Chapter II: Part 2

Born, ——. Died, 1654.—Daughter of William Stewart, Esq., through whom she claimed distant kinship with the King of England. Widow of William Lynne, of Basingbourne; married Robert Cromwell, Esq., by whom she had four sons, of whom only one, Oliver, grew up to manhood, and six daughters. On the death of her husband she continued the Brewery, out of the profits of which and a scanty pittance of £60 a year, she gave her numerous daughters a good education, and dowries on their marriage, “with which they were not ashamed to ally themselves with good families.” Mrs. Cromwell was indeed a most exemplary and loveable woman; of an angelic temper and disposition, yet full of self-help, she retained the simple tastes and gentle humanity which had characterised her in the Brewery, at Huntingdon, when transplanted, by her son’s wish, to the splendour of the Palace at Whitehall, where her life was fretted by her anxiety for the safety of her beloved son. Oliver’s filial duty was undeniable: he appreciated to the utmost his mother’s excellent qualities; and on her death he caused her to be buried with great pomp in Westminster Abbey, though her tastes would have pointed to a quiet funeral, in a country churchyard, where her remains would have been left unmolested. At the Restoration her body was dug up, and with many others, cast ignominiously into a hole.

In one of the many “Lives of the Protector,” the portrait at Hinchingbrook is alluded to as most characteristic. “The small pretty mouth, the full large melancholy eyes, the fair hair under the modest little hood, the simple but refined dress with the one small jewel clasping her handkerchief.” The same writer speaking of her says: “Her single pride was honesty, her passion love.”

_William Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury_:

A Copy of Vandyck in Lambeth Palace.

BY STONE.

THREE-QUARTER LENGTH.

Born at Reading, 1573.—Beheaded, 1645. Son of a clothier. Fellow of St. John’s College, Oxford. He afterwards took Orders, and was very vehement against the Puritans. Had many different livings; became Chaplain to James I., whom he accompanied to Scotland. Became Prebendary of Westminster, and consecutively Bishop of St. Davids, Bath and Wells, and London, and subsequently Prime Minister and Archbishop of Canterbury. In 1622 he held a famous conference with Fisher the Jesuit in the presence of the Duke of Buckingham and his mother, who were wavering in their allegiance to the Protestant faith, and were fixed therein by the eloquence of Laud. He was more than once tempted to abjure his own religion by the offer of a Cardinal’s hat, but each time he gave an emphatic denial. He was very strict in requiring the revision and licensing of published books by high ecclesiastical authority, and concerned in several prosecutions of the Star Chamber against Bishop Williams, the master of Westminster School, &c.

When the Parliament of 1639 was abruptly dissolved, the odium of the measure was thrown on Laud, and he was attacked in his Palace at Lambeth by the mob. The execution of Strafford was the forerunner of his own; he had made himself unpopular with the Nation and with the Commons, and on the accusation of Sir Henry Vane, he was sent to the Tower in 1641, where he was detained for three years and treated with much severity. In 1644 he was tried, and though nothing treasonable was proved, a bill of attainder was passed. He made an eloquent defence, but all in vain, and he suffered death on Tower Hill in 1645, displaying great courage. Clarendon says: “His learning, piety, and virtue, have been attained by few, and the greatest of his infirmities are common to all men.”

Of all the Prelates of the Anglican Church, Macaulay says that Laud departed farthest from the principles of the Reformation and nearest to Rome. He hated Calvinism, he had a passion for forms and ceremonies, disapproved of the marriage of ecclesiastics; all which opinions would have made him detested by the Puritans, even if he had used legal and gentle means only for the attainment of his ends. His understanding was narrow, he had but scanty knowledge of the world under his direction; every corner of the realm, every separate congregation, even the devotions of private families were subjected to the vigilance of his spies. Unfortunately for himself and for the country, the King was influenced in all public matters by the counsels of the Primate.

_Robert Cromwell_:

BY WALKER.

HALF-LENGTH.

(Black Gown, White Collar, Black Skull Cap.)

Born, ——. Died, 1617.—The second son of Sir Henry Cromwell, Knight (surnamed the Golden Knight) of Hinchingbrook, Huntingdon, by Joan, daughter of Sir Ralph Warren, Lord Mayor of London. A younger son with a slender pittance, he was, by the countenance of his brother, Sir Oliver, made Justice of the Peace. He went, on his marriage, to live in the town of Huntingdon, at a house which had been a Brewery for many years, and the business of which he thought it prudent to continue with the help and good management of his wife, Elizabeth, daughter of William Stewart, of Ely, undoubted descendant of the royal line of Stewart; a connection on which the Protector, with the inconsistency he often evinced in such matters, prided himself highly. Robert Cromwell’s immediate ancestors were of a Welsh family named Williams, one of whom married the sister of Cromwell, Earl of Essex, Prime Minister to Henry VIII., whose son having risen into favour at Court and received the grant of several Church lands near Huntingdon, fixed his residence in that town, and assumed the name of Cromwell. In a tournament at Westminster, on May Day, 1540, where Sir Richard Cromwell had stricken down challenger after challenger in honour of his King; Henry VIII., in high good humour, called out: “Formerly thou wast my Dick, but hereafter thou shalt be my diamond,” at the same moment dropping a diamond ring, which the knight picked up and restored to his Majesty. “No,” said Henry, laughing, and placing it on his favourite’s finger: “henceforth thou shalt bear such an one in the forejamb of the demi-lion in thy crest;” and such a ring, says one of his chroniclers, did Oliver wear when he entered the lists against his lawful sovereign.

“Mr. Cromwell and his wife,” we are told by the same biographer, “were persons of worth, in no way inclined to disaffection, civil or religious; they lived on a small pittance, and brought up their children well, through the exercise of honest frugality.” Robert Cromwell died at Cromwell House, Huntingdon, in 1617, and was buried at All Saints Church in that town. His widow survived him 37 years.

PORTRAIT OF A DARK YOUTH IN ARMOUR: UNNAMED.

