Part 21

“But it was all in vain; a transient smile might have been excited at such palpable absurdity; some partial good was perhaps effected; but fashion and faction were far too strong to be acted upon by wit, or argument, or eloquence, or satire. At a time when a low-bred, artful, ignorant bedchamber-woman, with no more sense than would have sufficed to smooth a crumpled ribbon or comb a lapdog, possessed supreme power, and Swift, Arbuthnot, Harley, and Bolingbroke were dancing attendance in her anteroom, it was in vain to preach to women the forbearance and reserve proper to their sex, to point out the confined sphere of their duties, or to remind them of the advice of Pericles to the Athenian women, ‘not to make themselves talked of one way or another.’ Mrs. Masham ruled the queen, but she was herself the contemptible tool of a set of designing men. In the end she and her tutor Harley triumphed; the Tories prevailed; the Whigs were all turned out; Marlborough was not only disgraced at court, but, by a sudden turn of feeling produced in the popular mind by the calumnies and contrivance of his enemies, he became an object of contempt and hatred; and he whose victories had been hailed with such national pride and exultation, found himself ‘baited with the rabble’s curse.’ This might have been contemned, for mere popular clamor dies away, and leaves no trace on the dispassionate page of history; but when Swift, the political gladiator of that time, collected all his terrible powers of invective and satire, and sarcasm, and fell upon the devoted general, branding, stabbing, and slashing at every stroke, he left the duke standing like a column scathed by the thunderbolt, and the lapse of a century has hardly enabled us to distinguish the truth from falsehood of his rancorous libels.”

The brilliant victories of the Duke of Marlborough, in alliance with the German princes under Prince Eugene, had filled all Europe with wonder. In 1704, the victory of Blenheim was achieved, and notwithstanding Marshal Villars’ heroism at the battle of Malplaquet, in 1709, the victory was gained by Marlborough and Prince Eugene, though so great was the loss of the allies, that Villars wrote to Louis XIV.: “If God permits us to lose such another battle, your Majesty can count on your enemies being destroyed.”

Marlborough had joined the Whigs because they were in favor of war; but now the Tories were gaining the ascendency in England; and with their coming into power peace was declared, and the Marlboroughs were deposed from their high places.

Wearied of the ill-temper of the haughty duchess, which broke out in most violent language even in the presence of the queen, Anne at last determined to rid herself of her overbearing companion, whose strong will had for so long a time awed her into submission; while the necessary military generalship of the illustrious duke had long kept the queen from daring to dismiss the insolent duchess, who at length forgot even her politic behavior in her fits of anger, and endeavored to scold back the favor of the queen which had been lost to her by her own impolitic arrogance, and through the wily cunning of her own relation, Mrs. Masham, whom she had herself recommended to the queen for the position of bedchamber-woman, never imagining that this poor ignorant relative would usurp her own place as royal favorite.

Before Anne had ascended the throne, a little incident occurred which eventually led to the downfall of the duchess. The Princess Anne was one day alone in her private drawing-room at St. James. The Duchess of Marlborough entered the anteroom where the princess’ waiting-woman, afterwards Mrs. Masham, was in attendance. Observing a pair of gloves upon the table, the duchess, thinking they were her own, drew them upon her hands. Whereupon the attendant remarked that the gloves belonged to the princess, who had sent her to get them, as her mistress was about to enter her carriage. “What! have I touched anything that has been upon the hands of that odious woman!” exclaimed the duchess in a fury of ill-temper; and tearing them from her fingers she threw them on the floor and retired, little thinking that the insulting words had been overheard by the princess in the adjoining room. From that moment the ultimate disgrace of the imperious duchess was determined upon, although, owing to her husband’s victories and her own threats of publishing the confidential letters of her “loving Mrs. Morley,” her downfall was long delayed.

