THE peace of Utrecht, though a relief to Europe, could not bring back joy to either of the sovereigns of France or England. The English nation were furious, chiefly out of dread lest the Queen and the Tories meant to bring back her half-brother, and likewise because so little had been gained by all their glories. Such monstrous libels and lampoons went forth that Anne complained of them in her speech on opening Parliament, in 1713. Swift, who is said to have composed the speech, was certainly not behind others in venom, though his writings always had the salt of real wit, such as theirs had not. He was, as a political partisan, recommended by her ministry to the see of Hereford, and Anne, who never read anything she could avoid, mentioned him to Dr. Sharpe, Archbishop of York. 66 Ought not your Majesty to ascertain whether Dr. Swift is a Christian before making him a bishop?" was the suggestion. Upon which Anne asked what was meant, and the Archbishop showed her some of the grossest passages in the "Tale of a Tub;" and the Duchess of Somerset likewise brought forward a spiteful libel, accusing her (the last of the direct line of Percies) not only of red hair, but of having, at fourteen, been privy to the murder of her betrothed husband, Mr. Thynne, by Count Konigsmark. 'England, dear England, as I understand, CAMEO XXIII. Lampoons. 1713. CAMEO XXIII. Anne's Decline. 1714. And keep close to thee always that name Which backwards and forwards is almost the same; Anna was the name always the same, Masham the name nearly the same. The Queen was greatly shocked, and refused the bishopric to Swift who learnt the cause from Lady Masham, and revenged himself by equally atrocious libels, in which he called the Archbishop a crazy prelate, the Queen a royal prude, and as to the Duchess "Now angry Somerset her vengeance vows On Swift's reproaches for her murdered spouse; Nevertheless, instead of being prosecuted for libel, Swift was made Dean of St. Patrick. Indeed, Lord Bolingbroke hated and dreaded the Duchess of Somerset quite as much as Swift did. The last of Hotspur's line was not so amenable as the promoted waiting women. The Queen, too, was much out of health, suffering continually from gout, which at times attacked her stomach, and gave immediate fears for her life. She could take no active exercise, and would not be prudent in her diet, so that her existence hung on a thread. At Windsor, she was even moved from one story to another in a lift. Every one dreaded her death. The Jacobites, indeed, the Tories, were anxious for time to bring about some arrangement with her brother, just grown to manhood, and the Whigs were desirous of inviting to England the Electress Sophia and her son, so as to secure the succession. The poor Queen herself yearned after her own nearest kin, and dreaded nothing so much as having to receive her German cousin. She seems to have staved off an invitation by publicly denouncing the pretended Prince of Wales, and setting a price of £5000 on his head, if he were found in Great Britian or Ireland. In the midst, on the 10th of June, 1714, the Electress Sophia died. She was eighty-four, but had long been in so much better health than the Queen that she had fully hoped and expected to write herself Sophia, Queen of England." The Queen was only fifty, stout and high coloured, and had not lost her sweet powerful voice, so that when she reopened what proved to be her last Parliament all were delighted to see how well she looked. She was thought to have dismissed the Parliament early in order to prevent a debate when the death of Sophia was formally announced, on the substitution of her son's name for hers, in the prayer for the heir apparent. There were further annoyances. Oxford, the Lord High Treasurer. was at issue with Bolingbroke, being apparently less willing to go all lengths with the Jacobites; and Anne began to repose the more CAMEO XXIII. confidence in Charles Talbot, Duke of Shrewsbury, a man of such winning manners that William III. had termed him "King of Hearts"; but, though he had once been an ardent Whig, he had Shrewsbury been alienated by the disdain with which his young Italian wife in power. had been treated, and had gone over to the Tories. The Queen had made him Lord Chamberlain, and liked him personally. Lady Masham considered that Oxford, her cousin, owed everything to her; but a quarrel broke out between them—apparently about some shares on the profits on the South Sea trade, in which the treasurer disappointed the lady. Whenever they dined together, she showed her displeasure, and at last told him, in the Queen's presence: "You never did the Queen any service, nor are you capable of doing her any." "I have been abused by misrepresentation," returned Harley, "but I will leave some people as low as I found them.” This wrangling went on for two hours, the poor Queen having no spirit or power to check it. However, a day or two later, she demanded Oxford's staff of office; but there was such a lack of ability and integrity among public men that it was very difficult to fill up the post, and Harley had to retain the white staff for some time while a successor was sought. Things were in a miserable state. The nation was restless and uneasy lest the Queen should be about to deliver them over to her brother, who in their view represented Popery, tyranny and persecution; and the Bishops, not being Non-Jurors, were all of the same mind. The Whigs wanted the Electoral Prince of Hanover to come to England to secure his claim, and were greatly disappointed that he, being a dull man, who loved his ease and had no mind for forcing himself on an unwilling country, gave no signs of intending to come. The poor Queen was torn to pieces. Her conscience bitterly reproached her for the part she had taken towards her father and brother; and, a widow and bereaved mother, she was alone, without a being of kindred blood near her. She yearned after her brother, and, while natural affection and conscience on one side bade her recall him and make restitution, her religious feeling and her duty to her engagements to her people inclined her towards the Protestant succession. On the 25th of July a fierce dispute took place in the Cabinet Council as to whether the post of Lord Treasurer should be put in commission and who were to be the commissioners. Hot and indecorous wrangling went on from nine o'clock at night till two in the morning before the poor worn-out Queen, who at last fainted. She was carried to bed and wept bitterly all night. On the 28th there was an attempt at a Council, but she was too ill to preside, and it was adjourned to the next day. She was in absolute terror of the scenes that took place before her, and said to Dr. Arbuthnot: "I shall never survive it." VOL. VIII. 1714. CAMEO XXIII. It was just before the hour fixed for this dreaded Council that Mrs. Danvers, an attendant who had been with her from early girlhood, Shrewsbury coming into the presence-chamber, saw her standing before the clock Lord Treasurer. which told eight, gazing in such a strange fixed manner that the good woman approached and asked whether her Majesty saw anything unusual in the clock. 