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THE WHITE KING; 
 
 OE, 
 
 CHARLES THE FIR8T. 
 
The origin of the prophecy also as to the dangerous character of the colour 
 white to England is unknown ; but it is imagined to be at least as old as the time 
 of Merlin. Thomas de Quincey, who takes notice of the prophecy of the ' White 
 King,' says of Charles I, , that the foreboding of the misfortunes of this ' White 
 King ' were supposed to have been fulfilled in his instance, because he was by 
 accident clothed in white at his coronation, it being remembered afterwards that 
 white was the ancient colour for a victim ... As an earlier instance of this 
 singular superstition, the story of that iU-fated royal White Ship occurs to 
 memory, as the vessel was called whereiu Prince William, the son of King 
 Henry I., the heir apparent . . . embarked on their return to England from 
 Normandy . . . The ' White Rose ' was the unfortunate rose (and the conquered 
 one) of the contending two Eoses in this country. — Harobave Jennings, in ' The 
 Bosicrncians.' 
 
THE WHITE KmG; 
 
 OK, 
 
 CHARLES THE FIRST, 
 
 AND THE 
 
 ■/Iften anb Momen, %\U an5 /Ilianners, literature 
 
 anb Hrt ot Englanb in tbe first balf of tbe 
 
 I7tb Century. 
 
 BY 
 
 W. H. DAVENPORT ADAMS. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 GEOEGE EEDWAY, YOEK STEEET, COVENT GAEDEN. 
 
 1889. 
 
 1^ - 
 
p^4c^bo<^c 
 
PEEPACE. 
 
 It must not be supposed that in the following pages the 
 author puts forward any pretensions to compete with the 
 historians wko have made the period of English history to 
 which they refer emphatically their own. They are designed, 
 on the contrary, to deal with incidfent^ and details which the 
 historian overlooks or hiit briefly touches; in a word, with 
 the gossip of history, with personal characteristics, with the 
 ana and anecdotes which flo4t like straws on the great 
 currents of thought and action. Thus, the personal history 
 of 'the "White King' (as LiUy the astrologer calls him) is 
 narrated at considerable length, including numerous parti- 
 culars which the historian passes over, though they are not 
 without value as illustrations of character and of the manners 
 of the time. That memorable Trial, which remains to this 
 day so startling a fact in our history, is described with special 
 fulness, though chiefly from the personal point of view. 
 Sketches are also introduced of some of the notable men 
 and women of the period ; these have been composed on the 
 same principle, namely, of presenting the personal rather 
 than the historical aspect of their biographies. And, as 
 supplementary to the work of the historian, the writer has 
 endeavoured to supply an outline of the condition of our 
 English art and literature in the early Stuart period, with 
 such biographical notices as he conceived might interest and 
 entertain the general reader. An analysis of Lord Herbert 
 
■^i Preface. 
 
 of Cherbury's remarkable book, 'De Veritate,' and a digest 
 of the ' Strafford Correspondence,' are also included among 
 the contents. The writer believes, therefore, that a good 
 deal will be found in his two volumes which is not to be 
 found elsewhere in so convenient a form; and as, in their 
 preparation, he has carefully consulted the best and latest 
 authorities (most of which are indicated' in the Appendix), 
 he ventures to hope that they will accomplish the twofold 
 object he has had in view — the amusement and information 
 of that large portion of the public which is debarred by 
 circumstances from historical research and regular study. 
 At the same time he trusts it is not impossible that the 
 student may meet in these pages with some pleasant 
 reminders of the by-ways of history and biography into 
 which it is so refreshing to stray. 
 
 W. H. DAVENPOET ADAMS. 
 
CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 X. PERSONA!, HISTORY OF CHARLES I. - - 1 
 
 11. SOME OF THE ROYAL CHILDREN— PRINCESS ELIZABETH, 
 DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, PRINCESS MARY, AND HEN- 
 RIETTA, DUCHESS OF ORLEANS , 142 
 
 III. THE COURT OF CHARLES I. — PHILIP, EARL OF PEM- 
 
 BROKE. — THE COUNTESS OF CARLISLE. — SIR KENELM 
 DIGBY - 162 
 
 IV. A KING'S FAVOURITE : GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF 
 
 BUCKINGHAM - - - 185 
 
 NOTES '. 222 
 
 V. A MODERATE STATESMAN : LUCIUS CARY, LORD FALK- 
 LAND - - 230 
 VI. AN ABSOLUTE STATESMAN : THE EARL OF STRAFFORD 258 
 VIL A PHILOSOPHER OF THE REIGN OF CHARLES I. : 
 
 EDWARD, LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY • - 288 
 
 VIII. GLIMPSES OF LIFE AND MANNERS : THE STRAFFORD 
 
 LETTERS - - ' 367 
 
 APPENDIX — NOTES AND CORRECTIONS - - 403 
 
 INDEX . - - - 411 
 
THE WHITE KIJ^G. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PERSONAL HISTORY OF CHARLES I. 
 
 I. 
 
 ' The man witli the mild voice and mournful eyes.' — Browning. 
 
 Charles I., second son of James VI. of Scotland, and his 
 Queen, Anne of Denmark, was born at Dunfermline, in 
 Scotland, on November 19tli, 1600. He was of so feeble a 
 frame and sickly a constitution that it seemed impossible 
 for him to struggle even through infancy, and, in conse- 
 quence, he was hurriedly christened without the pomp and 
 circumstance usual at a royal baptism.* But by degrees he 
 grew stronger ; and soon after his father's accession to the 
 throne of England, was considered capable of taking part in 
 a brilliant show on the occasion of his being created Duke 
 of York and Knight of the Bath (January 6th, 1605). A 
 coronet of gold was placed on his childish brow, a sword 
 was buckled to his slender waist, and in his tiny hand 
 rested a golden verge or wand. Thtis bedecked, he was 
 borne in the arms of England's veteran admiral. Lord 
 Howard of EfEngham, the hero of the Armada.f The 
 ceremony of knighthood was followed by some ' brave 
 doings,' which, as illustrative of the manners and habits of 
 
 ® It is probable, however, that he was christened with due State 
 ceremony, at Holyrood, in the following- month, 
 t Sanderson, p. 322 ; Perenchief, p. 3. 
 
 VOL. I. 1 
 
2 The White King. 
 
 the time, we shall venture to glance at. ' There was a public 
 dinner,' says Sir Dudley Carleton,* ' where there was one 
 table for the Duke and his Earl assistants, another for his 
 feUow Knights of the Bath. At night we had the Queen's 
 masque in the Banqueting-room, or, rather, her pageant.' 
 A great engine, in motion, occupied the lower end of the 
 room, and within it were images of ' sea-horses, with other 
 terrible fishes,' ridden by Moors. 'The indecorum was, 
 that there was all fish aud no water.' At the farther end 
 stood a great sheU, in the form of a scallop, with four seats 
 in it. In the lowest sat the Queen, with Lady Bedford ; in 
 the others, Ladies Suffolk, Derby, Kich, Effingham, Ann 
 Herbert, Susan Herbert, Elizabeth Howard, Walsingham, 
 and Bevil. ' Their appearance was rich, but too light and 
 courtesan-like for such great ones. Instead of vizards, 
 their faces and arms, up to the elbows, were painted black, 
 which disguise was sufficient, for they were hard to be 
 known ; but it became them nothing so weU as their red 
 and white, and you cannot imagine a more ugly sight than 
 a troop of lean-cheeked Moors. The Spanish and Venetian 
 ambassadors were both present, and sat by the King in 
 state ; at which Monsieur Beaumont quarrelled so extremely, 
 that he saith the whole Court was Spanish. But, by his 
 favour, he should fall out by none but himself, for they 
 were all indifferently invited to come as private men to ^ 
 a private sport ; which he refusing, the Spanish ambassador 
 willingly accepted, and being there, seeing no cause to the 
 contrary, he put off Don Taxis,-f- and took upon him El 
 Senor Embaxador, wherein he outstrips our little Monsieur. 
 He was privately at the first masque, and sat amongst his 
 men disguised ; at this he was taken out to dance, and 
 footed it like a lusty old gallant with his countrywoman. 
 He took out the Queen, and forgot not to kiss her hand, 
 though there was danger it would have left a mark on his 
 lips. The night's work was concluded with a banquet in 
 
 » Sir R. Winwood, ' Memorials of Affairs of State,' edit. 1725, ii. 43. 
 f Juan de Taxis, Count of Villa Mediana. See Gardiner, i. 207. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 3 
 
 the great chamber, which was so furiously assaulted that 
 down went table and tressels before one bit was touched.' 
 
 The feebleness of the child-prince deterred the Court 
 ladies from undertaking his guardianship ; but, at length, 
 the charge was entrusted to Lady Carey, wife of Sir Robert 
 Carey (afterwards Earl of Monmouth), a man of considerable 
 ambition, who hoped to make his profit out of it. The 
 principal infirmity from which Charles suffered was a 
 weakness of the legs, so that, up to his seventh year, he was 
 compelled to crawl upon his hands and knees, his ankles 
 being unable to support him. The King wished to try the 
 effect of iron boots, but Lady Carey protested against the 
 cruel experiment. So, too, when he proposed that the 
 string under the child's tongue should be cut, that he 
 might exercise the faculty of speech, of which from his 
 birth he had been deprived, she strongly objected ; and by 
 her vigilant and sagacious management contrived to nurture 
 him in such health and strength that he gained the power 
 both of movement and speech without suffering any 
 severity of treatment. 
 
 When six years old, he was placed under the tuition 
 lof Thomas Murray, a learned Scotchman, who was after- 
 wards provost of Eton.* The young Prince made rapid 
 progress in his studies ; and by his exceptional diligence 
 often brought down upon himself the rough jests of his 
 elder brother. Prince Henry. On one occasion, in the 
 presence of the courtiers, Henry caught up Archbishop 
 Abbot's cap, and thrust it on his head. If he continued a 
 good boy, he said, and attended to his books, he would one 
 day make him Archbishop of Canterbury. At another 
 time he said, with the unfeeling sportiveness of youth, that 
 he would make him a bishop, so that he might wear a gown 
 to hide his legs. Yet an affectionate cordiality existed 
 between the two brothers ; and some of Charles's juvenile 
 letters, which have been preserved, exhibit in their sim- 
 plicity a pleasant fraternal attachment. Thus he writes :-f- 
 
 * Perenchief, p. 5. f Sir H. Ellis, ' Original Letters,' iii. 92-94. 
 
 1—2 
 
4 The White King. 
 
 ' Sweet, sweet Brother, — I thank you for your letter. 
 I will keep it better than all my graith ; and I will send my 
 pistols by Master Newton (Adam Newton, Prince Henry's 
 tutor). I will give anything that I have to you ; both my 
 horses, and my books, and my pieces, and my cross-bows, 
 or anything that you would have. Good brother, love me, 
 and I shaU ever love and serve you. 
 
 ' Your loving brother to be commanded, 
 
 ' York.' 
 
 Again : 
 
 'Good Brother, — I hope you are in good health and 
 merry, as I am, God be thanked. In your absence I visit 
 sometimes your stable and ride your great horses, that at 
 your return I may wait on you in that noble exercise. So 
 committing you to God, I rest, 
 
 ' Your loving and dutiful brother, 
 
 ' York.' 
 
 Here is one addressed to his royal father : 
 
 ' Sweet, sweet Father, — I learn to decline substantives 
 and adjectives. Give me your blessing. I thank you for 
 my best man. 
 
