He laughed himself from court; then sought relief,
By forming parties, but could ne’er be chief;
For, spite of him, the weight of business fell
On Absalom, and wise Achitophel;
Thus, wicked but in will, of means bereft,
He left not faction, but of that was left.
Chapter 10
THE LOST MISTRESS
THE FINAL SCANDAL of the duke’s life unfolded in 1680 when his opponents conspired to accuse him of the capital crime of sodomy. The plot was probably instigated either by Danby or Edward Christian, the corrupt former manager of Buckingham’s estates. Two Irishmen claimed that Buckingham had committed sodomy with a woman called Sarah Harwood and then forced her to flee to France. The case was brought before Sir William Waller, Justice of the Peace, but the grand jury found that the evidence against Buckingham was inadequate. Although Buckingham’s accusers were subsequently put on trial and found guilty of conspiring to defame the duke, the incident had already further eroded his reputation. The coronation of James II in 1685 was Buckingham’s final public appearance. With the death of Charles, he no longer held a position of privilege at the English court and there was no reason for him to remain within easy reach of London and Windsor any more.
Worn down and stripped of his honours, Buckingham retired to Helmsley Castle in Yorkshire. In April 1687, he caught a chill while out fox hunting. He was put to bed in one of his tenant’s houses in the marketplace at Kirkby Moorside. His condition grew worse and on 16 April, the man who had been raised in the cradle with the king died alone among strangers.
While Buckingham died a broken man, Anna Maria had successfully reinvented herself as a respectable wife. Her financial support enabled her new husband, George Rodney Brydges, to become active in politics. She paid £4,500 to buy him a position as Groom of the Bedchamber and it was almost certainly through her influence that he was appointed to the Staffordshire Lieutenancy in 1680. Later, backed by Charles Talbot, he developed influential connections in the Whig party, a move that would have aligned him with his wife’s former lover. He was also noted for his involvement in the management of Irish estates and his role in the inquiry into the corrupt affairs of the East India Company, which paved the way for the impeachment of Lord Danby at the end of 1695. The pair remained married for 25 years until Anna Maria’s death in 1702, at the age of 60.
History has not been kind to Buckingham and Anna Maria. Writers at the time and subsequent historians have viewed the duke’s life as a simple morality tale, the story of a degenerate’s decline and fall; Buckingham has been entered into the annals of history as emblematic of all that was louche, excessive and immoral in the Restoration court. Alexander Pope’s depiction of his death in his Moral Essays encouraged the perception of a once-mighty figure who through his arrogance, lust and stupidity, lost his fortune and died in squalor, left with only the jewelled insignia of the Order of the Garter as a reminder of his life of splendour:
In the worst inn’s room, with mat half-hung,
The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung,
On once a flock-bed, but repaired with straw,
With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw,
The George and Garter dangling from that bed
Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,
Great Villiers lies – alas! How changed from him,
That life of pleasure and that soul of whim!1
It is true that Buckingham viewed both his own life and his loss of Anna Maria as tragic, writing in his commonplace book, ‘in those mighty volumes of the stars / There’s writ no sadder story than my fate’.2 However, to dismiss George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham as an incompetent reprobate, who got his just deserts, is to ignore the complexities, talents and vision of the man. Buckingham may have been a remorseless pleasure-seeker but he also made valuable contributions to art and culture. His play The Rehearsal had a big impact on the London stage for over a century – between 1674 and 1777 there were at least 156 revivals, the most recent being by the American Shakespeare Center in 2012. Buckingham’s decision to create a trust to manage his finances was originally seen as further evidence of his inability to manage his excessive spending, but was actually part of a complex strategy to protect his lands in a time of political uncertainty. The fact that his wealth was held in trust, along with the neatness of Pope’s narrative, and the immediate circumstances of his death, have led to a widespread misconception that he died in poverty: in fact, the duke died a wealthy man, and his estates were sold off after his death not to satisfy his creditors – most of whom had already been paid – but because he died intestate and without legal heirs.3
