BOOKS.
SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.*
M. FITZGERALD MOLLOY has lost a chance. An age of plots and treachery knew no finer expert in the perilous game than Thu Queen's Comrade : the Life and Tim.. of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough. By Fitzgerald Molloy. London: Hutchinson and Co. [24s. net.]
Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, and Mr. Molloy could not have chosen a more interesting subject. He might have drawn the portrait of a clever, turbulent, intriguing woman. But he has carried out his task with timidity : he has told us more of the times than of the life of the Duchess, whose character he has not attempted to draw. However, his book is well illustrated and not ill-furnished with documents, and at least it serves to remind us of a singularly adventurous and intrepid career.
Sarah Jennings was fortunate in her birth and rank. She was still more fortunate in that she was armed with the triple brass of prudence against the dangers of a dissolute Court. That she lived scatheless in the world pictured by Grammont proves abundantly that even in her youth she knew very well how to take care of herself. And her choice of John Churchill as a husband shows that her insight was at least as remarkable as her knowledge of the world. But though she did John Churchill the honour to marry him, she did not accept him without trial, and her caprice doubtless set a finer edge upon the young soldier's ardour. Beautiful women had already paid him court, but if he thought to win Sarah Jennings without a struggle he was grievously disap- pointed. The more eloquently he proclaimed his devotion the more sternly she repelled him, until at last the Duchess of York interposed with the offer of a dowry, and Sarah Jennings and John Churchill were married privately at St. James's Palace in 1677.
From the day of her marriage to the day of her death this implacable lady lived in an atmosphere of intrigue. To her peculiar talent a Court was an absolute necessity. Here, too, fortune favoured her; she had been the playmate of the Princess Anne, and no sooner was the Princess married than Lady Churchill was appointed a Lady of the Bedchamber. The friendship between the two women, begun in childhood, grew stranger with the years. Under the names of Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman they exchanged letters with the utmost constancy, and if Mrs. Freeman, as Lady Churchill styled herself, took advantage of her name to rail and threaten, Mrs. Morley was always prone to humility and forgiveness. Indeed, to read their letters is to suppose that the Lady of the Bedchamber was the Princess, and that the poor Princess was but the timidest of servants. At the very outset Mrs. Freeman assumed a tone of tyrannical in- sistence, and until the tardy quarrel came Anne set no limit either on her kindliness or upon her generosity. Nor is it surprising that the Princess should have clung to one whom she believed to be a faithful friend, since her own life was neither happy nor sheltered. The King treated her with scant respect, and while, on the one hand, she hoped to sit upon the throne herself, she was tortured, on the other band, with the thought of her treachery towards her father. But in Sarah Churchill she found a friend who would fight for her, intrigue in her behalf, and give her such counsel as would ensure the protection of her interests. Yet the friendship could have but one end, for Sarah Churchill was one of those who will devote themselves to another's service only so long as that other is completely sub- missive. She loved management for its own sake, and, there was scarce a touch of unselfishness in her devotion to Anne. In her eyes Anne was a pawn in the game, and the game was always exciting and always worthy the attention of a skilful player. But that Anne should harbour an opinion or cherish a friend of her own was wounding to the Duchess's vanity, and no sooner did Abigail Hill appear than dissension was inevitable. The rivalry was the more distasteful to the Duchess because Abigail Hill was not merely her cousin, but her creature; and Anne knew the mind of her favourite so well that for a long while she dared not acknowledge the new friendship. The mere thought that the Duchess would discover her preference made her tremble, and the history of Courts does not contain a more curious episode than the secret marriage of Abigail Hill to Richard Masham. The courtly Arbuthnot must have smiled when the ceremony, which was graced by the presence of the Queen, took place in his private apartments. But the smile of the Duchess was bitter indeed when she discovered the favour conferred upon her despised kinswoman. With characteristic frankness she sent for the supplanter and roundly accused her of poisoning the Queen's mind. Whereon Abigail burst into tears, and made matters
worse by an involuntary impertinence, declaring that the Queen had loved the Duchess exceedingly, and would always be kind to her. "It was some minutes," wrote the Duchess, "before I could recover from the surprise with- which so extraordinary an answer struck me. To see a woman whom I had raised out of the dust put on such a superior air, and to hear her assure me by way of consolation that the Queen would always be kind to me ! At length I went on to reproach her with ingratitude and her secret management with the Queen to undermine those who had so long and with so much. honour served her Majesty. To this she answered that she never spoke to the Queen about business, but that she some- times gave her petitions which came to the ,back stairs, and with which she knew I did not care to be troubled. And with such insincere answers she thought to colour over the matter, while I knew for certain she had before this obtained pensions for several of her friends, and had frequently paid to others out of the privy purse sums of money which the Queen had ordered me to bring her; and that she was every day long with her Majesty in private," And thus the wrangle went on.
It is pitiful enough, and more fit for the servants' hall than for the Court. Yet it was life to the Duchess, and for the Queen of so great an import that the dispute could not be settled without the intervention of Ministers. And even they did not put a term to it, for the Duchess would not be appeased. She threatened, lectured, and cajoled. When the Queen, refusing to hear her, attempted to escape, the Duchess put her back to the door, and compelled attention. The last interview which ever took place between the two friends outdid all the others in violence. The Duchess came prepared to review the whole question, to claim the ancient friendship, and to base her claim upon present zeal and past service. But the Queen at last was mistress of herself and obdurate. She met all arguments with one phrase—" You may put it into writing "—thus recalling a trick of her father's, who could always fill his courtiers with despair by iteration. In the end the Duchess was routed. She retired beaten and lachrymose from the Queen's presence, and never did Mrs. Freeman look upon her, Mrs. Morley, again.
But even after the Queen's death the truculent, overbearing Duchess must still wrangle. Now it was her architect who incensed her; now she must claim, with whatever eloquence she could, the right to drive her carriage through the Royal parks. Then the rangership of Windsor Park engrossed her, or she was busy pleading against her daughters in the Court of Chancery. But whatever the excuse her energy never slackened. She fought, quarrelled, and amassed money until she died, and showed her indomitable spirit in her will. Indeed, she could not live without the combat, and she was as brave a warrior as her Duke—on another field. Her worst fault was ingratitude, and her assertion that she was never beholden to the Queen finds no excuse. That she was capable of a strong attachment we may doubt; and yet, though she took but little interest in Marlborough, she kept his love- letters always and re-read them with a sort of regret. But she was a strong woman, despite her faults, and it is easier (and perhaps wiser) to admire her violence than to censure it.
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