Memoirs of Lady Fanshawe / Wife of Sir Richard Fanshawe, Bt., Ambassador from Charles II to the Courts of Portugal and Madrid.

WIFE OF SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE, BT.
AMBASSADOR FROM CHARLES II. TO
THE COURTS OF PORTUGAL & MADRID
WRITTEN BY HERSELF CONTAINING
EXTRACTS FROM THE CORRESPONDENCE
OF SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE EDITED
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY BEATRICE
MARSHALL AND A NOTE UPON THE
ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALLAN FEA

INTRODUCTION

There is a deathless charm, despite the efforts of modern novelists and playwrights to render it stale and hackneyed, attaching to the middle of the seventeenth century—that period of upheaval and turmoil which saw a stately debonnaire Court swept away by the flames of Civil War, and the reign of an usurper succeeded by the Restoration of a discredited and fallen dynasty.

So long as the world lasts, events such as the trial and execution of Charles Stuart will not cease to appeal to the imagination and touch the hearts of those at least who bring sentiment to bear on the reading of history.

It is not to the dry-as-dust historian, however, that we go for illuminating side-lights on this ever-fascinating time, but rather to the pen-portraits of Clarendon, the noble canvases of Van Dyck, and above all to the records of individual experience contained in personal memoirs. Of these none is more charmingly and vivaciously narrated or of greater historic value and interest than the following memoir (first published in 1830) of Sir Richard Fanshawe, "Knight and Baronet, one of the Masters of the Requests, Secretary of the Latin Tongue, Burgess of the University of Cambridge, and one of His Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council of England and Ireland, and His Majesty's Ambassador to Portugal and Spain." It was written by his widow in the evening of her days, after a life of storm and stress and many romantic adventures at home and abroad, for the benefit of the only son who survived to manhood of fourteen children, most of whom died in their chrisom robes and whose baby bones were laid to rest in foreign churchyards.

Two contemporaries of Lady Fanshawe, Mrs. Hutchinson and the Duchess of Newcastle, also wrote lives of their husbands, which continue to live as classics in our literature. But the Royalist Ambassador's wife is incomparably more sparkling and anecdotic than the Puritan Colonel's, and she does not adopt the somewhat tiresome "doormat" attitude of wifely adoration towards the subject of her memoir which "Mad Margaret" (as Pepys called her Grace of Newcastle) thought fitting when she took up her fatally facile pen to endow her idolised lord with all the virtues and all the graces and every talent under the sun.

Yet with less lavishly laid on colours, how vivid is the portrait Lady Fanshawe has painted for posterity of the gallant gentleman and scholar, one of those "very perfect gentle knights" which that age produced; loyal and religious, with the straightforward simple piety that held unwaveringly to the Anglican Church in which he had been born and brought up.

And of herself, too, she unconsciously presents a series of charming pictures. The description of her girlhood is a glimpse into the bringing up of a Cavalier maiden of quality, of the kind that is invaluable in a reconstruction of the past from the domestic side. In the town-house in Hart Street which her father, Sir John Harrison, rented for the winter months from "my Lord Dingwall," where she was born, her education was carried on "with all the advantages the time afforded." She learnt French, singing to the lute, the virginals, and the art of needlework, and confesses that though she was quick at learning she was very wild and loved "riding, running and all active pastimes."

One can picture the light-hearted "hoyting girl" breaking loose when she found herself at Balls in Hertfordshire, where the family spent the summer, and skipping and jumping for sheer joy at being alive. And then we see her at fifteen suddenly sobered by the death of her mother, a lady of "excellent beauty and good understanding," and taking upon her young shoulders the entire management of her father's household. With naive satisfaction she tells of how well she succeeded and how she won the esteem of her mother's relations and friends, being ever "ambitious to keep the best company," which she thanks God she did all the days of her life.