Anna Maria has been treated even more harshly. Her affair with Buckingham made her notorious within her lifetime. In annotations to his copy of Nicholas Cross’s Cynosura, Thomas Barlow, the Bishop of Lincoln and a contemporary of Anna Maria’s, identified her as a ‘whore’.4 Other contemporary commentators characterised her as lustful, greedy and Machiavellian. One Restoration reader added Anna Maria’s name to the title in their copy of the Jacobean play The Insatiate Countess, so that it became ‘the Insatiate Countess of Shrewsbury’.5
The relative lack of surviving letters or manuscripts documenting Anna Maria’s experience and opinions has made her an easy target for moralising and caricature. The vilification of Anna Maria reached its apotheosis in late Victorian times. In her biography of Buckingham, Lady Winifred Burghclere depicted Anna Maria as a monstrous creature:
In an age of scandalous depravity, Anna Maria Brudenell, Countess of Shrewsbury, achieved an evil pre-eminence. Reared amidst the turbulence of civil factions, she had imbibed none of that wholesome terror of the law, which often curbs the impulses of the conscienceless; while, though born and bred a Roman Catholic, no ghostly menace, no dread of death and judgement, could check the primeval vigour of her natural instincts. Even in that coarse and blood-stained time, she seems an anachronism, and we seek her fellows rather in the Rome of the Caesars than in the Court of the laughter-loving Charles.6
But perhaps instead of seeing Anna Maria as a wanton woman with an insatiable lust for blood and sex, we can understand her as an arch pragmatist, trying to negotiate her way in a competitive court culture where women had little independent material power. She was dazzled by the glittering prizes offered by a life as Buckingham’s mistress. It is a sad irony that she was never able to fully enjoy Cliveden, the greatest prize of all, which Buckingham had the vision to create for her in a previously bare landscape. She will always be the lost mistress of Cliveden.
PART II
ELIZABETH
1879–1964
Chapter 1
FROM RICHMOND TO ‘ROYAL WHORE’
UNLIKE ANNA MARIA, Elizabeth Villiers was never lauded for her beauty. Her distinguishing feature was a severe squint in her left eye; a contemporary described her as being ‘crookedly built’ and contrasted the ‘jerky’ manner in which she walked with the swan-like gait considered desirable.1 But her sharp intelligence, compassion and social dexterity more than compensated for her lacklustre appearance. She excelled in conversation and was, according to Jonathan Swift, ‘the wisest woman I ever saw’,2 while her natural instinct for politics made her the confidante of many leading figures of the time. In his long poem The Progress of Beauty, Lord Lansdowne lauded Elizabeth, who was ‘for wisdom and deep judgement fam’d’.3 In short, she offers a very different conception of feminine power from the first mistress of Cliveden.
Elizabeth was born in 1657, the eldest daughter of Frances and Sir Edward Villiers. Frances Villiers was governess to the children of James, Duke of York, Charles II’s brother and heir. After the Restoration, Sir Edward Villiers was appointed estate keeper at Richmond Palace, one of the Duke’s residences.4 The position involved looking after the park, lodges and game as well as the wardrobe and garden of the palace, which dated back to the reign of Henry VII. Elizabeth and her five sisters spent a car
efree childhood in the charmingly dilapidated red brick buildings of the old royal residence.
In 1669, the Duke of York underwent a crisis of conscience and sought comfort in the arms of the Catholic Church. Over the next few years it became widespread knowledge that he had converted to Catholicism. He was eventually forced to admit this publicly by the Test Act of 1673, which required public office holders to take an oath repudiating papism. When James refused to comply, he was forced to resign from his position as Lord Admiral. At a time when popular English wisdom associated Protestantism with political liberty and Catholicism with tyranny, James’s papish predilections sparked fears that he would turn the country into a Catholic state along the lines of absolutist France. In order to prevent the duke’s two daughters Mary and Anne from succumbing to the corrosive influence of their father’s religion, Charles II relocated them from St James’s Palace to Richmond, where they were put into the care of Elizabeth’s parents, Edward and Frances Villiers.5 By this point Elizabeth was in her early teens. Like George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, her second cousin once removed, she would spend her formative years in the intimate company of royalty. There seems to be a royal thread running through the fabric of Cliveden’s history.