 ' Your loving son, 
 ' York.' 
 
 In his eleventh year, Charles was made a Knight of the 
 Garter. In his twelfth, his position was greatly changed by 
 the premature death of his brother. Prince Henry, November 
 6th, 1612. He succeeded at once to the Dukedom of Cornwall 
 — the traditional appanage of the eldest son of England — but 
 was not created Prince of Wales until 1616. His education 
 meanwhile, was carefully directed ; and as his natural 
 abilities were considerable, he made rapid progress in his 
 graver as well as his lighter studies. He was so well- 
 grounded in dogmatic theology that his gratified father 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 5 
 
 declared to his chaplains* — ' Charles shall manage a point in 
 controversy with the best studied divine of you all;' while, 
 at the same time, he rode ' the great horse ' with address, 
 and was thoroughly skilled in vaulting, running at the ring, 
 and shooting with cross-bow or musket. His tastes were 
 elegant and refined ; he was passionately fond of music, and 
 an excellent judge of works of art. He expressed himself 
 with clearness and force, and in conversation would acquit 
 himself well upon many subjects. His demeanour was 
 somewhat reserved ; but always distinguished by a graceful 
 dignity which stood in strong contrast to his father's 
 awkward familiarity. Usually his countenance, which was 
 comely, if not handsome, had a strange air of melancholy 
 about it ; but when he smiled, it lighted up immediately, 
 and its sadness disappeared. As he grew up into manhood 
 he acquired manhood's grace and accomplishments without 
 its vices ; and the nation rejoiced in the prospect of a Court 
 which would be free from the license that had marked it 
 during James's reign, and distinguished by a stately and 
 becoming order. His morality of life was not impeached 
 even by the most slanderous tongues.-f- He was devout 
 almost to austerity ; frugal without meanness ; reticent, but 
 not morose. Many were moved, as Sir John Eliot acknow- 
 ledges, by what seemed to be the innate sweetness of his 
 nature, the calm habit and disposition of his mind, the 
 
 * Perenohief, p. 10. 
 
 f ' His moral conduct,' says S. R. Gardiner, ' was irreproachable ; 
 and it was observed that he blushed like a girl whenever an immodest 
 word was uttered in his presence. Designing women, of the class 
 which had preyed upon his brother Henvy, found it expedient to pass 
 him by, and lay their nets for more susceptible hearts than his.' And 
 he supports this statement by quoting the disinterested and, as it 
 seems to us, unimpeachable evidence of Lando, the Venetian diplo- 
 matist : ' O vincendo e domando, o non sentendo li moti del sense, 
 non avendo assaggiati, che si sappia, certi giovanili piaceri, ni sco- 
 prendosi che sia stato rapito il suo amore, se non per qualche segno 
 di poesia e ben virtuose apparenze, arrossendo unco come modesta 
 donzella se sente a parlare di materia poco onesta. Onde le donne 
 non lo tentano ni anohe, come f aoevano col f ratello, che tanto pregiava 
 le bellezze, ed era siguitato e rubato da ognuna.' The story that 
 Jeremy Taylor's second wife was a natural daughter of Charles' 
 rests UDOn no foundation but a vague family tradition. 
 
6 The White King. 
 
 economy and order visible in the rule of his affairs and the 
 disposition of his servants, while others approved of his care 
 for the pubUc business, his apparent eagerness to improve 
 himself by dihgent attendance at councils, and his admir- 
 able selection of his modes of exercise and recreation. In 
 the glow and lustre of these virtues it was scarcely ppssible. 
 except to a few acute and profound observers, to detect the 
 serious deficiencies that, in his fuller life, more than counter- 
 balanced them. But he had two weaknesses, the worst, 
 perhaps, that any ruler can exhibit : he hesitated in coming 
 to a decision, and when the decision was made he was slow 
 in acting upon it. These weaknesses necessarily disposed 
 him to give his confidence to any one of his intimates who 
 would decide and act for him, while allowing him to believe 
 that the judgment and the action were his own ; and also 
 impelled him at times into a sudden line of conduct, without 
 due consideration or preparation, in order that he might 
 gain credit for a promptitude and a courage which he did 
 not really possess. Thus it came to pass that he never 
 looked a difficulty fairly in the face, calculated its propor- 
 tions, and determined how it might best be overcome ; but 
 ran away from it or attempted to evade it, and in this way 
 fell into habits of equivocation and insincerity of which he 
 was, no doubt, quite unconsciously the victim. 
 
 In this grave and reserved young man there was, how- 
 ever, a vein of poetry and romance, inherited, perhaps, from 
 his great-grandfather, James IV. And it may have been this 
 secret sympathy with chivalrous thought and deed which 
 finally induced him to acquiesce in the ambassador Gondo- 
 mar's proposal that he should pay a visit to Madrid incognito 
 as the wooer of a Princess of Spain. A match between the 
 Prince and Maria, the second daughter of Philip III., had 
 been projected as early as 1617 ; but the negotiation cannot 
 be said to have assumed a definite character until 1622. It 
 was never popular in England ; and Charles himself did not 
 view it at first with any degree of pleasure. One day, after 
 he had been making in public some lover-like remarks on the 
 
Personal History of ChUrles I. 7 
 
 Infanta's portrait, he turned to a confidential attendant and 
 said, as soon as he thought he could not be overheard: 
 ' Were it not for the sin, it would be well if princes could 
 have two wives ; one for reason of state, the other to please 
 themselves.' To King James, however, it was recommended 
 by the large dowry which the Princess would bring with 
 her, the increased influence in European councUs which 
 would be secured by so close an alliance with a great 
 European Power, and the prospect of the recovery of the 
 Palatinate for his son-in-law, Frederick, by the aid of 
 Spanish arms. 
 
 In the spring of 1622 Gondomar made his suggestion, and 
 the Prince, under Buckingham's influence, accepted it. The 
 Spanish ambassador, it cannot be doubted, hoped, while 
 Charles was at Madrid, to bring him under the influence of 
 the Roman Catholic ceremonial, and persuade him to 
 become a convert to the religion of his bride. That Buck- 
 ingham was a fellow-conspirator with the Spaniard in this 
 nefarious plot is incredible ; and we may well believe that 
 the expedition recommended itself to the brilliant favourite 
 simply as ' a bold, dashing exploit,' in which it would be 
 highly creditable for him and his young master to be 
 engaged. But as time went on Charles began to doubt the 
 sincerity of the Spanish Ministers, from whom no satisfac- 
 tory information respecting the proposed journey could be 
 gained, and he and Buckingham resolved to despatch to 
 Madrid, whither Gondomar had returned, a confidential 
 messenger who should survey with careful eyes the scene of 
 action. The person chosen was Endymion Porter, who had 
 passed his early years in Spain, on his return to England 
 had attached himself to Buckingham, and risen high in his 
 favour, and was now a gentleman of the Prince's bed- 
 chamber. Already, on the 18th of September, he had. 
 written, by Buckingham's direction, to Gondomar, to assure 
 him that the Lord Admiral was preparing a fleet, and that 
 ' he intended to take his friend with him in secret, to bring 
 back that beautiful angel.' From these words it is evident 
 
8 The White King. 
 
 that the Prince's incognito journey had then been abandoned. 
 Endymion Porter went, and Endymion Porter returned 
 (January 2nd, 1623). He brought with him an amended 
 marriage treaty, by which it was secretly provided that the 
 children of the marriage, if any, should be educated under 
 their mother's eye until the age often, and that the ecclesias- 
 tics of the Infanta's household should be exempted from 
 secular jurisdiction. The treaty was signed by Charles and 
 James, and also a letter in which they engaged ' that Roman 
 Catholics should no longer suffer persecution for their 
 rehgion, or for taking part in its sacraments, so long as they 
 abstained from giving scandal and restricted the celebration 
 of their rites to their own houses, and that they should also 
 be excused from taking those oaths which were considered 
 to be in contradiction with their religious belief.' Porter 
 gave a flattering account of the interest in the marriage 
 shown by Gondomar and the Council of State ; but he did 
 not teU his master, because he did not know, that the 
 Infanta, a lady of considerable parts, passionately attached 
 to her religion, was wholly averse to it, and had obtained 
 from her brother, the King, a solemn promise that it should 
 not be imposed upon her. Olivares was also opposed to it, 
 and the sole object of the Spanish Court was to protract the 
 negotiations until they could be broken off, at some suitable 
 opportunity, without bringing on a war. 
 
 Charles and Buckingham now reverted to Gondomar's 
 ingenious scheme of an incognito visit to the Spanish ,pourt. 
 The Prince himself had no conception of the intrigues in 
 which it would involve him, or of the expectations of the 
 Roman Catholic Church to which his presence at Madrid 
 would give rise. He saw before him nothing more than ' a 
 gay ride across a continent, a lovers' meeting, a brilliant 
 adventure,' with the spice of peril calculated to render it 
 attractive to a young man who was not wanting in personal 
 bravery. Nor were his eyes opened to the real dangers of 
 his plan by the dashing young noble, ' so self-confident and 
 so insinuating,' whom he had unfortunately selected as his 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 9 
 
 friend and adviser. In the opening days of 1623 Charles 
 threw himself on his knees before his father, and informing 
 him of the projected expedition, eagerly implored his con- 
 sent. To James it naturally appeared in a different light to 
 that in which it presented itself to a chivalrous young prince 
 and a reckless courtier. He could not blind himself to the 
 possible danger to his son and heir, for whose safety he was 
 answerable to his subjects; but Buckingham put forward 
 such ingenious arguments, and the Prince plied him with 
 such eager entreaties, that at length, though with evident 
 reluctance, he gave his sanction, and promised to keep the 
 enterprise a secret from the world. 
 
 The King, however, when once more alone, and with 
 leisure to reflect on all the accidents which might befall so 
 wild an adventure, decided that his son must not be allowed 
 to risk them ; and the two knight-errants coming for their 
 final instructions, he told them, with tearful eyes, that he 
 must withdraw his promise, and begged of them never again 
 to renew the subject. The Duke, with his usual audacity of 
 speech, retorted that if he broke a promise so solemnly 
 pledged, nobody in the future would believe a word he said. 
 He added that already he must have been guilty of a false- 
 hood, for undoubtedly he had communicated their project 
 to some ' rascal,' whose sorry arguments had worked upon 
 his mind. He doubted not, however, that he should dis- 
 cover who had been his secret adviser, and such an interfer- 
 ence would neither be forgotten nor forgiven by the Prince. 
 By combined violence and cajolery James was induced to 
 dismiss his fears and renew his promise ; matters, indeed, 
 were so far advanced that the day was fixed for their depar- 
 ture. Two attendants were selected to accompany them, 
 one of whom, Sir Francis Cottington,* who had resided 
 long in Spain, was immediately sent for. As he entered 
 the audience-chamber the Duke whispered to Charles 
 that the new-comer would assuredly object to the expe- 
 
 * Created Lord Cottington of Hanworth in July, 1631. He had 
 accompanied the English Embassy to Spain in 1617. 
 
