and the dear children are my only concern in the world; I hope in God you will find comfort for the loss of a wife, I am sure you loved so well, not to want a great deal. I would be no farther remembered, than what would contribute to your ease, which is to be careful (as I was) not to make your circumstances uneasy by living beyond what you have, which I could not, with all the care that was possible, quite prevent. When you have any addition, think of your poor children, and that you have not an estate to live on, without making some addition by saving. You will ever be miserable if you give way to the love of play. As to the children, pray get my mother, the Duchess of Marlborough, to take care of the girls, and if I leave any boys too little to go to school; for to be left to servants is very bad for children, and a man can’t take the care of little children that a woman can. For the love that she has for me, and the duty that I have ever shown her, I hope she will do it, and be ever kind to you, who was dearer to me than my life. Pray take care to see the children married with a prospect of happiness, for in that you will show your kindness to me; and never let them want education or money while they are young. My father has been so kind as to give my children fortunes, so that I hope they won’t miss the opportunity of being settled in the world for want of portions. But your own daughter may want your help, which I hope you will think to give her, though it should straiten your income, or to any of mine, should they want it. Pray let Mr. Fourneaux get some good-natured man for Lord Spencer’s governor, whom he may settle with him before he dies, and be fit to go abroad with him. I beg of you to spare no expense to improve him, and to let him have an allowance for his pocket to make him easy. You have had five thousand pounds of the money you know was mine, which my mother gave me yearly; whenever you can, let him have the income of that for his allowance, if he has none any other way. And don’t be as careless of the dear children as when you relied upon me to take care of them, but let them be your care though you should marry again; for your wife may wrong them when you don’t mind it. You owe Fanchon, by a bond, twelve hundred pounds, for which I gave her four score pounds a year interest. Pray, whenever it is in your power, be kind to her and to her children, for she was ever faithful to me. Pray burn all my letters in town or in the country. We must all die, but it is hard to part with one so much beloved, and in whom there was so much happiness, as you, my dearest, ever were to me. My last prayers shall be to the Lord Almighty, to give you all blessings in this world, and grant that we may meet happy in the next.

“A. Sunderland.”

“Pray give Lady Anne my diamond earrings; the middle drops are my mother’s; and give Dye my pearl necklace and watch; and give Lady Frances Spencer my diamond buckle; and give Mr. Fourneaux the medal of gold which you gave me when I was married; and the little picture I have of yours and of Lord Spencer’s.”

This letter was immediately forwarded by Lord Sunderland, through his steward, to the Duchess, who lost no time in announcing to him her ready compliance with her daughter’s last request; and she is said to have conscientiously performed the important duties which, from maternal affection, she had undertaken. Her zeal, and her real though unaffected and unsentimental grief for her daughter’s loss, are naturally exemplified in the following letter.[^[253]]

“May 13, 1716.

“I send you enclosed that most precious letter you sent me yesterday by Mr. Charlton. You will easily believe it has made me drop a great many tears, and you may be very sure that to my life’s end I shall observe very religiously all that my poor dear child desired. I was pleased to find that my own inclinations had led me to resolve upon doing everything that she mentions before I knew it was her request, except taking Lady Anne, which I did not offer, thinking that since you take Lady Frances home, who is eighteen years old, she would be better with you than me, as long as you live, or with the servants that her dear mother had chose to put about her, and I found by Mr. Charlton this thought was the same that you had. But I will be of all the use that I can to her, in everything that she wants me, and if I should happen to live longer than you, though so much older, I will then take as much care of her as if she were my own child. I have resolved to take poor Lady Anne Egerton, who, I believe, is very ill looked after. She went yesterday to Ashridge, but I will send for her to St. Albans, as soon as you will let me have dear Lady Dye; and while the weather is hot, I will keep them two and Lady Harriot, with a little family of servants to look after them, and be there as much as I can; but the Duke of Marlborough will be running up and down to several places this summer, where one can’t carry children, and I don’t think his health is so good as to trust him by himself. I should be glad to talk to Mr. Fourneaux, to know what servants there are of my dear child’s you do not intend to keep, that if there is any of them that can be of use in this new addition to my family, I might take them for several reasons. I desire, when it is easy to you, that you will let me have some little trifle that my dear child used to wear in her pocket, or any other way; and I desire Fanchon will look for some little cup she used to drink in. I had some of her hair not long since that I asked her for, but Fanchon may give me a better lock at the full length.”