THREE PORTRAITS UNNAMED.

_Elizabeth, Countess of Northumberland_:

BY SIR PETER LELY.

THREE-QUARTER LENGTH.

(Auburn Ringlets. Orange Satin Gown with Pearls. Right Hand
holding her Dress.)

Born, 1647. Died, 1690.—Elizabeth Wriothesley was the youngest daughter of Lord Treasurer Southampton, by Lady Elizabeth Leigh, sole daughter and heiress of the Earl of Chichester. Her eldest sister, Lady Audrey, was betrothed to Josceline, Lord Percy, son of the tenth Earl of Northumberland, but dying before her fifteenth year was completed, the name of her sister was substituted for hers (by family arrangement) in the marriage contract. In the year 1662, Elizabeth being then about fifteen, and Lord Percy barely 18, the marriage was solemnised. The bride’s sister, Lady Rachel Russell, observes it was acceptance rather than choice; yet the union proved very happy. At first the young pair were not much together; the bridegroom remained with his tutor, and the bride with her parents, at Titchfield, in Hampshire; but in 1664-5, her letters to Lady Rachel are dated from Petworth, where she was living with her husband. She had a daughter born in 1666, and a son and heir in 1668; in 1669, another daughter, who died an infant. Lord Percy succeeded his father in 1668, and the following year their son died, which made so sad an impression on Lady Northumberland, then just recovering from her confinement, that change of scene was considered necessary for her, and she left England for Paris with her husband and the celebrated Locke (as their physician), in whose care Lord Northumberland left his wife while he proceeded to Italy. At Turin he was attacked by fever, and died in the flower of his age, a brilliant future lying before him, with every prospect of happiness.

Lady Northumberland remained at Paris, where Ralph, Lord Montagu, was then Ambassador, and he soon became attracted by the beautiful young widow, paying her gradual and delicate attentions; but it was two years before he ventured to pronounce himself her ardent admirer. In the winter of 1672 she went to Aix, where Montagu followed her. Madame de la Fayette writes: “Je vous envoie un paquet pour Madame de Northumberland; on dit que si M. de Montagu n’a pas eu un heureux succès de son voyage, il passera en Italie pour faire voir que ce ne’est pas pour les beaux yeux de la Comtesse qu’il court le pays.”

But it seems he followed her back to Paris, in spite of those predictions. In another letter from Madame de la Fayette, she writes: “Madame de Northumberland me parait une femme qui a été fort belle, mais qui n’a pas un seul trait de visage qui se soutienne, ni oû il soit resté le moindre air de jeunesse; elle est avec cela mal habillée, point de grâce, etc.” She also alludes to her understanding, what Madame de la Fayette said to her as if her knowledge of the French language was limited. The same writer says: “J’ai fort parlé d’elle à Montagu; il ne fait aucun façon d’étre embarqué à son service, et parait rempli d’espérance.” (April 15, 1673.)

There were as usual fluctuations in his hopes and fears, the lady being at one time jealous, we are told, of the Duchesse de Brissac, a former “flame” of the Ambassador’s; but in 1673 they came to England, and were privately married at Titchfield, Lady Northumberland’s paternal home. Evelyn talks of her eight, or even ten years after this, as the “beautiful Countess,” a testimony we accept more willingly than that of the fault-finding Madame de la Fayette. She was in England in 1675, and was at issue for some time with the Dowager Countess of Northumberland, her mother-in-law, respecting the care and guardianship of Lady Elizabeth Percy, the only surviving child and heiress of the late Earl; the subject of the girl’s marriage, and the choice of a husband being a great bone of contention. Lady Rachel Russell says: “My sister urges that her only child should not be disposed of without her consent, and in my judgment it is hard, yet I fancy I am not partial.” The old lady was triumphant, however, and contrived to get the young heiress into her power, or rather to assert her power over her fortunes, and Elizabeth Percy had the strange fate of being three times a wife, and twice a widow ere she was sixteen. She married, when only thirteen, Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle, who immediately assumed the name and arms of Percy; but he died a few months after his marriage, in 1680. The child-widow had then among many other suitors, Count Königsmark, the celebrated adventurer, and Thomas Thynne, of Longleat, to whom her grandmother hastened to betroth her, lest she should show a preference for the foreigner. But before the marriage could be actually solemnized, he was murdered in his coach at the instigation of his rival; and the beautiful heiress married shortly afterwards the sixth Duke of Somerset, surnamed the Proud.

The girl’s mother does not seem to have been consulted in any of these matchmakings; her own married life was not a happy one. Montagu was boundlessly extravagant; he was now occupied in building Montagu House with his wife’s money; he was involved in political intrigues which did not redound to his honour, and in 1678 he went to Paris on his astrological mission, and renewed his loves and quarrels with the Duchess of Cleveland and others. He returned to England, to involve himself in fresh plots, and in 1680, accompanied by his wife, he went to Paris in disgrace and pecuniary difficulties; circumstances not calculated to improve a temper naturally irritable.

Lady Rachel Russell often speaks of her sister when in Paris; of that lady’s sympathy with the Protestants after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes; her anxiety on account of her daughter, Anne Montagu’s, health, etc. A year afterwards she lost her eldest son, aged 12; and it must have been a source of regret that she was not at hand to comfort Lady Rachel in the hour of her sorrow, Lord William Russell’s execution taking place while his sister-in-law was still in Paris. On Lady Northumberland’s return to England, we hear of her at Windsor with her “lovely boy,” and little Anne. On her husband’s creation as Earl, his wife dropped her widowed title, and called herself Countess Montagu. After the Revolution, Lord and Lady Montagu spent most of their time at Boughton, at which place the latter died in September, 1690, aged forty-four.

Lady Rachel Russell speaks thus of her death: “She was my last sister, and I loved her tenderly. It pleases me to think she deserves to be remembered by all who knew her; but after 40 years’ acquaintance with so amiable a creature, one must needs, in reflecting, bring to remembrance so many engaging endearments as are at present embittering and painful.”

