catherine curzon | Author Suzanne Adair

Popping the South Sea Bubble

Posted on August 15, 2017 by suzanneadairAugust 15, 2017

Relevant History welcomes back Catherine Curzon, a royal historian and author of Life in the Georgian Court, Kings of Georgian Britain, and Queens of Georgian Britain. Her work has been featured online by “BBC History Magazine” and in publications including Explore History, All About History, History of Royals, and Jane Austen’s Regency World. She has spoken at venues including the Royal Pavilion, Lichfield Guildhall, the National Maritime Museum, and Dr Johnson’s House. Catherine holds a Master’s degree in Film. Her novels include The Crown Spire, The Star of Versailles, and The Mistress of Blackstairs. She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill. For more information about her and her books, visit her web site, and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, Pinterest, and Instagram.

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The reign of George I seemed to be beset by challenges and opposition, with domestic and political thorns never far from his side. In Parliament he looked increasingly to the likes of Sir Robert Walpole for guidance whilst in public, he tried and failed to cultivate the image of a social sort of sovereign. Yet no matter what he did, trouble was always following George I.

And nothing was more troublesome than the South Sea Bubble.

The South Sea Bubble has become legendary, synonymous with ruin and bankruptcy, with big business running rampantly out of control. It starts with a name, and not a very memorable name. The company behind all the trouble was officially known as The Governor and Company of the Merchants of Great Britain, trading to the South Seas and other parts of America, and for the encouragement of fishing. Created in 1711, the organisation became better known as the South Sea Company, a far more manageable moniker!

The gamble
The company took a gamble and based much of its business model reliant on monopolising South American trade. The company assumed that once the War of Spanish Succession ended they would be free to commence trading, and stocks sold well. The company’s reputation was helped when king himself became its governor in 1718!

In 1719, the company offered to buy up the national debt of Great Britain, ploughing millions into the national war chest. George listened to the canny lobbying of his mistress, Melusine von der Schulenberg, and though he wholeheartedly supported the scheme, Walpole had strong reservations.

Under the terms of the agreement, the company would underwrite the entire national debt in return for 5% interest. It was an enormous amount and one that investors could scarcely believe, but with the backing of king and Parliament, what could possibly go wrong? Soon the value of shares in the South Sea Company rose to ten times their initial value, and it seemed as though everyone, from the lord in his manor to the tradesman in his corner shop, was buying up stock.

And for the con-men, it was a dream come true.

Those with little experience in dealing with the stock market were easy prey to charlatans, and soon there was a brisk trade in companies that never even existed or were fanciful at best. Yet it was soon apparent that investors in the genuine South Sea Company weren’t much better off, and as the king gadded about Hanover in 1720, the company directors attempted to sneakily sell off their own stock. Once their investors realised that the value of the stocks was about to plummet, they joined the clamour to sell, until the stocks were worth nothing.

The collapse
Fortunes were lost, and George I headed home to England. Allegations of corruption were rampant, and in the face of accusations of bribery the Postmaster-General, James Craggs the Elder, apparently took his own life. The collapse of the market brought with it a rash of suicides and bankruptcies, and across both Houses of Parliament, hundreds were left in dire straits.

The king was heckled in the streets, and it was left to Walpole to ride to the rescue. His decisive actions in Parliament placed the meltdown under control, narrowly avoiding a complete collapse of the banks. Walpole didn’t punish everyone who was responsible though, well aware that it can be useful to have influential movers and shakers in your debt.

For commentators and satirists, the affair was a bitter gift, and Jonathan Swift famously composed The Bubble, a furious poetic swipe at the men who led the catastrophe:

Directors, thrown into the sea,
Recover strength and vigour there;
But may be tamed another way,
Suspended for a while in air.

Meanwhile Earl Stanhope, the former First Lord of the Treasury who shouldered much of the blame for the affair, finally succumbed to the pressure on the floor of the house in 1721. He was forced to abandon a debate thanks to a violent headache and was killed by a fatal stroke on the following day. His supporters blamed his passionate debating skills for his death though in fact, it might be to do with the fact that he had spent the preceding thirteen hours drinking a cocktail of champagne and liqueurs!

The South Sea Bubble had very definitely burst, and the damage to George’s reputation was done. In the wake of the catastrophe he came to rely on Walpole more than ever in Parliament, whilst Melusine was a constant comfort in matters intimate and domestic. Perhaps, though, he might not be quite so keen to take her advice when it came to stocks and shares…

Bibliography

Belsham, W. Memoirs of the Kings of Great Britain of the House of Brunswic-Luneburg, Vol I. London: C Dilly, 1793.

Black, Jeremy. The Hanoverians: The History of a Dynasty. London: Hambledon and London, 2007.

Clarke, John, Godwin Ridley, Jasper and Fraser, Antonia. The Houses of Hanover & Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000.

Coxe, William. Memoirs of the Life and Administration of Robert Walpole. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme & Brown, 1816.

Inglis, Lucy. Georgian London: Into the Streets. London: Viking, 2013.

Pearce, Edward. The Great Man: Sir Robert Walpole: Scoundrel, Genius and Britain’s First Prime Minister. London: Random House, 2011.

Saussure, Cesar de. A Foreign View of England in the Reigns of George I & George II. London: John Murray, 1902.

Shawe-Taylor, Desmond and Burchard, Wolf. The First Georgians: Art and Monarchy 1714-1760. London: Royal Collection Trust, 2014.

Swift, Jonathan and Hawkesworth, John. Letters, Written by Jonathan Swift: Vol III. London: A Pope, 1737.

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A big thanks to Catherine Curzon. She’ll give away an ebook copy of Kings of Georgian Britain to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available worldwide.