The children thus entrusted to their maternal grandmother became a solace to the Duke and Duchess, and were nurtured with attention, both to the elegance of their minds and to their happiness. There is nothing more touching than the affection of the old for infants, nothing more consolatory than to observe how beautifully Providence renews the greatest of all pleasures, in restoring to the grandfather the tenderness, and the consequent parental joys, of the father. Those who have represented Marlborough as of a narrow spirit, and a cold, designing heart, should have beheld him gazing with delight upon his youthful granddaughters, when taking lessons in music and dancing, or performing such parts as were suited to their capacity in certain dramas, which turned often upon the exploits of the grandfather, and on the gifts and graces of the grandmother. In the decline of life, Marlborough listened, with a pleasure which he cared not to conceal, to the recital of his own deeds from infantine lips; and there were others, distinguished in their way, who deemed it not beneath their high vocations to aid such entertainments as were the recreations of the beloved grandchildren at Holywell House, or at Windsor Lodge.[^[254]]

Dr. Hoadley, at this time Bishop of Bangor, and afterwards of Winchester, was the intimate associate, and, as it seems from certain anecdotes, the spiritual friend of Marlborough in his latter days. He was a controversialist of the first order, had signalised himself in an intellectual combat of this kind against Atterbury, and also, on a later occasion, in the noted Bangorian controversy, in which his adversary, the celebrated William Law, is said to have gained the ascendency. The Bishop, with all his learned acquirements, was formed to enliven society by his cheerfulness, as well as to elevate its tone by his superior intellect. He entered, with the kindness that becomes the learned so well, into the amusements and pursuits of the young favourites of his illustrious friend. Though not a dramatist himself, he was the father of two very celebrated dramatists, at this time children; the one, Dr. Benjamin Hoadley, physician to George the Second, and the author, among other plays, of the “Suspicious Husband;” and the other, Dr. John Hoadly, a clergyman, whose most serious composition was the oratorio of Jephtha, but who thought it not inconsistent with his sacred character to write humorous farces, and to perform with Garrick and Hogarth a parody upon the ghost scene of Julius Cæsar.[^[255]]

Dr. Hoadley, though the father of dramatists, was not, if we may believe Pope, the most lively writer among the many noted controversialists of the day. He dwelt in long sentences, to which Pope alluded when he wrote

“——Swift for closer style,[^[256]]

But Hoadly for the period of a mile.”

Yet the younger performers in the play of “All for Love,” to which the good-natured Bishop wrote a prologue, thought his effusions, no doubt, of the highest merit; and they turned upon a subject which they could both comprehend and enjoy, the great exploits of Marlborough. Perhaps it was the Bishop’s elaborate verses which occasioned the Duchess’s aversion to poetry, when so employed, and which produced the clause in her will, bequeathing to Glover and to Mallet one thousand pounds, upon condition of their not inserting a single line of verse in the biography which they had engaged to write of her husband.[^[257]]

“All for Love”[^[258]] was enacted with all the proprieties, the Duchess “scratching out some of the most amorous speeches, and no embrace allowed.”[^[259]] “In short, no offence to the company,” Miss Cairnes, daughter of Sir Alexander Cairnes of Monaghan, and afterwards married to Cadwallader, eighth Baron Blayney,[^[260]] was domesticated in the Marlborough family at the request of the Duchess, who, esteeming her mother, Lady Cairnes, took the daughter into her family and brought her up with her granddaughters, under the care of a governess, Mrs. La Vie, a relation of Lady Cairnes, and the daughter of a French refugee. Both these ladies were important additions to the social enjoyments of Holywell, or the Lodge. Lady Blayney, who lived to the age of eighty, became and continued an attached friend to the family. Her recollections furnished the descendants of the famed Duke with several anecdotes of their ancestors, and amongst others with the foregoing account of the play.

