Chapter C (3)

‘Sir, I thank you for your most acceptable present of your picture,
and assure you that none of this age can set a higher value on it than
I do, and shall, while I live,—though I am sensible posterity will
outdo me in that particular. I am, with the greatest esteem and
sincerity, sir, your most affectionate and obliged humble servant,

‘COWPER.

‘_January 24th, 1720._‘

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_No. 2._

MARY, WIFE OF THE FIRST EARL COWPER.

_Sitting in a garden. Red dress, trimmed with lace. Holding her
scarf._

BY SIR GODFREY KNELLER.

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_No. 3._

SARAH, LADY COWPER.

_Red dress, Blue scarf. White sleeves._

SHE was the daughter of Sir Samuel Holled, Knight, merchant of London,
wife of Sir William Cowper, second baronet, and mother of the Lord
Chancellor. She was an eccentric woman, ill favoured and ill tempered,
in constant collision with her husband, her sons, and her servants,—in
fact, to a certain extent, the terror of the household. She wrote a
voluminous diary, still in the possession of her descendant, the
present Lord Cowper,—a strange mixture of pious reflections, together
with anecdotes more remarkable for breadth than point. Towards the end
of her life she became more placable in disposition. She had two
sons,—William, the first Earl, and Spencer, the celebrated judge.

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_No. 4._

FREDERIC, LORD BEAUVALE.

_Brown velvet suit. Blue cravat. Black cloak, trimmed with fur.
Leans against a column, holding his hat._

BY PARTRIDGE.

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_No. 5._

ARNOLD JOOST VAN KEPPEL, LORD OF THE VOORST IN HOLLAND, EARL OF
ALBEMARLE, K.G.

_In complete armour. Wig, Holding a baton. Blue riband._

BORN 1674, DIED 1718.

BY SIR GODFREY KNELLER.

THE subject of this notice derived his origin from one ‘Walter,’ a
knight who flourished in the year 1179. He was one of the seven
imperial vassals of Guelderland, who exercised sovereign rights, each
in his several domain.

Surnames were not known in the middle of the twelfth century. Walter
Van Keppel was probably among the first who made the addition to his
baptismal appellation. Towards the close of the century it became
customary for each knight to call himself after the spot of ground on
which his principal castle was situated. Accordingly, our Walter
assumed the name of an islet on the river Issel, on which he created
his Hoofdslot, which Hoofdslot is now occupied by the descendants of a
female branch of the family. Passing over a long line of ancestors, we
arrive at Oswald Van Keppel, Lord of the Voorst, who (the genealogists
show) bore sixteen quarterings of nobility on his escutcheon. Oswald
dying in 1685, his son, Arnold (whose portrait is under consideration)
succeeded to the lordship of Voorst. He was now thirteen years of age,
Page of Honour to William of Orange, Stadtholder, and the youngest,
liveliest, and handsomest of the five Dutch noblemen who landed with
their illustrious countryman at Torbay on the memorable 5th of
November 1688. On his accession to the English throne, William III.
raised his page to the confidential post of amanuensis, and from that
time never slackened in his partiality and friendship. In 1695, on
Keppel’s attaining his majority, he was created Earl of Albemarle,
Viscount Bury, and Baron Ashford, and, shortly afterwards, Knight of
the Garter. Mackay, in his _Characters_, describes the new Peer as
‘King William’s constant companion in all his diversions and
pleasures,’ and as being after a time intrusted with affairs of the
greatest importance. He was beautiful in person, open and free in
conversation, and very expensive in his manner of living. ‘About this
time,’ says Bishop Burnet, ‘the King set up a new favourite, Keppel, a
gentleman of Guelder, who was raised from a page to the highest degree
of favour that any person had ever obtained about the King. By a quick
and unaccountable progress he engrossed the Royal favour so entirely
that he disposed of everything in the King’s power. He was a cheerful
young man, that had the art to please, but was so much given to his
own pleasure, that he could scarce subject himself to the attendance
and drudgery that were necessary to maintain his post; he had not,
however, yet distinguished himself in anything. He was not cold or
dry, as the Earl of Portland was thought to be, who seemed to have the
art of creating enemies to himself, and not one friend; but the Earl
of Albemarle had all the arts of Court, and was civil to all.’ If this
spoiled child of nature and fortune counted his Court duties as
drudgery, the same could not be said of his military avocations. He
studied the art of war under his Royal patron, one of the most
consummate captains of the day. So satisfied was the teacher with the
capacity of his pupil, that he not only initiated him into the secrets
of his strategy, but imparted to him no small share in the execution
of his projects,—a confidence which, although placed in so young a
man, the King never had reason to repent.

In the year of his elevation to the Peerage, Albemarle accompanied the
King on the memorable campaign which ended in the surrender of Namur
to William III., who left his friend behind for the transaction of
some necessary business in that town, whilst he proceeded to his
Palace of the Loo, before returning to England. Here the news of
Albemarle’s sudden and alarming illness so distressed the King that he
sent his own physician, the eminent Dr. John Radcliffe, to the
sufferer’s assistance. Albemarle soon recovered under the good
doctor’s skilful care; and so delighted was the King to have his
favourite restored to health, that he acknowledged Radcliffe’s
services in the most munificent manner. In addition to his travelling
expenses, the Doctor received £400 and a magnificent diamond ring;
Radcliffe was also offered a baronetcy, but he declined, on the plea
of having no son to inherit the title. In 1698 Lord Albemarle received
a grant of 100,000 confiscated acres in Ireland, which grant, however
(as in the case of Lord Athlone and others), the Commons of England
very properly refused to ratify. The following year the King sent some
of the most skilful British artificers to Holland to decorate and
beautify the house and grounds of the Voorst, at a cost of £50,000.
What this large sum would represent in these days, the writer does not
feel competent to hazard an opinion.

