Chapter C (4)

Once more in straits for troops for the King’s service, and money to
pay them, Ormonde wrote to the Duke of Albemarle, asking for five
hundred men, to which request he got the unsatisfactory reply, that
Monk himself had not that number in his whole army upon whose fidelity
he could rely. Ormonde, however, was not discouraged, as we shall see
by an extract from the author already quoted, speaking of all the
difficulties with which the Lord-Lieutenant had to contend. ‘He was
not less indefatigable and prudent than his enemies were
indefatigable, industrious, and artful, but turned his whole thoughts
to raising the distressed kingdom of Ireland, both in character and
circumstances. He gave the greatest encouragement to learning,
fostered trade, and revived the linen manufacture, which had been
founded by Lord Strafford.’ It seems strange that the Irish, who are
among the best and most skilful artificers of any nation, should
scarcely ever have persisted in any manufacture, among the many that
have been set on foot at different times, with the exception of this
branch, in which they have for so many years been paramount. The Duke
also advocated for Ireland the advantages of free trade to all foreign
nations, in peace and war; for no ingratitude on the part of his
countrymen ever induced Ormonde to neglect their interests in matters
ecclesiastical, civil, or military. Added to which, he made the most
liberal sacrifices of his own personal property to advance the
interests of the King and the country he ruled; yet notwithstanding,
he was made the mark for calumny and persecution, in England as well
as in Ireland, and the Duke of Buckingham hated and envied him, and
meditated an impeachment, while Lords Arlington and Shaftesbury were
most inimical to him, neither was he a favourite with the
Queen-Mother, in spite of all the services he had rendered her.

Another formidable adversary was Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine,
afterwards Duchess of Cleveland, the rapacious mistress of Charles
II., who had given her the Lodge in Phœnix Park, Dublin. The
Lord-Lieutenant refused to confirm the grant, stopped the warrant,
declaring that it was the proper summer quarter for himself and his
successors in office. Barbara, as may be expected, never forgave this
interference. Meeting the Duke one day while he was in London, in the
precincts of the Court, she fell on him with abusive and insulting
words, and concluded by saying she devoutly wished she might live to
see him hanged. His Grace listened with a calm, imperturbable smile to
these ravings, and said he was not in such hot haste to put an end to
her Ladyship’s existence; he should be quite content to live long
enough to see her old and ugly. Neither did the faithful friendship
which existed between the Duke and the Earl of Clarendon, whose star
was now waning, redound to the worldly advantage of the former.

He made more than one journey to England to give an account of his
stewardship to the King, as also to look after his own interests, well
knowing what numbers were plotting against him. Burnet, Pepys, Evelyn,
all pay their tribute to the Duke during his residence in London at
this time, when Charles, who esteemed him in his heart, was too weak
to uphold him against his arrogant favourite and his other slanderers.
Pepys says: ‘I do hear that my Lord of Ormonde shall not hold his
government of Ireland any longer, which shows the power of Buckingham
and the poor spirit of the King, and the little hold that any man can
have of him.’ Again: ‘This day I do hear that my Lord Ormonde is to be
declared in Council no more Lord-Deputy of Ireland; his time of
commission having expired, the King is prevailed with to take it out
of his hands, which people do mightily admire’ (how many meanings may
lie in the same word!), ‘saying he is the greatest subject of any
Prince in Christendom, and hath done more for his Prince than any ever
yet did, but he must down, it seems: the Duke of Buckingham carries
all before him;’ and so forth. But the machinations of his enemies
succeeded. Lord Robartes reigned in his stead, while the Duchess went
over to Dublin to break up the establishment, and received an ovation
from the people there. Oxford, of which University the Duke had been
made Chancellor, came forward to show him all the respect he deserved,
but no longer received, at the hands of the weak-spirited Charles,
whom he continued to serve so faithfully. Archbishop Sheldon, speaking
of the Duke’s firmness and temper, which he showed in the melancholy
occasion of his disfavour at Court, says it insured the admiration of
all bystanders beyond everything he had ever done before,—indeed it
was the most glorious part of his life. One of the principal causes of
the King’s coldness was the resolution Ormonde had formed, and from
which he never swerved: he would not truckle to those female harpies
who were ruining the King not only in his pocket, but in the
estimation of his people. So dignified was Ormonde’s demeanour that
Buckingham asked Charles, ‘Will your Majesty answer me one question:
Is it the Duke who is out of favour with the King, or the King with
the Duke? for, upon my word, it is your Majesty who looks most out of
countenance when you are together.’

People who were not cognisant of the real state of affairs at Court
would sometimes ask him to intercede for some favour, which caused him
to reply: ‘I have no longer the power to help, only to hurt.’ One day
Carey Dillon, afterwards Lord Roscommon, came and requested the Duke
to assist him with the King in some private affair, saying, ‘I have no
friends but God and yourself.’ ‘Alas!’ said Ormonde, ‘poor Carey, I
pity thee; thou couldst not have two friends who have less interest at
Court or less respect shown them there.’