Mrs. La Vie, the other inmate of the family, was a woman also of considerable attainments. She translated into French a letter addressed by the Duchess to George the First, on one occasion, in order to clear up some suspicions of her loyalty. Mrs. La Vie was also a frequent visitant amongst the select parties given under the agreeable form of suppers, by Lady Darlington, to George the First, where, excepting his Majesty, persons of taste and distinguished talent were alone admitted.[^[261]]

Surrounded by this agreeable domestic society, the Duke and Duchess might have expected to pass serenely into an old age of peace. But both public and private events occurred, which depressed, though they could not render morose, a mind so kindly and amiably constituted as that of Marlborough, whilst certain circumstances aroused once more the fiery spirit of the Duchess, who rejoiced in the whirlwind.

She had lived to see, among other strange vicissitudes, her former foe, Harley, deprived not only of power, but of liberty; he had been imprisoned two years in the Tower, when his impeachment, and the sudden abandonment of that contested measure, excited public curiosity as to the cause of so unaccountable an affair.

The Duke of Marlborough was present at several of the debates which related to this singular business. He voted with the minority who were opposed to Harley. The Duchess was reported, also, to have been “distracted with disappointment,” when the proceedings against Harley were quashed by some secret influence. Yet, notwithstanding her well-known hostility to Harley, and her equally well-known adherence to Whig principles, there have been distinct statements of her having intrigued with the Jacobite party, at that time justly formidable to the King of England.

Before the acquittal of Lord Oxford took place, report at that time, and tradition has since, alleged, that Mr. Auditor Harley, the unfortunate statesman’s brother, waited privately on the Duchess of Marlborough, and showed her a letter which had been written formerly from the Duke to the Pretender. Mr. Harley, after reading this letter, declared to the Duchess that it should be produced at Lord Oxford’s trial, if that proceeding were not instantly abandoned. The Duchess, it is stated, seized the letter, committed it to the fire, and defied her foe. Mr. Harley then thus addressed her:—“I knew your grace too well to trust you; the letter you have destroyed is only a copy; the original is safe in my possession.”[^[262]] This is one anecdote, unsupported by any authority, implicating the Duchess in the charge of a treasonable correspondence. It may be remarked, that the previous vacillating and crooked course which Marlborough had pursued with respect to the exiled family, in the time of William the Third, may have given rise to this imputation.

Another statement, bearing an aspect of greater probability, was communicated by Mr. Serjeant Comyns, afterwards Chief Baron of the Exchequer, to the late respected and gifted Benjamin West, Esq., President of the Royal Academy. Mr. West transmitted the circumstance to Mr. Gregg, a barrister, from whose handwriting the anecdote was noted down in the Biographia Britannica.

Lord Harley, the eldest son of Lord Oxford, attended by Mr. Serjeant Comyns, waited, it is said, on the Duke of Marlborough, to request his grace’s attendance at the trial of the attainted peer. The Duke, somewhat discomposed, inquired what Lord Oxford wanted of him, and was answered by Mr. Comyns, that it was only to ask his grace a question or two. The Duke became more and more agitated, and walked about the room for a quarter of an hour, evidently much embarrassed; but at length he inquired of Lord Harley on what account his attendance at the trial was required. Lord Harley answered, that it was only for the purpose of certifying his handwriting; and, to the still further questions of the Duke, informed him that Lord Oxford had in his possession all the letters which he had ever received from the Duke since the Revolution. Upon this, Marlborough became extremely perturbed, pacing the room to and fro, and even throwing off his wig in his passion; and to the further interrogatories of Mr. Comyns, as to what answer they should carry back to Lord Oxford, he returned for answer, “Tell his lordship I shall certainly be there.” “This,” adds the retailer of this anecdote, “is the true reason why Lord Oxford was never brought to trial.”[^[263]]