In 1701 Lord Albemarle married Gertrude, daughter of Adam van der
Duen, Lord of Gravemoor, whose descent is traced by the genealogists
of Guelderland to Alphert, ninth Lord of Bridesden, and through him to
Siegfried, son of Arnulf, Count of Holland, who died in 999.

The Treaty of Ryswick, in 1697, had procured for Europe a few years’
suspension of hostilities; but in 1702 broke out the Spanish War of
Succession, when Albemarle was sent on a mission to Holland by Royal
command, but was soon recalled in hot haste to England to his dying
master’s bedside.

‘The King,’ says Macaulay, ‘was sinking fast.’ Albemarle arrived at
Kensington exhausted by hasty travel, and William bade him rest for
some hours. He then summoned him to make his report. It was in all
respects satisfactory: the States-General were in the best temper; the
troops, the provisions, the magazines were all in good order;
everything was in readiness for an early campaign. William received
the intelligence with the calmness of a man whose work is done; he was
in no illusion as to his danger. ‘I am fast advancing,’ he said, ‘to
my end.’

To Albemarle he gave the keys of his closet and private drawers. It
was now about seven in the morning. The Bishop knelt down and said the
customary prayer: when it was ended, the King was no more. By a
codicil to the Royal will, Albemarle came into possession of the
lordship of the Breevervoorst and 200,000 guelders.

In June 1702 an heir was born to the house of Keppel, who was named
William, after the child’s patron, and Anne, after the reigning
sovereign, who stood godmother in person. Shortly after the birth of
this son, Lord Albemarle returned to his native country, where he
passed the greater part of his time, and took his place as a member of
the Assembly of the States-General.

We have not space to do more than glance at his military career.
Suffice it to say that he served with distinction successively under
four of the greatest commanders of their day,—William III., Marshal
Auverquerque, the Duke of Marlborough, and Prince Eugène of Savoy; all
of whom in turn bore public testimony to his merits as a soldier.

In 1712 he was, on the recommendation of the Duke of Marlborough,
appointed to the command of the Dutch forces, and on the death of
Queen Anne he was sent by the States-General to congratulate George I.
on his accession to the British throne. The new monarch, accompanied
by his son, the Duke of Gloucester (afterwards George II.), was Lord
Albemarle’s guest at the Voorst on his first day’s journey towards his
new kingdom. In 1717 Albemarle was nominated by the nobles of Holland
to compliment Peter the Great on his visit to their country, and he
accompanied the Czar in great state to the city, which his Imperial
Majesty had first entered as a journeyman carpenter! Arnold Keppel,
first Earl of Albemarle, died the following year, and was succeeded by
his son, William Anne, Viscount Bury. The portrait of which we are now
speaking is a replica of one in the possession of the original’s
great-great-grandson, the present bearer of the title. There are
several other likenesses in England of this distinguished man, among
which may be noted one at Woburn Abbey, that came into the Russell
family in consequence of the marriage of Lady Elizabeth Keppel
(daughter of the second Earl of Albemarle) with the Marquess of
Tavistock in 1764.

A.

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_No. 6._

WILLIAM LAMB, SECOND VISCOUNT MELBOURNE.

_Black coat. Hand resting on a table._

BY SIR GEORGE HAYTER, R.A.

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_No. 7._

GEORGE, THIRD EARL COWPER.

_Blue velvet coat. Blue and gold waistcoat, and breeches. Sword. Stick
in one hand, Holds his hat in the other above his head, as if in
the act of saluting. Landscape in background._

BY ZOFFANY.

He was the first Prince of the Holy Roman Empire in the Cowper family.

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_No. 8._

JAMES BUTLER, FIRST DUKE OF ORMONDE.

_In the robes of the Garter. A wand in his hand._

BORN 1610, DIED 1688.

BY SIR PETER LELY.

THE biographer of the second Duke thus alludes to the antiquity of the
family:—‘It is sufficient for the honour of the house of Ormonde that
its original is too ancient to be traced, and that its first descents,
even after it became considerable for its possession, power, and
alliances, cannot be ascertained.’

According to the above-quoted author, the immediate ancestor of the
family, Theobald Walter, accompanied King Henry II. to Ireland about
the year 1171, when Roderick, King of Connaught, and many other petty
Princes, yielded up their sovereignty to the English monarch. Theobald
Walter did Henry good service in the new country, and received as a
reward such extensive grants of lands, as determined him to take up
his residence in Ireland; and from that time forth the fortunes of the
family have been bound up with those of the sister island. The post of
Chief Butler (hereditary) was also assigned him, with a further grant
of what was called ‘the prisage of wine,’ which entitled Theobald and
his descendants to one tun of wine out of nine brought by any ship
into Irish ports. In 1315 Edmund le Botillier (it is an open question
if the name were derived from the office) was created Earl of Carrick,
as a recompense for his loyal services to Edward II. He was Guardian
and Governor of the kingdom of Ireland; and henceforth his descendants
in the succeeding reigns were almost invariably connected with the
government of that country, whether as Lords-Deputy, Lords-Justices,
or Lords-Lieutenant.

Lord Carrick’s son married the King’s cousin, and was in 1322 created
Earl of Ormonde. He had also the rights of a Palatine in the county of
Tipperary conferred on him,—rights which were taken away and restored
again and again in the troubled times of that ever troubled country.
Few families in any part of the world have been more remarkable for
the vicissitudes of fortune than the Butlers. The seventh Earl of
Ormonde died without sons, and left his two daughters very large
fortunes; the youngest married Sir William Boleyn, and was grandmother
to Queen Anne of that name.

