A Want of Kindness
Contents page
Published in hardback in Great Britain in 2015 by Atlantic Books, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.
Copyright © Joanne Limburg, 2015
The moral right of Joanne Limburg to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Hardback ISBN: 978 1 78239 585 0
Trade paperback ISBN: 978 1 78239 588 1
E-book ISBN: 978 1 78239 589 8
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Dedication
In memory of
Ruth Helen Limburg
Contents
Dramatis Personae
Part I
Calisto and Nyphe
The King’s Dogs
Man or Tree?
The Ruin of Winifred Wells
A Catechism
In the Ruelle
What a Good English Princess Knows About Catholics
Love
From Lady Anne of York to Mrs Mary Cornwallis
The Duke’s Dogs
From Lady Anne of York to Mrs Mary Cornwallis
Mary’s Closet
Tom Thumb, his Life and Death
The Dean of the Chapels Royal
Letters From Lady Anne of York to Mary Cornwallis, August 1676 – October 1677
Anne in Flames
Anne’s Skin
Part II
Anne’s Maternal Line
Anne Enters Into Her Closet
The Princess of Orange
The Duchess’s Secretary
The Martyrdom of Charles I
Anne and Isabella
The English Tongue, Already so Rich in Insults, Acquires Two More
Anne in her Closet, Windsor, July, 1679
At The Inn for Exiled Princes
A Game of Ombre
Anne is Thankful
The Duchess’s Ball
Isabella’s Sister
Prince George Ludwig of Hanover
Anne Enters Into Her Cabin
Scottish Gallants
With the Duchess
What Anne Learns from Sarah Churchill
The Duchess’s Health
Lady Peterborough’s Nephew
What a Good English Princess Knows about Protestant Dissenters
The Princess and the Poet: a Romance or All-pride and Naughty Nan: a Comedy
Part III
His Majesty’s Declaration to all His Loving Subjects
The Prince and Princess of Denmark
Anne’s Maids of Honour
Hans in Kelder
Anne’s Fall
12th May 1684
Anne Gives Thanks in Tunbridge Wells
The King’s Body, and his Immortal Soul
King James II’s First Speech to His Privy Council, As It Was Taken Down by Heneage Finch, Printed at London by the Assigns of John Bill, Deceased, and by Henry Hills and Thomas Newcomb, and Subsequently Read to the Princess of Denmark by Her Ladyship, the Countess of Clarendon.
Anne’s Religion
The King and his Parliament
Anne’s Daughter
King Monmouth
Physic
The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes
Anne’s Uncle Rochester
The Triumph of Squinting Betty
The Man from Versailles
The Vapours
The Queen of Hungary’s Water
Anne Treats Her Father Like a Turk
Lady Churchill’s Character
The Man from The Hague
From the Princess of Denmark to the Princess of Orange
Anne’s Fear
22nd October 1687
The Queen Is With Child
The King’s Vexation
The Queen’s Belly
From the Princess of Denmark to the Princess of Orange
16 April 1688
Exodus 14:13
From the Princess of Denmark to the Princess of Orange
The Parable of the Ten Virgins
Anne’s Uncle Clarendon
His Majesty Bleeds at the Nose
Part IV
The Throne is Vacant
Anne’s Abdication
Anne’s Sister
Lord Devonshire’s Leavings
Peas
Anne is Delivered in State
Mrs Pack
Persons Not At Ease
Anne in Lent
Chintz
Campden House
14th October 1690
The Queen’s Ladies
Anne Dines at Holywell
Anne’s Non-Naturals
The Reformation of Manners
From the Princess of Denmark to King James, written with the assistance of the Earl and Countess of Marlborough
Anne and her Sister Mary
The Earl of Marlborough’s Dismissal
From the Queen to the Princess of Denmark
From the Princess of Denmark to the Queen
Syon House
17th April 1692
Unkindness
Lady Marlborough’s Misfortunes
The Duke of Gloucester’s Birthday
Anne is Pardoned
In Bed with the Denmarks
What a Good English Prince Knows About Warfare
21st January 1694
Gloucester’s Progress or The Making of a Soldier
Mary Consumed
Part V
Anne at Thirty
The Good Hope
20th September 1696
Anne Dances
Love for Love
25th March 1697
The Peace of Ryswick
2nd December 1697
Whitehall Burns
Gloucester Is Taken Out of the Hands of Women
15th September 1698
Anne’s Bedchamber Woman
25th January 1700
From the Princess of Denmark to the Countess of Marlborough, in gratitude for her Lord’s good offices in securing a repayment for the Prince
The Duke’s Eleventh Birthday
Settlement
Acknowledgements
Dramatis Personae
Part I
Calisto and Nyphe
Anne and her sister Mary make their entrance into Court under wooden clouds, that smell a little of distemper. Their bodies are draped in heavy layers of silk and brocade, run through with gold and silver thread, and made heavier still by the many jewels their dressers ha
ve attached to them; Anne feels heavy inside too, as if all the months of practice and expectation, the dancing lessons, the acting lessons, the fittings, the conversations overheard, and even her own prayers have all been mixed up and baked together, so that now the whole concoction sits stolidly in her breast, like a pudding on a pantry shelf.