One son and one daughter survived; John, Lord Monthermer, afterwards second Duke of Montagu; and Anne, mother to the Lady Hinchingbrook, by whose Will this picture was bequeathed to her son, the fourth Earl of Sandwich.

_Edward, first Earl of Sandwich_:

BY SIR PETER LELY.

THREE-QUARTER LENGTH.

(Buff Coat and Cuirass. Lace Cravat and Ruffles. Blue Sash
over the Shoulder. Broad Red Sash round the Waist. Right Hand
holding a Truncheon, which rests on the Mouth of a Cannon; Left
Hand on his Hip.)

_Ralph, Duke of Montagu_:

BY RILEY.

THREE-QUARTER LENGTH.

(Curled Wig. Loose Gown of Orange Silk.)

Born, ——. Died, 1708. The only surviving son of Edward, second Lord Montagu of Boughton, by Anne, daughter of Sir Ralph Winwood. He was educated at Westminster and on the death of his elder brother succeeded him as Master of the Horse to Queen Catherine, Consort of Charles II. He was sent as Ambassador to Paris, in 1669, for which office, says a contemporary, he was more indebted to the partiality of the fair sex, than to his own merits. He told Sir William Temple he was resolved to become Ambassador in France, and Sir William asked him on what he founded his hopes, as neither the King nor the Duke of York were attached to him. “They shall act” said Montagu, “as if they were;” upon which Sir William Temple remarks that his appointment was brought about by the favour of the ladies, who were always his best friends, for some perfection the rest of the world did not discover.

He was famous when in France, for the state in which he lived. “He entered Paris,” (says Collins) “with a more than common appearance, having seventy-four pages and footmen in rich liveries, twelve led horses with their furniture, twenty-four gentlemen on horseback, and eighteen English noblemen and gentlemen of quality in four rich coaches with eight horses each, and two chariots with six, made as costly as art could contrive.” The King and the Duke of Orleans received him with great honour, and he was entertained both at St. Cloud and Versailles, the fountains of which played in his honour; and it was here he imbibed a taste for building and laying out gardens, which he afterwards indulged to a great extent. The beautiful and youthful Countess of Northumberland, who had lately become a widow, was residing in Paris, and as we mention in the notice of her life, Montagu became her suitor, and eventually her husband. They were married privately in England in 1673. After his marriage he became a Privy Councillor and Master of the Great Wardrobe, an office he bought of the Earl of Sandwich. He busied himself in building on a magnificent scale, and found his wife’s money most useful to him in carrying out his plans.

Although already rather in disrepute at Court, King Charles II. did not disdain to employ Montagu in 1678 on a new, and in every sense of the word, extraordinary mission to Paris. At that time there resided in the French capital, an astrologer who had gained great credit by predicting, not only the restoration of the English Monarch, but the exact date, May 29, 1660, of his return to England, and that some time before it actually happened. Charles, in consequence, had the firmest belief in the wise man’s auguries, and he despatched Montagu on an errand to ask his advice and predictions on some subject of political importance. The Envoy-extraordinary sounded the Necromancer, and finding the black art did not blind its professor to self-interest, the King’s messenger offered the wise man a large bribe to shape his predictions according to his (Montagu’s) directions; then, with an imprudence which was inconsistent with his previous cunning, he went off to the Duchess of Cleveland and confided his secret to her. But Barbara was angry with her former admirer, and jealous of his admiration for her own daughter, and she resolved to be revenged. Accordingly she wrote to the King and told him the whole story. “Montagu,” she says, “has neither conscience nor honour; he has told me several times he despises you in his heart, and that he wishes the Parliament would send you and your brother to travel, for you are a dull, ungovernable fool, and he is a wilful fool.” This version of the story is taken from Algernon Sidney’s correspondence.

In consequence of this letter Montagu was recalled, and found himself but coldly received at Court, and all hopes of a place under Government were at an end. The ex-Plenipotentiary now threw himself into all manner of contending intrigues of a political nature. He was accused of receiving a large bribe from Louis XIV. to compass the impeachment and ruin of Lord Danby (Treasurer) who was very obnoxious to the French Government, and an enemy to the Roman Catholics; yet at the same time he took a prominent position in the popular party. He was said to have been instrumental in bringing over Louise de la Quérouaille, afterwards Duchess of Portsmouth, and to have endeavoured to persuade her to use her influence with the King to exclude his brother from the succession. Finally his vote for the exclusion bill rendered him so obnoxious at Court, that he thought it best to depart once more to Paris with his wife and children. Hence he was summoned by a sad catastrophe, he had lent his magnificent house in Bloomsbury to the Earl of Devonshire, whose servant, in airing one of the rooms, set fire to it, and the “noble mansion” was burned to the ground. The conflagration was witnessed by Lady Rachel Russell, who says: “I heard a great noise in the square, and sent a servant to know what it was, and they brought me word Montagu House was in flames. My boy awaked and said he was nearly stifled, but being told the cause, would see it, and so was satisfied, and accepted a strange bed-fellow, for the nurse brought Lady Devonshire’s youngest boy, wrapped up in a blanket.” The loss was computed at £30,000; but Montagu rebuilt it on a more magnificent scale. Collins says: “It is not exceeded in London.”

Under William III. Montagu’s star was once more in the ascendant; he being one of the Lords who invited over the Prince of Orange. In 1689 he was created Viscount Monthermer and Earl of Montagu, and attended their Majesties’ coronation in his new dignity. In 1690, while engaged in beautifying and laying out Boughton, his excellent wife, who called herself Countess Montagu, died, but he soon gave her a successor. The new made Earl was not content with his coronet, and coveted the “strawberry leaves.” He applied to the King for a dukedom, mentioning among many other cogent reasons: “I am now below the younger branches of my family, my Lord Manchester and my Lord Sandwich;” also that he had taken to his second wife, the daughter of the Duke of Newcastle; and above all that he had been first and last to advocate the cause of William. “I hope it will not be to my disadvantage that I am alive, and ready to do so again, instead of having lost my head with Lord William Russell.” The King refused the dukedom, but showed Lord Montagu much favour, and was his visitor at Boughton, in Northamptonshire where the Court was sumptuously entertained.