The Prince of Orange being over in England, the Duke had been in
attendance on his Highness at a banquet given by the City of London,
and was returning to Clarendon House, where he then lived, in his
coach, which was so large that he had caused iron spikes to be placed
at the back, lest his footmen should get up, and make it too heavy for
the horses; so six of them walked by the side; but, in spite of this
escort, the coach was stopped by the notorious Blood and several
accomplices, who had been on the watch in St. James’s Street. They
dragged out the Duke, and placed him behind a horseman, tightly bound
by a rope, with orders that the prisoner should be conveyed to Tyburn,
while Blood galloped on in front to prepare the gallows, with his own
hands, for the execution of the man he detested. But Ormonde made a
stalwart resistance; he struggled so violently as to impede the
progress of the horseman, and at length, getting his foot under the
stirrup, upset his captor, and they both rolled off together on the
pavement. Meantime the coachman had hastened home, alarmed the
servants, with whom he tore off in pursuit, and by the light (not of
the stars of heaven, but) of the star which the Duke wore, and which
glittered in the flicker of the lamps, they found the struggling pair,
and, rescuing their beloved master, conveyed him home almost
senseless. It was naturally supposed that Blood would suffer condign
punishment; but to the surprise of all—saving, perhaps, the Duke of
Buckingham and the Duchess of Cleveland—the King not only pardoned
him, but gave him later on an estate in Ireland! It was currently
believed at Court that Buckingham had a hand in this attempt on
Ormonde’s life, and Lord Ossory taxed him with it one day at Court.

‘I give you warning,’ said the eager young man, ‘that if my father
comes to a violent death by the hand of a ruffian, or by secret way of
poison, I shall not be at a loss to know who is the author, but
consider you the assassin, and whenever I meet you will pistol you,
though it be behind the King’s chair. And I tell you this in his
Majesty’s presence, that you may know I will keep my word,’—a threat
which the blustering Duke seems to have found himself obliged to put
up with; at all events, it was said that when Blood was tried for
stealing the Regalia, he accused Buckingham on this count; and the
King, whose unreasonable clemency with respect to the villain has
always remained a mystery, sent to beg Ormonde’s forgiveness for
Blood. The Duke replied to the messenger: ‘If the King can forgive him
for stealing his crown, I may easily forgive him for attempting my
life.’

In order to be near his service at Court, the Duke had taken a house
near Windsor, and, being in great favour with the Queen and the
Duchess of York, was often summoned to play at basset with them. One
Sunday, the card-table being brought out, the Queen invited him to
play.

‘I hope your Majesty will excuse me,’ he said.

‘You surely can have no scruples,’ observed the Queen, not best
pleased; ‘nobody else has any.’

‘I beg your Majesty’s pardon,’ was the reply; ‘Christian, and even
Jewish, laws, set apart one day in seven for the service of God, and
cessation from business.’

Undoubtedly at this Court card-playing was a business, and one in no
way profitable to the impoverished state of the Duke’s fortune. We do
not know if it were at Windsor or in London, but, after having been
slighted for so long by the King, Ormonde frequently asked leave to
retire from Court. He one day received the astounding intelligence
that his Majesty would sup with his Grace. The cause of this sudden
step was to announce the Royal intention of reinstating the Duke of
Ormonde in the viceregal power in Ireland, Charles being thereto
instigated, it was said, by the Duke of York, who feared the post
might be offered to the Duke of Monmouth. We are inclined to believe
that it was on this occasion that the Duchess prepared so sumptuous a
repast as to call forth a lengthened description in Carte’s life of
her husband: ‘If she had a fault, ‘twas the height of her spirit,
which put her upon doing everything in a magnificent manner, without
regard for expense.’ Bent on giving his Majesty a noble entertainment,
the Duchess consulted her steward, who expostulated, as in duty bound,
and counselled greater economy; but her Grace drew herself up, and
observed with much dignity: ‘You must allow me to be a better judge of
what is fitting for my own sphere;’ and so the banquet cost over
£2000!—if we may trust the biographer so often quoted. The Duke, who
loved her dearly, never interfered with her financial arrangements,
though he must often have had reason to regret them.

He was once betrayed into a melancholy jest on this subject. The
Duchess had built Dunmore Castle for her jointure-house, at a large
cost, and one day, as the Duke was walking with a friend on the leads
of Kilkenny Castle, which commanded a fine view of the surrounding
country, the new castle and grounds forming a conspicuous object in
the landscape,—‘Your Grace,’ observed his companion, smiling, ‘has
done a great deal here; but yonder you have _done more_.’

‘Alas!’ replied the Duke, ‘my wife has done so much, that she has
undone me.’

The history of his return to power was but a repetition of all that
had gone before. Fresh plots against his authority and his life, fresh
outbreaks of religious strife between Catholics and Protestants,
continued undermining of his interests in England; but no public
trouble could be compared with the crushing sorrow occasioned by the
death of his eldest son, Lord Ossory, in the prime of life, in the
zenith of his reputation. We have no space to enlarge on the merits of
this noble son of a noble father; he has been immortalised in the
pages of that father’s faithful friend, Lord Clarendon. Suffice it to
say, that all England and Ireland sympathised with the afflicted
parents. The Duchess appears never to have entirely rallied, for
though her death did not occur till some years later, her health began
to fail, and she went over to Bath for the benefit of the waters. In
1684, of fever and weakness, this most remarkable woman, the ‘best
helpmate man ever was blessed with,’ died, at the age of sixty-nine,
having married when only fourteen.

Her guardian, Lord Holland, had so far neglected her education, that
she had never even learned to write, but she taught herself by copying
print, which was the reason her letters were never joined together. In
appearance she was tall and well made, but not a beauty; an excellent
capacity for business, good sense and judgment, and, as we have said
before, an undaunted spirit, which fitted her for all the vicissitudes
of her eventful life. Irreproachable in her own conduct, she avoided
the society of the King’s favourites, and ‘would never wait on the
Duchess of Cleveland,’ who was her enemy in consequence. The Duchess
of Portsmouth would take no denial, and when the Ormondes lived near
Windsor would always be calling, and once she sent word she was coming
to dine. The Duchess, on receiving this semi-royal intimation,
despatched her granddaughters, who were staying with her, to London,
and when ‘La Quérouaille’ arrived she found no one to sit with her at
table, with the exception of the Duke and Duchess, and their domestic
chaplain; whereas, when the Duke of York married Lady Anne Hyde, and
few were found to pay her court, the Duchess of Ormonde waited on the
bride, and, kneeling, kissed her hand, as to a Princess of the blood.
Queen Catherine esteemed the Duchess of Ormonde highly, none the less,
doubtless, for the slights she put upon ‘The Castlemaine,’ and made
her a present of her own and the King’s portraits, set in large
diamonds, which their Majesties had exchanged at the Royal marriage.
This jewel was given by the Duke to his grandson’s wife, Lady Mary
Somerset, who was compelled to sell it for subsistence at the
Revolution, when her husband’s estates passed away from him.