Sir Piers Butler, a distant relative, became heir to the Irish
estates, but King Henry VIII., at the instigation of his
father-in-law, Sir Thomas Boleyn, prevailed upon him (chiefly, it is
said, by conferring on him the title of Ossory) to relinquish the
earldom of Ormonde in favour of the said Sir Thomas, on whose death,
however, a few years afterwards, the rightful Earl of Ormonde resumed
his title. We are induced to give these details in consequence of the
strange coincidences which befell the heads of this family in
different reigns.

Thomas, the tenth Earl, a man of undaunted courage, who began his
military career at an early age, was a great favourite with Queen
Elizabeth, and for a time with King James I. ‘His courage in the field
and his spirit in private occurrences were remarkable. He always held
the Earl of Leicester at defiance, and did not scruple to charge him
to the Queen as a knave and coward.’ There is an amusing anecdote told
of the two noblemen meeting one day at Court, in the antechamber.
After the usual exchange of civilities, says Lord Leicester, ‘My Lord
Ormonde, I dreamed of you last night.’ ‘What could you dream of me?’
inquired the other. ‘That I gave you a box on the ear,’ was the
rejoinder. ‘Oh,’ exclaimed Lord Ormonde; ‘do you not know that dreams
are always interpreted by contraries?’ and with that he bestowed a
hearty cuff on the Royal favourite. This one-sided satisfaction
entailed on Ormonde a visit to the Tower; but he was soon released.
The Queen had a great fancy for him, in spite of Lord Leicester’s
enmity, and used to call him her ‘black husband.’ His dark complexion
had gained for him in Ireland the nickname of ‘Dhuiv,’ or ‘the Black.’
He was three times married: first to Elizabeth, daughter and heiress
to Thomas, Lord Berkeley; secondly to Elizabeth, daughter of Lord
Sheffield; and thirdly to Ellen, daughter of Lord Barry and widow of
Lord Poer, whom he married when he was old and blind. He had children
by his second wife only,—a son, who died in boyhood, and a daughter,
Elizabeth. This young lady married, by her father’s wish, her cousin,
Lord Tulleophelim, who died very shortly afterwards without children.
King James I. obliged the aged Earl of Ormonde, much against his will,
to bestow the hand of his widowed daughter on one of his own Scotch
favourites, Sir Richard Preston, whom he first created Baron Dingwall,
and afterwards, in (what his Majesty was pleased to call) right of his
wife, Earl of Desmond, an act which caused universal dissatisfaction
in Ireland,—so time-honoured a title to be bestowed on an alien. Not
content with this deed of injustice, James ordained that Preston
should become possessed of the bulk of the Irish property which
Thomas, Earl of Ormonde, had bequeathed to his successors in the
title. At his death in 1614, the King used every endeavour to persuade
Sir Walter Butler (who became eleventh Earl) to yield up his rights in
favour of Lord Desmond, but, with the true spirit of his race, he
showed a bold front to the tyrant, in consequence of which he was
thrown into the Fleet prison, where he remained in captivity for eight
years. His eldest son, Lord Thurles, married Elizabeth, daughter of
Sir John Poyntz, of Iron Acton, county Gloucester, by whom he had
James, first Duke of Ormonde, and several other children.

The subject of our notice was born in 1610 at Newcastle House, in
Clerkenwell, belonging to the Duke of that title, but inhabited at the
time by Lady Thurles’s father, Sir John Poyntz. The infant was nursed
by a carpenter’s wife at Hatfield, and remained in her charge, when
his parents returned to Ireland, till he was three years old, when
they sent for him; and the Duke used in after years to relate that he
could call to mind, even at that tender age, how he had been carried
in arms through the streets of Bristol, and what he then noticed on
the bridge. He appears to have had a most retentive memory, for he
also recollected being taken to visit Thomas, the aged Earl of
Ormonde, who was living at his estate of Carrick-upon-Suir, and who
felt a great interest in the child, not only as his future heir, but
on account of his former friendship with Sir John Poyntz. The Duke
often spoke in his later life of the impression his kinsman had made
on him: a grand old man, with sightless eyes and long white beard,
wearing his George round his neck, which he never laid aside, whether
sitting in his chair or lying on his bed. He would take the boy on his
knees and caress him, this last year of his life, for Earl Thomas died
in 1614. James lived on in Ireland with his father and mother, till
the unfortunate death of the former, who was drowned off the Skerries
on his voyage to England in 1619, _v.p._