10 The White King. 
 
 dition. In the same tone the Prince rejoined that he durst 
 not.* 
 
 James began by assuring Cottington th9,t he beheved him 
 to be an honest man, and therefore would confide to him a 
 secret which he must disclose to no living person. ' Here 
 are Baby Charles and Steenie,' he said, ' who have a great 
 mind to go by post to Spain, and fetch home the Infanta, 
 and wiU have but two more in their company, and have 
 chosen you for one. What think you of the journey?' 
 Cottington afterwards said that when this momentous 
 question was put to him, he trembled so violently that it 
 was with difficulty he covild articulate a word. When at 
 length he was able to speak, he fulfilled Buckingham's 
 apprehension by declaring that he believed the expedition 
 would effectually prevent the completion of the match. He 
 felt convinced, he said, that when the Spaniards had got the 
 Prince into their power, they would immediately make new 
 overtures and largely increase their demands, more particu- 
 larly as regarded the position of the Koman Catholics in 
 England. At this candid and sagacious expression of 
 opinion, James, in a storm of grief, threw himself on his 
 bed, and with sobs and cries, passionately exclaimed : ' I 
 told you this before ! — I am undone ! — I shall lose Baby 
 Charles !' 
 
 Then Buckingham turned fiercely upon Cottington. The 
 King, he said, had merely sought his advice as to the best 
 mode of travelling in Spain, a subject on which he was 
 competent to give information ; but that he had presumed 
 to meddle with affairs of State, and should repent the im- 
 pertinence as long as he lived. 'Nay, by God, Steenie,' 
 said the King, ' you are very much to blame to use him so. 
 He answered me directly to the question I asked him, and 
 very honestly and wisely; and yet you know he said no 
 more than I told you, before he was called in.' Cottington's 
 opposition, however, proved of no avail, and James finally 
 gave his consent.-f- 
 
 « Clarendon, i., 23-32. + Ibid., i. 15. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 11 
 
 _ On the 17th of February, 1623, the Prince took leave of 
 his father at Theobalds, and rode to Buckingham's resi- 
 dence at Newhall, in Essex. There he and the Marquis 
 disguised themselves with false beards^ and assumed the 
 names of Mr. John Smith and Mr. Thomas Smith respec- 
 tively.* They made their way to Tilbury, where they 
 crossed the river by the ferry, and, having no silver coins in 
 pouch or pocket, were forced to give the boatman a gold 
 piece. Such exceptional liberality awakened his suspicions 
 that they were duellists, about to cross the seas to settle 
 their quarrel with the sword, and he communicated with 
 the magistrates of Gravesend, who at once sent ofi'a post-boy 
 to Kochester with orders to stop them; their picked horses, 
 however, outstripped the pursuit. On the brow of the hill, 
 outside the town, they incurred a more serious danger. 
 Advancing towards them came the Infanta's ambassador, 
 under the escort of James's Master of the Ceremonies, and 
 the Lieutenant of Dover Castle. To avoid detection, they 
 leaped their steeds over the hedges, and galloped across the 
 fields. The Lieutenant, imagining that the party might con- 
 tain some persons who had been engaged in a recent attempt 
 to assassinate the Prince of Orange, sent a messenger back 
 to Canterbury with orders to detain them. It was only by 
 removing his false beard, and informing the Mayor that, in 
 his capacity of Lord High Admiral, he was going to acquaint 
 himself secretly with the condition and discipline of the fleet, 
 that Buckingham obtained leave to continue his journey. 
 A boy, who rode post with their baggage, also recognised 
 their persons, but he was easily bribed to keep silence. 
 
 At Dover they were joined by Sir Francis Cottington and 
 Mr. Endymion Porter, who had a vessel in readiness for 
 crossing the Channel ; and early on the morning of the 
 19th the whole party, five in number, put off without 
 hindrance for Boulogne, arriving in Paris on the 21st.-f- 
 Here, to strengthen their disguise, the two travellers pro- 
 vided themselves with periwigs, and spent a day in wander- 
 
 * Arthur Wilson, ' Life of James I.,' p. 225. f ^bid., p. 226. 
 
12 The White King. 
 
 ing about the French capital. In the evening they were 
 present at the rehearsal of a masque, in which the Queen 
 and the Princess Henrietta Maria took part. 'There 
 danced/ Charles I. wrote to the King * ' the Queen and 
 Madame, with as many as made up nineteen fair dancing 
 ladies, amongst which the Queen is the handsomest, which 
 hath wrought in me a greater desire to see her sister.' 
 
 Lord Herbert of Cherbury was at this time ambassador to 
 the French Court. He tells us, in his ' Autobiography,' that 
 the only person in Paris who detected Charles's identity 
 was a maid-servant, who had formerly sold linen in London ; 
 she declared to everyone that she had seen the Prince of 
 Wales. It is now well known, however, that the Prince's 
 presence was no mystery to the French Ministers, and that 
 they gave instructions to the officials which facilitated his 
 journey through France. But at Bayonne he would seem 
 to have been subjected to an examination, though without 
 any suspicion of his real rank. No further difficulty im- 
 peded his progress to Madrid, where his arrival surprised 
 the Earl of Bristol almost out of his senses. On the 10th 
 of March, however, he was able to communicate the 
 welcome intelligence of the Prince's safety to King James : 
 
 ' Upon Friday, which was the 7th of this month, about 
 eight of the clock at night, the Prince and my Lord of 
 Buckingham, without any other company but their posti- 
 lion, arrived at my house, where my Lord Marquis, meeting 
 at the door with Henry Jermyn, a son of Sir Thomas 
 Jermyn's, told him that his name was Smith, and that he 
 had met my servant Gresley by tbe way, who had fallen 
 into thieves' hands, by whom he had been very ill-used, 
 and had all his letters taken away. He said he had got a 
 fall, and hurt one of his legs, so that he could not come up- 
 stairs but with great pain. Whilst Henry Jermyn was 
 making his relation unto us, Simon Digby went to see who 
 it was, and knew my Lord of Buckingham ; but dissembled 
 it so well, that before I could come to him, he had got him 
 * G-oodman, ' Court of James II.,' ii. 253. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 13 
 
 up to his chamber, and went presently down to the Prince 
 (who stood all this while in the street with his postilion), 
 and brought him likewise so handsomely up to his chamber, 
 that there I found them both together, and we carried the 
 business so dexterously, that that night they were undis- 
 covered by any, till the next morning, by the coming of 
 Mr. Secretary Cottington and Endymion Porter, the secret 
 was revealed.' 
 
 Howell, the letter-writer, says : ' The Prince and the 
 Marquis of Buckingham arrived at this Court on Friday 
 last, upon the close of the evening. They alighted at my 
 Lord of Bristol's house, and the Marquis, Mr. Thomas 
 Smith, came in first, with a portmanteau under his arm ; 
 then Mr. John Smith, the Prince, was sent for, who stood 
 awhile on t'other side of the street, in the dark.' 
 
 On the following day, Buckingham had an interview with 
 King Philip, and formally acquainted him with what, how- 
 ever, he already knew, Prince Charles's arrival. ' I never 
 saw the Spanish gravity laid aside before,' says Lord Bristol, 
 ' nor any man more overtaken with joy than the King was, 
 for he secretly understood of the Prince's being here.' 
 Whatever were the real feelings of King Philip, the ad- 
 venture was just such an one as would strike the imagina- 
 tion of a chivaltous people like the Spaniards, nursed in 
 traditions of poetry, romance, and love ; and Charles, for 
 some weeks, was the object of popular admiration.* Lope 
 de Vega, most proUfic of dramatists, put his exploit into 
 ballad verse, .which was sung in every street : 
 
 ' Carlos Estuardo soy ' I, Charles Stuart am, 
 
 Que siendo amor mi guia, Whom Love has guided far 
 
 Al cielo d' Espana voy To the heaven of Spain, 
 
 Por ver mi estrella 3Iaria.' Where Mary shines, my star !' 
 
 It was on the Sunday after his arrival that Charles, for 
 
 the first time, beheld the Infanta, on the Parade at Madrid. 
 
 ' The King,' writes HowelI,+ ' with the Queen, his two 
 
 brothers, and the Infanta, were all in one coach ; but the 
 
 * D'lsraeli, ' Commentaries on Charles I.,' i. 63-65. 
 t Howell, ' Epistolse Ho-Elianae,' p. 133. 
 
14 The White King. 
 
 Infanta sat in the boot, with a blue ribbon about her arms, 
 on purpose that the Prince might distinguish her: there 
 were about twenty coaches besides, of grandees, noblemen, 
 and ladies that attended them. As soon as the Infanta saw 
 the Prince her colour rose very high, which we hold to be 
 an impression of love and affection, for the face is often- 
 times the true index of the heart. The people here do 
 mightiljr magnify the gallantry of the journey, and cry out 
 that the Prince deserved to have the Infanta thrown into 
 his arms the first ipght he came.'* Charles seems to have 
 been favourably impressed by her personal appearance,-}- and 
 the Infanta was not less pleased with her comely and 
 chivalrous wooer. On the pretence that the Papal dispen- 
 sation, which would render possible her marriage with a 
 heretic, had not arrived, they were not allowed a private 
 interview ; and when they met in public, on which occasions 
 the Earl of Bristol acted as interpreter, the King was always 
 near enough to overhear their conversation. Depressing 
 circumstances these, under which to make love ! Charles 
 arranged a desperate effort to break through the restraints 
 imposed partly by the policy, and partly by the etiquette, of 
 the Spanish Court. The Infanta was wont to spend her 
 summer mornings at her brother's suburban palace, the 
 Casa di Campo. Charles, being informed of this custom, 
 rose very early one morning, and, with a single attendant, 
 made his way into the garden. It happened, however, that 
 the Infanta was in the orchard, and the door between them 
 was locked and barred. Bolts and bars could not baffle so 
 ardent a wooer as the Prince : he climbed the wall, though 
 it was of considerable height, and leaped to the ground, 
 startling the Princess into a loud scream. This drew to the 
 spot a venerable Marquis, in whose charge she was placed ; 
 and he, falling on his knees, besought the Prince to with- 
 draw, adding, that he would probably lose his head if he 
 allowed him to remain. Charles good-naturedly complied ; 
 
 « Howell, ' Letters,' March 27th, 1623. 
 t G-ardiner, v. 19 ; E. B. Chancellor, p. 93. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 15 
 
 and to save him a repetition of his gymnastic feat, bolt and 
 bar were undone, and he departed by the door.* 
 
 Though the Court took no steps to facilitate the marriage 
 negotiations, but, on the contrary, delayed them by a 
 succession of ingenious devices, it showered on its princely 
 visitor all the graces of Spanish courtesy. King Philip 
 always insisted that he- should take precedence of himself; 
 appointed a guard of one hundred men to attend his 
 person; reserved the prmcipal apartments of the royal 
 palace for his accommodation, and presented him with a 
 gold key which at any time would admit him to his own 
 bedchamber. On the occasion of his public entrance into 
 Madrid, he was attended by Gondomar and the Ministers of 
 State to St. James's Monastery ; whence, on their coronation 
 days, the Spanish monarchs were in the habit of making 
 their entry into the capital. After a splendid banquet, at 
 which the officers of state waited on him bareheaded, the 
 King arrived to escort him to Madrid. With the Prince on 
 his right they rode together under a costly canopy, followed 
 by a brilliant retinue ; the houses along the route being 
 decorated with pictures and tapestry, and the crowded 
 streets resounding with enthusiastic shouts. 
 
 The Prince and his suite, who had by this time arrived 
 from England, made a very gallant show ; as may be in- 
 ferred from the fact that the total cost of the expedition, so 
 far as was publicly known, exceeded £50,000. This does 
 not include the value of the jewels lavishly expended on the 
 Princess and her ladies by Charles and Buckingham. 'The 
 Prince,' says Arthur Wilson, ' presented his mistress with a 
 necklace which all Spain could not parallel, pearls that had 
 not long been plucked from their watery bed, and had left 
 there but few fellows.' This superb gift, however, the 
 Princess, in the meantime, declined to receive, and it was 
 deposited in the Spanish Treasury until her marriage-day. 
 When the match was broken off, the Spanish Court honour- 
 ably returned it. 
 