The Duke was in England when his wife died, and was inconsolable;
‘indeed, when alone at night, he was almost distracted.’ The only
solace he found was in constant work, and he hurried over to Dublin to
resume his duties; in the meantime, Charles II., who had lately made
him an English Duke, was besieged, as before, with applications once
more to deprive his faithful servant of the Lord-Lieutenancy. For a
while he stood firm, saying he had one of his kingdoms in good hands,
and was resolved to keep it so; and another time, being asked by my
Lord Arlington if the report were true that the Duke was to be
recalled, his Majesty replied with much anger, ‘It is a damned lie!’
But no one could trust in the steadfastness of the ‘Merry Monarch.’
Ormonde’s enemy, Colonel Talbot, made a report on Irish affairs, which
Charles took hold of as a plea for the Duke’s recall. Sir Robert
Southwell wrote to Dublin to give him warning of the King’s decision.

‘They begin early,’ was the reply, ‘to find fault with my conduct,
before I am warm in my post here, or my head recovered from the
agitation of the sea.’

Charles II. died suddenly, but James lost no time in carrying out his
brother’s intention; Ormonde was superseded by Lord Clarendon, the
King’s father-in-law, and he had in turn to make way for Ormonde’s
bitter enemy, Colonel Talbot, who, in 1687, was made Earl of
Tyrconnell and Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. His Majesty paid the Duke
the scanty compliment of asking him to remain in his post at Court,
which he did, and again carried the Crown at the Coronation.

In February 1686 he went to stay a while at Cornbury, a beautifully
situated forest lodge in Oxfordshire, lent him by his friend, Lord
Clarendon, whence he waited on the King at Bristol; and, being
afterwards laid up with gout and rheumatism at Badminton, James
visited him twice in person, and condescended to request him to
continue his place at Court, though unable to attend. The Duke then
proceeded to Kingston Hall, a country house he had hired in
Dorsetshire, where he died.

The constant society of his faithful friends, Sir Robert Southwell,
and the Bishop of Worcester, who had been his domestic chaplain,
cheered his last days, and he took much delight in seeing little Lord
Thurles, his great-grandson, playing about the room, or in taking the
child on his knee to caress him. One day, appearing more than usually
downcast, he was asked the reason. ‘This is the anniversary of the
saddest day of my life,’ replied the Duke,—‘the day on which I lost my
beloved wife.’

He had always been of a religious turn of mind, never entering on any
new duty, or assuming any responsibility, without writing for himself
special prayers to be used on the occasion. He attended family prayers
twice a day up to the very last, received the Sacrament, selecting his
fellow-communicants, and took a tender leave of his servants, thanking
them for their fidelity, and regretting he had nothing to leave them,
beyond a recommendation in his will to his successor. His attendants
were lifting him from one side of the bed to the other when his noble
spirit passed away, gently, silently, without a groan or struggle.

He had eight sons, all of whom he survived, and two daughters: of his
sons, five died very young, and one under peculiar (we are tempted to
say national) circumstances. The boy was taking an airing in the
Phœnix Park, when the horses took fright and ran away, and the _Irish_
nurse, anxious to save the life of her little charge, flung him
headlong from the window!

In appearance the first Duke of Ormonde was tall, well-shaped, and
inclined to _embonpoint_; his complexion was fair, which gained for
him the nickname among the Irish of Bawn. He was plain, but elegant,
in his dress, especially at Court, when people began to be slovenly;
he wore his hat without a button, uncocked, as it came from the block,
after the fashion of his Majesty. But he was given to pomp on state
occasions; the service of the Viceregal Court was simply
splendid,—numbers of coaches, horses, and retainers. In travelling he
always carried his staff of office with him, and when they came to a
town, his gentleman (bareheaded) bore it through the streets, before
his Grace’s coach. He used often to revert in after days to an
incident which might well ‘point a moral’ on the danger of that
offence, so frequently considered venial,—a white lie. One time, when
Lord Ormonde was in France, it was deemed necessary he should go over
suddenly and secretly to Ireland for the King’s service, and he
accordingly embarked in a small boat, on a stormy day. ‘The master
came up to his noble passenger during the voyage, and inquired the
hour, and Lord Ormonde, being very anxious to make as quick a passage
as possible, told the man an hour later than the real time. The
consequence was, that the skipper miscalculated the time of the tide
and the boat was wrecked, split in two on the rocks, and Lord Ormonde
had to take to the cock-boat, and, finally, to be carried ashore on
the shoulders of the seamen. There was no help at hand, for the good
people of Havre were all at church, it being a festival. Thus, in
consequence of a white lie, told with an excellent motive, the whole
crew were nearly drowned, and the delay so great as to endanger the
success of the undertaking in which Lord Ormonde was engaged.