The little Lord Thurles accompanied his mother to London the following
year, and went to school at Finchley, under a Roman Catholic priest,
who educated him in his own creed,—the actual Earl of Ormonde and all
the younger branches of the family adhering to the Church of Rome. But
Thurles was a ward of the Crown, and the King removed him from
Finchley, and transferred him to Lambeth Palace, to be brought up as a
Protestant, under Abbott, Archbishop of Canterbury. The Primate
troubled himself very little as regarded the youth’s education,
probably because he received no allowance whatever, even for the
maintenance of his pupil. To the young Lord himself James only doled
out the paltry sum of forty pounds a year for all expenses. The
biographer of the second Duke, in alluding to these circumstances,
says that ‘intelligence found means to supply the want of education.’
Even after his marriage Lord Thurles studied Latin, from his uncle’s
domestic chaplain, when on a visit to Iron Acton. He also acquired a
knowledge of the Irish language, which he found of the greatest
service to him during his government, enabling him to communicate
personally with the Irish chiefs. He became, indeed, in every way a
most accomplished gentleman; his grandfather, the stout-hearted Earl
of Ormonde, had endured imprisonment and hardship of all kinds rather
than submit to the unjust demands of the King, or surrender his lawful
rights, but at the expiration of eight years he was released, and a
great portion of his estates restored to him,—upon which he hired a
house in Drury Lane, and sent for his grandson from Lambeth Palace to
come and reside with him. Lord Thurles was delighted with his
emancipation from the dull atmosphere of the Primate’s roof. He mixed
in all the gaieties of the town, and took especial pleasure in
theatrical representations and in the society of the leading members
of the profession. He was also a frequent attendant at Court, by the
express wish of Lord Ormonde, who left him in London to make his way
in the world, while he returned to Ireland to look after the property,
which had been long neglected. The circumstances attending the
marriage and courtship of Lord Thurles were of so romantic a nature,
that we are induced to give them in detail, although reluctant to
record a stumble on the threshold of so noble a career. It was at
Court that he first saw his cousin, Lady Elizabeth Preston, daughter
to Lord Dingwall and Desmond, already mentioned, by Lady Elizabeth
Butler. She was a ward of the King’s, who had placed her under the
care of Henry, Earl of Holland, who held an office at Court. Though
very young, she had a perfect knowledge of all the family disputes,
and had been much influenced in Lord Thurles’s favour by the advice of
her kinsman, Lord Mountgarret, who not only highly commended the young
man, but pointed out to the heiress that their union would be a means
of reconciling all former difficulties. When the cousins met at Court,
Elizabeth ‘liked the person of the young Lord, which was very
handsome, his mien and manner witty, insinuating; and the vivacity of
his parts, with the sprightly turn of his wit, made the conversation
most pleasing to her.’ This was remarked on, and the King admonished
Lord Thurles not to meddle with his ward. The secret of this was that
the Duke of Buckingham had arranged with Lord Desmond that his nephew,
Lord Feilding, should espouse Lady Elizabeth Preston, with a remainder
to their heirs of her father’s titles. The said Earl of Desmond had
also received from the King the power over the wardship and marriage
of Lord Thurles, so that there seemed but little hope of the union on
which the cousins had set their hearts. But Elizabeth had the spirit
of her race. Her affections were irrevocably fixed, and she was in a
humour to say with the beautiful bride of Van Artevelde:—

‘Me shall no earthly potentate or prince
Toss, like a morsel of his broken meat,
To any suppliant: be they advised
I am in wardship to the King of kings,
God and my heart alone dispose of me.’

Now Lord Holland was inclined to further Lord Thurles’s suit, actuated
thereto, it was said, by pecuniary inducements; but the Royal commands
were not to be disobeyed, openly at least. There was one in the house,
however, who was in a position to assist the lovers, and that was Lady
Isabella Rich, Lord Holland’s daughter, Elizabeth’s chosen friend, and
sister in all but name,—a lovely, sharp-witted girl of her own age.
She admitted Lord Thurles every day, at all hours, in a clandestine
manner; nor did her parents object or interfere, but allowed her to
make a feint of herself receiving the young man’s addresses; and
implicit trust was placed by all parties in Isabella’s rectitude.

Alas for the compact! which we must believe was begun in good
faith. Lord Thurles, as we have said, was young, handsome,
agreeable,—captivating, in fact, and the _rôle_ of confidante is
proverbially dangerous. In an evil hour he forgot his loyalty to
his betrothed, and Isabella forgot her friend, herself, her duty,
and all but her infatuation for the man who was playing a double
part by the two girls. Few romances can outdo this real history in
sensational incident. Lord Desmond was drowned about the same time
as his wife died, and the latter left as her last injunction that
Elizabeth should marry her cousin, and thus restore the property
to the rightful branch,—for Lady Desmond had never been easy in
her mind over these unlawful acquisitions. Buckingham was
assassinated, and King Charles I. gave the Royal consent to the
union of the cousins; ‘and so,’ says the biographer of the great
Duke of Ormonde (who, by the way, makes very light of this
episode), ‘the marriage was joyously celebrated, and everybody
content.’ We are not informed how the unfortunate Lady Isabella
fared on the occasion; her content could not have been great; but
the _dénouement_ remains to be told, and though, as a matter of
dates, it should come much later, we think it advisable to finish
the concluding acts of the drama in this place.

Several years afterwards, when Lord Ormonde was in Paris, he went to
the Academy to visit a handsome and intelligent youth, whom he had
sent thither for his education; whereupon he sat down, and wrote a
long description of the boy to Lady Isabella (then the wife of Sir
James Thynne of Longleat), being a subject in which they had a common
interest. As ill-luck would have it, he at the same time indited a
letter to his wife, and misdirected the covers. While Lady Ormonde was
making the discovery that she had been cruelly deceived and betrayed
by the two people she at that time loved best in the world, Lady
Isabella came in, and found her reading the fatal letter.

Tears, sobs, caresses—an agitating scene—ensued. Isabella humbled
herself before the woman she had so grievously injured, and sought by
every means of fascination that she possessed, to soften her just
resentment. Lady Ormonde, generous and high-minded, almost beyond
belief, raised the suppliant, who was kneeling at her feet, with the
promise not only of forgiveness, but of unchanging friendship,—a
promise nobly kept, as we shall see later. Scarcely more marvellous is
the fact, for we cannot doubt the evidence, that Lady Ormonde not only
never upbraided her husband, but from that day kept a profound silence
on the subject. Nor was this all. Some time afterwards, when Lady
Ormonde was residing with her children at Caen, she received a letter
from Lady Isabella, who had again got herself into hot water,
recalling her promise of unchanging friendship, and asking for
shelter. The generous-hearted exile not only welcomed her old
companion to share her small house and straitened means, but allowed
her to remain for nearly two years under her roof, during which time
Lord Ormonde was a constant visitor. The destinies of the two women,
who had been early friends, but whose characters were diametrically
opposed, were strangely entangled,—Lady Isabella, being described in a
contemporary journal as ‘one of those rattle-brained ladies,’ was most
eccentric, to say the least of it, and full of ‘strange vagaries;’
while Lady Ormonde was remarkable for sound sense and judgment, and
for her dignified and stately deportment. We make an extract bearing
on this subject from the Life of Roger Boyle, Lord Broghill,
afterwards Earl of Orrery. This nobleman, who, like his father and his
brothers, was a zealous Royalist, was surprised one day at receiving a
summons from the Protector, who bluntly offered him a high command in
the army in Ireland under Government. Broghill gave for answer that
nothing should induce him to take arms against the King, his master.
‘No one asked you to do so,’ was the angry retort; ‘I offer you the
alternative of serving England against the Irish insurgents, or
proceeding without delay to the Tower of London.’