Collins says: “My Lord was content with his fortune, and would accept no office save the one he had bought.” Of this he had been unlawfully deprived by James II., who bestowed it on Lord Preston. My Lord Montagu thought himself bound in honour to bring Preston to account, and when the office was restored to him and considerable damages awarded, he was so considerate of Lord Preston’s ill circumstances that he generously forgave him not only the damages, but the costs of the suit.

Queen Anne bestowed upon him the coveted dukedom; in the fourth year of her reign she created him Marquis of Monthermer, and Duke of Montagu. His first wife died in 1690; when he lost no time in soliciting the hand of the relict of Christopher Monk, second Duke of Albemarle, and daughter and sole heiress of Henry Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle. He does not appear to have been so disinterested in his views where money was concerned as Collins would have us believe; since this lady, in spite of her enormous wealth, was a confirmed lunatic, and an obstacle to their union existed in the fact that she had announced her resolution of wedding no one but a sovereign. Montagu was accordingly presented to her as the Emperor of China, and after a short period of eccentric wooing they were married. Until her death the poor maniac was addressed as Empress of China, and served on the bended knee. Lord Ross wished to marry her, and when the Duke prevailed in his suit wrote the following lines:—

“Insulting Rival, never boast
Thy conquest lately won;
No wonder if her heart was lost,
Her senses first were gone.
From one that’s under Bedlam’s laws
What glory can be had?
For love indeed was not the cause,
It proves that she was mad.”

She survived her husband twenty-six years, and died at Newcastle House in Clerkenwell, being interred in Westminster Abbey, as became her Imperial dignity.

Ralph, Duke of Montagu was, as his picture shows, of a middle height, inclining to fat, and of a dark complexion. He was a man of pleasure, and self-indulgence, but of refined taste in architecture, and his gardens at Boughton were world famed. On one occasion he was showing them to the Duke of Marlborough, who said he believed the water-works were the finest in the world. “They are not to be compared,” replied the courteous host, “to your Grace’s fireworks.” St. Evremond, who was a constant visitor at Boughton and in London, and who met the Duke frequently at the Duchesse de Mazarin’s little salon in Chelsea, was a pensioner on his bounty, and is never tired of extolling his hospitality and generosity, also the charms of the Saturday and Wednesday receptions, at Montagu House.

“On admire avec raison
Votre superbe maison,
A tous étrangers ouverte;
Les jets d’eau de Boughton,
Les meubles de Ditton, etc.”

He says the cascade at Boughton, though smaller than the one at Versailles, is more beautiful. The old _gourmet_ is never tired of praising the good living and extolling the comestibles that the Duke had sent him, and he says: “J’ai été à Boughton voir milord, la bonne compagnie, l’érudition, les perdreaux, les truffes;” in fact all that had charms for him in the absence of the Duchesse de Mazarin herself, to whom he writes. The two men met frequently at the house of the beautiful Hortense, one of whose most fervent admirers was the Duke of Montagu. To her he was most generous, for in one of her letters she says that if Montagu discovered you liked or admired a thing, you need take no more thought about it: “‘Quelque dépense qu’il faille faire, quelque soin, quelque peine qu’il faut employer pour l’avoir, la chose ne vous manquera pas.’ Ce sont les propres paroles de la feue Duchesse de Mazarin.” But it seems that there was some interruption in their intimacy, for in one of Algernon Sidney’s letters there is this passage: “Montagu goes no more to the Duchesse de Mazarin; whether his love or his politics proved too pressing, I know not, but the town says he is forbid the house.”

His Grace departed this life on the 9th of March, 1708, at Montagu House in Bloomsbury, afterwards the British Museum.

_Anne, Viscountess Hinchingbrook_:

BY MRS. BEALE.

THREE-QUARTER LENGTH.

(Seated. Light Auburn Hair, Dove-coloured Dress. Pearl
Ornaments. Holding a Flower in the Left Hand.)

Lady Anne Boyle was the fourth daughter of Richard, second Earl of Cork and first Earl of Burlington, by Lady Elizabeth Clifford, only daughter and heiress of the fifth Earl of Cumberland. In 1667 she married Viscount Hinchingbrook, eldest son of the first Earl of Sandwich, by whom she had two sons and one daughter. Pepys seemed well contented with the marriage for his patron’s son, though he is dissatisfied at not having a favour sent him, and Lady Sandwich was so much pleased with her new daughter-in-law as apparently to be consoled for her first born having lost the chance of marrying the great heiress, Mistress Mallet.

The first time Pepys saw her at Lord Crewe’s he saluted her and invited her to his house; he thought her mighty pleasant and good humoured, but neither did he count her a beauty or ugly, but a comely lady; and when she accepted his hospitality next day he found her “a sweet natured and well disposed lady, a lover of books and pictures, and of good understanding;” and he goes on to visit her and her lord afterwards at Burlington House next to Clarendon House, which he was glad to see for the first time.

Lady Hinchingbrook and her sister Henrietta, Countess of Rochester, were undoubtedly shining lights of modesty, and domestic virtue in this profligate age.

She was buried in the family vault at Barnwell, where a touching inscription records her many virtues, and the regret her death occasioned.

_Elizabeth Popham, Viscountess Hinchingbrook_:

BY HIGHMORE.

THREE-QUARTER LENGTH.

(In an Orange Gown, Lace Tippet and Ruffles. Holding a Fan. A
Blue Hood tied under the Chin.)

_The Honourable Mary Montagu_:

BY WHOOD.

FULL-LENGTH.

(As a Child: in a Rich Crimson Dress, embroidered with Silver.
White Apron, Lace Cuffs, and Stomacher. Holding a Basket of
Cherries, with which she is Feeding a Parrot.)

The eldest daughter of Edward Richard, Viscount Hinchingbrook, by Elizabeth Popham. Died in childhood.

