Queen Anne: The Politics of Passion (70 page)

Making the Breach Wider

Overwhelmed with sorrow at the death of her husband, the Queen decreed that the nation should adopt deep mourning. It was even stipulated that coaches in the streets should no longer be adorned with varnished nails. For the next two years Anne shrouded herself in black veils and dark weeds, as befitted a grieving widow, with even her stays and nightwear being fashioned in sombre colours.
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The Queen found some consolation in sitting in the little room at St James’s Palace where George had made model ships, and where his tools were still stored. Anne went there to read alone and pray, but the increasingly deluded Duchess of Marlborough was convinced that her visits had some ulterior purpose. Noting that George’s workroom opened at the back onto a staircase that led to Abigail’s lodgings, Sarah concluded that Anne used this route to go to Abigail unobserved, and that Abigail then smuggled in opposition politicians to confer with her.
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When Parliament assembled on 16 November 1708 the Queen did not put in an appearance, and Parliament was opened by commission for the first time since the days of Elizabeth. The Commons were sufficiently concerned to present an address to the Queen, begging her to ‘moderate the grief so justly due on this sad occasion, since it cannot be indulged without endangering the health of your royal person’. While these loyal sentiments were deemed acceptable, there was general astonishment when, just two months later, Parliament addressed Anne again, requesting her ‘to entertain thoughts of a second marriage’ in the hope that God would ‘bless your Majesty with royal issue’. This suggestion was widely regarded as extraordinarily insensitive, and a female relative of Robert Harley exclaimed in disgust, ‘’twould make a dog die laughing’. It may be, however, that the move was not so unfeeling as it appeared. There are indications that the ministry had heard that more plans were afoot to invite one of the Queen’s Hanoverian heirs to England, and it was intended to forestall these by giving the impression that Anne might yet produce offspring of her own.
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Aware that ‘nice wording’ was in order, the Queen duly relayed to Parliament a suitably neutral answer. It began by stating, ‘The provision I have made for the Protestant succession will always be a proof how much I have at my heart the future happiness of the kingdom’. It has been suggested that these words were deliberately chosen to conjure up an image of the Queen in the role of an expectant mother who traditionally ‘made provision’ for her unborn child by purchasing linen and other necessaries. Having thus subliminally reminded her subjects of her maternal care for their welfare, the Queen could deflect their request that she should become a mother in the literal sense by observing, ‘This address is of such a nature that I am persuaded you do not expect a particular answer’. A diplomat accredited to one of the allied powers was full of admiration for this tactful response, which he considered ‘beautifully judged’.
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By the beginning of 1709 the Queen was no longer keeping herself in such rigorous seclusion, for she received visits from ladies in her bedchamber. On her birthday there was even a reception at court, though no music or theatrical entertainment lightened the occasion. Guests were required to wear strict mourning, as the Queen was very upset when anyone came to court whom she considered improperly dressed. In March she indignantly drew the Lord Chamberlain’s attention to recent breaches of the dress code, telling him to take care that in future ‘no lady should be admitted to come into the chapel at St James’s that had any coloured handkerchiefs or anything of colours about them’. Already, she said angrily, there had been ‘ladies that came into the very face of her with those coloured things, and she would not suffer it’. Her complaint was thought to have been prompted by the fact that when she first saw company in her bedroom, the Duchess of Marlborough’s daughters were not clothed entirely in black, and Sarah too had been dressed more flashily than was altogether fitting, being ‘the only one that had powder in her hair or a patch on her face’.
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After the London silk weavers petitioned in the spring of 1709 for an end to mourning, it was announced that only the Queen’s servants and anyone who had access to her person must still observe it. Later, however, it was reported that Anne had not authorised any relaxation and was ‘angry at it’, though all she could do was ensure that the rules were strictly enforced on anyone who came into her presence. In April one of her equerries reported that ‘all that go to court here are in as deep [mourning] as ever’, and the court retained its sombre aspect until the second anniversary of George’s death had passed.