Queen Anne had not ceased to be a loving wife, when she became a sovereign; and the death of her husband in 1708 was a terrible blow to her. As the queen sat by her dead, though she was the monarch of a vast realm, she was the slave of court etiquette; and as the Duchess of Marlborough still held her office as mistress of the robes, this tyrannical etiquette required that the hated duchess should invade even the sanctuary of Anne’s beloved dead, and lead the queen from the funereal chamber.

But the days of the ascendency of the brilliant but terrible virago were nearly numbered. In 1710, the Whig ministry was deposed, and the Tories came into power.

“Anne could not cope with her discarded favorite in eloquence and violence, but she could resist and dissemble; above all, she could hold her tongue.” Influenced by the Tories, who gained the ear of the queen through the connivance of Mrs. Masham, it was secretly arranged that the Whig ministry should be forced to retire; that the Marlboroughs should be disgraced, and that peace should be negotiated with Louis XIV. The proud duchess had not yet been publicly informed of her impending downfall, but rumors had reached her of the queen’s animosity. Hastening to Kensington, she forced herself into the presence of the queen, and demanded with the air of a sovereign rather than a subject, of what she was accused. The queen, aware that her only weapon against the sarcastic and voluble tongue of the duchess was silence, remarked with cutting composure: “I shall make no answer to anything you say.” This was more than the enraged duchess could bear, and she launched forth into such a terrible tongue-lashing of violent vituperation, that the incensed queen turned to leave the room; whereupon the duchess exclaimed, “I am confident you will suffer in this world or the next for so much inhumanity.”

“That is my business,” retorted the queen, as she lifted the portière and retired, leaving the discomfited duchess to weep in a fury of rage and humiliation.

They never met again. When the Duke of Marlborough returned from his campaign, not all his condescension in begging on his knees that the golden key,—his wife’s badge of office,—might be retained by her for a few weeks sufficed to appease the queen. “I will have it in two days,” exclaimed the angry Anne; and upon reporting his failure to his indignant wife, she also hurled upon his poor head her invectives of wrath, and throwing the golden keys upon the floor, the haughty virago, who had lost all power over her queen, but still maintained her ascendency in her husband’s heart in spite of all her outbursts of temper, sullenly retired, leaving her humiliated spouse to pick up her tardily relinquished badge of office and meekly bear it back in shame and sorrow to her offended sovereign. Hard fate for a man to fall into the snare of playing the go-between of two angry women, especially when one is his wife and the other his sovereign.

The Duke and Duchess of Marlborough afterwards went abroad, and their history is no longer connected with that of Queen Anne.

The famous peace of Utrecht was signed in 1713. The remainder of Queen Anne’s reign was unmomentous. After her experience with the Duchess of Marlborough she determined to assert her own will, but she deceived no one but herself, as she was now alternately swayed by her two favorites, the Duchess of Somerset, who was appointed mistress of the robes, and Lady Masham, whom she had raised to a title and made the keeper of the privy purse. Swift says of Anne at this time:—

“Often, out of fear of being imposed upon by an over-caution, she would impose upon herself; she took a delight in refusing those who were thought to have the greatest power with her, even in the most reasonable things, and such as were necessary for her service; nor would let them be done till she fell into the humor of it herself.”

In her best days, Anne was merely a dull, uninformed woman, without the slightest literary tastes, and yet her reign is called the “Augustan Age of Anne,” and the “wits of Queen Anne’s time” are held only second to the “poets of the Elizabethan age.” No one would probably have been more surprised than Anne herself to have been thus classed with the glorious names of literary fame, for she never read, and was hardly cognizant of the existence of the brilliant minds which gave her reign its brightest lustre. Sir Isaac Newton, Pope, Dryden, Addison, Steele, Swift, De Foe, Gay, Prior, Arbuthnot, Congreve, Young, Parnell, Granville, and Bishop Atterbury, were the most celebrated among the literary lights in her time.