 « Dalrymple, ' Memorials,' p. 135. 
 
16 The White King. 
 
 The Lord Treasurer Middlesex inveighed loudly against 
 the extravagance of the two travellers ; but it was sanc- 
 tioned and, indeed, stimulated by King James. Writing to 
 Prince Charles, on the I7th of March, he says : ' I send you 
 the robes of the Order [of the Garter], which you must not 
 forget to wear on St. George's Day, and dine together in 
 them, which I hope in heaven you may ; for it will be a 
 goodly sight for the Spaniards to see my two boys dine in 
 them. I send you also the jewels I promised, with some of 
 mine, and such of yours, I mean both of you, as are worthy 
 
 the sending, for my Baby's presenting his mistress 
 
 God bless you both, my sweet boys, and send you, after a 
 successful journey, a joyful and happy return to the arms of 
 your dear dad, James Kex.' 
 
 Again he writes:* 'For my Baby's presenting his mis- 
 tress, I send him an old double cross of Lorraine, not so 
 rich as ancient, and yet not contemptible for the value ; a 
 good looking-glass, with my picture in it, to be hung 
 at her girdle, which ye must tell her ye have caused 
 to be enchanted by art magic, so whenever she shall be 
 pleased to look in it, she shall see the fairest lady that her 
 brother or your father's dominions can afford ; ye shall pre- 
 sent her with two pair of long diamonds set like an anchor, 
 and a fine pendent diamond hanging at them ; ye shall give 
 her a goodly rope of pearls ; ye shall give her a carcanet or 
 collar ; thirteen great ball [Balas ?] rubies, and thirteen 
 knots or conques of pearls; and ye shall give her three 
 goodly peak pendent diamonds, whereof the biggest to be 
 worn at a needle on the midst of her forehead, and one in 
 every ear. As for thee, my sweet gossip, I send thee a fine 
 table diamond, which I would once have given thee before, 
 if thou wouldst have taken it, for wearing in thy hat, 
 or where thou pleasest ; and if my Baby will spare thee 
 the two long diamonds, in form of an anchor, with the 
 pendant diamond, it were fit for an admiral to wear, and he 
 hath enough better jewels for his mistress, though he hath 
 * Hardwick, ' State Papers,' i. 406. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 17 
 
 of thine now, thy good old jewel, thy three Pindars 
 diamonds, thy picture-case I gave Kate [the Duchess of 
 Buckingham] , and the great diamond chain I gave her, who 
 would have sent thee the best pin she had if I had not 
 staid her.' 
 
 Mead, writing to Sir Martin Stuteville, asserts, though 
 unquestionably with exaggeration, that jewels to the value 
 of £600,000 had been sent from the Tower into Spain for 
 the use of Charles and his favourite. 
 
 The political history of the journey to Madrid has been 
 told by Gardiner with the minutest details and the most 
 admirable lucidity. Our business here is to deal with it 
 only from the personal side, and to the sketch already 
 given we have little of importance to add. The Spaniards 
 failed, of course, in their efforts to obtain Charles's conver- 
 sion ; and by degrees an ill feeling arose between them and 
 their visitors, which Buckingham's reckless pride helped to 
 increase. The Prince, however, made concessions which 
 must have been very dangerous if the marriage had ever 
 taken place, and addressed a letter to the Pope which pro- 
 voked the censure, at a later date, of the cautious and loyal 
 Clarendon. All his humiliating equivocations, promises, 
 and pledges proved, however, of no avail ; and on the 22nd 
 of May the Spanish Court, through the ostensible agency of 
 the so-called Junta of Theologians, put forward new and 
 impossible demands. One of these was that the Infanta 
 should remain in Spain for at least a year after the marriage 
 ceremony had been performed, within which time the sus- 
 pension of the penal laws, and the concession to the 
 Catholics of the free exercise of their religion in private 
 houses, must be publicly proclaimed in England. Charles, 
 by this time, was so deeply in love that, without thought to 
 the feelings of his future subjects, he would have accepted 
 these conditions ; but James was too astute to be caught in 
 so perilous a trap, and on the 26th of June Sir William 
 Croft arrived at Madrid with orders for the Prince's imme- 
 diate return, and stipulating that the Infanta must return 
 
 VOL. I, 2 
 
18 The White King. 
 
 ■with him, or the negotiations be "broken off. ' This morn- 
 ing,' wrote the Prince and Buckingham to King James, ' we 
 sent for the Conde of Olivarez, and, with a sad countenance, 
 told him of your peremptory command, entreating him in 
 the kindest manner we could to give us his advice how we 
 might comply with this and not destroy the business. His 
 answer was that there were two good ways to do the busi- 
 ness, and one ill one. The two good ones were either your 
 Baby's conversion, or to do it with trust, putting all things 
 freely, with the Infanta, into our hands ; the ill one was to 
 bargain and stick upon conditions as long as they could. 
 As for the first, we absolutely rejected it, and for the second, 
 he confessed, if he were King, he would do it ;. and, as he is^ 
 it lay in his power to do it ; but he cast many doubts lest he 
 should hereafter suffer for it if it should not succeed ; the 
 last he confessed impossible, since your command was so 
 peremptory. To conclude, he left us with a promise to 
 consider of it ; and when 1, your dog, conveyed him to the 
 door, he bade me cheer up my heart and your Baby's both. 
 Our opinion is that the longest time we can stay here will 
 be a month, and not that neither without bringing the 
 Infanta with us. If we find not ourselves assured of that, 
 look for us sooner.' 
 
 On the 6th of July the Prince was. informed of Philip's 
 final determination. The Prince's wish could not be grati- 
 fied, and the utmost that could be done would be to shorten 
 the delaj' by four months. Charles replied with firmness 
 that his father had ordered him not to consent to leave the 
 Infanta behind, and that he must consider the treaty at an 
 end. Olivarez rejoined that the King could not abate an 
 iota of his demands ; but that if the Prince liked to leave, 
 no impediment would be thrown in his way. Next morning 
 Charles demanded an audience of the King, and, to Philip's 
 astonishment, announced his resolution of accepting all that 
 had been proposed to him, both as to the articles touching 
 religion and as to the security required. He had found 
 great dilficulties, he proceeded to say, and he had done his 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 19 
 
 best to lessen them ; but it was best to consent to all tbat 
 was required, rather than to abandon the hope of so close 
 an alliance with the Spanish Crown. Some of the bystanders 
 who had heard him speak so differently a few days before, 
 naturally asked one another how they were to know what 
 they were really to believe. The truth was that Charles 
 had been merely haggling over the bargain, and he fancied 
 that, by yielding now, he might, perhaps, win back some of 
 the price hereafter. 
 
 But the prize for which Charles was willing to sacrifice 
 his honour, his consistency, and the interests of his country, 
 was not to be his after all. At first, indeed, the Spanish 
 Court professed the most complete satisfaction, and the 
 streets of Madrid for four successive nights blazed with 
 illuminations. The Infanta was openly designated the 
 Princess of England, and allowed to appear publicly at the 
 Court Theatre. These were but the lighter scenes in the 
 long and elaborate serio-comic drama which Olivarez had so 
 skilfully prepared. As fast as Charles accepted one set of 
 conditions another set was invented. The marriage contract 
 was actually signed, and yet the marriage itself was as far 
 off as ever. On both sides the falsehood was complete. 
 The Spaniards made demands with which they did not 
 want the Prince to comply ; and the Prince complied, with 
 a secret determination to evade the fulfilment of his engage- 
 ments. Charles and Buckingham, however, were no match 
 for the Spanish Minister in the game of intrigue. The 
 Duke seems really to have disliked the part he was made to 
 play, and to have doubted the sincerity of the Spaniards ; 
 but he knew that it would not be safe for him to bafile the 
 Prince in the one object on which he had so eagerly set his 
 heart, and accordingly complied with his changes of posi- 
 tion, while knowing that at home he was regarded as the 
 author of concessions which, in reality, he detested. 
 
 At length the bubble burst. On the 30th of August 
 Charles left Madrid, and, after spending two days at the 
 Escurial, set out on his journey towards the coast, with 
 
 2—2 
 
20 The White King, 
 
 feelings very different from those which had inspired him a 
 few short months hefore — feelings of mortified pride and 
 wounded vanity, which rapidly merged into an almost un- 
 govemahle dislike of Spain and everything connected with 
 it. He reached Santander on the 9th of September, and, 
 to his great delight, found there the English fleet awaiting 
 him. It was late in the afternoon, but, in his anxiety to 
 quit the soil of Spain, he at once put off to the Admiral's 
 ship, the Prince, which had been appointed to carry him 
 home. As he was returning in his barge after nightfall, a 
 stiff breeze blew up, and the rowers found it impossible to 
 make head against the tide, which was carrying them out to 
 sea. Fortunately, the watch on board the Defiance per- 
 ceived the danger, and threw out ropes attached to buoys 
 with lanterns, to attract the notice of the Prince amidst the 
 increasing darkness. One of these ropes was seized by his 
 crew, and Charles was safely hauled on board the Defiance, 
 where he passed the night. For some days the fleet lay 
 windbound at Santander ; but on the 18th of September the 
 wind changed, and Charles sailed for England. He landed 
 at Portsmouth on the 5th of October, and immediately pro- 
 ceeded to London, where the news of his safe arrival was 
 already known. That he had come back without the de- 
 tested Infanta was sufficient to rekindle the long-suppressed 
 loyalty of the English people, who believed that he had at 
 last escaped from the snare of Spanish counsels and the 
 deleterious influences of Popery. When he landed from 
 the barge in which he crossed the Thames, the bells rang 
 out their merriest peals and the streets were thronged with 
 exultant crowds. ' But he did not care to linger in London. 
 After receiving complimentary visits from the Privy Coun- 
 cillors, he rejected an ill-timed demand that he would give 
 audience to the Spanish ambassadors, and ordered a coach 
 to be got ready that he might join his father at Royston 
 with all possible speed. As he drove along the Strand, it 
 was with the utmost difliculiy that he could make his way 
 through the enthusiastic crowd. " Long live the Prince of 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 21 
 
 Wales !" was heard on every side, from voices mingled in 
 one universal roar of gladness.* When he was gone men 
 felt that it was impossible to settle down to their usual 
 avocations. . . . When the evening closed in, lighted candles 
 were placed in every window, and the sky was reddened 
 with bonfires. One hundred and eight blazing piles were 
 counted in the short distance between St. Paul's and London 
 Bridge. . . . Never before, according to the general testi- 
 mony of all who have left a narrative of the scenes which 
 passed before their eyes, had rejoicing so universal and .so 
 spontaneous been known in England.'f 
 
 II. 
 
 On the 27th of March, 1625, died King James, and a few 
 minutes after his decease his son was solemnly proclaimed 
 King at the court-gate of Theobald's, as Charles J. Accord- 
 ing to a curious story recorded by Howell, Sir Edward 
 Zouch, the Knight-Marshal, in making proclamation, instead 
 of styling him ' the rightful and indubitable heir,' accident- 
 ally dropped the "in;' but his lapsus linguae was imme- 
 diately corrected by the secretary. 
 