The first choice was the most palatable, and Broghill returned to
Ireland, where he continued to give proofs of his courage and martial
skill. Between him and Lord Ormonde there had been some disagreement,
but they were reconciled, and Broghill ever afterwards remained the
fast friend of both husband and wife, and, standing high in the
Protector’s favour, in consequence of his military services, more than
one opportunity presented itself of being useful to them. He had come
over from Ireland, when the Protector sent for him, and thus addressed
him: ‘If you are still interested in my Lord Ormonde’s safety, you had
better advise him to leave London. We know all about him, where he is,
what he is doing, and he had best absent himself.’

The hint was given and taken, and Lord Ormonde left England
accordingly. A short time elapsed, when one day Lady Ormonde was much
distressed at receiving a domiciliary visit from one of Cromwell’s
functionaries, who ransacked the house, and carried away every paper
he could find. She immediately sent for her faithful friend, and
besought him to intercede once more in her behalf. Broghill lost no
time; he hurried off to Whitehall, and found the autocrat in a
towering passion. ‘You have undertaken, indeed,’ he said, ‘for the
quietness of a fine person. I have allowed my Lady Ormonde £2000 a
year out of her husband’s estates, because they were sufferers in
Ireland. But I find she is a wicked woman, and I promise you she shall
pay for it.’ It was some time before Lord Broghill could gain a
hearing, but when he was permitted to speak, he asked what proof could
be adduced of Lady Ormonde’s guilt, upon which Cromwell threw him a
letter, that certainly left no doubt of the writer’s Royalist
tendencies and disaffection to the existing Government. ‘This was
found,’ said the Protector, ‘in searching the escritoire at Lord
Ormonde’s house.’ Lord Broghill could not help laughing. ‘But this,’
he observed, ‘is not the writing of my Lady Ormonde.’ ‘Indeed,’
rejoined Cromwell angrily, ‘and pray who wrote these lines?’ Bent on
saving his friends, Lord Broghill not only explained the letter was
from Lady Isabella Thynne (between whom and Lord Ormonde there had
been undoubted love passages), but he produced some other letters from
the same lady to identify the handwriting, and further proceeded to
relate several anecdotes of a most lively nature respecting her, which
turned all Cromwell’s wrath into merriment, and he laughed
immoderately. Broghill’s judicious conduct had gained his friends’
cause.

We have forestalled events in order to finish the romance of which
Lady Isabella Thynne was the heroine, and we must now turn back to the
year 1629, being that of the marriage. Lord Thurles took his bride to
the house of his maternal uncle, in Gloucestershire, where they
remained a year, and then proceeded to Carrick, in Ireland, where his
grandfather lived, and where he began his military career by
purchasing a troop of horse. He went to Scotland, and then to England,
and succeeding to the title of Ormonde on Earl Walter’s death,
returned to Ireland in 1633. There he began a life of activity, which
never ceased from that time forward. Many passages in Carte’s Life of
the ‘great Duke’ tend to confirm our previous remark, that Irish
history, more than that of any other nation, verifies the saying, ‘Que
l’histoire se répète.’

Great were the expectations raised all over the kingdom, in 1623, of
important matters to be done on the coming over of a new Lord-Deputy,
endowed with a larger measure of authority, etc. This was Lord
Wentworth, who arrived in Dublin in July 1633. Lord Ormonde did not
delay to repair thither, in order to pay his respects to my Lord
Wentworth, who, chancing to observe him from a window, as he was
crossing the Castle-yard, observed to the standers-by, ‘If I possess
any skill in physiognomy, that young man will be the chief of his
family.’

At the outset of their acquaintance, an incident occurred which
threatened to make a breach between these two high spirits, but,
instead thereof, cemented a friendship, which was only terminated by
the untimely death of Lord Strafford. During the session of the Irish
Parliament, the Lord-Deputy had found it advisable to prohibit the
Lords wearing their swords, lest, in the heat of argument, they might
have recourse to sharper weapons than those of eloquence. The order
was obeyed in every instance, save that of my Lord Ormonde, who, when
the Usher of the Black Rod insisted on his disarming, replied angrily,
marching on in a stately manner, and taking his seat in the House,
‘You shall have no sword of mine, except through your body.’ On being
summoned before the Lord-Deputy for this open act of insubordination,
he proudly drew forth the King’s warrant for his admission to the
Privy Council. The Lord-Deputy was satisfied, and the two noblemen
became fast friends. When evil days fell on Strafford, and the Irish
Parliament joined the English in hastening his downfall, Lord Ormonde
pleaded his cause in the Upper House with so much reason and eloquence
as to bias a considerable party in Strafford’s favour, at least for a
time. The letters which passed between them during the latter’s
imprisonment were couched in the most affectionate terms. Writing from
the Tower, the captive tells his friend that he has recommended him to
the King for the Lord-Deputyship of Ireland; and later he writes:
‘There is so little rest given to me, my noble Lord, that I have
scarce time to eat my bread. Your Lordship’s favours to me in my
afflictions are such as have and shall level my heart at your foot so
long as I live.’