For all this weight, she treads daintily – if not quite as daintily as Mary – her arms outstretched as they have been taught, holding a castanet in each hand. The sisters take their places first, then the other young ladies take their places behind and to either side. First they curtsy – everything begins with a curtsy – then there is a little pause, a quick burst of applause, and the music starts, half flowing up from the pit, and half down from the clouds, two separate streams of sound that pool together on the stage, exactly where she stands.
Now they begin to trace the steps that they have learned, with the viols and the recorders treading alongside, three slow beats at a time; underneath the music, Anne can hear the heels of their shoes sliding against the baize, the little thuds they make when they all step in time, and the rustling of their skirts whenever, with a pert clicking of castanets, they kick up and show the Court their stockings. It is a pretty song, so the hardest task she has is to keep herself from humming. The Court is watching her, so the Court might well be listening too.
Anne is, for once, grateful that God has given her such bad eyes. From the stage, the Court is no more than a glistening murmur, held at bay by a row of candles. Their flames run together, making a bank of fire. She can see smaller lights flashing on the dancers’ costumes and when the dance brings her close enough, she catches a glimpse of a face: Mary’s is taut with concentration; the others’ are scared or excited or saucy, according to temperament. This is as much as she wishes to see. If she saw anything more, she fears she would not be able to dance at all.
The music stops, the Court applauds, and now Anne can go back to the tiring-room, where Danvers and the other dressers are waiting, and where she can refresh herself from dishes of oranges, olives and almonds. As she steps through the wings, she meets the Duke of Monmouth and his gentlemen on their way to the baize to dance a minuet. Lady Henrietta Wentworth stops suddenly to watch them walking out, and Carey Fraser, who is just behind, nearly trips over her gown – a couple of the other young ladies giggle, and are shushed.
Monmouth is the King’s eldest son, but not his heir: that is the King’s brother, the Duke of York, Anne’s father. Mary’s and Anne’s places, at Court, and in the succession, are therefore ordained by God, and the masque they are about to perform has been commissioned so that these important truths might be confirmed and demonstrated. Monmouth’s place is altogether less certain, but he is handsome and beloved, one of the lights of the Court, so it is only right that he should have his minuet, and lead the dance. Mary says it is to show the world how well the King loves him; Squinting Betty Villiers, who has no part, says it is to show the Court how well his leg is turned.
The masque has been written by a Mr Crowne who, as he writes in his dedication to Mary, has been unexpectedly called out of his obscurity by the command of their step-mother the Duchess, to the glory of serving her fair and excellent Highness. So unexpected was this call, he explains, that he has not had time to ripen his conceptions, and regrets that the words he has found for Mary to say must fall sadly short of the excellence of her thoughts:
For none can have Angelical thoughts but they who have Angelical virtues; and none do, or ever did, in so much youth, come to so near the perfection of Angels as yourself, and your young Princely Sister, in whom all those excellencies shine, which the best of us can but rudely paint.
Anne is used to hearing Mary’s perfections praised: she is quick, she is diligent, beautiful, agreeable, pious; she dances gracefully, draws and paints exquisitely, embroiders charmingly. Conscientious in all things, she read the whole libretto of Calisto: the Chaste Nymph as soon as it was put into her hands. Her young Princely Sister has seen only her own parts, because reading makes her eyes water. Mary’s view is that Anne could read much more if she wanted to, but as she is herself always just as willing to talk as to read, she has told Anne the whole story, more than once:
‘We’re to play sisters – Calisto and Nyphe – they’re princesses, and nymphs serving Diana. Jupiter and Mercury watch them. Jupiter loves Calisto. She loves only innocence and chastity, but there’s a jealous nymph, Psecas, who thinks she’s shamming it. Psecas knows Mercury loves her, and means to pretend to love him in return, so her conduct will shame all the rest—’
‘How’s that?’
‘Because if one nymph loses her honour, it throws suspicion on the others. Where was I . . .? Jupiter tells Mercury how he’ll appear to Calisto in Diana’s shape, thinking that she cannot mind if her mistress caresses her, so he finds Calisto and embraces her and she thinks he’s Diana run mad and calls “Help!”—’
And here Mary strikes the appropriate attitude.
‘—so he shows himself in his true shape, but she still won’t have him, so he orders the Winds to seize her. Then his jealous Queen, Juno, comes looking for him. In the meantime, Mercury promises to make Psecas a goddess, and they plan to have Calisto shamed, and Nyphe too. Nyphe finds them and – listen, Anne, this is your biggest part – she quarrels with Psecas, who thinks herself above the others now—’
‘And I tell her that I am a princess born, but she is only made great by her lover.’
