Another notable ministerial change made at this time was the appointment of twenty-five-year-old Henry St John as Secretary at War. Though a strong Tory, St John believed that the country’s current main priority was to fight the war, rather than to address divisive domestic issues such as Occasional Conformity. Having already made a name for himself as an orator in the House of Commons, he had a brilliant mind, ‘adorned with the choicest gifts that God hath yet thought fit to bestow’. For all his promise, however, he was flawed in other ways, being ‘a man of bright parts but bad morals’. He spent much time in ‘frantic Bacchanals’ and pursuing ‘libertinism in a very high degree’. He was also volatile and impetuous and this, coupled with an awareness of his dissolute ways, would subsequently undermine the Queen’s trust in him. For the moment, however, he kept his bad habits in check, and proved an asset to the government.38
Anne had understandably hoped that her dismissal of key Tory figures would bring about a rapprochement between her and the Duchess of Marlborough but she was to be disappointed on this score. In the spring of 1704, Sarah’s dealings with the Queen remained so fractious that Godolphin felt compelled to tell her she was acting unreasonably. He also suggested she was being unduly alarmist about the Jacobite threat, echoing advice previously given her by Marlborough, who had told Sarah four months earlier ‘I can’t by no means allow that all the Tory party is for King James’.39 Both men were well placed to judge this although ironically (and almost certainly unbeknown to Sarah), they continued to guard against the eventuality of a Jacobite restoration by regularly sending empty promises of support to Saint-Germain. Having tried to calm Sarah on this point, Godolphin also warned that she ‘should not abuse of that great indulgence of Mrs Morley’ by absenting herself from court for such long periods. When Sarah reacted with fury to these well-meant counsels Godolphin wrote stolidly he was ‘sorry to find you are so much in the spleen’ but that she would ultimately realise that he was right.40
Soon after this Sarah did return to court, but she retained her belligerent attitude to Anne, nagging her about the well-worn themes of Anne’s partiality towards Tories and her supposedly altered behaviour towards the Duchess. As Sarah later recalled, they frequently argued about such matters, ‘sometimes not without heat, but a reconciliation quickly followed’. After another awkward exchange, Anne wrote to apologise for having given Sarah a curt answer: ‘My poor heart is so tender … I knew if I had begun to speak I should not have been fit to be seen by anybody’, she explained, but now, because she still loved ‘dear Mrs Freeman … as my own soul’, she wanted to put everything right between them.41
Sarah still questioned the Queen’s sincerity, accusing her of lying when Anne claimed she remained ‘more yours than it is possible to express’. Despairingly Anne demanded, ‘For God’s sake tell me why I should say so if it were not true? … I was once so happy as to be believed by my dear Mrs Freeman’. Anne lost all patience when Sarah alleged that despite having dismissed Lord Jersey, the Queen still numbered him among her ‘oracles’, but Anne repented of her sharp answer the following morning. In another contrite letter, she asked her friend to excuse it ‘if I were too warm in my discourse last night and that she would not give it the name of being angry, which I can never be with you’. She did not disguise, however, that she held Sarah partly to blame, declaring that while she hoped ‘God Almighty may inspire you with just and right thoughts of your poor unfortunate faithful Morley’, she doubted this would happen until Sarah became less enamoured of the Whigs. In a further telling development, Anne by now was finding their encounters so bruising that she no longer yearned to see Sarah whenever an opportunity arose. On at least one occasion she told the Duchess that she did not mind being told about her faults, ‘but let it be in writing, for I dare not venture to speak’.42
Anne could at least hope that her new policy towards Scotland would meet with Sarah’s approval, for in the summer of 1704 the Queen acted on the recommendations of the English House of Lords by making a serious effort to settle the succession of the Scottish crown on Sophia of Hanover. In order to achieve this, she dismissed the Duke of Queensberry and replaced him with the Marquis of Tweeddale, who led a group known as the ‘New Party’. Tweeddale assured her that he would be able to secure a parliamentary majority in favour of the Hanoverian succession by offering a series of limitations that would reduce the power of the Crown after Anne’s death so that, for example, the Scottish Parliament would in future have a say in the appointment of ministers.
When the Scottish Parliament met in June, Anne sent a message that ‘Nothing has troubled us more, since our accession to the Crown of these realms, than the unsettled state of affairs in that our ancient kingdom’. To remedy this, she declared herself ‘resolved … to grant whatever can, in reason, be demanded for rectifying of abuses’. She cautioned her subjects that ‘a longer delay of settling the succession in the Protestant line may have very dangerous consequences; and a disappointment of it would infallibly make that our kingdom the seat of war, and expose it to devastation and ruin’.43 Despite these grim warnings, the Scots proved disinclined to fall in with her wishes.
