Queen Anne: The Politics of Passion (17 page)

Anne also made much of the claim that the only ladies Mary Beatrice permitted to touch her stomach so as to feel the child kicking were the Catholic Madam Mazarin and the Countess of Sunderland ‘who are people that nobody will give credit to’. There is evidence, however, that the Princess was wrong about this. The Protestant Isabella Wentworth later declared that in May 1688 the Queen had invited her to lay her hand on her belly, and she then ‘felt the child stir very strongly, as strongly … as ever I felt any of my own’. Anne later allegedly told Bishop Lloyd that during her stepmother’s previous pregnancies Mary Beatrice ‘would put the princess’s hand upon her belly and ask her if she felt how her brother kicks her, but she was never admitted to this … freedom at the time of this breeding’. Once again, however, Mrs Margaret Dawson had a different recollection, for she stated, ‘I am very sure that the Princess did not use to feel the Queen’s belly neither of this child nor of any other’. A few weeks after the birth of the Prince of Wales, Anne’s uncle the Earl of Clarendon challenged her on this very point. When Anne put it to him that it was ‘strange … that the Queen should never (as often as I am with her, mornings and evenings) speak to me to feel her belly’, Clarendon asked ‘if the Queen had at other times of her being with child bid her do it?’ Anne was obliged now to admit that she had not, to which Clarendon rejoined, ‘Why then, Madame … should you wonder she did not bid you do it this time?’
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The King and Queen were certainly aware of the rumours but took the view that such slanders were best ignored. As far as James was concerned, in court circles ‘the report of her having a counterfeit big belly … was looked upon as a jest, and the talk of a cushion was the daily subject of mirth to those who attended upon them’. Anne herself agreed that her father made light of the matter and that when ‘sitting by me in my own chamber he would speak of the idle stories … of the Queen’s not being with child, laughing at them’. When questioned by Clarendon, she had to admit that she had given her father no clue that she found the stories anything other than risible.
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The Princess told her sister in March 1688 that her stepmother’s ‘being so positive it will be a son’ provided additional grounds to fear a deception was being planned. Not everyone, however, gained the impression that Mary Beatrice was confident of producing a male child. A spy stationed in England informed a close associate of William of Orange that the Queen had become so upset at being constantly told by the Jesuits that she must have a boy that she burst into tears. Margaret Dawson testified that Mary Beatrice professed not to mind about the sex
of the child she was carrying. At one point ‘some of her servants told her they hoped to see a Prince of Wales born. She answered she would compound for a little girl with all her heart’.
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Another view was that the Queen resorted to subterfuge only after suffering a miscarriage some months into her pregnancy. Burnet believed that this took place on Easter Monday, 16 April 1688, but some favoured 11 May as another possible date. On that day Mary Beatrice had fainted after being wrongly informed that her brother had died, but she soon revived and insisted that she had suffered no harm. According to the
Life of James II
, Anne ‘failed not to be there too’ when Mary Beatrice’s ladies flocked to tend their mistress. After appearing ‘so easy and kind that nothing could equal it’, she ‘talked of the Queen’s condition with mighty concern and was wanting in no manner of respect and care’.
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If this account was accurate, Anne was remarkably accomplished at dissimulating her true feelings.