This strange story has been refused credit by the able biographer of Marlborough, who has dismissed the imputation with contempt. It appears, indeed, on several accounts, not to be worthy of credit. Harley might have produced such letters long before, if he had it in his power, in order to weaken the party opposed to him, amongst whom the most violent was Lord Sunderland, son-in-law of Marlborough, who was greatly incensed when the trial of Harley was stopped. Yet Sunderland, it afterwards appears, was not devoid of suspicions regarding the Duchess’s fidelity to the ruling powers; or, probably, domestic differences caused him, at a subsequent period, to imbibe, with unfair readiness, prejudices which were diligently inculcated to her disadvantage. There were, also, other public events which aggravated dissensions already begun, and widened differences of opinion, even among the few who could remain dispassionate observers of the greatest of all national infatuations, the South Sea scheme.

The pernicious policy of William the Third, in borrowing money from the public, and paying the interest of those sums by means of certain taxes, has been justly blamed as the origin of much embarrassment and calamity to the country.[^[264]] A species of gaming, new to the nation, and arising out of the uncertain state of public credit, became fascinating to the commercial world, and a spirit of adventure pervaded all ranks and conditions of society.

The anxiety of both Houses of Parliament to reduce the national debt fostered a scheme, brought to bear in the eleventh year of Queen Anne’s reign, of forming a fund for paying the interest of the debt, in an annuity of six per cent. All taxes upon wines, sugar, vinegar, tobacco, India silks, and other goods, were appropriated to the aid of this fund, and to the shareholders was granted the monopoly of a trade to the South Sea, or coast of Peru, in Mexico; and proprietors of navy bills and other securities were incorporated into a company which, under the name of the South Sea Company, was soon regarded by the public as a community possessing the most enviable privileges. The first scheme of this notable project was framed by Harley. Sunderland afterwards carried it on, and by this means sought to strengthen his parliamentary interest. A wild spirit of speculation inflamed the minds of innumerable suitors to the ministers, through whose influence shares were alone obtained; and even the prudent and experienced Marlborough was tempted, upon the revival of the scheme in the present reign, to increase the share which he had originally held in the stock.[^[265]]

Sir John Blount, a scrivener, who matured, if it could be so called, the South Sea scheme, had formed his plan upon the Mississippi scheme, which in the preceding year had failed in France, and had ruined whole families. Undeterred by this warning, even the wary Duchess of Marlborough sought and obtained from Lord Sunderland subscriptions for herself, and her friends and connexions, as the greatest boon that ministerial power could grant.

But to her sound, shrewd mind the fallacy of all the expectations which a greedy public formed, was very soon apparent. The Duchess was not one of those stars of our later days, before whom an astonished world bends with adoration. Mathematics and logic had never directed her powerful understanding. She was no political economist; her speculations on all such subjects arose out of the great practical lessons which she had witnessed. Her education had been limited. To arithmetic as a science she was a stranger. “Lady Bute,” says the ingenious writer of recently published anecdotes of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, “sat by her (the Duchess) whilst she dined, or watched her in the curious process of casting up her accounts—curious, because her grace, well versed as she was in all matters relating to money, such as getting it, hoarding it, and turning it to the best advantage, knew nothing of common arithmetic. But her sound, clear head could invent an arithmetic of its own. To lookers-on it appeared as if a child had scribbled over the paper, setting down figures here and there at random; and yet every sum came right to a fraction at last, in defiance of Cocker.”[^[266]]