Mary, who would later become Mary II, was highly strung and even at a young age intensely concerned with questions of religion and morality. In Richmond Palace in the early 1670s, neither she nor Elizabeth Villiers could have imagined the tortuous romantic liaisons that would later divide them. The royal nursery was an environment dominated by women and the atmosphere at Richmond resembled that of a refined sleepover. Besides the princesses, Elizabeth and her sisters were educated with other daughters of the aristocracy. The wide age range in the nursery resulted in an emotional hierarchy in which older girls would care for the younger ones, but they were all equally mischievous: the girls would often ask their art teacher, the dwarf Richard Gibson, to smuggle out notes to their friends living nearby.6 Her years at Richmond equipped Elizabeth with two immensely important attributes – a strong female sensibility and a sense of ease in the company of royalty. These were skills that would serve her well in the next phase of her life.
Although the Richmond set were schooled in French and arithmetic, the primary focus of their education was the acquisition of feminine accomplishments – drawing, playing music, dancing – and the teachings of the Church of England, in which they were instructed by Henry Compton, Bishop of Oxford and then London, and the chaplain Edward Lake.7 While Elizabeth distinguished herself academically, her sister Anne found the lessons more challenging. Anne was considered the prettiest Villiers sister; she was also the most sensitive, and found it hard growing up in Elizabeth’s shadow. This set up a dynamic of sibling rivalry that would intensify as the girls matured. In reality Anne’s perception of her sister’s educational accomplishment was inflated, for despite growing up in a royal nursery and having obvious intellectual gifts, Elizabeth did not receive the education she deserved. By the end of the 17th century, the broad humanist curriculum prescribed to both sexes during the Tudor period had disappeared and literacy was no longer considered a priority in female education.
The sisterly spirit at Richmond Palace also extended to girls in the surrounding area. Nearby in Kew lived the four daughters of Samuel Fortrey, and through the Fortreys, Elizabeth was introduced to the beautiful and charismatic Sarah Jennings, with whom she would later have a volatile and competitive relationship.8 Meanwhile, the princesses Mary and Anne developed a particular attachment to Frances Apsley, daughter of Sir Allen Apsley, the Treasurer of the Duke of York’s household. Written correspondence between Frances and Mary started around 1675, when the former was 22 and the latter 13. The princess’s passionate avowals went far beyond the sentiments ordinarily expressed by female friends. The language of her letters was quite remarkable. ‘My dearest dear husband,’ she wrote, ‘my much loved husband … How I dote on you, oh, I am in raptures of sweet amaze, when I think of you I am in ecstasy’. On another occasion, she confessed that she loved Frances ‘with a flame more lasting than the vestals’ fire… with a love that ne’er was known by man; I have for you excess of friendship, more of love than any woman can for woman.’9 Whether or not Mary’s attachment was sexual or platonic, the sheer force of her admiration for Frances highlights the value she placed on female kinship. Anne also developed strong feelings for Frances, and this became a source of tension between the sisters for a while. After she was moved away from Richmond, Mary never again had such an obsession with a member of her own sex; in Anne’s case, her attraction to Frances Apsley was a precursor to future infatuations with women.10
Adult responsibilities came early in the 17th century and the years of girlish glee at Richmond were brought to a premature end when in 1677, at the age of 15, Mary was married. Charles II, concerned that the monarchy was in jeopardy due to his brother’s evident Catholicism, had arranged a shrewd alliance, matching his niece Mary to his Dutch nephew, Prince William III of Orange, a celebrated Protestant and the living incarnation of resistance to Catholic tyranny. Mary was second in line to the throne and the marriage would ensure Protestant succession provided James remained childless. The pair would live together in the Dutch Republic. Mary asked Elizabeth, as well as her sisters Catherine and Anne and their mother Frances, to join her retinue. Elizabeth was appointed to the coveted position of maid of honour.
