of the public. And they looked to her, many of them, to obtain these things for them. One writer, however, was shrewd enough to doubt the future. Swift, complying with a craze of the day, drew a character of the favourite, and with an impertinence all his own presented it to her. Too long to be inserted here, it is still a document of great interest: and though coloured by the writer's cynicism and tinged with the uneasy arrogance that inspired him when he dealt with men and women of a higher rank than his own, it presents a picture upon which he must have complimented himself in the time to come. He gives Mrs. Howard credit for many amiable qualities, for beauty and wit, for modesty, for desiring that she might not be considered the favourite that she was. He credits her with a political ability which it is more than doubtful if she possessed and a finesse which it is almost certain that she lacked. But he finds her too much of a courtier, he reproaches her with not venturing her full credit for her friends and for asking for them only that which she knew would be gladly given. He styles her an excellent companion for men of the best accomplishments, who had nothing to seek; and attributing to her justice, truthfulness, and generosity in private life, he hints at an underlying insincerity, a faint heart in the cause of her friends. He concludes by hoping for better things in the future, but it is clear that his hope is weak, and whether he read her character aright or foresaw the dénouement, a complaint underlies his description. Before we raise the curtain on that dénouement, now near at hand, let us see what friends, less selfish or less clear-sighted, said of her at this time. Lord Peterborough, hero and knight-errant, addressed to her the charming verses that begin : I said to my heart between sleeping and waking, What black, brown, or fair, in what clime, in what nation, And then, after describing various fair ones who did not move him, he continues, But Chloe so lovely, so easy, so fair, Her wit so genteel, without art, without care, When she comes in my way-the motion, the pain, Oh wonderful creature! A woman of reason, Would one think Mrs. Howard e'er dreamt it was she? Surely the woman who in her thirties drew this tribute from a man who had spent his long life in court and camp, who had seen all the beauties of Whitehall in its palmy days, must have owned no common charm! Or, listen to a greater poet's compliment: I know the thing that's most uncommon, (Envy be silent and attend!) I know a reasonable woman, Handsome and witty, yet a friend. Not warped by passion, awed by rumour, Not grave through pride or gay through folly, And sensible, soft melancholy. Has she no faults, then (envy says), Sir? When all the world conspires to praise her The woman's deaf, and does not hear. Gay had as far back as 1714 addressed to her his 'Epistle to a Lady,' and Swift, writing at the close of this period, pays, whatever were his private doubts, a singular testimony to the influence with which she was credited. There are, Madam,' he writes to her, 'thousands in the world who, if they saw your dog Fop treat me kindly, would next day tell me in a letter of the delight they heard I had in doing good, and, being assured that a word of mine would do anything, desire my interest to speak to the Speaker, to speak to Sir R. Walpole, to speak to the King, etc.' That influence was soon to be put to the test. In 1727 George the First died suddenly, the curtain rose on a new scene, and at the Queen's Coronation Mrs. Howard played a conspicuous part. Splendidly robed in scarlet trimmed with silver, her hair dressed in long locks and puffs entwined with silver ribbons, she walked with Mrs. Herbert up the Abbey behind the Mistress of the Robes, the Duchess of Dorset, who followed the royal train-bearers. During the ceremony she stood on the left of the pallium, holding the coif, and at the proper time opened the Queen's tucker and assisted in pinning on the crown; and doubtless there were few in the glittering assembly who were more curiously observed. But this was the fair outside, and before even the new Sovereign had removed from Hampton Court to St. James's it became clear that the hopes alike of politicians and poets were to be blighted. They, and perhaps Mrs. Howard, had counted without her mistress. The Queen, whose single political aim it was that the whole,' by which she meant the Government as settled in the House of Hanover, should be carried on, turned about in twenty-four hours, wisely made up her quarrel with Walpole, and confirmed him in office. Save in the household, hardly a change was made, those who were out of place remained out of place, and too late the aspirants learned that beside the Queen's influence that of the Favourite ranked for nothing. On the contrary, it was manifest, as one who knew both well said, that George thought more of his wife's little finger than of his mistress's whole person. If Mrs. Howard had at this crisis followed the Queen's lead, abandoned her friends, and made her peace with the powerful Minister, she might have avoided that which ensued-the slow but steady loss of the King's favour. It is possible that she made the mistake which the Queen never made, and argued with him, and contradicted him with the result that while on the one hand the failure of their expectations brought upon her the obloquy of her friends, on the other hand her support of those friends forfeited the royal favour. And simultaneously she had her private trials to meet. Mr. Howard, who in the last days of the old King had demanded her through the Archbishop, lost his place, and, driven to desperation, sought an interview with the Queen. Years later the Queen gave an account of the interview to Lord Hervey, and it is an account so striking that it is worth while to insert it in full. She told me [Hervey records] the whole history of the bustle Mr. Howard had made to take his wife from Court, and that when Mr. Howard came to Her Majesty and said he would take his wife out of Her Majesty's coach if he met her in it, she had bid him do it if he dared, though,' said she, 'I was horribly afraid of him (for we were tête-à-tête) all the time he was playing the bully. What added to my fear upon this occasion was that, as I knew him to be so brutal as well as a little mad, and seldom quite sober, so I did not think it impossible but that he might throw me out of that window (for it was in this very room our interview was and that sash open just as it is now); but as soon as I had got near the door and thought myself safe from being thrown out of the window, Je pris mon grand ton de Reine, et Je disais I would be glad to see who should dare to open my coach-door and take out one of my servants; sachant tout le temps qu'il pouvoit faire s'il le voulait, and qu'il aurait sa femme et moi l'affront. Then I told him that my resolve was positively neither to favour his wife to go to him if she had no mind to it, nor to keep her if she had. He then said he would complain to the King; upon which Je prenais encore mon haut ton and said the King had nothing to do with my servants, and for that reason he might save himself the trouble, as I was sure that the King would give him no answer but that it was none of his business to concern himself with my family and after a good deal more of conversation of this kind (I standing close to the door all the while to give me courage) Monsieur Howard et moi nous nous donnions le bonjour et il se retira. After this that old fool, my Lord Trevor, came to me from Mrs. Howard and after thanking me in her name for what I had done, proposed to me to give £1200 a year to Mr. Howard to let his wife stay with me: but as I thought I had done full enough, and that it was a little too much not only to keep the King's guenippes (in English, trulls) under my roof, but to pay them too, I pleaded poverty to my good Lord Trevor and said I would do anything to keep so good a servant as Mrs. Howard about me, but that for the £1200 a year I really could not afford it. 'But after all this matter was settled,' the Queen continued, and we may as well hear her out, the first thing this wise, prudent Lady Suffolk did was to pick a quarrel with me about holding a basin in the ceremony of my dressing, and to tell me, with her little fierce eyes and cheeks as red as your coat, that positively she would not do it; to which I made her no answer then in anger, but calmly as I would have said to a naughty child, " Yes, my dear Howard, I am sure you will. Go, go! Fie, for shame! Go, my good Howard, we will talk of this another time.' (To be continued.) |