1714. Anne turned round without a word, but with such a miserable, bewildered stare that Mrs. Danvers declared she saw death in the look and called for help. She was carried to bed, and some of her doctors were summoned, but not all, for one of the chief, Dr. Mead, was a strong Whig, and the poor Queen, half delirious, was muttering, “My brother, my poor brother, what will become of him?” She had eaten in the course of the day a great number of blackheart cherries, and this might have added to the effects of her distress and terror at the prospect of the Council about to take place in causing an attack of apoplexy. She was cupped, and somewhat relieved, but a fresh attack came on in the morning and it was plain that she was dying. The confusion of the Cabinet became worse confounded when her state was known, but the Whig Dukes of Somerset and Argyle appeared there by their right as privy councillors, though not ministers, and taking the lead, sent summonses to all the other privy councillors to attend if they wished to save the Protestant succession. The matter of the Lord Treasurer was imminent, and Shrewsbury, though of late a Tory, was known to be strong against the Stewarts. So Bolingbroke went to the bedside and told the Queen that it would be for the public good to appoint him. She assented, but Shrewsbury would not take the office without her conferring it. He stood by her and asked if she knew him, and to whom she gave the white wand. "To the Duke of Shrewsbury," she said, and touched the staff, adding, "For God's sake use it for the good of my people." They were nearly her last fully conscious words. The Bishop of London was with her, not her old friend and tutor, Henry Compton, who had recently died of a fall down stairs, but Dr. Robinson, and to him she seems to have unburthened her conscience, intending to receive the Holy Communion the next day, but for this she was far too ill. She continued to moan "My brother, my poor brother," as long as her utterance could be distinguished, and thus gradually sank into unconsciousness. Meantime the Great Seal was set to a document long ago prepared, appointing a Council of twenty-four to act as Regents in an interregnum. Secretary Craggs was sent off to Hanover with tidings of her extremity; the Whigs were collected; the trained bands had orders to be ready to be called up at any moment; and, on the other hand, the Jacobites within the palace held counsel, and sent for Lady Masham from the Queen's bedside. "We are undone," she told them, "the Queen is a dying woman. Nothing can save her." "Could no one speak to her?" they asked. But this was impossible, she was either delirious or torpid, and incapable of speech. "That is hard," said one. "Could she but speak to us, and give us orders and sign them, we might do the business for all this." The Duke of Ormond said that if he only had authority from her he would at once proclaim her successor. He could answer for the army. "Do it then," said Dr. Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester. go out and proclaim the Chevalier at Charing Cross.” "Let us On this, however, they did not venture, and finally decided that they had better proclaim the Elector of Hanover, as the proclamation must take place instantly on the Queen's death, and thus they would gain time to make opposition. During this night of turmoil all around, the Queen lay unconscious, breathing heavily, and growing colder, till between seven and eight o'clock on the morning of the 1st of August, 1714, when she expired, not quite fifty years of age. Poor Queen Anne! She was a pious and conscientious woman, a beneficent Queen according to her lights, but her whole self had been surrendered to a violent and unscrupulous woman, and the conduct towards her father, into which she had been led, brought on her a mournful retribution, in her piteous later age, when the favourite she had fostered became her tyrant, and her final emancipation from that yoke had only brought further misery upon her: misery that all the affection of her people could not alleviate, in her desolate home, where she was really done to death by the dissensions of the rude and vehement partisans who disregarded her weakness. The Duke of Shrewsbury remained master of the situation, the Jacobites durst not move, and George I. was proclaimed, while Addison, then clerk of the council, was employed to write the invitation to him. It is alleged that he was so overpowered by the thought of the greatness of the occasion that he could only couch his letter in the driest and most formal terms, and certainly anything else would have been lost on the wee German lairdie," as the Jacobites termed George Louis of Hanover, a most unwilling king. 66 The sands of life of another sovereign were running out. Louis XIV., who had seen six English monarchs on the throne, had reached his 77th year when the peace of Utrecht brought some repose to France. Family sorrows did not, however, cease to pursue him. First, his grandson, Philip V. of Spain, lost his bright young wife, Marie Louise of Savoy, early in 1714, and in May, the Duke of Berri bruised his chest against the pommel of his saddle, and died from the internal injury a few days later. There only remained the frail little great-grandson, the child of the Duke of Burgundy, for the Duke of Berri left no heirs, only a widow, the Duke of Orleans' CAMEO XXIII. Death of 1714. |