We will end a notice, which has had little that is cheerful or
exhilarating in its pages, with a repartee which the Duke made to a
friend of the family, one Mr. Cottington, who lived near Dublin, and
had a pretty house on the sea-shore. The Duke’s third son, Lord
Gowran, a most genial and popular member of society, who had given his
father much anxiety on account of the laxity of his morals, had
presented Mr. Cottington with a set of the Ten Commandments to place
over the altar in his new chapel at his marine villa. Much delighted,
and doubtless edified, by so appropriate a donation, Mr. Cottington
expressed his gratification to the Duke, who thus answered him: ‘I
think I can guess at the nature of my son’s generosity; he can easily
part with things he does not intend to keep!’

------------------

_No. 9._

PORTRAIT. UNKNOWN.

_Black velvet suit. Battle-axe and armour beside him. His hand rests
on a table. Landscape in background._

------------------

_No. 10._

DUTCH LADY. UNKNOWN.

_Black dress. White ruff and cap. Standing by a table, on which
she rests her hand._

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_No. 11._

MARY TUDOR, QUEEN OF ENGLAND.

_Dress of white and gold brocade. Dark bodice. Small ruff. Her hands
are clasped._

BORN 1516, SUCCEEDED 1553, DIED 1558.

------------------

_No. 12._

CARDINAL TRENTO.

_In Cardinal’s robes. Sitting in an arm-chair._

BORN 1728, DIED 1784.

BY TINTORETTO.

HIEROME Trento came of a noble family in Padua, and, at the age of
eighteen, entered the Order of the Jesuits at Bologna. He was zealous
and pious in his calling, and unambitious by nature, although he
attained to the honours of the Cardinalate. He died in the performance
of his duty, while concluding one of the Lent services in the church
of San Leone, at Venice. His posthumous works, treating of religion
and morality, were published almost immediately after his death.

------------------

_No. 13._

LOUVE VAN WALTA.

He married the daughter of Jarich van Botnia, who was ancestor to Lady
Henrietta Auverquerque, daughter of the Earl of Grantham, and first
wife to the second Earl Cowper.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

NORTH LIBRARY.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

NORTH LIBRARY.

-------

_No. 1._

THE HONOURABLE PENISTON, WILLIAM, AND FREDERIC LAMB, THREE SONS OF THE
FIRST VISCOUNT MELBOURNE.

_In a garden, the eldest in dark satin coat and velvet breeches. His
arm round the youngest child, who is standing on a boulder in a
white frock. He is also supported by the second brother, dressed
in a light-coloured suit. A hat and feathers lying on the ground._

BY SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

THIS picture was painted for Lord Melbourne, to whom it did not give
satisfaction, and he returned it to Sir Joshua. It was engraved by the
title of ‘The Affectionate Brothers.’ Peter Leopold, fifth Lord
Cowper, bought it from the painter’s executors for £800.

------------------

_No. 2._

PORTRAIT. UNKNOWN.

_Black suit._

BY BOL.

------------------

_No. 3._

A LADY IN THE DRESS OF THE REIGN OF HENRY VIII.

------------------

_No. 4._

PORTRAIT. UNKNOWN.

_In armour._

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_No. 5._

RAPHAEL MENGS.

_Greenish coat. Red collar. Own hair._

BORN 1728, DIED 1779.

BY HIMSELF.

BORN at Aussig, in Bohemia, the second son of Ismael Mengs, a native
of Copenhagen, miniature painter to Augustus the Strong, King of
Poland. Ismael brought up his boys as painters; he gave them, when
quite children, nothing but pencils for playthings, keeping them at
work sometimes for sixteen hours a day. After a while the eldest son
rebelled against this close application, and made his escape from
home, taking refuge with the Jesuits at Prague; but Raphael inherited
his father’s love of art, and laboured diligently.

In 1740 Ismael took him to Rome, where the same rigid course of study
was enforced; the youth was constantly locked up in the Vatican with
his work cut out for him,—to copy Raphael, Michael Angelo, or the
antique the whole day long, with a loaf of bread and a pitcher of
water. On the days passed at home, the father kept his son a prisoner
in the same manner, and would go out for hours on his own concerns,
with the key of the room in his pocket. These early lessons of
industry and application bore ample fruit in the future life of this
indefatigable painter. Returning to Dresden, the young man’s miniature
copies of Raphael, and some excellent portraits in pastel, pleased
King Augustus so much that he appointed Raphael Mengs his
Painter-in-Ordinary, with a considerable salary. To his Majesty’s
surprise, and the great displeasure of Count Brühl, Raphael declined,
on the plea that he was too young for such a post. Rome had great
attractions for him, and thither he returned. He painted a ‘Holy
Family,’ which gained him much credit, the original of Our Lady being
a beautiful girl, Margaret Guazzi by name, the child of poor parents,
and as good as she was beautiful. The young painter became a proselyte
to the Roman Catholic faith, and married his lovely model, nor had
ever cause to repent his choice. He remained at Rome several years,
painting assiduously, and studying in the Hospital of San Spirito; it
was in obedience to his father’s wishes that he returned to Dresden,
with much regret, and was obliged by so doing to forfeit many
advantageous commissions. Old Ismael, whose nature was violent and
cruel, repaid his son’s devotion by turning him, his wife, and infant
child into the streets on some trifling disagreement. The story came
to the King’s ears, and he once more offered the rejected post to
young Mengs, with an increased salary, a house, and carriage. This
time the Royal bounty was accepted with gratitude, for Raphael was now
a husband and a father. The King was at that time employed in building
the Catholic church at Dresden, where the Royal Family still carry on
their separate worship,—it being one of the few (is it not the only?)
capitals where the Court and the subjects profess a different creed.
Raphael Mengs painted the lateral altars, and had a commission for the
high altar-piece; but the longing was upon him, in no way singular, to
return to Rome, and he pleaded that he would execute the order far
better in Italy. He repaired thither, and, after making a copy of the
school of Athens for the Earl of Northumberland, he began his
altar-piece for Dresden. ‘The Seven Years’ War now broke out, and
Augustus was deprived of his electorate, and found himself unable to
continue Mengs’s salary. The failure of this income, added to his own
improvidence, plunged our artist into poverty; he was obliged to take
any orders that offered, and accept any terms proposed, in order to
keep the wolf from the door. The fresco which he executed for the
monks in the Church of Sant’ Eusebio brought him little pay indeed,
but great increase of popularity. He did not carry out a commission he
had received from King Augustus to go to Naples and paint the Royal
Family, supposing the order to be cancelled; but the Duke of Censano,
Neapolitan Minister to the Papacy, urged him to fulfil it, and wrote
to Naples, specifying the prices which the now popular painter had
received in Saxony. Just as he was starting for Naples, rumours were
set afloat which troubled Mengs exceedingly; he was assured that a
picture which had been ordered for the Chapel-Royal at Caserta was not
required, and that the King and Queen declined to sit to him on
account of his prices being reckoned exorbitant. He was perplexed how
to act, when the arrival of the Polish Minister from Naples set his
mind at rest. Count Lagnasco assured him that the altar-piece for
Caserta was daily expected, and that the King and Queen had never
demurred at the prices, but were only displeased at the delay. He
therefore hastened to Naples, but, on his arrival, found the King and
Queen on the eve of embarkation for their new kingdom of Spain, and
too much engrossed by their preparations to give him sittings. They,
however, commanded a portrait of their son Ferdinand, about to ascend
the vacant throne of Naples. The jealousy of his brother artists made
the fair city insupportable to Mengs, and he again took his way to
Rome, where he was very popular, and had plenty of work. He adorned
the beautiful Villa Albani with classical frescoes, and painted
numerous pictures, chiefly for English and Neapolitan patrons. Charles
III., King of Spain, hearing him highly spoken of, now proposed to
Raphael Mengs to enter his service, with a large salary, a house, and
carriage, and all materials for painting provided; also a free passage
for himself and family on a Spanish vessel sailing from Naples.