Her father, like other loyal gentlemen, cheerfully suffered beggary in the King's cause. His estates and property were confiscated and he himself arrested. He managed to escape to Oxford, whither his daughters followed him, to lodge over a baker's shop in a poor garret with scarcely any clothes or money, they who had till then lived in "great plenty and great order."

The seat of learning was strangely transformed by the presence there of the moribund Court indulging in its last fling of gaieties and gallantries on the eve of the debacle of Marston Moor. Soldiers swarmed in the streets and were billeted over the college gates, and gardens and groves were the trysting-place of courtiers and beautiful ladies in that fair spring-time. Oxford melted down its plate for the King and gave up its ancient halls to masques and plays for the amusement of the Queen.

Sir John Harrison and his young daughters played their part in this brilliant society. Mistress Anne's tender heart was moved to pity by the "sad spectacle of war," when starving, half-naked prisoners were marched past the windows of their lodging, but nothing could damp for long her high spirits and girlish gaiety. We are told (not by herself, but by the arch-gossip, old Aubrey) that in the company of Lady Isabella Thynne, brightest star of the Stuart Court, "fine Mistress Anne" played a practical joke on Dr. Kettle, the woman-hating President of Trinity, who resented the intrusion of petticoats into his garden, "dubbed Daphne by the wits." The lady in question aired herself there in a fantastic garment cut after the pattern of the angels, with her page and singing boy wafting perfumes and soft music before her, an apparition not likely to soothe the gigantic, choleric doctor. Lady Isabella and her friend Anne Harrison figure in one of the most graphic and remarkable chapters of "John Inglesant," in which the author has also drawn largely from these memoirs for a foundation to one of his imaginary episodes. The girl of eighteen, full of life and enthusiasm, was doubtless flattered at being taken up by the fashionable Court beauty, and may have allowed herself to be led into rather dangerous frolics, till Richard Fanshawe, a connection of her mother's family whom she had not met before, came to wait on the King at Christ Church. The two were thrown much together, and we may be sure Anne's time was now claimed by one she admired even more fervently than the eccentric Lady Isabella. Sir Richard wooed and won his fair young kinswoman amidst the alarums of war, and they were married at Wolvercot Church in May 1644, when the fritillaries were in bloom along the banks of Isis and Cavaliers still made merry in the last stronghold of a waning cause.

It must have been a picturesque group which assembled at the altar of the little quiet country church; the joyous bride with her fair young sister and handsome father of whom she was so proud, and the genial bridegroom who was of "more than the common height of men," and so popular that every one, even the King, called him Dick. Those troublous times had reduced the fortunes of both Harrisons and Fanshawes to the lowest ebb, and the young couple started their married life on 20 pounds and the forlorn hope of their Sovereign's promise of eventual compensation. When her husband went to Bristol with the Prince of Wales, we see the young wife left at Oxford, in delicate health, with scarcely a penny and a dying first-born. She relates how she was sitting in the garden of St. John's College breathing the air for the first time after her illness, when a letter came from Bristol, to her "unspeakable joy" containing fifty gold pieces and a summons to join Mr. Fanshawe, and how there was a sound of drums beating in the roadway under the garden wall, and she went up to the Mount to see Sir Charles Lee's company of soldiers march past, and as she stood leaning against a tree a volley of shot was fired to salute her, and she narrowly escaped being hit by a brace of bullets which struck the tree two inches above her head.

Thus began the long series of separations, reunions, hardships, and extraordinary adventures which this brave, fair Royalist passed through. Like Queen Henrietta Maria, she seems hardly ever to have gone to sea without being nearly "cast away." From Red Abbey in Ireland she and her babies and servants had to fly at the peril of their lives through "an unruly tumult with swords in their hands." On the Isles of Scilly she was put ashore more dead than alive, and plundered of all her possessions by the sailors. At Portsmouth she and her husband were fired upon by Dutch men-of-war, and another time they were shipwrecked in the Bay of Biscay. Yet her buoyant temperament was never crushed. She might have said with Shakespeare's Beatrice, "A star danced when I was born," so infinite was her capacity for keeping on the "windy side of care."

