As he scrabbled around for support, Oxford sought to patch up his relationship with Lady Masham. In a memorandum of 14 May, he jotted down the arguments he would put to her. ‘You disable a sure friend to serve you. And thereby you help nobody. You cannot set anyone up. You can pull anyone down … What is your scheme? … The enemy make their advantage of your coldness or anger to L. T. [Lord Treasurer]. What view can you have in it? Has it not done hurt enough to the Queen already? If you hate him … counterfeit indifference for the Queen’s service’. Abigail rebuffed him, telling him coldly, ‘She would carry no more messages, nor meddle, nor make’ on his behalf.70
Oxford even had the audacity to wonder if he could form a partnership with his old enemy, the Duke of Marlborough. He had taken the first steps towards this after the Queen had fallen ill in December, when he had suddenly released £10,000 of Marlborough’s frozen salary and sent word to the Duke that he need have no more fear of impeachment. In April the Lord Treasurer made further overtures to Marlborough through the Duke’s former Quartermaster General, Cadogan. While Marlborough would ultimately prove unforgiving towards Oxford, he was willing to take advantage of this change in attitude. By spring he was thinking of returning to England, although he deemed it prudent to wait until the parliamentary session had finished.71
In his desperation, the Lord Treasurer sought an alliance with another of his adversaries. A memorandum of 8 June reads, ‘Send for the Duchess of Somerset! Nobody else can save us’. Here, however, he found himself forestalled by Bolingbroke. The Duchess’s daughter was married to the Secretary’s best friend Sir William Wyndham, and through this channel Bolingbroke had commended himself to her.72
Bolingbroke, meanwhile, had devised a canny way of discrediting Oxford in both the Queen and the Tory party’s eyes, while burnishing his own claims to political leadership. He introduced a Schism Bill, providing that all teachers at dissenting schools or academies must prove that they regularly took the Anglican sacrament. According to Oxford’s brother, this measure, which would have resulted in the closure of many educational establishments, was brought in ‘with no other design than to embarrass the Treasurer’. It was the sort of intolerant legislation to which Oxford was instinctively averse, but which would appeal to both Anne and the Tories. It was to be expected that ‘those of the ministry who do not appear zealous for this bill’ would incur their displeasure.73
The bill was introduced in the Commons on 12 May, and swiftly passed all three readings, despite complaints from Whig members that it would ‘raise as great a persecution against our Protestant brethren as … the primitive Christians ever suffered’. In the Lords Oxford was responsible for some amendments which took out most of ‘the malicious and persecuting parts’ by conceding that nonconformist schoolmasters could teach reading, writing and arithmetic without being certificated by a bishop. Although the dissenters remained appalled at the prospect of the law coming into force on 1 August, this effectively ‘castrated the bill’ and created a valuable loophole. Oxford hoped that the Queen would be satisfied that he had supported the measure in its final form, but by moderating it he had annoyed her.74
Bolingbroke congratulated himself on having set himself up as ‘leader and upholder’ of the Anglican Church, prompting the diplomat l’Hermitage to comment in disgust, ‘Good God, what a support!’ The Secretary even claimed to the French envoy Iberville that the Schism Bill had stirred up such passions in the country that civil war might ensue, but this did not bother him. When informed, Louis XIV at once offered his assistance, promising that ‘if upheavals were to occur in England … the Queen could count … on my true friendship’. Bolingbroke knew better than to pass this on to Anne. Iberville reported to his master that the Secretary had said that ‘At present … her Majesty would not dare profit from your Majesty’s offer, as it would not fail to be said that your Majesty’s troops would be closely followed by those of the Pretender’.75
Oxford now counterattacked by posing as the saviour of the Protestant Succession. In Ireland there had recently been several arrests in response to attempts to enlist men in the Pretender’s service, and Oxford could claim that further action was required. In early June the Duke of Shrewsbury had returned from Ireland, and though he appeared ‘resolved to play a cautious part and not side with either of the contending parties’ in the ministry, Oxford prevailed on him to propose in Cabinet that the proclamation against the Pretender should be issued. Bolingbroke dared not oppose it, although when Oxford suggested the reward for the Pretender’s apprehension should be set at £100,000, the Secretary did manage to reduce the figure to £5,000. He told the Jacobite MP, George Lockhart, that knowing that Oxford’s whole aim was ‘to put a thorn in … Bolingbroke’s foot’, he had been forced to agree to the proclamation, but ‘he promised matters should be quickly set to rights again’.76