Mengs accepted, and was kindly received by the King, but soon found he
had to encounter the bitter hatred of all the artists in the Spanish
capital. Giaquinto, an Italian, who had hitherto enjoyed the Royal
favour, was so disgusted at the success of Mengs, that he abandoned
the field, and, leaving Spain in dudgeon, returned to his own country.
Mengs was now employed in the decoration of the new palace, and
painted the Gods of Olympus in the bedchamber of the King, Aurora in
that of the Queen, and Morning, Noon, Evening, and Night in the
apartments of the Infanta, besides numerous easel pictures.

He was also appointed honorary member of the Academy of St. Ferdinand,
where, being desirous of instituting new regulations and bringing
about reforms, he provoked much ill-will, and being himself of a hot
and hasty temper, bickerings and disagreements ensued without number.
Altogether, Raphael Mengs was far from happy during his sojourn at
Madrid; the climate was most injurious to his health, which declined
daily, yet he never slackened in his toil, but worked unremittingly
from dawn till dusk, and often far into the night. He had already
despatched his wife and family to Rome, and now asked permission to
join them. Suffering and melancholy, he proceeded on his solitary way,
and was delayed some time at Monaco by increased illness; at length he
arrived in his beloved Rome, where the affection of his dear ones and
the warmth of the climate partially revived him. He now turned his
attention chiefly to sacred subjects, and in loving memory of his
favourite Notte di Coreggio in the Dresden Gallery, executed a
Nativity on the same plan, where all the light emanated from the Holy
Child; introducing his own portrait as one of the adoring shepherds.
Pope Clement XIV. gave Mengs a labour of love to perform, and in that
light he considered it, for he stipulated that he should receive no
payment: this was to decorate the walls of the hall destined for the
reception of the papyrus rolls in the Vatican. To work beneath the
same roof which his illustrious namesake had sanctified, was indeed a
glory!

Although enfeebled in health, Mengs was comparatively content, both in
the matter of his residence and his work; but he received a warning
from Madrid that his leave of absence had been too long exceeded, and
it required all the kind intercession of Don Joseph de Azara, Spanish
Envoy at Rome, and Mengs’s great friend, to intercede with the King on
this score. At last there was a compromise, Mengs agreeing to go to
Naples to paint the portraits of the reigning King and Queen for the
gallery at Madrid. But his industry seemed on this occasion to forsake
him; when in Naples he was very dilatory over his commission, and
spent his time in buying coins and vases to add to his collection; and
on his return to Rome he had only finished the heads. Then he had to
conclude his work in the Vatican, and take leave of the Pope, who gave
him a rosary of lapis-lazuli and a set of medals struck during his
Pontificate. So little was Mengs in haste to reach Spain that he
stopped by the way at Florence to paint the Grand Duke and Duchess,
with many other portraits.

He arrived at Madrid, and recommenced his labours in the palace, to
the great satisfaction of King Charles; went to Aranjuez, where he
worked both in the palaces and the churches; but relapsed into bad
health, and became so ill that the kind-hearted monarch would no
longer detain him, and sent him back to Rome,—‘with,’ says Sir William
Stirling, ‘a stipend far beyond his requirements, and a fame far
beyond his merits.’ Charles also settled dowries on the daughters of
Raphael Mengs; but alas! he had not been long at home before his good
and beautiful wife died; and he strove to console himself by working
harder than ever.

The winter was unusually severe, his studio was overheated, and the
bad air increased his malady. His frame became emaciated, and his
features so ghastly as to attract the notice of every one. One of his
pictures, purchased by an Englishman, met with a strange fate:
despatched to England by sea, the vessel was taken by a French
cruiser, and the picture sent to Paris. Eventually Louis XVI. sent it
as a present to the Empress Catherine of Russia.