The main problem was that the new Scottish ministry did not command as much support as had been hoped. The Marquis of Tweeddale was ‘a very good man but not perfectly qualified for court intrigues’, whereas the Duke of Queensberry – still smarting at his dismissal and having gone into opposition – was expert at them.44 Queensberry feared that the newly formed government would mount an enquiry into his handling of the Scotch Plot, which would reveal that he had incited Lovat to make accusations against former colleagues. He therefore set out to undermine the ministry by ensuring that their policy was rejected, and largely because of his manoeuvres the Parliament spiralled out of control. Instead of settling the succession in the way Anne had asked, the Scottish Parliament reverted to demanding that she assent to the Act of Security, providing for England and Scotland to be ruled by different sovereigns after her death. It was made clear that no taxes would be voted that year if she refused, raising the possibility that the Scots army would mutiny over lack of pay. Godolphin reluctantly advised the Queen that she had no alternative but to acquiesce, and on 6 August 1704 the Act of Security was touched with the sceptre. Four days later news arrived that Marlborough had won a historic victory over French and Bavarian forces in southern Germany. Had Godolphin known of this earlier, he would have felt confident enough to urge the Queen to reject the Act of Security. As it was, England and Scotland appeared poised on the brink of disaster.
Marlborough’s original plan for his 1704 campaign had been to invade France along the Moselle valley, but because Vienna was now menaced by a joint Bavarian and French army, he decided that the main priority was to save the Imperial capital. For a time he concealed his intentions from the Dutch, knowing that they would be reluctant to let their troops travel so far. He also had to prevent the French from guessing what he had in mind, and had therefore built up supply depots along his route to Germany in strictest secrecy. Having persuaded the Dutch to sanction his planned invasion of France, Marlborough informed Godolphin on 18/29 April that only once he reached Coblentz would he divulge that he intended to advance with his army down the River Danube in order to confront the Elector of Bavaria in his own domains. Knowing that if warned beforehand, the Dutch would veto his plan, Marlborough insisted that ‘What I now write I beg may be known to nobody but her Majesty and the Prince’.45 Marlborough’s ruse proved successful. Having set out on his march on 8/19 May, he wrote three weeks later to inform the States General that he wanted to head eastwards, and managed to secure their consent for the venture. As Marlborough well knew, however, the penalty for failure would be terrible. Once it became known in England that he had embarked on this risky strategy, the Tories accused him of acting irresponsibly, even talking of impeaching him for ‘having withdrawn forces capable of defending the country at a perilous moment’. In June one observer reported,
There is a greater party forming against my Lord Treasurer and my Lord Marlborough than ever there was against King William’s ministers … Much will depend upon my Lord’s success in Germany … If the Elector of Bavaria is reduced, it will stop the mouths of his enemies and they will not be able to hurt him in England; and if he fails he will be railed at in Holland and accused in England.
The diehard Tory Edward Seymour ranted that if Marlborough met with any setback in Germany ‘We will break him up, as hounds upon a hare’.46
When Marlborough took Donauworth on 21 June/2 July, the Tories merely grumbled ‘What was the sense of capturing a hill in the heart of Germany at such heavy loss?’47 Hoping to persuade the Elector of Bavaria to defect from his alliance with France, Marlborough next ordered the Bavarian countryside to be ravaged by fire. Maximilian was on the point of abandoning the French but changed his mind on hearing that Louis XIV was sending reinforcements commanded by Marshal Tallard to strengthen the troops he already had in Germany.
On 25 June/6 July Marlborough’s forces were increased when they liaised with an Imperial army led by Prince Eugene of Savoy, meaning that a confrontation with the enemy became feasible. Though still outnumbered by the French and Bavarians, the allies had superiority in cavalry and so, when Marlborough came upon the enemy he decided to attack. On 2/13 August, near the village of Blenheim, he gained a crushing victory. Marshal Tallard was captured, and the French lost over 34,000 men, with 14,000 being taken prisoner. At most, allied casualties numbered 14,000 killed and wounded.48
In the past Marlborough had been derided as ‘a General of favour’ by detractors who alleged that he had been given his command solely on account of his wife’s friendship with the Queen. The Battle of Blenheim revealed the absurdity of such slurs and provided irrefutable evidence of Marlborough’s military genius – an attribute that would be reaffirmed on many subsequent occasions.