 At a later date, when men's passions were influenced by 
 a long and bitter political contention, Charles was accused 
 of having murdered his father. This odious and abso- 
 lutely groundless charge is put forward both by William 
 Lilly in his 'Life of Charles I.,' and by Pelton in his 
 
 * There is abundant evidence that the failure of the Spanish match 
 was welcome to the nation. Thomas Middleton, the dramatist, in 
 June, 1624, brought out a play called 'A Game of Chess,' which 
 rightly interpreted the public feeling. White and Black, represented 
 England and Spain. White wins, for the White Knight (Prince 
 Charles) captures the Black Knight (G-ondomar) by discovery, and 
 checkmates the Black King. Gondoaiar was incensed at this attack 
 on Spanish policy, and at the applause at which it was received. In 
 August he lodged a formal protest against the play ; the Privy Council 
 interfered, and the play was suppressed ; but as it had been licensed 
 by the Master of the Bevels, the actors and the dramatist escaped 
 punishment. 
 
 t S. R. Gardiner, v. 128, 12D. In honour of the Prince's return Ben 
 Jonson composed his masque of ' Neptune's Triumph.' 
 
22 The White King. 
 
 ' Divine Catastroplie.' To these scribblers it would be idle 
 to pay attention ; but the offensive calumny is repeated by 
 Milton in his 'Defensio Populi Anglicani.' Addressing 
 Salmasius, he says : ' I will show you how like Charles was 
 to Nero. Nero, they say, put to death his own mother ; 
 but Charles murdered both his prince and father by poison. 
 For, to set aside other evidences, he that would not suffer a 
 Duke that was accused of the crime to come to his trial, 
 must needs have been guilty of it himself' — a mode of 
 reasoning too fallacious to need exposure. Charles was, of 
 course, aware that Buckingham was as innocent as himself. 
 The charge was revived by the more violent of the Puritans 
 in the House of Commons on the 24th of February, 1648, 
 but received no support from any man of character.* 
 
 The ominous circumstances which attended Charles's 
 accession probably received their unfavourable interpreta- 
 tion only in after years, when clouds had gathered over the 
 King's unhappy path. At his father's funeral he ofEciated 
 as chief mourner ; and having previously acted in the same 
 capacity at the funerals of his mother. Queen Anne, and 
 his brother, Prince Henry, this third appearance was con- 
 sidered to be unfortunate, and to augur a sad and darkened 
 career. During the ceremony of the coronation the wing 
 of the golden dove on the sceptre of mercy was broken off ; 
 and the text selected by the Bishop of Carhsle for the 
 coronation sermon was thought to be infehcitous : ' Be thou 
 faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life ' 
 (Rev. ii. 10). Instead of wearing the purple robe of 
 sovereignty, Charles attired himself in white. That he 
 neglected to ride through the city in royal state, as his pre- 
 decessors had been accustomed to do was, no doubt, an 
 error of policy ; but the superstitious were more strongly 
 impressed by the fact that the blood of a wounded falcon 
 fell on the neck of Bernini's famous bust of Charles, when 
 on its way to Whitehall. 
 
 These signs and portents failed to affect the enthusiasm 
 ** Walker, ' History of Independence,' pt. i., p. 74. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 23 
 
 with which the accession of Charles was everywhere 
 greeted. All England gave itself up to transports of hope 
 and joy — not that vague hope or artificial satisfaction 
 which conventionally welcomes a new reign, but a hope 
 and a joy which, being based on what was known of the 
 young sovereign's stainless life and high character, were 
 serious, sincere, and apparently well-founded. Men saw, as 
 they believed, the promise of a new order, a new national 
 life, in his accession to the throne ; as if the old genius of 
 the kingdom having, like Endymion, slept an age, had woke 
 again, and at last a successor to the Great Queen was come.* 
 Of the true strength and depth of the tide that sweeps 
 them along, of its eddies and its currents, and its counter- 
 currents, the children of the age can never judge. Their 
 descendants may, perhaps, attain to the knowledge which 
 would have been so inestimably precious to them. Neither 
 Charles nor his people could see the width of the gulf which, 
 even in the hour of rejoicing, separated them from each other. 
 Neither Charles nor his people knew how soon the width of 
 that gulf would force itself upon their consciousness ; and 
 neither Charles nor his people can rightly be blamed for 
 the discord that arose between them and led to such 
 disastrous issues. The causes had been long in operation ; 
 and had Charles proved himself as sagacious and wary as 
 he was reckless and short-sighted, I think that as the seed 
 had been sown the harvest must have been gathered, 
 though, perhaps, with less strife and sorrow. Recoiling 
 from the anarchy and desolation wrought by the Wars of 
 the Roses, the country had willingly submitted to the 
 increased power and authority of the Crown, which was 
 virtually uncontrolled, for the old feudal nobility had been 
 swept away, and the new aristocracy, which had risen on 
 its ruins, necessarily became, at all events for a time, the 
 servants and courtiers of the power to which they owed 
 their rank, privileges, and estates. The peace and order 
 secured by the strong arm of an absolute monarchy 
 « Forster, ' Life of Sir John Eliot,' i. 219. 
 
24 The White King. 
 
 favoured, meanwhile, the silent and rapid growth of an 
 influential middle class— the wealthy burghers of the towns, 
 whom the expansion of maritime adventure and the de- 
 velopment of commercial enterprise had called into exist- 
 ence. The new monarchy, founded by Henry VII. and 
 built up by Henry VIII., was consummated and glorified 
 by Elizabeth. A woman with something of a woman's 
 charm, a ruler whom Nature had endowed with a rare 
 capacity for government, she drew to her Court all that 
 was noblest and brightest in England, and made loyalty 
 a personal passion. While commanding the chivalrous 
 devotion of the aristocracy, she contrived, by the exercise 
 of a wise, far-sighted, if not always generous, pohcy to 
 secure the affection of the commonalty. A proud nation, 
 daily growing more familiar with its resources and capabili- 
 ties, and aspiring to test and exercise them, England de- 
 lighted in the pomp and splendour with which Elizabeth 
 loved to surround herself, while it regarded with admiring 
 reverence her heroic courage, and the vigour and versatility 
 of her intellect. Hence the forms, practices, and absolutist 
 language of a monarchy as despotic in Europe were endured 
 in consideration of its glory, its usefulness, and its patriotic 
 spirit. The popular aifection served to exalt and refine the 
 servility of the courtiers ; and towards a woman, whose 
 perils were also the perils of the Commonwealth, an un- 
 grudging devotion seemed a duty for the gentlemen, and a 
 law for every Protestant and citizen. 
 
 ' In the year 1588 ' — the year of the Armada — ' I did live,' 
 says a contemporary, ' at the upper end of the Strand, near 
 St. Clement's Church, when suddenly there came a report to 
 us (it was in December, much about five of the o'clock, very 
 dark) that the Queen was gone to Council, and if " you will 
 see the Queen you must come quickly." Then we all ran, 
 when the Court-gates were set open, and no man did hinder 
 us from coming in. Then we came where there was a far 
 greater company than was usually at Lenten sermons, and 
 when we had stayed there an hour, and that the yard was 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 25 
 
 full, there being a number of torches, the Queen came out 
 in great State. Then we cried, " God save your Majesty ! 
 God save your Majesty !" Then the Queen turned to us 
 and said, " God bless you all, my good people !" Then we 
 cried again, " God bless your Majesty ! God bless your 
 Majesty!" Then the Queen said again to us, "You may 
 well have a greater prince, but you shall never have a more 
 loving prince." And so, looking upon one another for a 
 while, the Queen departed. This wrought such an im- 
 pression on us, for shows and pageantry are ever best seen 
 by torchlight, that all the way long we did nothing but 
 talk what an admirable Queen she was, and how we would 
 adventure our lives to do her service.' 
 
 Even before the death of Elizabeth, however, a change 
 began to creep over the political scene. The radiant mists 
 gradually disappeared, and the cold, keen light of day was 
 let in upon the arbitrary government they had served to 
 obscure. The great Queen, when she showed herself to her 
 people, was still received with the respect due to greatness, 
 but no longer with the fervour of the old enthusiasm. An 
 inquiring spirit had gained possession of the minds of men, 
 which subjected political as well as ecclesiastical questions 
 to a rigorous analysis. The pretensions of the Crown were 
 boldly examined, and daring voices proposed that they 
 should be repudiated. Probably a consciousness of this 
 fact deepened the melancholy which oppressed Elizabeth 
 during the last years .of her lonely life. She had outlived, 
 not only her veteran counsellors and favourite courtiers, but 
 her own theory and system of government. She was the 
 last, as well as the greatest, of the Tudors. The nation had 
 grown serious, sober, prosaic ; its temper had been in- 
 fluenced by the prolonged theological controversy which 
 had sprung out of the Reformation ; and it was disposed to 
 ijiveptigate very closely every condition that confined or 
 sought to regulate its actions. Had Elizabeth's successor 
 possessed Ehzabeth's intuitions — which served her in the 
 place of sympathies — it is possible that this new spirit 
 
26 The White King. 
 
 might have been directed into some safe channel, or the 
 policy of the Crown have been shaped to meet it. But 
 under the Stuarts a collision between the Throne and the 
 people became inevitable ; inevitable because, first, the 
 Stuarts were not the Tudors ; and, second, the England of 
 the Stuarts was not the England of the Tudors. The 
 Throne had stood, or wished to stand, still, while the 
 nation had advanced. Living in the free air of Protest- 
 antism, men had learned to think freely and independently; 
 energy of conscience brought with it courage of opinion ; 
 political earnestness was the natural and legitimate off- 
 spring of religious zeal. Outside the precincts of the Court 
 might be noticed an ever-increasing activity of speculation. 
 Among the untitled gentry, the free yeomen, the traders — 
 in a word, the most intelligent classes of the people — was 
 diffused an energy of investigation, and even of resistance, in 
 questions both of Church and State, such as had never before 
 been known, and it was accompanied by a new gravity of 
 conduct and austerity of morals. The leaven of Puritanism 
 worked slowly, but it worked surely, and gradually modified 
 the attitude of the EngUsh commonalty towards the Crown. 
 Day by day its timidity departed, as it saw more and more 
 clearly the nature and extent of its rights and privileges. 
 The aspirations of the burgher, the yeoman, the peasant, 
 rose above the level of their condition. The Puritan never 
 forgot that he was a member of Christ's Church, with a 
 share in the inheritance of the saints : in his household 
 and with his friends, he boldly inquired into the mysteries 
 of the Divine Government. What human power, then, 
 could hope to escape his criticism ? As a matter of course, 
 he who begins by looking into the limits of his superior's 
 assumed prerogatives, will end by searching out their 
 origin. He will ask, not only ' What are they V and ' How 
 far do they go ?' but ' Whence came they V Thus it 
 happened that the nature of the royal authority, and 
 indeed, of all authority, its ancient boundaries, its recent 
 usurpations, became, throughout the country, the subjects 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 27 
 
 of discussion and debate, conducted at first with moderation, 
 and undertaken not so much from inclination as from a 
 strong sense of right, and setting in movement new currents 
 of thought and feeling, awakening new ideas of duty. 
 
 In the reign of James I. opened that protracted struggle 
 between the Crown and the people, which was not finally 
 settled until the Revolution of 1688. The angry sovereign 
 in vain attempted to throttle it at the outset by prohibiting 
 the Commons from meddling with ' the mysteries of Govern- 
 ment.' In vain he claimed for himself the right and power 
 of limiting their liberty of speech and action. In vain he 
 declared himself too old and experienced a king to permit 
 their assertion that the privileges derived from the grace 
 and by the sanction of his ancestors and himself, were their 
 ancient and undoubted inheritance. The Commons ad- 
 ministered a severe rebuke in that famous Protestation 
 (December 18th, 1621),* which takes its place in the 
 archives of English freedom with the Great Charter and the 
 Bill of Rights. 
 