On the eve of his execution, Strafford intrusted Archbishop Usher with
some last requests to the King, amongst which was the earnest hope
that the Earl of Ormonde should have his vacant Garter. The offer was
made; but Lord Ormonde declined, saying that his loyalty needed no
such stimulus, and that the honour might be more advantageously
bestowed for the King’s service.

At the breaking out of the Irish rebellion, the King wished to appoint
him Lord-Deputy, but was overruled by the Parliament, which had
resolved on Lord Leicester. He was however selected by the
Lords-Justices in Ireland for the chief command of the forces in that
country. The appointment was an excellent one. He was successful
against the rebels for a considerable period, and his services were
(for a time) duly appreciated by the English Commons, who voted a
large sum of money to purchase him a jewel of great value. They also
recommended him to the King for the Garter, an honour that was
bestowed later on a most deserving knight. Ormonde was indeed as
chivalrous as he was brave, keeping good faith with his savage
adversaries; and a noble answer given by him is worthy to be recorded
here. One of the native chiefs threatened to take reprisals on Lady
Ormonde and his family. ‘My wife and dear ones,’ said the General,
‘are in your power; but for myself, I should never be dastardly enough
to revenge any offence they received on the women and children of my
enemies.’

After a while his popularity began to wane, and he became a mark for
jealousy and calumny on both sides of St. George’s Channel. The
Lords-Justices thwarted him in his campaigns, and stinted him in
supplies, and the Lord-Deputy Leicester never let slip an opportunity
of doing him an evil turn, both in public and private. The King,
however, remained his staunch friend, and wrote him a most flattering
letter, renewing his command of the army, and raising him to the grade
of a Marquis. The account of the Irish rebellion would, and indeed
has, filled many a large volume, and concerns history rather than
biography. We cannot do more than glance at events, in which Lord
Ormonde himself bore so distinguished a part. After giving the most
striking proofs of valour, patriotism, and loyalty in his encounters
with the insurgents, under difficulties of almost unparalleled
hardship, want of supplies, provisions, and the like, he found himself
compelled to agree to a cessation of arms for twelve months. The news
of this treaty was received with much disapprobation in England, and
was represented by the enemies of Ormonde and of the King, as ‘an
unseasonable and unnecessary concession;’ but Charles was duly
impressed with the honour and ability of his faithful servant, and
resolved to make him Lord-Lieutenant in the stead of Lord Leicester.
The gallant General was unwilling to accept the post, but was
persuaded to do so, ‘without much hope, indeed, of serving the Crown,
or remedying many of the disorders.’

During his tenure of office, political and religious factions were at
their height in this most unhappy country, and intrigues on both sides
of St. George’s Channel were carried on against the Lord-Lieutenant,
paralysing his efforts, till he had no choice but to conclude a
peace,—a peace that was no peace. Conspiracies of all kinds were
hatched,—and one in particular was discovered, the aim of which was to
seize the person of Lord Ormonde in his own castle of Kilkenny, whence
he escaped with much difficulty to Dublin, where he was besieged by
the insurgents. He held out till all his supplies were exhausted, and
he had lost every hope of redress. The King was a prisoner in the
hands of the Roundheads, who had sent over Commissioners to Ireland;
there was no choice left for Ormonde but to surrender to the Irish, or
English rebels. He chose the latter alternative, and, delivering up
the keys to the Commissioners, embarked for England, followed by the
prayers and good wishes of the well-affected among the citizens, but
more especially of the poorer clergy, whose wives and children had
been saved from starvation by his bounty and that of his excellent
wife. He reached England, went first to Iron Acton, gained a pass from
General Fairfax which gave him access to the King (then a prisoner in
his own palace of Hampton Court), and hired a lodging at
Kingston-on-Thames, in order to remain in the vicinity. He had
frequent intercourse with his Royal master, who fully appreciated all
his devoted friend and subject had dared and done for his service, and
reiterated his opinion that no one else was qualified to fill the post
of Viceroy of Ireland. But this view of the case did not fall in with
the notions of those in authority, and Ormonde received intimation to
the effect that it would be advisable for him to leave England, which
he accordingly did, and, crossing to Dieppe, proceeded to Paris, to
join the Queen, Henrietta Maria, and the Prince of Wales.

While residing in the French capital, Lord Ormonde kept up a
continuous correspondence with the loyalists in Scotland, and more
especially with the influential leaders in Ireland. There had existed
a feud between the Lords Ormonde and Inchiquin and Lord Broghill,
General of the Horse, but it was not difficult to bring about a
reconciliation between three devoted servants of the Crown. Lord
Ormonde was at length prevailed on by the wishes of the Queen and
Prince, as also by the earnest solicitations of the Royalists in
Ireland, to return to that country, and resume his post as
Lord-Lieutenant. He had, during his stay in Paris, entered into
communication with many leading members of the Roman Catholic
religion, with a view to a pacification between the two opposing
creeds on his return, and had also endeavoured to raise at the French
Court a sufficient sum to insure him proper supplies; but in this
respect he was wofully disappointed, and he landed in Cork with the
miserable sum of thirty French pistoles in his military chest.