It was the old "hoyting girl" spirit still alive in her which prompted her to borrow the cabin boy's blue thrum-cap and tarred coat for half a crown to stand beside her husband on the deck when they were threatened by a Turkish galley on their way to Spain. But it was the true womanly spirit, tender, loving, devoted, which, after the Battle of Worcester, where Sir Richard was made a prisoner, took her every morning on foot when four boomed from the steeples, along the sleeping Strand to stand beneath his prison window on the bowling-green at Whitehall. This happened during the wettest autumn that ever was known, and "the rain went in at her neck and out at her heels."

Sir Richard was released on parole by Cromwell, and for seven years the Fanshawes lived in comparative retirement in London and at Tankersley, the seat of the Lord Strafford in Yorkshire. Here they planted fruit-trees, and Sir Richard completed most of his literary work. Even when he was walking out of doors he was seen generally with some book in his hand, "which oftentimes was poetry." He translated the "Lusiad" of de Camoens, Guarini's famous pastoral the "Pastor Fide," and various pieces from Horace and Virgil. In Yorkshire their favourite little daughter Nan, the "dear companion of her mother's travels and sorrows," died of small-pox, and they left it for Hertfordshire, where the news of the Protector's death reached them in 1658.

They were allowed now to join the Court in France, and the exiled King appointed his faithful servant Dick Fanshawe Master of the Requests and Latin Secretary. He and his wife came home with the King at the Restoration, and her account of that gala voyage is one of the brightest and most vivid that has survived. It seems literally to burst with the jubilation and new hopes born by this event in a long- distracted country.

Charles II. gave Sir Richard his portrait framed in diamonds, and sent him first on an embassy to Portugal to negotiate his marriage, and then appointed him to the still more important post of Ambassador to Spain. On June 26, 1666, he died at Madrid of fever at the age of fifty-eight.

The England to which his wife brought his body had not fulfilled the high hopes and dreams of the Restoration. The vice, and laxity of morals into which it was sinking, would certainly have been repugnant to the clean-living, high-souled statesman, and we can hardly think him unhappy in the time of his death.

He was buried with much pomp in the Church of St. Mary at Ware, and his monument stands in a side chapel near the chancel. There, thirteen years later, his loyal lady and sprightly biographer was laid beside him in the vault and beneath the monument which she says: "Cost me two hundred pounds; and here if God pleases I intend to lie myself."

An unfinished sentence gives a pathetic close to these pages, so full of touches of humour, keen observation and racy anecdote. It would seem as if the hand which wielded so descriptive and ready a pen had wearied of its task; as if, at last, the sunny nature was overcast and the merry heart saddened. But surely not another word is needed to make the narrative more perfect. Those who first become acquainted with it in this reprint will meet with many things less familiar than Lady Fanshawe's moving account of her leave-taking from Charles I. at Hampton Court, which has been quoted hundreds of times. They will be thrilled by at least three stories of the supernatural told with the elan and consummate simplicity that exceeds art, and they will be charmed with the ingenuousness of the writer when she writes about herself, and her masterly little sketches by the way of such characters of the time as Sir Kenelm Digby and Lord Goring, son of the Earl of Norwich. Indeed, we venture to think they cannot fail to find the whole book delightful, because, though relating to a long-vanished past, it is as livingly human and fresh as if written yesterday.

BEATRICE MARSHALL.

NOTES ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS

As will be seen from the rough pedigree appended, the Baronetcy became extinct in 1694 with Sir Richard, Lady Fanshawe's son; while the Viscountcy, which was given to this Sir Richard's uncle, Thomas, came to an end in 1716 with Simon, the fifth Viscount. The knightly and lordly branches having failed, the tail male was represented by the Fanshawes of Jenkins, of Parsloes, and of Great Singleton.