 We have spoken of the happy auspices which ushered in 
 the reign of Charles I. The struggle was by common con- 
 sent suspended, and very many hoped it would never have 
 to be renewed. Though their young King's marriage to a 
 Catholic princess was by no means agreeable to the majority 
 of his subjects, it was not allowed to introduce a discordant 
 note into the prevailing harmony. As for this marriage, we 
 may at once observe that if it contributed to the happiness 
 of Charles's private life, it unquestionably proved an im- 
 portant agent in his public troubles and ultimate downfall. 
 The influence which his Queen exercised over him, though 
 not so great, perhaps, as some writers have represented, was, 
 so far as it went, decidedly pernicious. 
 
 On the failure of the projected alliance with Spain, the 
 
 English Court almost immediately opened negotiations with 
 
 that of France for a marriage between Prince Charles and 
 
 the French King's sister, Henrietta Maria, youngest 
 
 * S. R. Gardiner, iv. 261. 
 
28 The White King. 
 
 daughter of Henri Quatre.* She was then about fifteen years 
 old. Lord Kensington, afterwards Earl of Holland, who, in 
 February, 1624, was sent to Paris on a special embassy, found 
 the charming young lady prepossessed in Charles's favour. 
 Her fancy had been touched by his romantic expedition to 
 Spain; and it is said that with French vivacity she re- 
 marked — he might have found a wife much nearer, and 
 saved himself a good deal of trouble. She does not seem 
 to have attempted any concealment of her f)artiality, 
 though one cannot help suspecting that the incident of the 
 portrait, as related by Lord Kensington, is considerably in- 
 debted to his artistic touches.-|- Lord Kensington always 
 wore Charles's miniature round his neck. To obtain a look 
 at it was Henrietta's ardent wish, and yet she durst not 
 gratify it for fear of provoking satirical comment. ' At the 
 last, rather than want that sight, the which she was so im- 
 patient of, she desired the gentlewoman of the house where 
 I am lodged, that had been her servant, to borrow of me 
 the picture, in all the secrecy that may be, and to bring it 
 unto her, saying, she could not but want that curiosity, as 
 well as others, towards a person of his infinite reputation- 
 As soon as she saw the party that brought it, she retired 
 into her cabinet, calling only her in ; when she opened the 
 picture in such haste as showed a true picture of her 
 passion, blushing in the instant at her own guiltiness. She 
 kept it an hour in her hands, and when she returned it, 
 she gave it many praises of your person. Sir, this is 
 business so fit for your secrecy, as I know it shall never go 
 further than with the King, your father, my Lord Duke of 
 Buckingham, and my Lord Carlisle's knowledge.' There 
 is a pretty story on record that, when Henrietta received two 
 letters, one from King James, and one from Prince Charles, 
 she put the former iii her cabinet, the latter in her bosom. 
 When James was told of this little incident, he said, rather 
 neatly, ' It was an omen that she would preserve his name 
 in her memory, and Charles in her heart !' 
 
 « 8. R. Gardiner, v. 216. t Cabala, p. 218. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 29 
 
 Lord Kensington, in his letters home, did his best to 
 kindle in the young Prince's breast the fire of an ardent 
 passion. He wrote with such warmth, indeed, that a 
 suspicious lover might have taken umbrage at so un- 
 measured an admiration. ' You will find a lady,' he wrote, 
 ' of as much beauty and sweetness to deserve your affection, 
 as any woman under heaven can be.' He added, ' The im- 
 pressions I had of her were but ordinary, but the amazement 
 extraordinary, to find her, as I protest to God I did, the 
 sweetest creature in France, and the loveliest thing in nature. 
 Her growth is very little short of her age, and her wisdom 
 infinitely beyond it. I heard her discourse with her mother 
 and the ladies about her, with extraordinary discretion and 
 quickness. She dances, the which I am a witness of, as well 
 as ever I saw any one. They say she sings most sweetly : I 
 am sure she looks as if she did.' And in another letter he 
 writes : ' I found it true, that neither her master, Bayle, nor 
 any man or woman in France, or Europe, sings so admirably 
 as she doth. Her voice is beyond all imagination : and that 
 is all I say of it.' 
 
 The reUgious difficulties having been disposed of, and the 
 dowry and terms of settlement arranged, the marriage con- 
 tract was signed by James on the 11th of May, 1624, and 
 by the French King on the 14th of August following. In 
 the beginning of May, 1625, the Pope's dispensation having 
 arrived, the espousals were publicly celebrated by Cardinal 
 Eichelieu, the Due de Chevreuse acting as proxy for 
 Charles. On the 24th, the Duke of Buckingham, with a 
 large following of the English nobility, arrived at Paris, in 
 order to conduct the sixteen-years-old bride to England. 
 They remained seven days, and each day some new enter- 
 tainment was devised in their honour. On the 2nd of June, 
 Henrietta set out from Paris. The journey to the sea-coast 
 was so leisurely made, that it was not until the 12th she 
 sailed from Boulogne, escorted by an English squadron. 
 The passage of the Channel occupied four-and-twenty 
 hours, and Henrietta suffered so severely from sea-sickness. 
 
30 The White King. 
 
 that, on her arriYal at Dover, she had to he conveyed into 
 the town in a litter, and thence to the apartments that had 
 been provided for her in the Castle. Charles was hastening 
 from Canterbury to meet her, when he received a message 
 from his sea-tossed bride, requesting him to defer the inter- 
 view, on account of her indisposition, until the following day.* 
 
 The next morning, about ten o'clock, the impatient young 
 King made his appearance. Henrietta was at breakfast; 
 but she rose immediately, hurried downstairs, and throw- 
 ing herself on her knees before him, clasped his hand, and 
 kissed it with much emotion. Charles raised in his arms 
 the fair form of his girlish bride, and pressed warm kisses 
 on her lips. Her first words were well chosen : ' Sire, je 
 suis venue en ce pais de votre Majesty pour etre usee et 
 command^e de vous.' Surprised to find her taller than he 
 had expected, Charles glanced at her feet to see if she had 
 improved her stature by artificial means. Divining his 
 thought with all a Frenchwoman's quickness, she exclaimed, 
 ' Oh ! c'est bien a moi, je ne porte pas de mules, et ne suis 
 ni plus haute ni plus petite !' A few natural tears feU from 
 her eyes, and Charles kissed them away, saying tenderly, he 
 should not fail to do so, as long as she continued weeping -, 
 and gently assuring her that she had not fallen into a land 
 of strangers, and that she might be ever satisfied of his 
 tenderness and esteem.-f- 
 
 After a short period, the King and his bride withdrew to 
 a private room for an hour. Having prepared for dinner, 
 they entered the presence-chamber, where Henrietta pre- 
 sented her French attendants by name and in order of 
 rank. As he had already dined, Charles seated himself 
 beside her at the table, and helped her to venison and 
 pheasant. It was St. John's Eve, and a fast-day of the 
 Koman Church : her confessor warned her not to provoke 
 scandal on the very first day of her arrival. But for once 
 Henrietta ignored both priest and penance, and, much to- 
 
 » Rushworth, i. 169, 170. 
 
 t Sir H. Ellis's ' Original Letters,' etc., iii. 190-196. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 31 
 
 the delight of her Protestant subjects, partook freely of the 
 prohibited dishes.* 
 
 The royal couple, later in the day, proceeded to Canter- 
 bury,-|- being met upon Burham Down by a great gathering 
 
 » HoweU, ' Letters.' 
 
 f Mead, in his letter to Sir Martin Stuteville (Ellis's 'Original 
 Letters,' iii. 196, 197), gives the following account of the Queen's 
 arrival in London (dated June 17, 1625) : 
 
 ' The last night at five o'clock, there being a very great shower, the 
 Eing and Queen in the royal barge, with many other barges of honour, 
 and thousands of boats, passed through London Bridge to Whitehall ; 
 infinite numbers, besides these, in wherries, standing in houses, ships, 
 lighters, western barges, and on each side of the shore. Fifty good 
 ships discharging their ordnance as their Majesties passed along by ; as, 
 last of all, the Tower did such a peal, as I believe she never before 
 heard the like. The King and Queen were both in green suits. The 
 barge windows, notwithstanding the vehement shower, were open, 
 and all the people shouting amain. She put out her hand, and shaked 
 it unto them. She hath already given some good signs of hope that 
 she may ere long, by God's blessing, become ours in religion. 
 
 ' She arrived at Dover, Sunday, about eight in the evening, lay 
 there in the Castle that night, whither the King rode on Monday 
 morning from Canterbury, came thither after ten of the clock, and 
 she then being at meat, he stayed in the presence till she had done, 
 which she advertised of, made short work, rose, went unto him, 
 kneeled down at his feet, took and kissed his hand. The King took 
 her up in his arms, kissed her, and talking with her, cast down his 
 eyes toward her feet (she, seeming higher than report was, reaching 
 to his shoulders), which she soon perceiving, discovered, and showed 
 him her shoes, saying to this effect : " Sir, I stand upon mine own 
 feet. I have no helps by art. Thus high I am, and am neither 
 higher than (nor?) lower." She is nimble and quiet, black-eyed, 
 brown-haired, and, in a word, a brave lady, though perhaps a little 
 touched with the green sickness. 
 
 ' One ship, whereupon stood above an hundred people, not being 
 well balanced nor well tied to the shore, and they all standing upon 
 one side, was overturned and sunk, all that were upon her tumbling 
 into the Thames ; yet was not anyone lost that I can hear of, but all 
 saved by the help of boats. 
 
 ' The bells rang till midnight, and all the streets were full of bonfires; 
 and in this one street were above thirty.' 
 
 Another account (of the same date) is enclosed in Mead's letter : 
 
 'It were but lost labour to tell you the Queene arrived on Sunday 
 at Dover ; that on Monday at ten of the clock, the King came from 
 Canterbury thither to visit her, and though she was unready, so soon 
 as she heard he was come, she hastened down a pair of stairs to meet 
 him, and offering to kneel down and to kiss his hand, he rapt her 
 up in his arms and kissed her with many kisses. The first words she 
 said to him were : " Sire, je suis venue en ce pais de votre Mat's pour 
 estre usee et command^e de vous." They retired themselves an hour, 
 and then having made herself ready, they went forth into the presence, 
 where she recommended all her servants by quality and name in order. 
 
32 The White King. 
 
 of the nobility and gentry, with their wives and daughters 
 in sumptuous array, while the countryfolk strewed the road 
 with flowers, and broke into lusty cheers as the procession 
 passed. They rested a day or two at Canterbury, nor was 
 it until the 16th that they reached London. At Gravesend 
 they went on board the royal barge ; and, attended by the 
 barges of the nobility, passed up the river in goodly show — 
 one of those splendid water-pageants which, we fear, the 
 royal Thames will never see again. The river was crowded 
 with craft of every description ; the ships and barges were 
 filled with spectators : flags fluttered from every point of 
 vantage ; the banks were lined with an applausive populace; 
 and the guns of the Tower and of the war-ships at Deptford 
 thundered a welcome at frequent intervals. The scene was 
 very striking and impressive ; but Ithe rain, which fell in 
 torrents, to some extent impaired its effect.* 
 
 Though there have not been wanting iU-natured critics 
 to impugn, or even deny, the personal charms of Henrietta, 
 the evidence of Vandyke's portraits is confirmed by the 
 
 At dinner being carved pheasant and venison by his Majestie (who 
 had dined before) she eat heartily of both, notwithstanding her con- 
 fessor (who all this while stood by her) had forewarned her that it was 
 the Eve of St. John Baptist and was to be fasted, and that she should 
 take heed how she gave ill example or a scandal at her first arrival. 
 