Everything was against him in Dublin,—the hands of the
Parliamentarians, Cromwell’s emissaries spread far and wide over the
country, while Prince Rupert, who commanded a Royalist fleet on the
coast, was less assistance than detriment to the cause, from his
unceasing jealousy and rivalry of other officials. The news of the
King’s execution was received with consternation by his partisans in
Scotland and Ireland, and with profound grief by Lord Ormonde, who
caused the Prince of Wales to be instantly proclaimed, and wrote off
to him urging the advisability of his coming over in person,—a scheme
which was not carried out. The Lord-Lieutenant was now engaged in
negotiations of a pacific nature with the so-called ‘old Irish party’
(headed by Phelim O’Neill, and other leading Roman Catholics), and he
concentrated all his energies on gaining possession of Dublin. But the
death of O’Neill, the arrival of Cromwell with a large body of troops,
and the number of desertions, all conduced to render his position
untenable. He only waited for the King’s sanction to leave Ireland,
and once more embarked for France, where, after a most tempestuous
voyage, he joined his wife and children at Caen, and passed many
months between that temporary home and Paris, where he finally joined
the king, as a regular attendant, after Charles’s escape from the
battle of Worcester.

Ormonde was now reduced to the greatest straits, having but one
pistole a week for his board, and being obliged ‘to go afoot, which is
not considered reputable in Paris;’ added to which, his wife found it
impossible to live on at Caen, even in the modest style to which she
had lately been accustomed; and the King had nothing to spare out of
his scanty pittance to assist his friends. In these trying
circumstances, it was arranged that Lady Ormonde should go to England
in person, and endeavour to gain some redress from Parliament. It was
no agreeable errand, but the lady was well qualified to act with
spirit and determination, tempered by tact; and she did not shrink
from the undertaking.

Her dignity of demeanour and her courage were proverbial. It had been
said of her that she had the spirit of old Earl Thomas; and she knew
how to inspire Cromwell with respect. In her interviews he always
treated her with the greatest consideration, and accompanied her
downstairs to her coach or chair, although she was kept long in
suspense about her financial demands, and the great man often answered
her arguments by a shrug of the shoulders. It may not come into the
proper place, as far as dates are concerned, but, speaking of her
relations with the Protector, we must allude to an audience she had of
him later. Cromwell was very jealous of the growing power and
popularity of Lord Ossory, and although he had already granted him a
pass to travel beyond seas, he suddenly thought it safer to have him
seized, and sent to the Tower. His mother immediately proceeded to
Whitehall, or wherever Cromwell was holding his reception at the time,
and asked her son’s freedom, saying she knew not who were his
accusers, or of what crime they accused him, but that she would answer
with her life for her son’s innocence. Cromwell begged to be excused
giving her an answer, but observed he had much more reason to be
afraid of her than of anybody else.

‘I desire no favour,’ said the noble petitioner aloud, before the
hundreds who were present on the occasion, ‘but do consider it strange
that I, who have never been implicated in any plot, and never said a
word against the Protector, should be considered so terrible a
person!’

‘No, madam, that is not exactly the case,’ replied Oliver; ‘but your
worth has gained you so great an influence over all the commanders of
our party, and we know so well your power over the other side, that it
is in your Ladyship’s breast to act what you please.’

The incident speaks well for both parties, and Oliver, with all his
faults, had learned to respect a noble woman when he encountered one,
being blest as he was in his wife and mother. After many delays and
heartburnings, the Parliament authorised Lady Ormonde to receive from
the Irish Commissioners a yearly income for herself and children of
£2000 out of her own inheritance, together with the house of
Donnemore, near Kilkenny, for their residence.

Here she took up her abode, and never saw her Lord again till the
Restoration. The treaty which was concluded between the Protector and
the Court of France rendered it imperative on the English King to
leave Paris, and, accordingly, accompanied by Ormonde, he proceeded to
Spa (to meet his sister, the Princess of Orange), and afterwards to
Aix-la-Chapelle and Cologne.

From the latter place he despatched Lord Ormonde to Paris on an errand
of trust and difficulty. The young Duke of Gloucester had been sent to
the French capital with a hardly-wrung permission from Oliver to
pursue his education under the auspices of his mother, who had pledged
her word to the King not to tamper with the boy’s religion,—an oath
which Henrietta Maria evidently thought ‘more honoured in the breach
than the observance.’

She accordingly separated the Duke from his Protestant tutor, and
placed him under the care of a Jesuit priest, where she frequently
visited him, and by alternate coaxing and threatening strove to bring
her child over to her own creed. The boy stood firm, and declared he
would never disobey his father’s last injunctions, but the Queen’s
menace of never seeing his face again grieved his affectionate nature
so much as to injure his health. Ormonde arrived in Paris, armed with
the King’s authority to convey the Duke of Gloucester to Cologne, but
the necessary funds for travelling expenses were not forthcoming, so
the Duke went to reside for a time in Paris with Lord Hatton, a firm
Royalist and faithful Protestant. Lord Ormonde was not one to be
baffled in any undertaking in which he was engaged: he pawned his
Garter, and the jewel which the Parliament had given him, to defray
the cost of the journey; and he set out with his young charge,
travelling for safety _via_ Antwerp, where he was like to have died of
a fever. At length, however, he placed the youth under the protection
of the King, his brother, and they remained together till the
Restoration took them to England.

So temperately and judiciously had Lord Ormonde conducted this affair,
that the King was deeply grateful to him, and he still kept a
tolerable hold on the good graces of the Queen, and was, indeed,
afterwards instrumental in bringing about a reconciliation between
mother and son. He was now employed in several diplomatic missions of
importance, especially with the Court of Spain, and he ventured into
England, at the risk of life and freedom, in order to communicate with
the Royalists at home. He landed on the coast of Essex in disguise,
and went to London, where he lay _perdu_, only venturing out at
nightfall, and running the gauntlet of many dangers and adventures,
which were not without some charm for a man of his spirit.