While we can dismiss the theory that Mary Beatrice had a miscarriage, Anne was less fortunate. On 10 April Clarendon visited his niece at the Cockpit because her health was giving cause for concern. He found her ‘very cheerful and [she] said she was pretty well, but the women were apprehensive she would miscarry’. There was a debate among her doctors as to how she should be treated. Dr Richard Lower, who was Anne’s favourite physician at the time, advocated ‘a steel diet’. Sir Charles Scarborough, who like Lower had been called in by her father to treat Anne after her first unsuccessful pregnancy, was ‘positively against it, but Lower’s prescription prevailed’. After briefly appearing to be better, Anne became so seriously unwell that her life was feared for during the nights of 12 and 13 April. At four in the morning on 16 April she miscarried.
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Within a few hours Anne was strong enough to receive another visit from Clarendon, who found the King already by her side. The Princess told her uncle ‘she was as well as could be expected’, but her hopes had now been dashed so repeatedly that some despaired of her ability to reproduce. To make matters worse, some of the Princess’s attendants suggested that she had ‘had a false conception’, and merely imagined that she was pregnant. Anne’s most recent biographer has argued that this could have been correct, as most of the children from Anne’s other failed pregnancies are interred in Westminster Abbey, but there is no reference there to this one. It is possible, however, that this miscarriage occurred so early that it was impossible to determine the gender of the foetus, and so a burial in the Abbey was considered inappropriate. Whatever the truth of the matter, if the views expressed by her women reached Anne’s
ears at the time, it can only have added to her misery. Having embraced so wholeheartedly the idea that her stepmother was not carrying a baby, it would have been profoundly humiliating to discover that she was the one now alleged to have had a false pregnancy.
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Within a day of the Princess’s miscarriage it was known that she was planning to go to Bath as soon as she could travel. Anne’s eagerness to seek treatment there is surprising in view of the fact that only six weeks before she had ridiculed the idea that the spa’s therapeutic waters had enabled Mary Beatrice to conceive. Furthermore, it was obvious that if Anne was at Bath for the prescribed six weeks, she would only return a few days before the Queen had her baby, expected in mid July. When writing to Mary earlier in the year the Earl of Danby had attached particular importance to Anne being present when the child was delivered so that she could witness with her own eyes ‘the midwife discharge her duty with that care which ought to be had in a case of so great concern’. Despite this, it does not appear that Mary tried to persuade Anne to postpone her visit. While in theory it was possible for Anne to have a course of treatment and to be back in time, the schedule was alarmingly tight, and at least one person expressed surprise that ‘the Princess of Denmark would not complement the Queen and see her safely delivered before she went to the Bath’. One cannot but suspect that Anne subconsciously did not want to be there when the Queen’s time came, being reluctant ‘to be a witness of what she was resolved to question’.
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Anne set out for Bath on 24 May, intending to stay there until the end of June. Apologists for the Princess later claimed she was not to blame for absenting herself, and that she had only gone to Bath at her father’s insistence. In fact, according to the King, he would have preferred her ‘to defer her journey … till after the Queen’s delivery’, but when told that Anne’s doctors believed her health depended on her leaving for Bath at once, he agreed ‘all other considerations must yield to that’. In later years Anne herself did not pretend that her father had pressured her into going to Bath, acknowledging that in fact ‘she went upon the advice of her physicians’.
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Yet the myth that James had deliberately ensured that his daughter was out of London when the child arrived continued to be put forward as proof that there had been a premeditated conspiracy to foist an imposter on the realm.

The waters at Bath were famed for promoting fecundity. Barren ladies were advised both to immerse themselves for long periods, and to drink between one to three pints daily, taken ‘hot from the pump every morning’. As well as being good for rheumatism and pain in the bones, the
waters were renowned for ‘warming, strengthening, cherishing, cleansing the womb … discharging the moist and viscous particles that rendered it incapable to perform its office of conception’. An added bonus was protection against miscarriage. One doctor said that the excellent properties of the waters were demonstrated by the fact that the female bath attendants continued to work even when pregnant. Despite staying in the water for hours, ‘seldom or never any one of them miscarried, unless their husbands chance to quarrel with them and throw them downstairs’. Having initially been sceptical that the waters had done Mary Beatrice any good, Anne soon became convinced that the spa regime was very beneficial. On her return she told Clarendon ‘she found herself much the better for the Bath’, and she would revisit the town on numerous occasions in hopes of improving her health.
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Buoyed up by hopes that his regime would soon be consolidated by the birth of a male heir, the King had pressed on with his project to free Catholics from legal discrimination. In late April 1688 he had reissued his Declaration of Indulgence, which he now insisted must be read aloud on specified Sundays in churches throughout the land. On 18 May the Archbishop of Canterbury and six other bishops presented the King with a petition stating that they could not assist in distributing a declaration that contravened the law. In a fury the King declared this ‘the most seditious document I have ever seen’, and he was still more incensed when the petition appeared in print. To add to his chagrin, the Declaration of Indulgence was read in only four London churches on 20 May. On 8 June the seven bishops were summoned before the Privy Council and informed that they were to be charged with seditious libel. When the bishops declined to provide sureties they were sent to the Tower to await trial.