_Louisa, Sixth Countess of Sandwich_:

BY SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE.

FULL-LENGTH.

(In a White Dress with Brown Drapery. Leaning on an Anchor.)

Born, 1781. Died, 1862. The only daughter of Armar Corry, first Earl of Belmore, by Harriet, eldest daughter and co-heiress of the second Earl of Buckinghamshire. Married in 1804, George, Earl of Sandwich, who died at Rome; by whom she had John William, seventh Earl; Harriet, Lady Ashburton, and Caroline, Comtesse Walewska.

_Pendant to the First Earl of Sandwich_:

BY VAN ZOORST.

PORTRAIT OF A YOUTH IN BLACK. UNKNOWN.

(Brown Hair and Eyes. Small Moustache.)

_Edward, First Earl of Sandwich_:

BY VAN ZOORST.

HALF-LENGTH.

(Purple Vest, Broad Belt, Buckle on Shoulder.)

_Elizabeth, Countess of Sandwich_:

BY WISSING.

THREE-QUARTER LENGTH.

(Loose Dress. Blue Scarf. Seated on a Bank, putting a Wreath of
Flowers round the Neck of a Lamb.)

_The Honourable Edward Montagu_:

BY HOGARTH.

SMALL HALF-LENGTH.

(A Fair Boy in Crimson Coat and Waistcoat, and Frilled Shirt.)

The fourth son of John, fourth Earl of Sandwich. Born, 1745. Died, 1752. Buried at Barnwell.

_The Honourable Elizabeth Montagu_:

BY WHOOD.

THREE-QUARTER LENGTH.

(Seated, with her Hand on the Neck of a Lamb.)

The second daughter of Edward, Viscount Hinchingbrook, by Elizabeth Popham. Married first to Reginald Courtenay, second son of Sir William Courtenay, of Powderham Castle, Devon, by whom she had one son, Charles, (killed at the battle of Dettingen), and two daughters, co-heiresses: Isabella, wife of William Poyntz, Esq., of Midgham, Berks; and Anne, married to the Earl of Cork and Orrery. Mr. Courtenay died in 1745, and his widow re-married in 1759, William Smith, comedian, better known as “Gentleman Smith.” They lived together at Leiston, near Saxmundham, an estate bequeathed to her by her grandmother, Lady Anne Harvey, where she died. Mr. Smith survived her 57 years. There is a portrait of him by Hoppner, in the National Portrait Gallery. Her brother was very much averse to her marriage with the actor, but the correspondence seems to show they lived happily.

_DRAWING ROOM._

_The Duchesse de Berri_:

BY RIGAUD.

HALF-LENGTH: OVAL.

(Hair Dressed High. White and Gold Boddice. Blue Velvet Mantle,
lined with Ermine.)

Born, 1694. Died, 1719. Marie Louise, daughter of Philip, second Duke of Orleans, afterwards Regent, by Mademoiselle de Blois, daughter of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan. This marriage, which had been determined on by the King, was not only strongly opposed, by the Duchess of Orleans, his mother, but Philip himself, then Duc de Chartres, was repugnant to the _mésalliance_. He was at length overruled by the commands of his father, and the King his uncle, and proceeded to break the announcement of his engagement to the proud German Princess his mother, who congratulated the _fiancé_ with a blow. One son and five daughters were born to Philip, the second of whom, Marie Louise, married in 1710 the Duc de Berri, third son to the Dauphin, and consequently grandson to Louis XIV. He was a handsome Prince, full of endearing and sterling qualities, but his education had been shamefully neglected, and on this point he was most sensitive. It made him shy of society, and fearful of speaking in public, and on one occasion he was subjected to terrible mortification. At the general Treaty of Peace, when it was settled that the crowns of France and Spain should never devolve on the same person, the Dukes of Orleans and Berri proceeded to the Parliament House to attend to some necessary formalities, on the occasion of the death of the Duc de Bourgogne, and the Duc de Berri found himself compelled to speak. After stammering and stuttering for some time he entirely broke down, and retired in confusion. Relating the circumstance to a friend, he was said to have shed tears of mortification, bitterly complaining at the same time of the manner in which his education had been neglected for the express purpose of keeping him in the background. “J’avois,” said he, “autant de disposition [for learning] que les autres; on ne m’apprit qu’à chasser, on n’a cherché qu’à m’abattre.” In spite of these disadvantages the Duc de Berri was very popular, and is said to have won all hearts, save that of the ill-conditioned Princess whose outward charms had subjugated him. Even at an early age Marie Louise d’Orléans laid herself open to the tongue of scandal, and had been censured for habits of intemperance. On finding there was a chance of making a brilliant marriage she changed her whole line of conduct, and persuaded every one, including the wary Madame de Maintenon, that she was a reformed character. But no sooner was the marriage consummated than the young Duchess threw off the mask, and returned to all her evil ways. In nowise touched by the kindness and devotion of her husband, she thwarted him on every occasion, and delighted to turn him into ridicule, which was easy in the case of one so diffident and sensitive. But even his forbearance had a limit; her conduct disgraced them both, and one day, maddened by jealousy and the insolence of his wife’s Chamberlain, he sought the advice of his trusty friend, the Duc de St. Simon.