The first branch became extinct in 1705, Sir Thomas Fanshawe of Jenkins leaving no male issue, and thus the heirlooms have descended to the two latter branches. The representatives of both these families possess the portraits, manuscripts, &c., many of which came originally from Ware Park,[Footnote: By the will of Sir Henry Fanshawe, who dies in 1616, it appears that some of the older pictures came from the "gallery," and his house in Warwick Lane. He directed they should be brought to Ware Park and remain as heirlooms.] the parental house of Lady Fanshawe's Royalist husband, as well as from Jenkins and Parsloes.

But before speaking of the heirlooms it may not be out of place to say something of these old seats of the Fanshawes and one or two other places mentioned in the Memoirs.

Parsloes, which stands partly in the parish of Barking and partly in Dagenham (Essex), is now in a very forlorn and dilapidated condition. Alterations that have been made from time to time, particularly the embellishments of 1814, which have somewhat given the old mansion a Strawberry-Hill-Gothic appearance, have in a measure destroyed its original character. Yet some panelled rooms remain, and some fine carved stone fireplaces that were removed here many years ago from the adjacent Elizabethan mansion, Eastbury House. [Footnote: Vide "Picturesque Old Houses."]

Jenkins, the more important estate, which passed away from the family in the early part of the eighteenth century, was a large square-moated timber house with two towers. Remains of the old fishponds and terraces may still be traced (about a mile from Parsloes), but nothing remains of the house or of a later structure which followed it. Indeed, the very name is now forgotten.

The mansion Ware Park has also long since been pulled down and rebuilt. It was sold owing to Sir Henry Fanshawe's losses in the Royalist cause.

Of the Derbyshire seat, Fanshawe Gate, at Holmesfield near Dronfield, there are still some picturesque remains, and the Church of Dronfield contains some good sixteenth-century brasses to the early members of the family.

Lady Fanshawe's parental house, Balls Park, near Hertford, though much modernised of recent years, dates back from the reign of Charles I. By intermarriage the estate passed to the Townshends, and the late Marquis sold it a few years ago.

Among the Townshend heirlooms which were dispersed in March 1904, were many portraits of the Harrisons, including a fine full-length of Lady Anne's Cavalier brother, William, who died fighting for the King in 1643.[Footnote: As the present owner of Balls Park, Sir G. Faudel- Phillips, was a conspicuous purchaser at this sale, it may be presumed some of the Harrison portraits have found their way back to their original home.]

"Little Grove," East Barnet, another place mentioned in the Memoirs, was rebuilt in 1719, and renamed "New Place."

It would be interesting if the position of Lady Fanshawe's lodgings in Chancery Lane, "at my cousin Young's," could be located. The house there that her husband rented from Sir George Carey in 1655-6, in all probability was the same which is mentioned in the artist George Vertue's MS. Collections as the old timber house that was once the dwelling of Cardinal Wolsey. In a "great room above stairs," he said, were carved arms and supporters of the Carews [Careys], who had repaired the ceilings, &c. At the time he wrote the building was used as a tavern. [Footnote: Vide Notes and Queries. Second Series, vol. xii., pp. 1, 81; also Middlesex and Hertfordshire Notes and Querie., vol. iii., p. 30.] The house on the north side of Lincoln's Inn Fields known as "The Pine Apples," where Lady Fanshawe was living at the time of her husband's death, has disappeared with the other old residences on that side of the square. Nothing is said in the Memoirs to locate the building where she met her husband when he was brought to London a prisoner after Worcester fight. The room in Whitehall facing the Bowling-green of course perished in the fire which destroyed the Palace at the end of the seventeenth century. [Footnote: A description of Borstal Tower mentioned in the Memoirs will be found in "Picturesque Old Houses."]