We cannot refrain from alluding to an incident, which, though in
reality trivial, has a laughable side, and there has been little that
is laughable to record in the life of Lord Ormonde. He often changed
his lodgings, and was constantly reconnoitring the premises with a
view to escape, changing his clothes, generally lying down dressed. He
had an aversion to wearing a periwig, so a friend gave him a dye to
turn his own hair black, but the lotion was badly mixed, and the
ingredients deleterious, so that poor Lord Ormonde’s head was not only
scalded, but his hair came out in party-coloured patches of every
variegated hue, more likely to attract than elude observation.

He returned to Paris, having proved, what was already undoubted, his
courage and zeal to the King’s service, but with no other good result.
His presence in the French capital was almost as dangerous as it had
been in London, for Cromwell had set a price upon his head, and the
Cardinal Mazarin, who was then Prime Minister, was by no means
insensible to the charms of money.

The liberality of Lord Ormonde, even in his straitened circumstances,
had like on one occasion to have been productive of unfortunate
results, and the incident teaches a lesson of the necessity of
studying the peculiar manners and customs of foreign countries in
contradistinction to our own. Lord Ormonde was much respected and
courted by the French nobility, to one of whom he paid a visit near
St. Germains, and on his departure, according to the well-known
English fashion of ‘vails’ or parting gifts, he presented the _maître
d’hôtel_ with ten pistoles, being the whole contents of his purse.

Riding onward, as we may imagine rather disconsolately, the Marquis
was startled by the sound of wheels driving furiously; and, looking
back, perceived his late host’s coach gaining on him. He reined in his
steed, sprang from the saddle, and embraced his friend, who alighted
at the same moment. Lord Ormonde was surprised at a decided coldness
in the Frenchman’s manner and tone of voice, as he said, ‘After you
left the château, I heard a great disturbance among the servants of my
household, and, inquiring into the cause, found them all quarrelling
over their share of the money which your Lordship, for some
inexplicable motive, had given to my _maître d’hôtel_. I am come to
ask if you found any fault with your treatment in my house?’

‘On the contrary,’ warmly responded Lord Ormonde.

‘Then why did you treat it as an inn? I pay my servants well to wait
on me and my guests. I do not know, my Lord, if this be the custom in
your country, but assuredly it is not so with us. Here are the ten
pistoles, which I have rescued from my servants’ grasp; you must
either take them back at my hands, or else your Lordship must give me
on the spot that satisfaction which no gentleman can refuse another.’

We may believe the affair turned into one of laughter rather than of
‘honour,’ when Lord Ormonde explained that in his country such
amenities were invariably practised by guests at leave-taking.

The King of England was now at Brussels, hampered and entangled by
fruitless negotiations with foreign powers, and he sent for his right
hand, Lord Ormonde.

Short cuts are proverbially dangerous, and so thought the Marquis,
who, taking horse, rode from Paris, _via_ Lyons and Geneva, through
the Palatinate to Brussels, where he joined the King, who, failing in
his Spanish views, had formed an idea of marrying the daughter of
Frederic Henry, the Stadtholder. But the Dowager Princess of Orange,
who was very powerful at her son’s Court, opposed the design so
strongly that the match was prevented.

Meanwhile Lord Ormonde’s eldest son, the Earl of Ossory, fell in love
with Emilia, daughter of Louis de Nassau, Lord of Auverquerque, a
natural son of Maurice, Prince of Orange. Louis was much esteemed,
both for character and position, and had considerable weight in the
Assembly of the States. At first he was persistent in his demands that
Lord Ormonde should come forward with good settlements, but, being
made to understand the state of Irish affairs, he was content to
accept what Lord Ossory’s mother (who could deny nothing to her
first-born) contrived to spare out of her hardly gained pittance.
Moreover, he found the young couple were devotedly attached, and that
Ossory had refused a more advantageous marriage with the daughter of
the Earl of Southampton, in consequence of his preference for Emilia;
and so the marriage was arranged, Lord Ormonde himself nothing loath
that his son’s happiness should be assured by a connection which he
hoped might also prove beneficial to the King’s interests. One of Lord
Ossory’s daughters married Auverquerque, Earl of Grantham, and their
daughter, Henrietta (eventually sole heiress to her grandfather),
married the second Lord Cowper. From this lady the present Earl lays
claim, not only to titles and estates, but to a lineal descent from
the illustrious patriot, William the Silent.

Better times were in store, of however short duration. The Restoration
was at hand, and Ormonde, as may have been expected, was one of those
faithful friends whom the King ‘delighted to honour.’ He was made Lord
Steward of the Household, Duke of Ormonde in the peerage of Ireland,
Earl of Brecknock and Baron Lantony in that of England, and all his
estates, dignities, and privileges in the sister country of which he
had been deprived, restored to him, though, as far as emolument went,
some were scarcely more than nominal. He walked at the coronation as
Lord Steward, and carried St. Edward’s crown. The Viceroyalty of
Ireland, having been offered to and declined by the Duke of Albemarle,
was next proffered to the Duke of Ormonde, who undertook the thankless
task with eyes sharpened by long experience; and in so doing he
remarked to a friend: ‘Besides many other disadvantages, there are two
proper to me—one of the contending parties believing that I owe them
more kindness and protection than I find myself chargeable with, and
the other suspecting I entertain that prejudice to them from which I
am free. This temper will be attended undeniably in them with clamour
and scandal upon my most equal and wary deportment,’—a prophecy which
was too soon and too exactly fulfilled. The Lord-Lieutenant was
received with great pomp and splendour, and a sum of several thousands
voted to facilitate his acceptance of the dignity; but a year had not
elapsed before a deeply-laid plot was discovered to seize the Castle
of Dublin and the person of his Excellency; and though the principal
conspirators were arrested, and some executed, the arch-traitor Blood,
who was one of them, escaped, with a vow of vengeance in his heart
against the Duke, as will be seen hereafter.