Writing to his wife the following day Marlborough declared ‘I can’t end my letter without being so vain as to tell my dearest soul that within the memory of man there has been no victory so great as this’. Immediately after the battle he had scribbled a few lines to her on the back of a tavern bill, informing her of his success, and he had entrusted the note to Colonel Parke. After galloping across Europe, Parke arrived in England on 10/21 August and took his message straight to the Duchess in London. Next, he hurried on to Windsor to find the Queen, who on hearing his news ‘told him he had given her more joy than ever she had received in her life’, and presented Parke with a thousand guineas.49
The nation went wild with delight on learning that Marlborough had inflicted on the French ‘such a defeat as never was given in Europe these 1000 years’. London gave itself up to rejoicing: ‘Nothing was to be heard or seen in every street but the acclamations of the people, ringing of bells, bonfires, firing of guns and all kinds of fireworks’. Mrs Burnet, wife of the Bishop of Salisbury, described herself as ‘giddy with joy’ and in a letter to the Duchess of Marlborough crowed that the Duke had delivered ‘the greatest blow to that [French] tyranny that it ever had’. ‘If I rave, you must forgive me’, she concluded happily. ‘Even the Jacobites were forced either to join in the general exultation or to shut themselves up in holes and corners, abandoning themselves to grief and despair’.50
The Queen immediately wrote to Sarah expressing jubilation at ‘this glorious victory which, next to God Almighty, is wholly owing to dear Mr Freeman, on whose safety I congratulate you with all my soul’. On 7 September there was a thanksgiving ceremony at St Paul’s ‘celebrated … with the utmost pomp and splendour’. ‘The Queen, full of jewels’, rode there in her coach with the Duchess of Marlborough at her side, and was then carried in an open chair to take her place on the throne set up in the cathedral. But despite this public show of solidarity with the Marlboroughs, all was not well between Anne and the Duchess. A week after learning of Marlborough’s triumph, the Queen wrote to Sarah lamenting ‘the coldness you have used me with of late’, and in the next few weeks matters deteriorated further. The problem, as ever, was that the Duchess was angered by what she saw as Anne’s irrational attachment to Tories. For the moment, with Marlborough a national hero there was ‘no room … for envy or malice to detract from the Duke’s honour’, but Sarah still believed the Tories remained hostile to her husband and the war itself. She singled out the Duke of Buckingham, alleging to Anne that he had been visibly displeased when he heard of Marlborough’s success. The Queen denied this, insisting that her former admirer had ‘looked with as much satisfaction in their face as anybody’ when the news came.51
The Queen tried to placate Sarah by sending affectionate letters, only to be told that these were meaningless, when ‘the kindness of your heart is quite gone from me, and for no cause … but for being so faithful to you’. The Duchess claimed Anne’s withdrawal of confidence and love was making it very hard to serve her with her customary fidelity, to which the Queen responded in distress, ‘Oh, do not wrong me so, for indeed I am not changed’.52
Despite the fact that Godolphin had warned her against exaggerating the Jacobite threat, the Duchess now attempted to persuade the Queen that she was personally in peril from assassination, implying that she was recklessly exposing herself by not being more vigilant. The Queen did not dismiss Sarah’s concerns outright, for though she remained convinced that Jacobite numbers were negligible, she had to bear in mind that a tiny group of extremists had plotted to kill William III in 1696, and she could not rule out a similar attempt on her life. Indeed, Bishop Burnet claimed that she had not dissented to his earlier suggestion that the Jacobites would be tempted to murder her if she showed any inclination to recognise James Francis Edward as her heir. Now Anne wrote back to Sarah returning ‘a thousand thanks for the concern you express for my safety’, promising to take especial ‘care of myself, because you desire it’. She assured the Duchess ‘I do not at all doubt of the malice of my enemies and shall never be surprised to hear of plots either against my government and my self, for it is what I expect all my days from the young man in France and those of his religion’. However, she refused to live in fear, stating that while she would take all reasonable precautions, ‘more than that, life is not worth’.53
All too often now, Anne declined to give a detailed answer when Sarah accused her of political shortcomings, hoping by this means to avoid unpleasantness. The Duchess found this inflammatory. Long letters poured in from her, reiterating that Anne was ‘false’ and ‘changed’, and charging the Queen with keeping secrets from her, in contravention of Montaigne’s dictums on friendship. Anne still did her best not to be drawn into political arguments, excusing herself on the grounds that ‘since I’m unfortunate in most things I say … I think it better to let it alone’. Yet Sarah showed little interest in discussing anything else. Far from being touched when Anne wrote imploring her to abandon all thought of retiring from her post and to look in on her before going to the country, the Duchess merely marked the letter in places where she considered the Queen had expressed herself in ‘ill English’.54