Although it had been understood that Anne would remain in Bath for a month, she had already decided to return to London much sooner than planned. Having been told by friends that it was inadvisable to be away at such a juncture, she applied to her father for permission to come home, claiming that the waters did not agree with her. Doubtless from a genuine concern for her welfare, James discouraged her from cutting short her stay at Bath, but Anne later ascribed a sinister motive to his reluctance to sanction her journey.
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When Anne persisted, the King agreed that she could come back if she wished, and by 9 June it was known that she would be in the capital within days. Unfortunately she had not even set out when, on the morning of 10 June 1688, the Queen gave birth to a strong, healthy son.

Although Anne was not there to see the child born, there were numerous other witnesses, for the Queen’s bedchamber was ‘filled with curious spectators’ as soon as she went into labour. The King later remarked that ‘by particular providence scarce any prince was ever born where there were so many persons present’, and the Tuscan ambassador was confident that after such a well-attested event, ‘all the mischievous deceits respecting a fictitious pregnancy must now be dispelled’.
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Amazingly however, many people, including Anne herself, remained convinced that a supposititious child had been smuggled into the Queen’s bed, possibly in a warming pan.

As soon as the child had been delivered, the King wasted no time in ordering an army officer named Colonel Oglethorp to take a letter in his own hand to Bath, informing Anne and George of the birth of his son. Before he set off, James took him to have a look at the baby so that Oglethorp could testify that he had seen it in the flesh. The Imperial ambassador questioned whether this would suffice to convince ill-disposed people, whose ‘malice was such that they are capable of believing whatever accords with their interests, even if their own eyes prove the opposite’.
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Events subsequently would prove him right.

In the weeks following the birth Anne outlined to Mary her reasons for suspecting that the birth had not been genuine. She made much of the fact that Mary Beatrice had changed her mind about where to have the baby: having originally intended to lie in at Windsor Castle, the Queen had subsequently decided that St James’s Palace would suit her better. To Anne’s mind, St James’s was ‘much the properest place to act … a cheat in’.
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The fact that the baby had been delivered less than two hours after the Queen had felt the first pains was also deemed noteworthy, even though at least one of Mary Beatrice’s earlier children had arrived equally fast. Nor was it the first time that a child of hers had been born sooner than expected, for the same thing had happened in 1682. On that occasion too, the baby appeared fully developed, so it was concluded at the time that Mary Beatrice must have miscalculated the date of conception. Anne had better reason than most to be understanding about such mistakes, for in 1686 her own daughter Anne Sophia had arrived a month earlier than her official due date; since she was a good-sized and healthy child she was almost certainly not premature. Anne, however, was not disposed to make any allowances on this account. She told her sister, ‘That which to me seems the plainest thing in the world is [the Queen] being brought to bed two days after she heard of my coming to
town, and saying that the child was come at the full time, when everybody knows, by her own reckoning, that she should have gone a month longer’.
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Having arrived back in London on 15 June, Anne busied herself writing privately to her sister Mary, elaborating on her thoughts. ‘My dear sister can’t imagine the concern and vexation I have been in, that I should be so unfortunate to be out of town when the Queen was brought to bed, for I shall never now be satisfied whether the child be true or false’. While acknowledging ‘It may be it is our brother but God only knows’, she also stressed that ‘where one believes it a thousand do not’. Despite her pretence of retaining an open mind, she concluded, ‘for my part, except they do give very plain demonstrations, which is almost impossible now, I shall ever be of the number of unbelievers’.
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