The proclamation was duly released on 23 June and the following day Oxford scored another coup when his followers in the Commons ensured that the reward was increased to £100,000. Secretary Bromley protested it would look like a criticism of the Queen for being parsimonious, but the amount was duly authorised. Bolingbroke could at least derive comfort from the fact that on his advice, Anne’s response to the Commons’ address on the subject was cooler than Oxford thought appropriate. Still confident of triumphing over his enemy, the Secretary went ‘on merrily, and in his cups and out of his cups brags what a mighty man he is’.77
Oxford went on attempting to ‘reinforce himself with all those well intentioned towards the House of Hanover’, alleging ‘that if it had not been for him, the Pretender had been here long ago’. On 1 July, in a ‘last effort’ to save himself, he represented as much to the Queen herself, telling her that if she continued to indulge Bolingbroke, ‘not only would she put religion and the Protestant Succession in very great danger, but she herself would not be safe’. A few days later he drew up a memorandum in preparation for another interview with Anne, reminding her that not just the Whigs but also many Tories were now fearful of ‘foul play and designs for the Pretender’. If she dismissed him, ‘This will have a bad reason given for it and the Queen alone charged with it’, for it would be said that he was being punished for standing by the succession.78
By that time, however, Oxford’s efforts to portray himself as Hanover’s champion had suffered a setback. After receiving copies of Anne’s letters of 19 May to Sophia and the Electoral Prince, the Duchess of Marlborough had transmitted them to her agent in England, with instructions to publish them. When they appeared in print on 1 July, the Duchess of Marlborough had a sweet revenge on the man she called ‘the sorcerer’.79 Henceforward there could be no question of Oxford endearing himself to the Whigs by claiming he was eager for the Electoral Prince to come to England.
Yet Oxford would not admit defeat. Dr Arbuthnot reported to Swift ‘The dragon [a nickname for Oxford] dies hard. He is now kicking and cuffing about him like the devil; and you know parliamentary management is the forte’. Hoping that Bolingbroke’s corrupt practices would prove his undoing, Oxford relayed to the Whigs that he had information they could use to overthrow the Secretary. Bolingbroke’s crony, Arthur Moore, had negotiated a trade treaty between Great Britain and Spain, and there were grounds for thinking that, in return for bribes to be shared with the Secretary, he had accepted terms disadvantageous to British merchants. Shadowy dealings also surrounded the Asiento contract. Earlier in the year the South Sea Company had been appalled when the terms on which they would be granted the monopoly of supplying slaves to Spanish South America had been made explicit. It transpired that a quarter share of the profits had to be paid to the King of Spain, with another quarter going to the Queen, who thus became a participant in what she termed ‘that beneficial trade … importing Negroes into the Spanish West Indies’. A further seven and a half percent was reserved for an unnamed person. Since neither monarch would put up money to finance these commercial activities, the South Sea Company had to provide all the inves
tment while reaping only a minority portion of the profits. To add to their indignation, it was thought that the Queen’s share would be divided among ‘some favourites who did not deserve it of the nation’, ‘strongly suspected to be the Lord Bolingbroke, the Lady Masham and Mr Arthur Moore’.80
After protests from the South Sea Company led to mutterings in Parliament, the Queen agreed to make over to the company her quarter share, but since the mysterious seven and a half percent was still kept back, dissatisfaction remained. On 2 July the Lords held a debate on the Spanish trade treaty, demanding that the Queen explain who had advised her to ratify it. Evidently protecting Bolingbroke, the Queen said she had ratified the treaty on the understanding that its terms were not harmful to British interests, but would not identify those responsible.