 ' The same night, having snpped at Canterbury, her Majesty went 
 to bed : and, some space of time after, his Majesty followed her ; but 
 being entered his bedchamber, the first thing he did, he bolted all the 
 doors round about (being seven) with his own hand, letting in but 
 two of the bedchamber to undress him, which being done, he bolted 
 them out also. The next morning he lay till seven of the clock, and 
 was pleasant with the lords that he had beguiled them, and hath ever 
 since been very jocund. 
 
 'Yesterday I saw them coming up from Gravesend, and never 
 beheld the King to look so merrily. In stature, her head reached 
 to his shoulder ; but she is young enough to grow taller. . . 'Twixt 
 G-ravesend and London she had the beautiful and stately view of part 
 of our Navy that is to go to sea, which gave her a volley of fifteen 
 hundred great shot. So they arrived at Whitehall, where they 
 continue till Monday, when they go to Hampton Court. On Sunday 
 there is a great feast at Whitehall.' 
 
 «• 'A True Discourse of all the Royal Passages, Triumphs, and 
 Ceremonies observed at the Contract and Marriage of the High and 
 Mighty Charles, King of Great Britain.' London, 1625. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 33 
 
 general testimony of her contemporaries* Howell, in a 
 letter to his brother-in-law, grows very fervid in his eulogy. 
 ' This daughter of France/ he says, ' this youngest branch of 
 Bourbon, is of a more lovely and lasting complexion [than 
 the Infanta of Spain], a dark brown ; she hath eyes that 
 sparkle like stars ; and for her physiognomy, she may be 
 said to be " a mirror of perfection." ' Lord Clarendon 
 gravely speaks of her as ' a lady of great beauty ;' Toby 
 Matthew, as ' a most sweet, lovely creature.' Sir Symonds 
 d'Ewes ' perceived her to be a most absolute delicate lady, 
 after he had exactly surveyed all the features of her face, 
 much enlivened by her radiant and sparkling black eyes.' 
 Poets, when they lay their offerings at the feet of rank and 
 beauty, "may be suspected of speaking the language of com- 
 pliment ; yet it is clear that if they exaggerated too grossly, 
 they would be convicted of satire ; and, therefore, we may 
 be sure that Waller and Davenant would have been more 
 guarded in their language, if they had known it to be un- 
 deserved. The former weaves in her honour some of his 
 most melodious couplets : 
 
 'Such eyes as yours on .Jove himself had thrown 
 As bright and fierce a lightning as his own.' 
 
 The word ' fierce,' by the way, does not seem happily 
 
 chosen. 
 
 ' Your beauty more the fondest lover moves 
 With admiration, than his private loves ; 
 With admiration ! for a pitch so high 
 (Save sacred Charles's) never Love durst fly. 
 IJeauty had crowned you, and you must have been 
 The whole world's mistress, other than a Queen.' 
 
 In a strain not less glowing sings Sir William Davenant : 
 
 ' Fair as unshaded light, or as the day 
 Of the first year, when every month was May ; 
 Sweet as the altar's emoke, or as the new 
 Unfolded bud, bathed by the morning's dew ; 
 Kind as the willing saints, but calmer far 
 Than in their dreams forgiven votaries are.' 
 
 Milton accuses Charles of what is a grave fault in a ruler, 
 the inability to stand alone. ' Whether with his enemies or 
 
 '^ S. E. Gardiner, V. 217. 
 VOL. I. 3 
 
.34 The White King. . ... 
 
 his friends, in the Court or in the camp, he was always in 
 .the hands of another ; now of his wife, then of the bishops ; 
 now of the peers, then of the soldiery; and last, of his 
 enemies : that for the most part he followed the worse 
 counsels, etc., almost always, of the. worser men.' After ihe 
 death of Buckingham, his chief advisers were Laud and 
 Strafford; but it maybe admitted that his Queen had a con- 
 siderable influence over him, such an influence as an 
 attractive woman will necessarily have over the man who 
 loves her. Though Charles was by no means so feebly 
 uxorious as he is sometimes represented, he was prone like 
 most men of obstinate temper, to assume an attitude of 
 resistance when there was Uttle or nothing to be gained by 
 -it, and to yield when it would have been wiser and more 
 profitable to have held his ground. Obstinacy was, indeed, 
 the keynote of his character ; and the errors of his policy 
 and the misfortunes of his reign were due in no small 
 jneasure to this perverse tenacity of his, the piquant mark 
 fli a narrow but conscientious mind. 
 
 In the dismissal of Henrietta Maria's French household, 
 however, his obstinacy served him well ; for it required no 
 ordinary firmness to resist the pressure of every Icind that 
 Tvas brought to bear upon him to secure their retention. 
 This afi'air was the first cloud on his married life ; but the 
 respect of his subjects and his domestic peace were involved 
 in it, for the insolence of the priests, and courtiers, and 
 bedchamber women who formed the Queen's entourage 
 had risen to an almost incredible height. She was induced 
 by her confessors to commit an act of supreme folly, which 
 gave a great and unnecessary shock to public opinion — 
 walking barefooted to Tyburn on the 5 th of November, in 
 commemoration of the wretches who had been justly 
 punished for their share in the Gunpowder Plot. A con- 
 temporary writer accuses them of subjecting her to many 
 other indignities:* ' Have they not made her dabble in the 
 dirt,' he says, ' in a foul morning from Somerset House to 
 » Ellis, ' Original Letters,' iii. 238. 
 
Personal History of Charles 1. 35 
 
 St. James's, her Luciferian confessor riding along by her in 
 his coach? Yea, they have made her to go barefoot to 
 Spain, to eat her meat out of tryne [wooden] dishes, to 
 wait at the table, and serve her servants, with many other 
 ridiculous and absurd penances.' The national pride, as 
 well as the national piety, was wounded by the Queen's sub- 
 serviency to her ' foreign priests.' 
 
 On one occasion, when Charles and his Queen were dining 
 in public, Henrietta's confessor placed himself by the side 
 of the King's chaplain, and when the latter began the usual 
 grace, vociferated a Latin benediction. The chaplain, in- 
 dignant at the interruption, thrust away the offender, who 
 then crossed over to the Queen's side and resumed his 
 benediction with redoubled energy. Charles silenced the 
 ill-mannered competitors by drawing towards him one of 
 the dishes, and signing to the carvers to begin their duties. 
 When dinner was over, the confessor proceeded to return 
 thanks ; but the chaplain had already started, and the two 
 then essayed who should silence the other, raising their 
 voice continually, to the great disgust of all who were 
 present. Taking Henrietta by the hand, Charles withdrew 
 her from the disreputable scene.* 
 
 The letter-writers of the day record numerous scandals 
 oi this kind. Thus, in the royal chapel, a Koman Catholic 
 nobleman is described as ' praying on purpose louder than 
 the chaplain prayed,' until at last the King sent him an 
 angry message : ' Either let him come and do as we do, or 
 I will make him prate further off.' 
 
 After undergoing much tribulation, Charles made up his 
 mind to expel the whole colony from the country. He was 
 willing, however, that they should take their departure 
 quietly, if it were possible, and employed the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham, who was then at Paris, to obtain the Queen-Mother's 
 intervention; but without avail. Henrietta, on her part, 
 complained to her brother, King Louis XIH., who sent over 
 
 ** See Mead's letter to Stuteville, in the elder D'Israeli's ' Curiosities 
 of Literature.' 
 
 3—2 
 
36 The White King. 
 
 the Marshal de Bassompierre to see if some conciliatory 
 arrangement could not be effected. It was with much re- 
 luctance that Charles admitted him to an interview, and 
 his overtures he received with a good deal of indignation. 
 Words ran high, and at last Charles, losing all self-control, 
 inquired why he did not at once discharge his commission, 
 and declare war. ' I am not a herald,' replied Bassom- 
 pierre, ' to declare war ; but a marshal of France to make 
 it when declared.' Bassompierre says : 'The King put him- 
 self into a great passion, and I, without losing my respect 
 to him, replied to him in such wise that, at last, yielding 
 something, he conceded a great deal to me.' Charles, how- 
 ever, remained firm in his resolution that ' the foreigners ' 
 should depart ; and this exodus was finally a,ccomplished 
 in July and August, 1626./ They carried with them a good 
 deal of sterling English ^money ; for to expedite their de- 
 parture, Charles distributed among them gratuities to the 
 amount of £22,672. 
 
 In Charles's final quarrel with his Parliament, Henrietta 
 no doubt exercised what influence she possessed to stimulate 
 him to violent measures. Her ignorance of the true cha- 
 racter of the questions at issue was as complete as might 
 be expected in a daughter of Henri Quatre, who became 
 a wife and a Queen while still in her girlhood ; and aU. her 
 ideas centred in the maintenance and extension of the 
 authority of the Crown. In 1641, when events were 
 gradually shaping themselves so as to bring nearer every day 
 the terrible issue of war, she constantly urged upon the 
 King an attitude of resistance ; and unfortunately she 
 became an active agent in bringing about his fatal resolu- 
 tion of impeaching the Puritan leaders, Lord Kimbolton, 
 Pym, Hampden, Haselrig, HoUis, and Strode, for high 
 treason in corresponding with the rebellious Scotch Cove- 
 nanters. Legally, the correspondence was covered by an 
 act of oblivion to which Charles had given his assent in the 
 preceding year ; but he persuaded himself that it would be 
 sufficient to work their downfall, and on the 3rd of January, 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 37 
 
 1642, directed his Attorney-General to accuse Lord Kim- 
 bolton and the five members before the House of Lords* 
 The points of the indictment were seven in number. The 
 first charged the accused generally with an attempt to 
 subvert the Government and fundamental laws, and place 
 in subjection an arbitrary and tyrannical power. Second, 
 with the traitorous endeavour to put aspersions on his 
 Majesty and his Government, to alienate the affections of 
 his people, and make his Majesty odious to them. Third, 
 with having striven to draw the King's late army to side 
 with them in their treasonable designs. The fourth charge 
 imputed to them the traitorous invitation and encourage- 
 ment to a foreign power [Scotland] to invade his Majesty's 
 kingdom of England. The fifth accused them of having 
 traitorously endeavoured to subvert the rights and very 
 being of Parliaments. The sixth, referring to some out- 
 bursts which had taken place in the city, said that, for the 
 completing their traitorous designs, they had endeavoured, 
 as far as in them lay, by force and terror, to compel the 
 Parliament to join with them, and to that end had actually 
 raised and countenanced tumults against the King and 
 Parliament. And the seventh, that they had traitorously 
 conspired to levy, and actually had levied, wars against the 
 King. 
 
 With its leaders in the Tower, Charles doubtless calculated 
 that he would be able to break down the resistance of an 
 opposition, which, numerically, was very little superior to his 
 own party.f He therefore sent a demand to the Commons 
 that the accused members of the Lower House should be 
 placed under arrest; the Commons replying that his message, 
 being matter of great consequence, and concerning the 
 privilege of all the Commons of England, would be taken 
 into their serious consideration, and that, in all humility and 
 
 * John Forster, 'Arrest of the Five Members,' pp. 160-165. 
 
 f The Grand Kemonstrance was carried by a majority of only 
 eleven (159 against 148)— a majority increased to twenty-three whea 
 it was ordered to be printed. 
 