The marriage between William and Mary was a sombre private affair, held on 4 November 1677 in Mary’s bedchamber at St James’s Palace. Only their closest relatives were present, along with Henry Compton, who was officiating, and Hans William Bentinck, the Prince of Orange’s best man. The bride wept frequently in the lead-up to the ceremony – they were not tears of joy.11 Emotionally charged at the best of times, Mary was terrified of leaving her native England and travelling to an alien land with a man she barely knew. The role of guardian of Protestant succession in England was an onerous responsibility to rest on the slight shoulders of a 15-year old girl. To make matters worse, William was twice Mary’s age and anything but an Adonis. He had a long, hooked and rather crooked nose, and legs that were too short for the rest of his body. Mary, who at 5 feet 11 inches was unusually tall, towered half a foot over him. William’s manner failed to compensate for these physical flaws – formal and aloof, he was socially graceless and found it impossible to put others at ease.
Mary’s impending departure to the Dutch Republic was accelerated by news, a few days later, that her sister Anne had contracted smallpox. Soon Lady Frances, Elizabeth’s mother, had also succumbed to the disease. Fearful that his new wife would fall prey to the illness, William decided to leave for Holland as soon as possible. Lady Frances could not accompany her daughters because she was contagious, and was too unwell to travel regardless. When the wind changed on 19 November, the party boarded a barge at Whitehall steps and then the yacht Mary at Erith, a port further down the Thames. Elizabeth and her sisters were forced to leave their mother in England on the point of death. They were never to see her again.
Elizabeth endured a punishing crossing to Holland. While contending with seasickness, homesickness and grief about her mother, she was also responsible for the pastoral care of the anxious Princess Mary. From the start, the journey was beset by problems. The sea was so unpredictable that the travellers were forced to land at Sheerness, before starting their journey again when the weather improved.12 It was eventually decided that William and Mary should travel in separate ships, but when the yachts finally reached the Dutch coast, they found the river Maas blocked by ice floes. If they waited for the Maas to clear the wind might blow them back to England, so they anchored off the small fishing village of Ter Heyde. Elizabeth, Mary and the rest of the girls all piled into a small rowing boat and were taken ashore.13 No doubt they would have been struck, as were other English travellers, by the bleak, flat landscape with its silty inlets and poldered farmlands. At 20 years old Elizabeth Villiers had been wrenched from the uterine s
afety of Richmond, cast out to sea, and deposited in a land that, though England’s neighbour, was entirely foreign and inhospitable.
The Dutch Republic had a complex and bloody history. The territory had previously been ruled by the Habsburg Crown as part of the larger Spanish Netherlands, but in 1568, the Habsburgs had been ejected by popular Protestant rebellion. Thirteen years later, the rebellion culminated in the northern part of the Spanish Netherlands becoming the Republic of the Seven United Netherlands, or the Dutch Republic. Conflict between the Republic and the Habsburg Crown had raged on for generations in the Eighty Years War, which only ended in 1648 with the Peace of Munster. Spanish brutality during the prolonged war had created a lasting anti-Catholic feeling and spawned various legends of resistance and fortitude around which Dutch national identity had been constructed.
The Republic consisted of seven relatively autonomous provinces, presided over by a central assembly, the States General, and an elected ruler, the stadtholder. Though each province was in theory empowered to choose its own stadtholder, after the initial stadtholderate of William I, the role became closely associated with the House of Orange, which came to form an effective dynasty of rulers. There were significant disagreements about how powerful the role of stadtholder should be. The centralising rule of William II provoked much dissent among those who wanted to limit the power of the stadtholder and, after his sudden death in 1650, five of the seven provinces voted to eschew the role altogether, opting instead to be governed by the less powerful figure of Grand Pensionary. For 22 years, this office was occupied by the republican Johan de Witt, Holland’s answer to Oliver Cromwell.
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