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The Winner of Life in the Georgian Court

Posted on October 25, 2016 by suzanneadairOctober 25, 2016

Margaret has won a copy of Life in the Georgian Court by Catherine Curzon. Congrats to Margaret!

Thanks to Catherine Curzon for a look into the miserable married life of Juliane of Saxe-Coburg.

Thanks, also, to everyone who visited and commented on Relevant History this week. Watch for another Relevant History post, coming soon.

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The Scandalous Lady of Coburg

Posted on October 18, 2016 by suzanneadairOctober 18, 2016

Relevant History welcomes Catherine Curzon, a royal historian who blogs on all matters 18th century. Her work has been featured by publications including BBC History Extra, All About History, History of Royals, Explore History and Jane Austen’s Regency World. She has performed at venues including the Royal Pavilion, Brighton, Lichfield Guildhall and Dr Johnson’s House. Catherine holds a Master’s degree in Film and when not dodging the furies of the guillotine, she lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill. Life in the Georgian Court is a privileged peek into the glamorous, tragic and iconic courts of the Georgian world. To learn more about her and her books, visit her blog, and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, Pinterest, and Instagram.

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There is nothing, for me, as thrilling as 18th century scandals. In the royal courts nothing was done by halves, from love to death to all the rich threads of drama that bind the legendary names of continental royalty together. Someone who knew all about drama was Princess Juliane of Saxe-Coburg, who was to become known as Grand Duchess Anna Feodorovna, wife of Grand Duke Constantine Pavlovich, a marriage that was destined to be anything but happy.

Juliane was born to Franz Frederick Anton, Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld and his wife, Countess Augusta Caroline Reuss of Ebersdorf. With illustrious family connections throughout Europe, Juliane’s parents were determined that their daughter would continue to increase their dynastic influence and began searching for a husband for the girl, known for her beauty and her musical acumen. As they cast their eye over the royal houses of Europe, Empress Catherine II of Russia was likewise looking for a match for her grandson, Grand Duke Constantine. She was searching for a very particular sort of girl and dispatched General Andrei Budberg to compile a shortlist, the matter of marrying the second in line to the Russian empire a very serious one indeed.

The road to marriage
Taken ill whilst passing through Coburg, Budberg immediately added Juliane and her sisters, Sophie and Antoinette, to the list of likely candidates, much to the delight of their parents. However, not everybody shared their enthusiasm. For some there was disappointment that their own daughters had not been chosen whilst for others, the concept of a German princess marrying a Russian Duke was unthinkable, the young women viewed almost as lambs to the imperial slaughter.

The three girls traveled to Russia with Countess Augusta and found themselves welcomed by Catherine, whilst Constantine was somewhat cooler in his reception. Far from keen on the idea of marriage to anybody, he eventually took his grandmother’s advice and agreed to marry Juliane, the 14 year old girl taking the name Anna Feodorovna in preparation for her new life. Baptised in a Russian Orthodox ceremony, the young Princess married the Duke on 26th February 1796, securing the strength of the Saxe-Coburg dynasty.

Although the marriage may have been politically astute, it was utterly miserable. Bad-tempered and disinterested in his wife, Constantine grew resentful of the young lady’s popularity at court, and he exercised a tight control over his bride. She was confined to her rooms, denied friends other than Elizabeth Alexeievna, and rarely appeared at court. Desperately unhappy, when Juliane fell ill in 1799, she seized the chance for escape with both hands.

Juliana traveled to Coburg, ostensibly for medical care, and initially intended to remain there but she found her family utterly unsupportive. Horrified at the damage a marital breakdown might do to the reputation and influence of the family, they pressured the Grand Duchess to return to her unhappy life in Russia. Once again she was confined to her rooms, utterly in the control of her husband and almost immediately, her health declined again.

Escape
By 1801 it became apparent that Juliane was in desperate need of a change of air and her mother finally consented to a trip back to Coburg. This time Juliane flatly refused to leave her native land and began divorce proceedings against Constantine. With the divorce hampered by legal and constitutional considerations, Juliane found unexpected support from the royal houses of Europe, their sympathies gained by the conduct of Constantine and his intransigent family. Trapped in a web of legality, the unhappy Grand Duchess indulged in extra-marital affairs and in 1808 gave birth to a son, Eduard Edgar Schmidt-Löwe. Four years later she had a daughter, Louise Hilda Agnes d’Aubert with Rodolphe Abraham de Schiferli, a Swiss surgeon.

Though Constantine’s family constantly pursued a reconciliation between the estranged couple, Juliane utterly refused to even countenance it, the memory of her unhappy years in Russia too keen. Instead she made a life and home of her own in Switzerland, her house on the Aare River becoming a beacon of art and music. She and Rodolphe maintained a lifelong friendship, though their daughter was adopted by a French family in order to protect Juliane’s already somewhat tarnished reputation.

Nearly two decades after she fled to Coburg, Emperor Alexander I finally dissolved the marriage of Juliane and Constantine, allowing the Grand Duke to remarry. This small victory was followed by years of unhappiness as Juliane’s life was beset by tragedy. One after the other she was plunged into mourning for her parents and siblings, her illegitimate daughter and Rodolphe, her devoted friend and former lover. Juliane never quite recovered from these losses and lived on in quiet solitude, throwing herself into charitable works. Loved and respected by those who knew her, the princess passed away peacefully at home at the age of seventy-nine. She lived a life beset by scandal and unhappiness yet one cannot underestimate the strength it took to leave the powerful Russian court and strike out alone, resisting all efforts to force her back to the life she hated.

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A big thanks to Catherine Curzon. She’ll give away a copy of Life in the Georgian Court to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available worldwide, and the winner may choose hardcover or ebook for the format.

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Did you like what you read? Learn about downloads, discounts, and special offers from Relevant History authors and Suzanne Adair. Subscribe to Suzanne’s free newsletter.