In regard to the monument of Sir Richard in Ware Church, which was erected to his memory by Lady Fanshawe, it is strange that there is no record of the interment in the Register. In the Register of All Saints Church, Hertford,[Footnote: The old church, including a fine monument to the Harrisons, was completely destroyed by fire a few years ago.] however, it is stated that the body was first interred in Sir John Harrison's vault:—"1671, May 18. Sir Richard Fanshawe, Ambassador, was taken out of this vault and laid in his vault at Ware." The monument was formerly in the Chapel at the south side of Ware Church, and was afterwards removed to the east wall of the south transept. No memorial marks the last resting-place of Lady Fanshawe. She was interred in the new vault that had been prepared for her husband under St. Mary's Chapel.

As before stated, the family portraits are now in the possession of the descendants of the half-brothers William [Footnote: It was William who married Mary Sarsfield, nee Walter, the Duke of Monmouth's sister. Vide "King Monmouth."] and John Fanshawe, the sons of Lady Fanshawe's cousin, John Fanshawe.

The portraits of the Parsloes branch remained in the old Essex house until some thirty years ago, when they were removed to a town residence. They included Lady Fanshawe's portrait (reproduced here), the original of that engraved in her Memoirs in 1830 (by no means too faithfully); portraits of her husband Sir Richard, by Dobson [Footnote: An interesting portrait of Sir Richard in fancy dress by Dobson is at West Horsley Place.] and Lely; Sir Simon (the rake), with Naseby Field in the background: Sir Richard's grandfather, Thomas, Remembrancer to Queen Elizabeth; Alice, the second wife of Sir Richard's cousin, John of Parsloes (the daughter of his cousin Sir Thomas Fanshawe of Jenkins, and the mother-in-law of the Duke of Monmouth's half-sister, Mary Walter); Sir Richard's nephew, Thomas, the second Viscount (in breastplate and flowing wig), and his second wife, Lady Sarah, the daughter of Sir John Evelyn and widow of Sir John Wray. [Footnote: The ancient Lincolnshire family of Wray is mentioned in the Introduction of "King Monmouth" in connection with the remarkable portrait of the Duke after decapitation, which formerly was in the possession of Sir Cecil Wray. Since writing on this subject it occurs to me that it is very possible that the picture may have come originally to the Wrays through Lady Sarah Fanshawe, her husband being a cousin of the Duke's sister's second husband. Mary Fanshawe, nee Walter, it is very possible may have come into the possession of the portrait (perhaps after Henrietta, Lady Wentworth's death, for whom there is a tradition the picture was originally painted), and her straitened circumstances may have induced her to part with the work to the relatives of her kinswoman.]

The original MS. of the Memoirs (of which, thanks to the courtesy of the owner, Mr. E. J. Fanshawe, I am able to give an illustration) is bound in old red leather, and bears the Fanshawe arms. It was written in 1676 for Lady Fanshawe's "most dear and only" surviving son. This Sir Richard, the second Baronet, died in Clerkenwell in July 1694, having some years previously had the misfortune through illness to become deaf and dumb.

Comment at various times has been made upon the inaccuracy of the printed Memoirs, but judging from a personal inspection of the original, there appear to be but few serious errors. [Footnote: "Turning" for "Trimming instruments" (in Lady Anne's will), and such like slips. See p. 29.]

It must, however, be pointed out that the editor, Sir Harris Nicholas, only used a COPY of the Memoirs which was made from the original in 1766 by Charlotte Colman, Lady Fanshawe's great grand-daughter. The editor's transcript, though made ten years later, was not published until half a century afterwards. [Footnote: Vide Preface of 1830 Edition.] I draw attention to this fact as the Rev. T. L. Fanshawe, the grandfather of the present owner of the MS., was under the impression that his original Memoirs when lent to a friend had been copied and printed without permission, which in the face of the above statement could not have been the case. [Footnote: I have been indebted to Mr. Walter Crouch, Mr. R. T. Andrews, and to Mr. H. W. King's Notes on the Fanshawe Family, 1868-72, for some of the above information.]

ALLAN FEA.

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MEMOIRS OF LADY FANSHAWE

INTRODUCTION

BEATRICE MARSHALL.

NOTES ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS

ALLAN FEA.

CONTENTS