Yet it was this untaught mind, disturbed often by bursts of passion, and in love with wealth and all other worldly advantages,—it was the Duchess of Marlborough, who, of all her class, was the first to detect the fallacy of that scheme by which a whole nation had been ensnared. When the value of the stock rose to an unprecedented height, and the public were more than ever infatuated by false hopes, she saved her husband and her family from ruin, not only by her foresight but by her firmness. Let those who would wholly preclude women from any participation in masculine affairs, remember how often their less biassed judgment, their less employed hours, have been made available to warn and to save. The Duchess happily had sufficient influence over her husband to rescue his disposable property from any further investment in the South Sea Stock. She resisted all the entreaties of Sunderland to employ any further portion of capital in the scheme; she foresaw that no profit would now satisfy the public mind, excited to an unnatural degree, and predicted that the fall of the stock would be as rapid as the rise. She not only withheld the Duke’s hand, but persecuted him to sell out his shares, by which prudent step he realised, it is said, a hundred thousand pounds;[^[267]] and this clear-sightedness on the Duchess’s part was the more admirable that it was wholly singular. It was the age of speculation and of companies; and many of the nobility were at the head of some new ephemeral speculation. The Prince of Wales was made governor of the Welsh Copper Company; the Duke of Chandos, of the York Buildings; and the Duke of Bridgewater formed a third for building houses in London.[^[268]]

Whilst these bubbles were engaging the public mind, the blow which severed Marlborough for ever from public life, and rendered even his beloved home cheerless, was struck whilst he was yet mourning at Holywell-house the death of his beloved daughters, more especially of the Countess of Sunderland. Throughout the whole of his life the Duke had suffered from intense headaches and giddiness,—warnings disregarded, as they often are, in the feverish pursuit of power, in the race for worldly honours, which the exhausted mind and irritable nerves permit not, ofttimes, even the most successful to enjoy.

On the twenty-eighth of May, 1716, not two months after his beloved daughter Anne had been removed from him, the Duke was attacked by palsy, which for some time deprived him of speech and of recollection. He was attended on this occasion by Sir Samuel Garth, who not only managed his disease with skill, but attended him with the devoted zeal of a partial friend.[^[269]] The Duke slowly recovered to a condition not to be termed health, unless a man on the edge of a precipice can be said to be in safety. As a public man he was, indeed, no more; but it is satisfactory to the admirers of this great man to recollect that his last military counsels had been as judicious and as effective as those which he had originated on former occasions. His latest act as commander-in-chief was to concert those measures for defeating the rebellion which proved so successful; his latest prognostic with respect to public affairs was, that that rebellion would be crushed at Preston.[^[270]]

From the first attack of the Duke’s disorder, to his release from a state of debility, though not, as it has been represented, of imbecility, a gloom hung over his existence. His bodily and mental sufferings are said to have been aggravated by the Duchess’s violent temper, and petulant attempts to regain power.[^[271]] The assertion cannot surprise those who have observed, under various circumstances, characters which are not regulated by high and firm principles. The Duchess had kind and generous impulses, but no habit of self-government. The arbitrary spirit of an indulged wife had now become an unlimited love of sway; her affection for the Duke was not strong enough to teach her to quell for his sake the angry passions, or to check the bitterness of her satirical spirit, because the stings which she inflicted might wound the enfeebled partner of her youthful days.

After some weeks of indisposition, Marlborough was enabled to remove to Bath, where he was recommended to try the waters. When he entered that city, he was received with honours which he was little able to encounter. A numerous body of nobility and gentry hailed his approach, and the mayor and aldermen came, with due formalities, to greet him. It appears that he must very soon have recovered some portion of his former activity, if the following anecdote, related by Dr. William King, a contemporary, and principal of St. Mary Hall, Oxon, be credited.