St. Simon spoke strongly on the subject, urging the Duc de Berri to seek redress from the King, and strengthening his counsel by producing a correspondence that had fallen into his hands, between the Duchess and the aforesaid chamberlain. These letters left no doubt of their guilt: in one of them the lady proposed to elope, but her lover refused on the plea that the step would not be conducive to his advancement in life. The Duc de Berri, in conformity with his friend’s advice and his own convictions, determined to carry the correspondence to Rambouillet where Louis XIV. was then staying; but unfortunately his movements were not sufficiently prompt. The Duchess discovered that her husband and the Duc de St. Simon had been closeted together for some time over some animated and highly confidential business; it was not difficult to guess the subject, and no sooner had the Duc de Berri started, than she leaped into her coach, and pursuing him with all haste, broke into the Royal presence just in time to find the King examining the contents of the fatal correspondence. A scene of disgraceful violence and altercation ensued, and so exasperating and shameless was the language of the Duchess, that the hitherto indulgent and forbearing husband raised his heavy riding boot and with one kick sent his wife spinning into the arms of Madame de Maintenon. The King, whose dignity was outraged on all sides, lifted his cane to strike the unhappy Prince, but he had already withdrawn, full of shame at the violence into which he had been betrayed. As for the Duchess, no sooner had she recovered from the shock, than without a word to her sovereign, or Madame de Maintenon, she left the room in a paroxysm of rage. “It is true,” she said afterwards to one of her ladies, “that I have sustained no bodily injury, but the mark will ever remain here,” placing her hand upon what, by courtesy, she called her heart. It undoubtedly remained in her memory; the Duke apologised, and she pretended to be appeased; a reconciliation was patched up, and at a wolf hunt held by the King in the Forest of Marly, the Duc de Berri, who was passionately fond of the sport, rode hard and well. He was suffering from intense thirst when he fell in with his wife’s coach, and riding up asked anxiously if she could supply him with a draught of any kind. The Duchess smiled benignly, and drew from the pocket of the carriage a beautiful little case containing a bottle in which she said she always carried some excellent Ratafia in the event of over-fatigue. The unsuspecting man raised it to his lips and drained the last drop with many expressions of gratitude. The Duchess smiled again: “It is fortunate we met,” she said; and the heavy coach rolled on. In a few hours the Duke was taken ill, and after four days of suffering he expired on May 4th, 1714, at the early age of 28. As in the case of Madame no one doubted the existence of poison, and at first, public opinion was so violent against the Duke of Orleans that he had a narrow escape of his life from the fury of the mob, at the funeral of his son-in-law. Later evidence, however, seemed but too strong against the guilty wife, although the matter was gradually hushed up, as in those days the art of poisoning had become a fashionable pastime. The Duchess did not long survive her victim; she gave herself up to excesses of all kinds, and concluded her ill-spent life of 24 years in 1719.

In some letters of “Madame, veuve de Monsieur,” the first Duke of Orleans, the Princess of Bavaria to whom allusion has already been made, we are told that the Duchesse de Berri at the time of her death was undoubtedly married clandestinely to Captain de Rious, whose portrait Madame paints in the most unflattering terms as remarkable for his ugliness, in spite of which he was a great favourite with the ladies. He was absent on duty with the regiment the Duchess had bought for him at the time of her death. Madame goes on to say: “Pour se tirer de l’embarras que pouvoit lui donner une oraison funêbre, on a pris le parti de n’en point faire du tout.” Apparently a prudent decision. The same authority states that the Duchesse de Berri had grown very large and florid, (and that she often jested on the change in her own appearance), which would account for her looking twice her real age in this picture.

_Elizabeth, Countess of Sandwich_:

BY KNELLER.

HALF-LENGTH.

(White Déshabille with Coloured Scarf. Hair en Négligé.)

Born, ——. Died, 1757. She was the second daughter of John, Earl of Rochester, by Elizabeth Mallet. She married Edward, third Earl of Sandwich, in 1691. As we have mentioned in the short notice of his life, the marriage was very unhappy, and Lady Sandwich’s conduct in every respect most reprehensible, in spite of her numerous panegyrists. She was a brilliant member of society, and we are told that at the early age of ten years, she already showed a great taste for reading, and had begun to cultivate several foreign languages. She spoke French, Italian and Spanish; Montaigne was one of her favourite authors. She danced and sang, and played on several instruments, and though learned was in no wise pedantic. Neither did she waste so much time on dress, as was usual with ladies of her time. Lady Sandwich went to Paris not very long after her marriage, and St. Evremond, whose admiration she appears to have shared with the Duchesse de Mazarin and Ninon de l’Enclos, thus speaks of her in a letter (without date) to the latter: “Le Docteur Morelli, mon ami particulier, accompagne Madame la Comtesse de Sandwich qui va en France pour sa santé. Feu Monsieur le Comte de Rochester, Père de Madame Sandwich, avoit plus d’esprit qu’homme en Angleterre. Madame de Sandwich en a plus que n’avoit Monsieur son père; aussi généreuse que spirituelle, aussi aimable que spirituelle et généreuse. Voilà une partie de ses qualités.” According to St. Evremond’s implied wishes, his two friends formed a close intimacy, and Lady Sandwich at Paris seems to have merited Ninon’s report of her when she says: “J’ignore les manières Anglaises, mais elle a été très française.” It must have been during this first visit to Paris that Lady Sandwich made the acquaintance of the French celebrities whose portraits now adorn the Drawing-room at Hinchingbrook, as on her return to the French metropolis in 1729 they were all dead. Mademoiselle de l’Enclos is never tired of praising her English friend; in a letter dated August, 1698, she says to St. Evremond: “Madame Sandwich m’a donné mille plaisirs, par le bonheur que j’ai eu de lui plaire; je ne croyois pas sur mon déclin, pouvoir être propre à une femme de son âge. Elle a plus d’esprit que toutes les femmes de France, et plus de véritable mérite. Elle nous quitte; c’est un regret pour tous qui la connoissent, et pour moi particulièrement. Si vous aviez été ici nous aurions faits des repas dignes du temps du passé. Vous allez revoir Madame Sandwich, que nous voyons partir avec beaucoup de regret.” Again in July, 1699: “Vous allez voir Madame Sandwich, mais je crains qu’elle n’aille à la campagne; elle sait tout ce que vous pensez d’elle; elle vous dira plus de nouvelles de ce pays ci que moi. Elle a tout approfondi et tout pénétré: elle connoit parfaitement tout ce que je hante, et a trouvé le moyen de n’être pas étrangère ici.” In the lengthened correspondence between Mademoiselle de l’Enclos and her faithful Abbé, she constantly reverts to the English lady after her departure from Paris: “Madame Sandwich conservera l’esprit en perdant la jeunesse. Faites la souvenir de moi; je serois bien fâchée d’en être oubliée;” while St. Evremond on his part tells her: “Tout le monde connoit l’esprit de Madame la Comtesse; je vois son bon goût par l’estime extraordinaire qu’elle a pour vous. Elle est admirée à Londres comme elle fut à Paris.”