The daily etiquette of the court life of Queen Anne is thus described:—

“The bedchamber-woman came into waiting before her majesty arose, and previous to prayers. If a lady of the bedchamber were present, the bedchamber-woman handed her the queen’s linen, and the lady put it on her Majesty. Every time the queen changed her dress in the course of the day her habiliments made the same formal progress from hand to hand. When the queen washed her hands, her page of the back stairs brought and set upon a side-table a basin and ewer. Then the bed-chamber-woman placed it before the queen, and knelt on the other side of the table over against the queen, the lady of the bedchamber only looking on. The bedchamber-woman poured the water out of the ewer on the queen’s hands. It was also her duty to pull on the queen’s gloves when her Majesty could not do it herself, which was often the case, owing to her infirmity of gout. The page of the back stairs was always called to put on the queen’s shoes. When Queen Anne dined in public, her page passed the glass to her bedchamber-woman, and she to the lady in waiting; in due time it reached the lips of royalty.”

There was little of the pomp and ceremony which distinguished the court of the proud Elizabeth; indeed, Anne herself was too careless and dull-witted, and the imperious Duchess of Marlborough was too defiant of all restraints to have insured that subservient obeisance which Elizabeth demanded and received. Having been obliged, even in her coronation procession, to be borne in a low arm-chair on account of her gout, which prevented her walking in regal majesty as all her predecessors had done, she continued subject to this infirmity, which her gross eating and drinking greatly increased. The stormy disputes between her ministers, Oxford and Bolingbroke, became so violent that at length the fear of having to submit to a third terrible council with them, after two hot disputes had been interrupted by her attacks of violent illness, caused a burning fever, which threatened her life. Submitting to the old remedy of bleeding, she was found to be no better, and it was evident that her end was near. Oxford having resigned his office of lord treasurer in a rage, it became necessary to appoint some one in his place. The Duke of Shrewsbury was suggested for the office, but he would not accept the staff unless the queen herself laid it in his hand. Accordingly the white wand was placed in the stiffening fingers of the dying queen, and the Duke of Shrewsbury, approaching her bedside, asked:—

“Do you know to whom you give the white wand?”

“Yes,” murmured the still-conscious queen; “to the Duke of Shrewsbury; and for God’s sake, use it for the good of my people!”

Thus perished the last of the sovereigns of the House of Stuart.

“The British sovereign is dead and the throne is vacant,” were the few but expressive words sent to George of Hanover; and without opposition, King George I. ascended the throne of Great Britain.

MARIA THERESA.

A.D. 1717-1780.

“’Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; ’Tis virtue that doth make them most admir’d; ’Tis government that makes them seem divine.” —SHAKESPEARE.

ON the 13th of May, 1717, in the royal palace at Vienna, a baby princess first opened her wondering eyes upon this world, in whose history she was destined to play an important, and what is still better, a highly commendable part. This illustrious infant was christened by the titles, Maria Theresa Valperga Amelia Christina.

Her father was Charles VI. of Austria, emperor of Germany. Lady Wortley Montagu, who, as Mary Pierrepont, had figured as one of the young ladies appointed to bear the train of Queen Anne during her coronation ceremony, afterwards visited the court of Vienna, shortly before the birth of Maria Theresa, and describes the mother of that princess, the lovely Elizabeth Christina of Brunswick, as an empress of sweet and gracious manners and amiable character.

But Maria Theresa far outshone both her parents in beauty of person, strength of character, and marvellous executive abilities, which have placed her in the very front rank of female sovereigns; yea, still more, on account of the rare combination of virtues and strength which her character manifested, she stands at the very head of the list of famous queens, equalled only perhaps by Isabella of Castile.