Although the Queen was doing her best to shield Bolingbroke, the Secretary was terrified of ending up in the Tower. He knew himself to be at risk while Parliament continued sitting, but the Queen could not prorogue it until the Finance Bill had passed. For this very reason, the opposition had deliberately delayed it, and Jacobite MPs were so disgruntled by the proclamation against the Pretender that they joined with the Whigs in holding up supplies. In desperation Bolingbroke appealed for help to the Jacobite George Lockhart, implying that once the session had ended the Queen would name her brother as her heir. He said that Anne would dismiss Oxford as soon as Parliament was prorogued, and then ‘she both could and would soon so settle matters as she pleased’. Falling for this ruse, Lockhart agreed that he and his colleagues would push through a grant of money.81
On 8 July the Lords re-examined trading arrangements with Spain, focusing on the percentage of South Sea earnings still set aside for unexplained purposes. Bolingbroke asserted that the cash in question was earmarked for a Spanish citizen who had expedited the trade treaty, but could not dispel suspicions that profits were being skimmed to enrich himself and Lady Masham.82 Accordingly the Lords requested that the money should be reserved for public usage.
By this time Bolingbroke was so frightened that he would have liked the Queen to return a softly-worded answer, but Anne saw no reason to be placatory. Presumably because she was determined that Lady Masham would not have to forfeit money destined for her, her reply to the Lords’ address was notably curt. She sent a message that ‘She always had a great consideration for the advice of the House, and as to the particulars desired, she would dispose of them as she should judge best for the service’.83
When her words were reported on 9 July, some peers broke out in incredulous laughter, but others erupted ‘in a flame’. Leading Whigs made a series of ‘hot speeches’, and if the Queen had not intervened decisively, ‘matters … would have been pushed very far’. Since the Lottery Bill had been passed a day earlier, there was no longer any need to keep Parliament in session. While the Earl of Wharton was in full flow, the Queen entered purposefully, leaning on the arm of the Duke of Bolton and Lady Abingdon. Having made her way to the throne, she prorogued Parliament ‘in a style more brisk and resolute than on other the like occasions’.84
Thwarted from pressing home his attack, Wharton was heard to say, ‘If he lived till next session, this should be the first thing he would begin with’. Besides being incensed that Anne’s valedictory address contained no friendly reference to Hanover, the Whigs judged its final paragraph ‘more than a little too severe’. The Queen cautioned her listeners that, much as she desired ‘to preserve to you and to your posterity our holy religion and the liberty of my subjects, and to secure the present and future tranquillity of my kingdoms’, this was unattainable ‘unless you show the same regard for my just prerogative and for the honour of my government as I have always expressed for the rights of my people’.85 It was a sad end to Anne’s dealings with Parliament, which up till now had been infinitely better than her Stuart predecessors’.
The Whigs were now furious with Oxford, feeling he had not helped them as they expected in their onslaught against Bolingbroke. Nor did Oxford have any reason to hope that Marlborough would forget their past differences. As soon as he heard that Parliament was prorogued, the Duke prepared to return to England, only to be detained on the Continent by adverse winds. Already, however, he had warned one of George Ludwig’s advisers not to trust Oxford’s claims to support the Protestant Succession, for ‘Since he had the power, he never made one step that was not directly against it’.86
Curiously Bolingbroke may have been more successful in forging a rapprochement with Marlborough, having been communicating indirectly with him for some time. What the Queen thought about the Marlboroughs’ impending return is unclear. The previous autumn, she had reacted violently when Oxford had mentioned Marlborough. The Lord Treasurer claimed she told him, ‘She would never trust that man … She knew him to be capable of doing much harm and incapable of any good, and that if he wished to return to London and make peace it was not because he really desired to do so, but because he aspired to conceal his bad intentions and execute them at the first opportunity’. Nevertheless, in the summer of 1714 Marlborough’s associate Cadogan claimed that she now welcomed the prospect of having him back in England. It seems, however, that the Queen had not invited the Duke to come home or, if she had, he did not inform his wife, for Sarah would later say she was unaware of any such approach.87