“That great captain, the Duke of Marlborough,” says Dr. King, “when he was in the last stage of life, and very infirm, would walk from the public rooms in Bath to his lodgings, in a cold, dark night, to save sixpence in coach-hire. If the Duke,” he adds, “who left at his death more than a million and a half sterling, could have foreseen that all his wealth and honours were to be inherited by a grandson of my Lord Trevor’s, who had been one of his enemies, would he have been so careful to save a sixpence for the sake of his heir? Not for his heir, but he would always have saved a sixpence.”[^[272]]

Whilst thus retaining what was more in him a habit than a passion, the Duke left Bath, to view with peculiar pleasure the progress of the great palace at Blenheim, where he expressed satisfaction on beholding that tribute to his former greatness. But the enjoyments of Marlborough’s declining years were few and transient, whether they consisted in the exalting contemplation of a noble structure, the suggestion, though not the gift, of a nation’s gratitude; or in the small, the very small gratification of saving a sixpence, imputed to him by his contemporary; though it is possible, and to the good-natured it may appear probable, that to the humbled invalid, conscious of decay, the satisfaction of being able to resume old habits of activity, the habits of military life, may have been one source of the pleasure.

During November, however, in the same year of his first attack, the Duke was threatened with immediate death. The remaining members of his family hastened to bid him what they expected would prove a last farewell. Their parent, however, was for the time spared to them. Again he recovered his health sufficiently to remove to Marlborough house. His reason was happily restored to him, but the use of speech for some time greatly impaired. He recovered it, however, and conversed, though he could not articulate some words. His memory, and the general powers of his mind, were also spared. The popular notion of his sinking into imbecility is, therefore, unfounded, and in this respect it is unfair, and erroneous, to couple him with Swift.

“From Marlborough’s eyes the streams of dotage flow,

And Swift expires a driveller and a show,”

are lines so familiar, that it is difficult to dispossess the imagination of the ideas which they have lodged there. Both of these celebrated men, indeed, suffered from the same mortal and humiliating disease; and the dire malady, which is no respecter of persons, afflicted the kindly, the humane, the pure, the religious Marlborough, and abased also the vigorous intellect of the coarse, selfish, and profane Swift. Both suffered from the same oppressing consciousness of diminished mental energy. The lucid intervals of Swift were darkened by a cruel sense of present powerlessness, and of past aberrations; and Marlborough is said, when gazing upon a portrait of himself, painted in his days of vigour, to have uttered the affecting exclamation, “That was a man!”[^[273]] But here the similitude of the two cases ends. Marlborough was never reduced to that last degree of human distress, insanity; it appears by the journals of the House of Lords that he attended the debates frequently for several years after the commencement of his illness, and he performed the functions of his public offices with regularity. Marlborough was permitted by his Creator the use of reason, the power of reflection,—time, therefore, to arrange complicated worldly concerns, and to prepare for a happier sphere. Venerated by his friends, domestics, and relatives, Marlborough was permitted to his latest hour to share in the hallowed domestic enjoyments which by no immoral courses he had forfeited, by no disregard of others destroyed.

The very different termination of Swift’s career—the retributive justice which, if we believed in spirits, poor Stella’s ghost might have witnessed—the joyless close of an existence which no affectionate cares sought to cheer; the consignment of the wretched and violent lunatic to servants and keepers; the moody silence of the once eloquent and witty ornament of courtly saloons; the deep despair to which medicine could not minister, but which a moral influence might have alleviated, but which no son nor daughter’s tender perseverance, with untaught, but often, perhaps, effectual skill, sought to solace;—these, with all other gloomy particulars of Swift’s awful aberrations and death, on which not one light of consciousness was shown, must be by all remembered. Unloved he died; the affection which could, for the gentle Cowper, brave the desolating sight and company of hopeless insanity, was not the portion of one who, in this world of great moral lessons, had ever sacrificed others to his own gratification.

It was one of Marlborough’s first acts, after his partial recovery, to tender to the King, through Lord Sunderland, then in power, the resignation of his employments; but George the First, with a delicacy of feeling which could scarcely have been expected from his rugged nature, declined receiving it, declaring that “the Duke’s retirement from office would excite as much pain as if a dagger should be plunged in his bosom.” Marlborough, therefore, reluctantly, and certainly to the injury of his health, remained in office; and that accordance with his Majesty’s wishes was attributed by the Duchess to Lord Sunderland, who stood in need of his father-in-law’s assistance, in the administration which he had lately formed to the exclusion of Walpole and Townshend.