In spite of the expostulations of his children, Mengs now put himself
into the hands of a German quack, and, to follow his directions
without opposition, took a lodging by himself, first in Via Condotti,
and then in the Gregoriana.

A nun at Narni had lately gained great popularity by selling a
decoction of holy jessamines, by which she worked miraculous cures. To
a strong dose of this medicine the quack doctor added a still more
efficacious dose of antimony, and thus indeed relieved the poor
painter from all further suffering, physical or mental. He worked to
the last, and died in June 1779, being buried at San Michele, on the
Janiculan Hill, followed by the Professors of the Academy of St. Luke.
Don Joseph de Azara, knowing his friend’s tastes, erected a cenotaph
to his memory, adorned with a bronze portrait, close to the monument
of his illustrious namesake and idol, the divine Raphael. By nature
Mengs was choleric and melancholy, more prone to be ruffled by the
petty ills of life than satisfied by his success, which is generally
allowed to have been far above his deserts. He was self-willed even to
arrogance in his opinions. Finding fault with some Venetian pictures
Pope Clement had bought, his Holiness remarked they had been much
admired by other artists. ‘Ah,’ replied Mengs, ‘they praise what is
above their powers; I despise what is below mine.’

He was severe on other Art writers, and especially on the works of Sir
Joshua Reynolds; Azara said he was very truthful, and tells how on one
occasion Mengs declared he had never taken a pinch of snuff, though in
so doing he would have redeemed a collection of valuable snuff-boxes,
the presents of many grandees, from the clutches of the Custom-House
officers, who seized them as merchandise. Yet he practised a hoax on
his friend Winckelman, and allowed him to publish in his book the
description of a ‘Ganymede’ by Mengs, which the painter had passed off
on the Professor as an antique. He was a faithful and affectionate
husband, a tender and loving father, and gave his children a good
education,—but little beside, for, with all the riches he had
acquired, he was both extravagant and improvident, and at his death he
only left his collections of coins and casts, bequeathed to the King
of Spain, and a number of engravings, which were bought by the Empress
of Russia. Mengs’s eldest daughter, Anna Maria, was a successful
portrait-painter; married to Manuel Salvador Camoni, a member of the
Academy of San Fernando, she died at Madrid in 1798. He would not
allow his sons to become painters, ‘for,’ said he, ‘if they were
inferior to me, I should despise them; if superior, I should be
jealous of them.’ One of his sons became a soldier in the service of
Spain. Mengs wrote much on the subject of Art, had great command of
language, and was a good linguist.

This picture was painted expressly for the third Earl Cowper.

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_No. 6._

CHARLES JAMES FOX.

_Dark coat. White cravat._

BY HOPPNER.

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_No. 7._

FATHER OF JAMES NORTHCOTE THE PAINTER.

_Dark coat. White hair. Red curtain._

BY HIS SON.

NOTWITHSTANDING that he exercised the modest trade of a watchmaker in
his native town of Plymouth, Northcote boasted of a long pedigree, and
maintained that his family was of very good standing in the county.
But his pride did not prevent his wishing his son James to follow the
same trade, while the young man had set his heart on being a painter.
In the notice of the future Royal Academician’s life, we shall find
every particular connected with James’s rise to eminence. Among his
numerous works, he painted the portrait in question of the father who
had done all in his power to thwart his son’s artistic proclivities.

This picture was bought at Northcote’s sale by the fifth Earl Cowper.

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_No. 8._

SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.

_Red gown, bordered with white fur._

BORN 1658, DIED 1744.

BY SIR GODFREY KNELLER.

THE youngest daughter of Richard Jennings, Esq. of Sundridge, near St.
Albans, by the daughter and heir of Sir Gifford Hornhurst. When quite
young she went to Court, where her sister Frances (afterwards Lady
Tyrconnell) was already remarkable, as much for the laxity of her
conduct as for her beauty. Sarah’s features may not have been as
regular as those of her sister, but her countenance was most
expressive, her complexion beautiful, and the profusion of her fair
hair, formed a most attractive combination. Amidst her crowd of
adorers, the young, handsome, and insinuating Colonel Churchill stood
pre-eminent; he was poor, and by many accused of avarice already, yet
he preferred the portionless girl to a rich heiress with a plain face,
when the match was suggested to him.

Sarah Jennings was a woman of inordinate ambition and iron will, and
she made use of her close friendship with the Princess (afterwards
Queen) Anne to rise in the world and push her husband’s fortunes, even
before his own distinguished talents had insured his eminence. The
tyranny which the high-spirited, hot-tempered Lady of the Bedchamber
exercised over her Royal mistress for many years are matters too well
known to be here recapitulated. The romantic correspondence between
‘Mrs. Morley’ and ‘Mrs. Freeman,’ showing the manner in which Queen
Anne, even after her marriage, gave herself up to the dominion of her
favourite, until the self-imposed yoke became intolerable, and was
suddenly and completely severed, are historical facts bound up with
public events. The Duchess of Marlborough was supplanted by her own
_protégée_, Mrs. Masham, and peremptorily dismissed, in spite of
‘rages, prayers, and scenes.’ Voltaire says: ‘Quelques paires de gants
qu’elle refusa à la Reine, un verre d’eau qu’elle laissa tomber sur la
robe de Madame Masham, changèrent la face de Europe!’—alluding to the
political changes which followed the downfall of Sarah. In her latter
days her temper became ungovernable; she quarrelled with her husband,
her son-in-law, her grandchildren; and on one occasion, when the Duke,
wishing to pacify her rage, complimented her on her long fair hair,
which was still luxuriant, the furious lady cut it off, and flung it
in her husband’s face! At his death a long coil of golden tresses was
found in the Duke’s drawer. Sarah survived her husband twenty years,
and, in spite of her age (it must be remembered she was very rich),
had many suitors, amongst them the Duke of Somerset and Lord
Coningsby. To the latter, after reminding him she was sixty-three, she
replied: ‘Were I only thirty, and you could lay the world at my feet,
I would never bestow on you the heart and hand which belonged
exclusively to John, Duke of Marlborough.’