In early July Oxford had cherished hopes that the Queen could heal the rift between him and Abigail. Prior to a meeting with Anne, he reminded himself to point out to her that it was ‘for your service that you reconcile L[ady] M[asham] and O[xford]. Tell them both so; have them then together. O will [own] himself in the wrong’. Whether or not the Queen tried to help him, it certainly did not work, for once Oxford had jeopardised Abigail’s chances of profiting from the Asiento, she declared ‘open war’. Just after Parliament was prorogued she told the Lord Treasurer, ‘You never did the Queen any service, nor are you capable of doing her any’. She declared ‘he has been the most ungrateful man to her and to all his best friends that ever was born’, believing he was working towards ‘removing her from the favour of a great person’, meaning the Queen.88
Oxford clung on to power ‘with a dead grip’, but it was obvious that he was weakening. An early sign that he was losing ground had come when the Queen had appointed her cousin Lord Clarendon, a known enemy of the Lord Treasurer’s, to go to Hanover on her behalf. Her choice was not welcomed there. Not only was Clarendon suspected of Jacobite sympathies, but he had made himself a figure of fun when, as Governor of Pennsylvania, he had attended official functions dressed as a woman, claiming that only by doing so could he represent the Queen. The message he delivered in Hanover was scarcely more palatable, for Clarendon was instructed to repeat that in Anne’s lifetime, no member of the Electoral family should take up residence in the kingdom that ‘God and the laws have entrusted to her Majesty alone’.89
The Queen no longer automatically deferred to Oxford on Hanoverian matters, and she was more exasperated than ever by his shambolic conduct. His vendetta against Bolingbroke reminded her of his attacks on his predecessor as Lord Treasurer, and she spoke darkly of being ‘teased to do many things against her own inclination, particularly that of turning my Lord Godolphin out’. On 20 July she summoned the Lord Chancellor to Windsor for discussions with herself and Bolingbroke, and it was obvious this boded ill for Oxford’s future. Though some people were apt to think Lady Masham solely responsible for this state of affairs, Dr Arbuthnot believed Oxford’s ‘fall … does not proceed altogether from his old friend [Abigail] but from the great person, whom I perceive to be highly offended by little hints that I have received’.90
While the Queen was disenchanted with Oxford, she still had the gravest doubts about Bolingbroke’s moral character. It was hardly reassuring that he was reported to have boasted of passing 6 June ‘very agreeably … In the morning I went to the Queen and ruined the dog [Oxford] …; at dinner I got drunk with champagne, and at night was put to bed to the prettiest whore in Englan
d, and two lords tucked up the sheets’. Admittedly, in a recent effort to be more uxorious, he had begged his wife’s ‘pardon for all his ill usage and promised amendment for the future’. This puzzled one acquaintance until he reflected that Bolingbroke ‘may have been advised by his new ally [Abigail] to treat his wife better … that somebody [Anne] may with a better grace confide in him’. Besides drunkenness and immorality, other traits of his gave cause for concern. Baron Bothmer described him as ‘rash, violent and conceited’ and although the Queen had saved him from ruin in the last Parliament, the revelations of financial malpractice that had emerged there were disturbing. The fact was, by July 1714 Anne did not have much confidence in either of her chief ministers. To Sir David Hamilton she lamented ‘she had none to trust’ and complained of being ‘dealt insincerely with’. She commented that rather than seeking to serve her, ‘Most of them sought [for] themselves; they had neither regarded her health, her life, nor her peace’.91
The Queen was particularly distressed that the perception that she was seeking to cheat the Elector of his inheritance remained so widespread, fearing that in consequence her subjects were becoming estranged from her. Hamilton testified ‘Her conviction of the dissatisfaction of the people, out of a fear of her being in the interest of the Pretender, bore harder upon her than all the differences among her ministers’. Believing that the politicians who supposedly served her had only clouded the situation, she hatched an extraordinary scheme, hoping that by making a personal appeal to the Elector, she could clear up all misunderstandings between them. Desperate to make her heir understand that any ministerial changes ‘should not injure him, nor lessen her friendship to him unless he was the cause of it himself by personal ingratitude’, she asked Hamilton to become her private emissary. She begged him to think of an excuse to go to Hanover, whereupon he volunteered to enrol his son at Leiden University, and to accompany him abroad. He could visit Hanover on the way, and deliver to the Elector any message she desired. The Queen not only asked Hamilton to ease George Ludwig’s mind as to the political situation, but offered another startling proof of her goodwill. Throughout her reign she had displayed an adamantine determination to keep her heirs out of the kingdom, but now she offered to receive the Elector if he paid her a three-or four-week visit that would give him ‘entire satisfaction and she quiet’.92
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