In making this assertion, we refer only to Maria Theresa’s individual claims to greatness; not to any importance of the times, or concomitant circumstances, which formed so large a part of Elizabeth’s acknowledged powers; not upon great statesmen, great generals, or great political or religious questions, depends the fame of Maria Theresa. It was not the vast political importance of her achievements, or the place which her kingdom held in the rank of nations; but it was the mind and nature of the sovereign herself, irrespective of any and all surroundings, which makes her character luminous with a stronger and more effulgent light than shines forth from the name of any other female sovereign of the world. In herself alone, in her own virtues; her strong and well-balanced mind; her undaunted courage; her unswerving allegiance to what is true, and pure, and lovely in womankind, joined to an almost masculine executive ability, which woman’s usually narrow horizon often weakens, by sacrificing grand and comprehensive policies to a pettiness of details; an executive ability as statesman, and general, which made her no mean foe for the vaunted greatness of Frederick the Second to combat,—these traits, betokening a mind peerless among women, a character peerless among sovereigns,—abilities ranking her with the greatest of her times,—and best of all, virtues, which placed her individually first upon the list of female monarchs of the world; virtues which surround her name with an undying halo of glory;—such are the rightful claims of Maria Theresa to the most honored place among the famous queens of history.

And yet we do not give this illustrious character as much space as others in this book, because the events of her reign were not as vital upon the history of Europe and the world as other epochs, and because the very beauty and purity of her character demands no long panegyric to prove her greatness; therefore her reign will be summed up in a few words.

Catherine II. of Russia was probably equal to Maria Theresa in executive ability; but Catherine is so revolting as a woman, so devoid of every virtue of heart or soul, that her fame is rather infamous notoriety than commendable greatness. Elizabeth doubtless possessed as strong a mind and keener cunning, and was undeniably far more liberally educated; but Elizabeth was so pitiably weak in her jealous vanity and heartless and condemnatory gallantries, that she must rank beneath Maria Theresa when they are individually compared.

Isabella of Castile stands nearer to Maria Theresa in individual greatness than any of the other famous queens. We have not included a sketch of her life in this volume, because her history is so indissolubly intertwined with that of Ferdinand V. of Spain; and in giving his life in the companion book of “Famous Rulers,” we also there outlined a brief sketch of Isabella of Castile.

Maria Theresa is the most illustrious example of an “imperial woman of business.” She was big-brained and energetic, having none of the mental weaknesses of voluptuous natures. Lacking thereby, perhaps, somewhat in warm emotions, but by her own inherent nature she was exempted from falling into error. She was a model of virtue both in public and private life.

“Maria Theresa was an embodiment of executive regality. She had the promptitude, forethought, and vigilance of a detective officer, and discharged duty with the rigid precision of a policeman. She was essentially practical, and thoroughly industrious-minded. She was ready in an emergency, equal to a difficulty, and sturdy for order and regulation. She met reverses with boldness and fortitude, and used prosperity for instituting reforms. She was greatly remedial, remedying sudden mischances by encountering them firmly, and remedying existing evils with the strong hand of eradication.”

Frederick the Great, although politically her foe, said of her: “Although I have made war against her, I have never been her personal enemy. I have always respected her; she was an honor to her sex, and the glory of her throne.”

Maria Theresa was not only immaculately virtuous herself, but she enforced the strictest rule of moral and decorous demeanor both in her court and throughout her dominions. Rigorous etiquette and staid decorum were marked features of her imperial household and her own conduct. Only once did she deign to notice one of profligate notoriety when she desired to enter into friendly alliance with France, she found the effeminate Louis XV. unwilling to listen to the proposals of her ambassador. Well knowing where the chief influence over the mind of this weak king could be reached, she condescended to write a letter to Madame de Pompadour, with the courteous address “_Ma Chère Amie_.” This produced the expected effect. Madame de Pompadour’s self-love and vanity were so much flattered by such a mark of attention from the imperial Maria Theresa, that, employing her most seductive arts, she won the consent of Louis XV. to enter into an alliance with Austria. But this political policy must have cost the pure and exalted character of Maria Theresa a sharp pang of personal mortification.