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In early December 1708 the citadel of Lille finally capitulated to Marlborough’s besieging forces. Marlborough was then able to retake Ghent and Bruges, which were back in allied possession by the end of the year. Showing no sign that Harley had yet succeeded in lessening her regard for the Duke, the Queen wrote to thank him for his recent achievements, ‘in which the hand of God is very visible’. Since years of war had reduced France to near bankruptcy it seemed unthinkable that Louis XIV could continue the fight much longer, enabling Anne to express a fervent hope that the next year’s campaign would bring a ‘safe and honourable peace’.
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In Parliament the Whigs had done much to facilitate what was hoped would be a final push against France, voting enormous sums of money and augmenting the army with a further 10,000 men in British pay. Yet Lord Godolphin still could not feel that he rested on a secure foundation, for despite having obtained the appointment of Somers and Wharton in the teeth of royal resistance, he was aware that the Junto believed they owed him little gratitude. To Marlborough, he wrote querulously that although ‘things may appear … to be upon a very good foot here as to the support of the war, yet … the credit of the government and the administration at home … are in a very uncertain, precarious condition’. He added darkly that he believed the main cause ‘for the present ferment … is that the [Queen’s] intimacy and private conversation seems to lean only to those who are enemies’ to the Whigs.
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The Tories continued to make life uncomfortable for the Lord Treasurer by attacking him in Parliament. There were several occasions when he ‘was roasted’ by their ‘warm speeches against him’ and in the midst of these troubles he had little reason to think that the Junto were solidly behind him. Far from being satisfied with the recent promotions, they now wanted yet more power, proving so fractious that in February 1709 one Tory heard of ‘very great heats between the Treasurer and his new friends’. Godolphin found Lord Somers particularly difficult although, ironically, once the Queen started having regular dealings with her new Lord President, she had taken to him. He was able to charm her because, according to Jonathan Swift, there was no one with ‘talents more proper to acquire and preserve the favour of a prince; never offending in word or gesture … in the highest degree courteous and complaisant’. With Marlborough and Godolphin however, he was far more abrasive, and it angered the Duchess of Marlborough that he presumed ‘to direct and impose upon [them] from the first moment he came into business’. She claimed further that he deliberately left it to Marlborough
and Godolphin to convey unwelcome requests to the Queen, who failed to realise that it was Somers who had inspired them. All of this tried Godolphin’s patience to such an extent that he moaned, ‘The life of a slave in the galleys is paradise in comparison of mine’.
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Within four months of Somers and Wharton taking office, the Junto focused on ousting Lord Pembroke from the Admiralty and replacing him with another of their members, Lord Orford. Godolphin knew that Anne would inevitably set herself against it, and foresaw being embroiled in further difficulties. He wrote moodily, ‘I am pretty sure [the Queen] will not be brought to do what only will be liked and if it be not done the blame will be laid where it uses to be in cases’ – that is, on himself. In June Marlborough was informed ‘the Juntonians grow more pressing in the Admiralty affair’, for they were now arguing that their parliamentary strength entitled them to impose on the Queen party government in its purest form, on the grounds that their Whig followers ‘will not be easy without [the ministry] being of a piece’.
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Despite his great triumphs, Marlborough felt no less insecure than the Lord Treasurer. His confidence had been understandably undermined by attacks on him in the press, the most notable of which was the tract entitled
A Dream at Harwich
(in which Harley may have had a hand) published in January 1709. This piece not only fulminated against the entire Marlborough family’s plundering of national resources, but was particularly unflattering about Sarah, who was portrayed as breathing ‘sulphurous smoke’ at the Queen. The envoy of the States General in London was shocked that, ‘notwithstanding all the great wonders that the Duke of Marlborough has done’, he and his wife should be so horridly abused.