Lady Cowper (the Chancellor’s wife) saw a great deal of the Duchess at
Court; they exchanged constant visits, and corresponded, but Lady
Cowper had no opinion of her Grace; she describes her trying to make
mischief by repeating ill-natured speeches, and goes on to say: ‘She
is certainly an ill woman, and does not care what she says of anybody,
to wreak her malice or revenge.’

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_No. 9._

CHARLOTTE, COUNTESS FAUCONBERG.

_Peeress’s robes._

SHE was the only daughter of Sir Matthew Lamb, and sister to Peniston,
first Viscount Melbourne. Married in 1766 Henry Belasyse, second Earl
Fauconberg, a Lord of the Bedchamber, and Lord-Lieutenant of the North
Riding of Yorkshire. They had four daughters, co-heiresses; but the
title is extinct.

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_No. 10._

PORTRAIT. UNKNOWN.

_Man in blue velvet coat, braided._

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_No. 11._

UNCERTAIN.

_Dark coat. White cravat._

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_No. 12._

ROBERT HARLEY, EARL OF OXFORD.

_Black and gold dress._

BORN 1661, DIED 1724.

STUDIED under the famous Dr. Birch (who boasted of the number of
statesmen he had educated), and showed great promise. In 1688 he
raised a troop of horse for the service of William of Orange, whom he
joined, but who showed him no particular favour. Harley sat in
Parliament, but waited for office till 1704, when Queen Anne gave him
a seat in the Council, and made him Secretary of State. He was much
opposed to Godolphin and Marlborough, and made common cause with the
Queen’s new favourite, Mrs. Masham, to overthrow the power of the
Whigs.

The Ministers insisted on his dismissal, but Anne stood by him as long
as she could; when Harley was compelled to resign, the Queen said to
him: ‘You see the unfortunate condition of monarchs,—they are obliged
to give up their friends to please their enemies;’ but so high was
Anne’s opinion of Harley, that she constantly consulted him on public
affairs, when out of office.

On the downfall of the Whig Administration, he was made Chancellor of
the Exchequer, and Treasurer.

He was much censured, even by his own party, for some of his financial
measures, by which, however, he enriched the Royal coffers. In March
1711, an event happened that made a great noise, and rendered Harley
the hero of the day. A French adventurer, called Bourlie, or the
Marquis de Guiscard and Langalleve, was a shifty individual, who acted
first as a spy of England against France, and then of France against
England, being in the pay of both. His intrigues were discovered, and
he was brought before the Privy Council. Believing that Harley had
been instrumental in his detection, he resolved to be revenged. While
waiting his turn for examination, he found means to secrete about his
person a penknife which was lying on the table, among some papers. No
sooner was he brought forward than he rushed in a fury upon Harley,
and stabbed him several times, the Minister falling senseless on the
ground, covered with blood. A scene of confusion ensued, and the Duke
of Buckingham, drawing his sword, wounded the assassin, who was
conveyed to Newgate, where he died in a few days, either from the
effect of the sword-thrusts, or by his own hand.

The event seemed to have revived Harley’s popularity: both Houses
presented an address to the Queen, assuring her that Harley’s loyalty
had brought this attack upon him, etc. etc., and when he reappeared in
the House, a brilliant reception awaited him; and a Bill was passed
making an attempt on the life of a Privy Councillor a felony which
deprived the offender of benefit of clergy. In the same year, Robert
Harley, being then Lord High Treasurer, was created Baron Wigmore, and
Earl of Oxford and Mortimer, and next year he received the Garter, and
became Prime Minister of England.

Lords Oxford and Bolingbroke at first worked together to withstand the
power of the Opposition, and to bring about the pacification of
Europe; and the Peace of Utrecht added to the popularity of the
ministerial party. But dissensions arose between Bolingbroke and the
Premier, and recriminations and fresh intrigues, in which Mrs. Masham
was implicated, all of which belong to England’s political history.

Oxford was deprived of all his offices, and accused of plotting in
favour of the Pretender. The Queen died, and in 1715 he was sent to
the Tower, on an accusation of high treason. He was imprisoned for two
years, and on his release gave himself up to the enjoyment of art and
literature; he formed a magnificent library, which cost him a fortune,
not only from the splendour of the works themselves, but on account of
their sumptuous binding. His collection of MSS., called after him the
Harleian MSS., which was afterwards greatly increased by his son, is
now one of the glories of the British Museum; it was purchased by the
Government after the second Lord Oxford’s death.

Few men have been more eulogised on the one hand, and reviled on the
other, but he has been unanimously described as a kind patron of men
of letters.

It was Harley who brought into operation the measure known to
posterity as ‘The South Sea Bubble,’ which entailed ruin on numbers;
and in spite of much opposition he also established State lotteries.

Lord Oxford was twice married: first to Elizabeth, daughter of Thomas
Foley, of Whitley Court, county Worcester, by whom he had one son and
two daughters; and secondly, to Sarah, daughter of Thomas Myddleton,
Esq., who was childless.

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_No. 13._

FIELD-MARSHAL HENRY OF NASSAU, LORD OF AUVERQUERQUE.

Father of the first Earl of Grantham, grandfather of
Henrietta, wife to the second Earl Cowper.

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_No. 14._

LADY ANNE COLLETON.