In 1736 Maria Theresa was married to Francis, Duke of Lorraine. This marriage was one of love rather than policy, and the union was a happy one. Francis was much inferior in mind to his beautiful and accomplished wife, but Maria Theresa’s affection for him was sincere and very constant through a long wedded life. The death of her father, Charles VI., left Maria Theresa, in her twenty-fourth year, Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, Archduchess of Austria, Sovereign of the Netherlands, and Duchess of Milan, of Parma, and of Placentia, in her own right; and in right of her husband, she was also Grand-Duchess of Tuscany. But notwithstanding these numerous titles, her cause was in truth desperate. Her father had endeavored to secure her undisputed succession by means of the “Pragmatic Sanction,” which declared Maria Theresa the heiress of the House of Austria. This sanction had been ratified by several European powers; but no sooner was Charles VI. dead than claimants arose in all directions. “Within the first few months of her reign, the Pragmatic Sanction, so frequently guaranteed, was trampled under foot. France deferred, and at length declined to acknowledge her title. The Elector of Bavaria, supported by France, laid claim to Austria, Hungary, and Bohemia. The king of Spain also laid claim to the Austrian succession, and prepared to seize on the Italian states; the king of Sardinia claimed Milan; the king of Prussia, not satisfied with merely advancing pretensions, pounced like a falcon on his prey, and seized upon the whole duchy of Silesia, which he laid waste and occupied with his armies.”

“The perils which surrounded Maria Theresa at her accession were such as would have appalled the strongest mind. She was not only encompassed by enemies without, but threatened with commotions within: she was without an army, without a treasury, and, in point of fact, without a ministry; for those who composed the _conference_, or state-council of Vienna, agreed but in one thing,—in jealousy of the Duke of Lorraine.”

But Maria Theresa was never so great as in the midst of apparently overwhelming adversity. Hungary clung firmly to the young and dauntless queen, and to Hungary she turned for aid. On the 13th of June, 1741, she was crowned Queen of Hungary at Presburg. The coronation was attended with all the national pomp and peculiar ceremonies of that country. The iron crown of St. Stephen was placed upon the head of the dazzlingly beautiful Maria Theresa, then in the height of her fascinating charms. Over her gem-encrusted royal robes was thrown the sacred tattered mantle which was regarded by the Hungarians as a revered insignia of the regal office. Mounted on a superb charger, she then rode gallantly up the Royal Mount, which was a rising hillock near Presburg consecrated to this ceremony; and having reached the summit, Maria Theresa, according to ancient custom, drew forth her glistening sabre, and waved it around her head, signalizing the idea of defiance to all the four quarters of the world. The coronation ceremonies having been completed, Maria Theresa returned to the great hall of the palace, where a magnificent feast had been spread for all the high dignitaries of the realm. The beautiful queen sat in the place of honor; and as the day was warm and the iron crown was heavy, she lifted the ancient diadem from her brow, whereupon her luxuriant hair fell upon her shoulders in picturesque abandon, making her such a vision of beauty with her glowing cheeks, and sparkling eyes, and regal bearing, that the old knights and gallant lords could scarce refrain from shouting their enthusiastic admiration for the lovely woman, and patriotic reverence for their adored queen, in resounding acclamations.

Still greater was their enthusiasm when they were assembled in the great hall of the castle, and the stately queen, wearing the Hungarian mourning costume in memory of her late father, entered the spacious apartment, and ascended the platform from whence the kings of Hungary had been accustomed to address their council of lords.

Imperial indeed was the graceful Maria Theresa; majesty sat enthroned upon her regal brow, and the sovereign as well as the gracious woman beamed in her magnetic eyes, while the melodious and alluring tones of her pathetic voice seemed to commingle the inspiring resonance of a bugle-call with the melting sweetness of the rich chords swept from harp-strings, as she alternately appealed to their patriotism, and her helpless condition as queen, woman, and mother. Her stirring address to them was made in Latin, and as she impressively committed herself and children to their fidelity, lifting her infant son Joseph in her arms and presenting him to the assembled lords, a thousand warriors drew their sabres from their scabbards and shouted with wild enthusiasm: “_Moriamur pro rege nostro, Mariâ Theresâ_” (We will die for our sovereign, Maria Theresa).