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Marlborough had also been incensed when the Tories in Parliament had introduced an address congratulating their supporter General Webb, who, during the siege of Lille, had kept the army’s supply route open by winning an encounter with the enemy at Wynendale. Marlborough had mistakenly failed to mention Webb in despatches, whereupon the Tories put it about that he had deliberately sought to deprive him of his share of glory. The Duke was bitter at the Whigs’ failure to protect him against such attacks. What was worse, however, was that he believed the Tories had been encouraged by Abigail, ‘and that they are told by her and [Harley] that [the Queen] will not be displeased at this proceeding’. By mid 1709 he was convinced that Abigail had succeeded in alienating Anne from him, telling Sarah bitterly that knowing full well the Queen
had ‘no more tenderness’ for him, he had steeled himself ‘never to expect any’. This belief was confirmed when he heard that Abigail had assured Harley ‘and some of his wretches that, let my services or successes be what they would … I should receive no encouragement’ from the Queen, forcing him to retire.
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Fearing that royal favour was inexorably ebbing away, Marlborough decided to demand a mark of confidence from Anne. Probably in April 1709, when he was in England on a brief visit, Marlborough went to the Queen and asked that his office of Captain-General, currently held during royal pleasure, should be conferred on him for life. He could argue that this would reassure the Dutch and other allies that his standing was unassailable and, by heightening his prestige, make it easier for him to uphold British interests. It would also free him from the necessity of worrying about domestic party politics, enabling him to devote all his energy to his military command. Yet, from the Queen’s point of view, the prospect of the army being permanently entrusted to a man who held his command independently of the Crown was deeply disquieting, for it would arguably give Marlborough the power to establish a military dictatorship. Some eighteen months after Marlborough first approached the Queen on the matter, Swift would assert that even making the request had been ‘highly criminal’, because ‘a general during pleasure’ who had evolved into ‘a general for life’ might subsequently metamorphose ‘into a king’.
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Understandably the Queen reacted warily to Marlborough’s proposal, saying she ‘would take time to consider it’. Instead of letting the matter rest, the Duke then consulted Lord Cowper, now promoted to Lord Chancellor, asking him to unearth precedents justifying the grant. After a time Cowper reported back that he could discover none, and that he would not be in favour of such an arrangement. Lord Somers too was hostile when he learned what Marlborough wanted, and told the Queen that it would be inadvisable and dangerous to comply.
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Yet Marlborough was not deterred, and after going abroad again he wrote to the Queen reiterating his request that his command should be made permanent.

Writing shortly after Anne’s death in 1714, Swift declared that ‘the Queen was highly alarmed at this extraordinary proceeding and talked to a person whom she had then taken into confidence as if she apprehended an attempt upon the Crown’. The person alluded to would have been Abigail Masham, who provided Swift with some of the information on which he based his account of political developments in Anne’s reign. On the other hand, in October 1709, Anne herself told Marlborough that
Abigail was at that stage unaware of his desire to be given lifetime tenure of his post, and had nothing to do with her reluctance to grant it.
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Yet even if Abigail and Harley initially remained in ignorance, the fact that Marlborough had rendered the Queen uneasy played into their hands, and made it easier for them to make her mistrustful of the duumvirs.

Memos penned by Harley in 1709 show how hard he worked to portray them as having abused the Queen’s goodwill, and to exacerbate her resentment at having the Whigs imposed upon her. In one of these papers, dating from April 1709, he expressed regret that the Queen was in the grip of ‘bullies’; three months later he noted, ‘the more she yields, the worse she is used as appears by experience’. Sure that ‘they will never forget that she was of another opinion from them, nor never forgive it’, he warned, ‘Every ill thing … [they get] the Queen to comply with encourages them to ask more’. This statement would certainly have struck a resonant note with Anne when Marlborough put his demand regarding the Captain-Generalcy to her.
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The memos provide backing for Sarah’s belief that Abigail and Harley magnified the financial benefits the Marlboroughs had gained from the Queen, while belittling the Duke’s services. At one point Harley alludes to the cost of Blenheim, wanting to know ‘how long a nation will suffer themselves to be cheated?’ He scathingly termed Marlborough and Godolphin ‘the two Kings’ and condemned their ‘unsatiable avarice’ and ‘unreasonable powers’. It seems that Sarah had a point when she wrote indignantly of ‘these wicked people persuading the Queen my Lord Marlborough was dangerous’; perhaps it was also true that when Abigail was alone with her mistress she referred to Marlborough as ‘King John’ and cautioned Anne that he ‘aimed at no less than her crown’.
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