There is a long tedious poem from the same pen, describing the presents (comestibles) which Lady Sandwich had sent the Duchesse de Mazarin, with whom she had become very intimate: “Des moutons et des lapins de Bath.” He speaks of Morelli as friend and physician of all three:

“Sandwich et Mazarin que le Ciel vous unisse,
Et que cette union de cent ans ne finisse.”

He alludes to meeting her often in society, more especially at Boughton, the beautiful country house of Lord (afterwards Duke of) Montagu. “Jamais personne n’a mieux mérité d’être reçue magnifiquement, et galamment régalée, que Madame Sandwich; jamais homme ne fut plus propre pour la bien recevoir que my Lord Montagu. J’espère que la cascade l’octagone, les jets d’eau, etc., auront fait oublier la France à Madame Sandwich, et comme my Lord est assez heureux pour inspirer son goût et ses desseins sur les bâtiments et les jardins, je ne doute point qu’elle n’entreprenne bientôt quelque nouvel ouvrage à Hinchinbrooke. On ne sauroit être plus sensible que je le suis à l’honneur de son souvenir. Il ne manquoit rien pour combler mon déplaisir de n’avoir pas vu Boughton et le maître du lieu, que de ne point voir Hinchinbrooke et sa maîtresse, qui est le plus grand ornement de tous les lieux où elle se trouve.” He writes to Ninon to tell her of a wager he had with Lady Sandwich, respecting their eating powers at a dinner at Lord Jersey’s: “Je ne fut pas vaincu,” boasts the epicure, “ni sur les louanges ni sur l’appétit.”

At Bath she evidently was the head of a coterie; and Pope writes: “I am beginning an acquaintance with Lady Sandwich, who has all the spirit of the past age, and the gay experience of a pleasurable life. It were as scandalous an omission to come to the Bath, and not to see my Lady Sandwich, as it had been to have travelled to Rome, and not to have seen the Queen of Sweden. It is, in a word, the best thing the country has to boast of, and as she has been all that a woman of spirit could be, so she still continues that easy and independent creature, that a sensible woman always will be.” Such is Pope’s standard of female excellence! In another letter to his friend, Charles Boyle, Earl of Orrery, he says: “This lady is both an honour, and a disgrace to her native country. She resided in France for some time; but it is a melancholy reflection that we have either nothing in England, valuable enough to make her prefer her own country to another, or that we will not suffer such a person to reside quietly among us.”

In 1729, on the death of her ill-fated husband, the object of so much praise and admiration, returned to the more genial atmosphere of Paris, for the remainder of her life.

In June 1751, Lord Chesterfield writes to his son, then at Paris, as follows: “A propos of beaux esprits, have you les entrées at Lady Sandwich’s, who, old as she was, when I saw her last, had the strongest parts of any woman I ever knew in my life. If you are not acquainted with her, the Duchesse d’Aiguillon or Lady Hervey can, and I daresay will, introduce you. I assure you it is worth while both on her own account, and for the sake of people of wit and learning, who frequent her salon. In such companies there is always something to be learned as well as manners; the conversation turns on something above trifles; some point of literature, customs, history, etc., is discussed with ingenuity and good manners; for I must do the French people of learning justice; they are not bears as most of ours are, but gentlemen.”

Lady Sandwich died at Paris, at her house in the Rue Vaugirard, July 1, 1757, in the Faubourg St. Germains. In a letter of Horace Walpole’s, to John Chute, Esq., the same year, he says: “Old Lady Sandwich is dead at Paris, and my Lord (her grandson) has given me her picture of Ninon de l’Enclos in the prettiest manner in the world. If ever he should intermeddle in an election in Hampshire, I beg you will serve him to the utmost of your power. I fear I must wait for the picture.” At Lady Sandwich’s death in Paris, although she had taken every precaution to prevent such a casualty, there arose a great difficulty in securing the property to her grandson and heir. The French officers rushed in, put seals on everything, and claimed le “mobilier, les tableaux, etc., par le droit d’aubaine.” Lord Sandwich sent over his solicitor, who had a roughish time of it, with these “harpies.” He appealed to the Duchesse d’ Aiguillon and other illustrious friends of the deceased countess, who promised him every assistance, and as he discovered afterwards, were working against him all the time. But the good lawyer was triumphant in the end and wrote to his noble client that everything was safe, including the pictures, and he especially notes that of Ninon de l’Enclos, “which is very valuable,” he says, “and innumerable offers have been made for it, here.” But it was reserved for Horace Walpole’s Gallery, and some letters passed on the subject, for although Horace could express his opinion of Lord Sandwich in no flattering terms, he did not object to receive a present at his hands; and he offers in return (later) a copy of the memoirs of the Comte de Grammont, printed at his own press at Strawberry Hill, which contains an engraving of the afore-mentioned portrait of Mademoiselle de l’Enclos, Lord Sandwich’s letters on the subject are in his most jocose style.

_Ninon de l’Enclos_:

BY PIERRE MIGNARD.

(Oval. Crimson and Orange Dress.)