_Blue gown, trimmed with white lace._

DIED 1740.

BY SIR GODFREY KNELLER.

SHE was the second daughter of the first Earl Cowper, by his second
wife, Mary Clavering. She married, in 1731, James Colleton, Esq. of
Haynes Hill, county Berks, grandson of Sir James Colleton, Bart.

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_No. 15._

LADY MILBANKE.

_White gown. Holding a pink scarf._

She was the daughter and heir of John Hedworth, Esq., M.P., wife of
Sir Ralph Milbanke, of Halnaby, M.P., and mother of the first
Viscountess Melbourne.

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_No. 16._

ELIZABETH, WIFE OF THE FIRST VISCOUNT MELBOURNE.

_Light-coloured gown. White veil. Scarf. Coaxing her baby, who is
seated on a cradle beside her._

DIED 1818.

BY SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

She was the only daughter of Sir Ralph Milbanke, of Halnaby Hall,
county York. In 1769 she married Sir Peniston Lamb, Bart., M.P., who
was created Viscount Melbourne in 1770. She was a beautiful young
woman of twenty when she first went to London, and took the town by
storm. She was as much admired for her vivacity as her beauty, and Sir
Joshua Reynolds speaks of her as figuring at one of the fashionable
masquerades of the day in domino and tricorne hat, as ‘a pretty
fellow’ or maccaroni, with the Duchess of Ancaster and Lady Fordyce,
and a charming portrait, in possession of Lord Southampton, represents
her in this costume. Lady Melbourne persuaded her husband to buy a
house in Piccadilly from Mr. Fox (father of Charles James), who had
been a friend of Sir Matthew Lamb, next door to Burlington House,
which cost a large sum. Lady Melbourne called it after her husband’s
title, and took the greatest delight in furnishing and adorning the
interior, on which work she employed Cipriani, Wheatley, the humorous
designer Rebecca, and all the best decorative artists of the day. The
society was as brilliant as the walls which encircled them; and
Royalty, fashion, beauty, and talent flocked to the receptions at
Melbourne House, whose master, bent on pleasing his beautiful wife,
threw open his gates with lavish hospitality. Sir Joshua was an
intimate, as well as a general guest, and thus had many opportunities
of studying the form and features which he afterwards immortalised in
the picture that heads this notice. It was painted in 1770, just after
Sir Peniston Lamb’s elevation to the peerage and the birth of his
eldest son.

No sooner was the London house completed, than Lady Melbourne turned
her attention to the embellishment of her husband’s country seat in
Hertfordshire, where, in company with her chosen friend, Mrs. Damer
(alike charming as a woman and an artist), she planned and arranged
the internal decorations of Brocket Hall. Wheatley was again called
in, and, with the assistance of Mortimer, painted the ceilings with
allegorical subjects. The two ladies were also much addicted to the
pastime of private theatricals, as was their mutual friend, the
beautiful Duchess of Devonshire; while such names as Sheridan, Fox,
Horace Walpole, and other celebrities, figured as actors and authors
in Lady Melbourne’s company. It was here, doubtless, that Lord
Egremont (then a youth) imbibed that love of art, and that taste for
the society of artists, which made him so noble and munificent a
patron, to the end of a long life. He was a great friend of the
Melbournes, and loved to see his ‘three young lambs’ gambolling over
the greensward in his spacious park at Petworth.

Lady Melbourne was very popular with the Royal Family, and one day the
Duke of York called on her, and in the course of conversation became
very enthusiastic in his admiration of Melbourne House. He confessed
he was weary of his own at Whitehall, and would gladly move into her
neighbourhood. The lady laughed, and said, for her part, she often
wished to exchange the chimes of St. James’s Church for those of
Westminster Abbey; and they talked on, half jestingly, half in
earnest, till the possibility of an exchange of residence was mooted.
It appeared strange, but perhaps the amateur house-decorator was lured
by the prospect of new walls to beautify, fresh fields to conquer.
Before the Duke took his leave, he had gained her Ladyship’s promise
to discuss the subject with her husband: ‘For you know, dear Lady
Melbourne, you always have your way with everybody, especially with my
Lord.’

His Royal Highness was right: if Lord Melbourne raised any objection
at first, it was soon overcome; the consent of the Crown was gained,
the bargain was struck, the house at Whitehall became Melbourne House,
and the residence in Piccadilly, York House, afterwards changed to the
Albany, where, in the oldest portion and principal apartments of that
paradise of bachelors, the decorations of Cipriani and his colleagues
may still be admired.

All contemporary writers speak of Lady Melbourne as a leader of
fashion and an ornament of society; Horace Walpole, in particular,
alludes to her frequently, ‘in wonderful good looks,’ at the Prince of
Wales’s birthday ball at Carlton House, and again at the French
Ambassador’s, where it was so hot he was nearly stewed, but ‘the
quadrilles were surprisingly pretty, especially that one in which Lady
Melbourne, Lady Sefton, and Princess Czartorisky figured, in blue
satin and gold, with collars mounted _à la reine Elizabeth_.

In 1805 her eldest son died; but the mother seems to have been
consoled by the promise of future greatness shown by her second son,
William, who early evinced a taste for public life, which harmonised
with Lady Melbourne’s views. She took a great interest in political
affairs, was a staunch Whig, and at the time of Charles Fox’s famous
election, she displayed as much zeal and enthusiasm as her rival
beauty, the Duchess of Devonshire. William Lamb’s marriage with the
daughter of Lord Bessborough, which enlarged his connection with all
the principal Whig families, was a source of great pleasure to Lady
Melbourne. It was a pity, with her political predilections, she did
not survive to see her favourite son and her daughter’s second husband
each rise to the coveted position of Prime Minister of England.