‘So you have read that, at least – yes, and then Psecas and Mercury plot to show Nyphe with Mercury and Calisto with Jupiter in front of Diana and Juno. Then Juno finds Jupiter and Calisto, and Jupiter tells her he’s to have Calisto as well as her. Then Nyphe finds Calisto alone, and they weep together.’
‘But then . . .?’
‘Then Mercury finds Psecas and tells how he’s roused Juno to punish Calisto, and now they will shame Nyphe. Now the sisters are enchanted and afraid. They see Diana and— no, there’s something else: Juno appears and tells Diana she is deceived in Calisto, and— Sister, you do not listen—’
‘I am. I do. Mary, do please go on.’
‘Very well. So now . . . so now the sisters come. They think Diana is Jupiter so they strike her with darts, so Diana says they must die. Then Juno says she’ll crown Psecas a goddess, but Psecas makes Mercury angry, so he tells all to Diana, and so the sisters’ honour is restored. Psecas is banished, and Jupiter sets the sisters in the sky to rule over a star. And that’s the end.’
If Mary has told this story more than once, it is because Anne has asked more than once, partly because she is reassured by repetition, but also because the story seems to complicate itself further with every telling. By this time, though, she has grasped the chief point, which is that nobody much cares if she understands, as long as she speaks her lines beautifully, and as she is well able to do this – Mrs Betterton has even commended her voice to the King for its sweetness – she is no longer troubling herself, or Mary, about the intricacies of the plot. After all, Mary is thirteen and it is quite natural that she should comprehend more than Anne, who has only just turned ten.
Anne understands this much: the play is about lovemaking, adultery and attempted ravishment, but it is from the Classics, and all the parts are taken by ladies, so there can be nothing improper in it. The gods Jupiter and Mercury are played, respectively, by Lady Henrietta and Sarah Jennings, while their father the Duke has commanded Margaret Blagge out of retirement from Court to play Diana, and Anne has heard from several reliable sources that Mrs Blagge is so given over to goodness and piety that she has sworn never to say or do one amusing thing ever again. Margaret is sharing a tiring-room with the princesses and other principals, and while they wait between acts she sits on a chair in the corner, reading a book of devotions. When they are called for the first act she puts down the book with conspicuous reluctance, accepts her bow and arrows from her dresser, and takes her
place at the head of her train. Mary follows her, then Anne, and then Lady Mary Mordaunt, who is Psecas. A group of lesser ladies, playing lesser nymphs, join them in the wings, and they complete the retinue.
Anne hears Jupiter’s last lines –
She swiftly by like some bright meteor shot
Dazzled my eye, and straight she disappeared
– and thinks, as she always does, of Mrs Jennings, who leaves the stage as they come on, bright-haired and dashing in her breeches, her smile like a private letter.
After a long evening of pursuing and plotting, resisting and weeping, denunciations and revelations, all interspersed with the affairs of shepherds and shepherdesses from the King’s music, and dances of Basques, Cupids, Winds, Satyrs, Bacchuses and, finally, Africans, the sisters make their final entrance under a great canopy, with the Africans supporting it.
Jupiter is to crown them before an assembly of all the gods, so as soon as they reach centre stage, the wings are pulled back, and behind and above them a heaven is revealed in the form of a glory, with the gods and goddesses seated in front of it. The glory is made of a huge back piece with a round hole in the middle of it, taffeta stretched over the hole and many dozens of candles behind. Anne can see nothing of this, but she can feel the heat, which, added to the warmth of the footlights, her heavy costume and the press of bodies on stage for the finale, is suddenly almost too much. But soon enough Lady Henrietta has descended from the glory to speak the epilogue, and it is nearly over.
Jupiter announces a final change of heart: he will not waste their virtue and beauty on a star. That is no way for a king to dispose of princesses: he will keep them to oblige other thrones, to grace some favourite crowns. Having spoken, Lady Henrietta steps forward in her own person and addresses the real King, on the subject of the real princesses:
Two glorious nymphs of your own godlike line,
Whose morning rays, like noontide, strike and shine
Whom you to suppliant monarchs shall dispose,
To bind your friends, and to disarm your foes.
The King’s Dogs
The tiring-room is suddenly full of dogs, excitable little spaniels; for formality’s sake, a footman announces that the King is coming. All the goings-on in the room, the eating and drinking, flirting and gossiping, jokes and congratulations, stop in an instant; for a moment there is nothing to hear but panting and snuffling on one side of the doorway, and well-shod feet approaching from the other. Then Anne’s uncle is at the door, and the room lowers itself, bending at the waist and the knee.
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