Born at Paris, 1615. Died, 1705.—The early education of Anne de l’Enclos was not calculated to lead to favourable results. The characters of her parents were strangely opposed to each other, and remarkable for violent extremes. “M. de l’Enclos, duelliste, musicien, homme de plaisir, gentilhomme; Madame de l’Enclos, sévère, exacte.” The mother’s wish was to immure her daughter in a convent, a project which the father strenuously opposed. But by the time the girl had attained her fifteenth year she was left an orphan, at liberty to follow her own devices. Scepticism and Epicureanism were very prevalent at this epoch, and of these schools Ninon became a too willing disciple. She soon became the centre of attraction; her conquests were legion. Voltaire said: “There will be soon as many histories of Ninon as there are of Louis XIV.” Voltaire was only thirteen years old when he was first presented to Mademoiselle de l’Enclos, who was much struck with him, and evidently detected some promise of his future greatness. At her death she bequeathed him 2000 francs to buy books. She was a strange mixture of self-indulgence and self-restraint: at one time her conduct was so outrageous in its immorality as to scandalize even the Court of the Great Monarch, and it was reported that she was advised to emigrate, “Mais elle ne partit point,” says St. Beuve; “elle continua la même vie, en baissant légèrement le ton.” Later on, he says: “Elle rangea sa vie et la réduisit petit à petit, sur le pied honorable, où on la vit finir.” St. Simon “le sévère,” says: “Ninon eût des amis illustres de toutes les sortes, et elle les conserva tous. Tout se conduisit chez elle, avec un respect et une décence extrème—jamais ni jeu, ni ris élevés, ni dispute; sa conversation était charmante, désinteressée, fidèle, secrète au dernier point.” She was temperate in eating and drinking, and would never suffer drunkards at her table; indeed in her youth, she appears to have drunk no wine, though occasionally in some of her later letters to St. Evremond, she discourses somewhat enthusiastically on a subject so near to her correspondent’s heart, and speaking of her advanced age she says: “L’appétit est quelque chose dont je jouis encore.” St. Beuve tells us: “Qu’elle réfléchissait dans un âge, et dans un train de vie, où à peine les autres sont capables de penser, et elle, qui resta si longtemps jeune par l’esprit, se trouva mûre par là aussi avant l’âge.” La Force says: “Je n’ai pas connu cette Ninon dans sa beauté, mais à l’âge de cinquante et de soixante [the report ran until past 80] elle a eu des amants qui l’ont fort aimé, et les plus honnêtes gens de France pour amis.” Her salon was the most brilliant in Paris; parents schemed that their children’s débût in the world should be made under Ninon’s auspices, and Madame de Coulanges observes: “Les femmes courent après elle aujourd’hui, comme d’autres gens y couraient autrefois.” Even the straight-laced Madame de Maintenon, in speaking of her brother, writes to her thus: “Continuez, Mademoiselle, à donner de bons conseils à M. d’Aubigné: il à bien besoin des leçons de Leontium; [this was Ninon’s nickname, so called from the favourite disciple of Epicurus] les avis d’une amie aimable persuadent toujours plus que les conseils d’une sœur sévère.” Tallemant says that her beauty was never very remarkable: “Son esprit etoit plus charmant que son visage—dès qu’elle parloit, on était pris et ravi.” She sang, and played on the lute. “‘La sensibilité,’ dit elle, ‘est l’ame du chant.’” Her portrait is drawn by Mademoiselle de Scudéry in her novel of “Clélie.” “Elle parle volontiers; elle rit aisément, elle aime à faire une innocente guerre à ses amis. Les cheveux d’un beau chatain, le visage rond, le teint vif, la bouche agréable, les lèvres fort incarnates, une petite fosse au menton, les yeux noirs, brillants, pleins de feu, souriants, et la physionomie fine, enjouée, et fort spirituelle.” It can scarcely be denied that this description entitles to beauty, and so indeed do the portraits at Hinchingbrook and Althorp, though she was apparently at an advanced age when the latter was painted. “On a dit d’elle, qu’à la table elle étoit ivre dès la soupe! ivre de bonne humeur, et de saillies;” for as we have seen before, she was always temperate. Her letters to St. Evremond when they were both old, are most characteristic. They occasionally lament together over their age, but appear to have had many gleams of consolation. From the highest and truest of all comfort, they seem to have cut themselves off; and yet, in Ninon’s touching and eloquent letter to her correspondent, on the occasion of the death of the Duchesse de Mazarin, his dearest friend, there is this passage: “Si on pouvoit penser comme Madame de Chevreuse, qui croyoit en mourant, qu’elle alloit causer avec tous ses amis en l’autre monde, il seroit doux de le penser.” In another letter to the same, she says: “Nous allons mériter la louange de la postérité, pour la durée de nos vies, et celle de l’amitié; je crois que je vivrai autant que vous. Adieu Monsieur; pourquoi n’est ce pas un bon jour?” This was something like a prophecy, as they died within two years of each other, one having completed, the other within a few months of, ninety years of age. In speaking of her reception of a friend, whom St. Evremond had recommended to her notice, she says: “J’ai lu (devant lui) votre lettre avec des lunettes, mais elles ne me sieyent pas mal; j’ai toujours eu la mine grave.” Again: “Tout le monde me dit, que j’ai moins à me plaindre du temps qu’une autre; de quelque sorte que cela soit, qui m’aurait proposé une telle vie, je me serois pendue.” In spite of which, her letters are invariably cheerful. St. Evremond says, in very nearly the same strain as he writes to his other frequent correspondent the Duchess of Mazarin: “La nature commence à faire voir par vous, qu’il est possible de ne point vieillir. Vous êtes de tous les pays, aussi estimée à Londres qu’à Paris: vous êtes de tous les temps, vous êtes la maîtresse du présent et du passé.” Ninon died at her house at Paris about five o’clock in the evening, having outlived her ninetieth birthday by five months.

NOTE.—The Abbé Charles de St. Evremond, to whom we are indebted
for so much information relating to Ninon de l’Enclos, and
the Duchesse de Mazarin, was (originally) a soldier, an
author, and a statesman—likewise a _bon vivant_, in all of
which characters, he distinguished himself. He was in great
favour at one time with Cardinal Mazarin, but having incurred
that potentate’s displeasure, he thought it prudent to take
refuge in England, where he remained till his death, in 1703,
having made friends with all the leading men in that country,
and being in great favour with the ladies, for his agreeable
conversation and delicate flattery.

_Hortense Mancini, Duchesse de Mazarin_:

BY MIGNARD.

HALF-LENGTH.

(Oval. Dark Hair and Eyes. Very loose Déshabille.)