Things soon became so tense between the two women that Godolphin intervened, hinting to Sarah – albeit somewhat diffidently – that the fault partly lay with her. On 1 September he wrote tactfully, ‘I am very sorry to find Mrs Morley and Mrs Freeman cannot yet bring things quite right’ but added that he was sure all would soon be remedied, for ‘when this case happens betwixt people that love one another so well, it is not impossible but that both may be a little in the wrong’.55
Sarah, now increasingly self-absorbed, saw no reason to adopt a gentler approach, not least because, when Parliament met in late October 1704, several things occurred that displeased her. Shortly after the Battle of Blenheim a British fleet, commanded by the Tory Admiral George Rooke, had captured Gibraltar. The French had attempted to seize it back and on 13/24 August there had been a battle at sea off Malaga. The British came off best in the encounter, but it was scarcely a triumph on a par w
ith Marlborough’s. Nevertheless, when the House of Commons presented the Queen with a grateful address, they not only congratulated her on the outcome of Blenheim but also ‘hooked in the victory by sea under Sir George Rooke’, implying that it was as important as that gained in Germany. This prompted an outraged letter from Sarah, to which the Queen wearily replied that she had ‘never looked upon the sea fight as a victory, and I think what has been said upon it, as ridiculous as anybody can do’.56
This was merely a foretaste of arguments to come. It soon became clear that hardline Tories in the Commons, encouraged by Rochester and Nottingham, were ‘endeavouring to give all the disturbance they can’ to the ministry, and among other things planned to reintroduce an Occasional Conformity Bill. Enraged not only at those whom Godolphin now called the ‘hot angry people’, but at the entire Tory party, Sarah wrote denouncing them for being in league with Saint-Germain, attacking Anne for allowing herself to be ‘deluded by anybody calling themselves of the Church’. Fed up with these wild claims, Anne was now provoked into answering firmly. Reiterating that just ‘because there are some hot headed men among those that are called Tories, I can’t for my life think it reasonable to brand them all with the name of Jacobite’, she stated defiantly that her own political outlook was unchanged by Sarah’s railings. ‘I have the same opinion of Whig and Tory that I ever had’, she told the Duchess flatly. ‘I know both their principles very well, and when I know myself to be in the right, nothing can make me alter mine’.57
Sarah was unaccustomed to being contradicted in this way, and responded with a deeply unpleasant letter, in which it was hard to detect the least vestige of affection. She began by observing sarcastically that Anne doubtless believed she had ‘quite killed me with the firmness of her opinion’ but that, on the contrary, it had merely roused her further. She asked the Queen to enlighten her as to what she believed to be the Tories’ defining attributes, professing herself baffled as to what it was that the Queen liked so much about them. ‘I beg you will give me his character … what that dear creature is, so extremely beloved, for I would fain be in love too’, she sneered. Not content with this, she also brought up the contentious subject of the Civil War, on which she claimed to be an expert, having ‘read every book, little and great that has been writ upon that subject’. She noted that Anne’s political outlook had been shaped by what she had been told about that conflict, which since infancy had instilled her with such ‘a great abhorrence of what they called in those days Whigs or Roundheads’. With mock deference she declared, ‘I will allow they had cloven feet or what you please’, but this could not alter the fact that Anne’s understanding of history was defective. She therefore took it upon herself to remedy the gaps in Anne’s knowledge. She explained that Charles I was not a blameless victim, for it was incontrovertible that ‘the extreme weakness of that unfortunate king contributed as much to his misfortunes as all the malice of those ill men’. Furthermore, he had exposed himself to ruin by allowing himself to be ‘governed by almost as bad people’ as those who had sentenced him to death, not least of whom was Anne’s grandmother, Henrietta Maria. The late Queen consort was not only French, ‘which was misfortune enough’, but ‘a very ill woman’ and a Catholic to boot; and Sarah could not resist adding that many of the Tories whom Anne so favoured at present would themselves doubtless soon convert to that faith.58
Queen Anne: The Politics of Passion Page 38