"38 The White King: 
 
 duty, they would attend his Majesty ■with an answer with as 
 much speed as the greatness of the business would permit, 
 adding that the said accused members in the mean time 
 should be ready to answer any legal charge made against 
 them. The House had already adopted Pym's motion that 
 the authorities of the City should be requested to station 
 some companies of trained bands as a guard upon the safety 
 of Parliament, and also to post strong defences and watches 
 about the City streets and walls ; for it was known that of late 
 there had been a great gathering of officers and cavaliers at 
 Whitehall, capable of any desperate action. This motion 
 was now converted into an order, which, through the mem- 
 bers for the City, was transmitted to the Lord Mayor and 
 other great civic officials. Shortly afterwards the House 
 separated. 
 
 That evening, Charles took counsel with Digby and the 
 Queen, and resolved that he would in person arrest the 
 accused members on the morrow. He knew that the pro- 
 ceeding was both illegal and unconstitutional, but he had 
 involved himself in such difficulties that to recede or stand 
 stiU was almost equally impossible. ' It is usual,' says Mr- 
 Forster, ' to treat the attempt which he was now about to 
 make as an act of rashness far transcending in its danger 
 that which already, through his Attorney-General, he had 
 made, and far surpassing, in its folly, all his other acts of 
 state since his return [from Scotland] ; as an underta,king 
 which he never would have dared to submit to any of his 
 advisers, and an adventure which necessarily he must have 
 undertaken, if at all, on his own individual responsibiHty.' 
 Nor does this view take sufficiently into account the antece- 
 dent circumstances, the challenge flung down to the House, 
 the continued exasperation of the citizens, and the position 
 in which, amidst an agitated populace, the previous day's 
 failure had left the King. There are occasions when what 
 would ordinarily be the weakness of despair becomes the 
 courage of necessity. AU the dangers inherent to a deliber- 
 ** Clarendon, iy. 154. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 89 
 
 ate attack on the privileges of the House of Commons, and' 
 on the persons of its leaders, had already been incurred. 
 These considerations doubtlessly decided Charles in the 
 course he adopted : though in the evening he was afflicted 
 with a spasm of hesitation, and laid before Henrietta somS 
 strong reasons for abandoning it. She, however, if she lacked 
 her father's state-craft, had all her father's courage. ' Go, you 
 coward !' she said, ' and pull those rogues out by the ears, or 
 never see my face more.' Charles hesitated no longer, but 
 before he left Whitehall, the Queen, in her exultation, 
 entrusted the secret to her ill- chosen confidante Lady 
 Carlisle, who at once made it known to Lord Grey, and by 
 him it was conveyed to Pym and his friends.* 
 
 The next morning, January 4th, when the House met, the 
 five members asserted their innocence, and the articles of 
 accusation were sent up to the Lords as ' a scandalous 
 paper,' with a request that inquiry might be made into their 
 authority. Members then began to take notice of ' a great 
 conference of armed men about Whitehall,' and of other 
 threatening movements, and information thereof was sent 
 into the City ' to the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Common 
 Council there assembled.' After which, at noon, the House 
 adjourned for an hour. In that hour much took place. It 
 was then that Lord Grey communicated to Pym the infor- 
 mation he had received from Lady Carlisle, with a warning 
 that he and his friends would do well to absent themselves. 
 They thought it their duty, however, to attend the afternoon 
 sitting, make known the startling intelligence they had 
 received, and request to be advised upon their line of 
 conduct. Should they withdraw, or wait the King's arrival? 
 Ultimately, on news arriving that Charles had left Whitehall, 
 and with an armed force was marching towards Westminster, 
 it was resolved that the House give the members leave to 
 retire. Pym, Hampden, Haselrig, and Hollis immediately 
 took the course which policy as well as prudence dictated. 
 The impetuous Strode would have remained to face the 
 « Forster, p. 139 
 
40 The White King. 
 
 ■worst, but a member seized bim by tbe cloak, and dragged 
 him off to the river side, where boats were always in waiting. 
 The five were all conveyed in safety to the City. 
 
 It was about three o'clock when Charles, screwing up his 
 courage to the sticking-point, hurried downstairs, followed 
 by his nephew, the Elector Palatine. Exclaiming, ' let my 
 faithful subjects and soldiers foUow me ! ' he sprang into a 
 coach which happened to be near the door, and drove off, 
 with a retinue of some three or four hundred men, who 
 struck terror as they passed. The shopkeepers in the mean 
 buildings which had been erected against the north end of 
 Westminster Hall hastily closed their windows. Charles 
 alighted, and strode rapidly through the Hall between the 
 ranks of his desperadoes. As he mounted the steps which 
 led to the House of Commons, he made a sign to them to 
 await his return there. About eighty of them, however, 
 who perhaps, had been previously instructed what to do, 
 hastUy followed him into the Lobby, and it was afterwards 
 noticed that for this purpose ' divers of the late army in the 
 North and other desperate ruffians' had been selected. 
 
 ' Charles did his best,' says Mr Gardiner,* ' to maintain a 
 show of decency. He sent a message to the House inform- 
 ing them of his arrival. As he entered, with the young 
 Elector Palatine at his side, he bade his followers on their 
 lives to remain outside. But he clearly wished it to be known 
 that he was prepared to use force if it were necessary. The 
 Earl of Eoxburgh leaned against the door, keeping it open so 
 that the members might see what they had to expect in case 
 of resistance. By Roxburgh's side stood Captain David 
 Hyde, one of the greatest scoundrels in England. The rest 
 were armed with swords and pistols, and many of them had 
 left their cloaks in the Hall, with the evident intention of 
 leaving the sword arm free. 
 
 ' As Charles stepped through the door which none of his 
 predecessors had ever passed, he was, little as he thought 
 it, formally acknowledging that power had passed into 
 <> S. R. Gardiner, x. 138. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 41 
 
 new hands. The revolution which his shrewd father had 
 descried when he bade his attendants to set stools for the 
 deputies of the Commons as for the ambassadors of a king, 
 was now a reality before him. He had come to the 
 Commons because they would no longer come to him. To 
 Charles the new constitutional fact was merely a temporary 
 interruption of established order. In his eyes there was 
 visible no more than a mortal duel between King Charles 
 and King Pym.'* 
 
 He entered, and the members uncovered. Charles also 
 removed his hat, and casting one sharp glance at Pym's 
 empty seat, stepped quickly up to the left hand of the 
 Speaker's chair. Lenthall, the Speaker, advanced a pace 
 or two to meet him. ' Mr. Speaker,' said he, ' I must for a 
 time make bold with your chair ;' and standing upon the 
 step, he surveyed the House with quick, restless eyes. 
 Then, with the stammer and laboured utterance that were 
 natural to him, he addressed them : ' Gentlemen, I am 
 sorry for this occasion of coming unto you. Yesterday I 
 sent a sergeant-at-arms upon a very important occasion to 
 apprehend some that by command were accused of high 
 treason; whereunto I did expect obedience, and not a 
 message. And I must declare unto you here that albeit no 
 king that ever was in England shall be more careful of 
 your privileges, to maintain them to the uttermost of his 
 power than I shall be ; yet you must know that in cases of 
 treason no person hath a privilege. And, therefore, I am 
 come to know if any of these persons that were accused 
 are here.' 
 
 He paused, and looking round the House, added : ' I do 
 not see any of them. I think I should know them.' 
 
 Again he paused. ' Gentlemen,' he resumed, ' I must 
 tell you that so long as those persons that I have accused 
 — for no slight crime, but for treason — are here, I cannot 
 expect that this House will be in the right way that I do 
 heartUy wish it. Therefore, I am come to tell you that I 
 ° S. K. Gardiner, x. 139. 
 
42. : The White King. ' 
 
 must have them, wheresoever I find them.' Eor a third 
 time he paused, and, after a moment's delay, called out,' 
 'Is Mr. Pym here ?' There was no answer. He asked for 
 Mr. HoUis. Still a general silence ; prevailed. He then 
 asked lenthall, the Speaker, whether they were present. 
 Lenthall was not usually remarkable for courage ; but he 
 rose to the occasion, and with equal ingenuity and force 
 replied : ' May it please your Majesty, I have neither eyes 
 to see nor tongue to speak in this place, but as the House 
 is pleased to direct me, whose servant I am here ; and I 
 humbly beg your Majesty's pai'don that I cannot give any 
 other answer than this to what your Majesty is pleased to 
 demand of me.' ' Well, well,' answered Charles, with forced 
 vivacity ; ' 'tis no matter. I think my eyes are as good as 
 another's.' A long pause — a ' dreadful silence ' ensued. 
 Another wistful survey of the House told the unfortunate 
 King that his stroke had missed, and a sense of the con- 
 sequences of his failure oppressed his mind. Desiring to 
 excuse himself, he said, ' Well, since I see all my birds are 
 flown, I do expect from you that you will send them unto 
 me as soon as they return hither. But I assure you, on 
 the word of a King, I never did intend any force, but shall 
 proceed against them in a legal and fair way, for I never 
 meant any other. And now, since 1 see I cannot do what 
 I came for, I think this no unfit occasion to repeat what I 
 have said formerly, that whatsoever I have done in favour 
 and to the good of my subjects, I do mean to maintain it. 
 I will trouble you no more, but tell you I do expect, as 
 soon as they come to the House, you will send them to me; 
 otherwise I must take my own course to find them.' And 
 his anger breaking through his assumed calmness, he 
 added, ' For their treason was foul, and such an one as 
 they would all thank him to discover.'* 
 
 With these words he quitted the House, ' in a more dis- 
 contented and angry passion than he came in,' many 
 members, as he passed by, in a mood as angry and dis- 
 
 * Rush-worth, iv. 473 ; ib. 299. See Forster, pp. 183-185, 194. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 4'8 
 
 contented as his own, repeating aloud the ominous word 
 ' Privilege ! privilege !' Followed by his band of armed 
 men, who were much disappointed that they had not been 
 let loose upon the Commons, he returned to the palace, 
 where he was received by the Queen with frowns and hot 
 words and the opprobrious name of ' poltroon.' 
 
 III. 
 
 The most interesting chapters in Charles's personal history 
 are those which relate to his imprisonment and death ; and 
 with these we may here concern ourselves without tres- 
 passing on the province of the national historian, bringing 
 together such details as belong to the man rather than to 
 the King. After the crushing defeat at Naseby, Charles 
 had no resource but to throw himself into Oxford, which 
 had followed his fortunes with chivalrous loyalty ; but the 
 approach of Fairfax and his victorious army compelled him 
 to seek some safer asylum, if such were to be found. At 
 one time he thought of throwing himself on the generosity 
 of the citizens of London ; at another, of claiming the 
 protection of the Scottish army, which then lay at Newark. 
 He decided, after some hesitation, to adopt the latter 
 course. He chose as his companions on the dangerous 
 journey John Ashburnham, groom of the bed-chamber, 
 assuming the disguise of his servant, and Dr. Hudson, a 
 clergyman, who was well acquainted with the country they 
 had to traverse. On the night of the 27th of April, 1646, 
 orders having been issued at the different gates of the town 
 to allow three persons free passage, he and his attendants 
 crossed Magdalen Bridge and set out upon their hazardous 
 adventure. They possessed an old pass which had been 
 given them by an officer of the Royal army; and upon this 
 they relied as a safeguard if they fell in with any parties of 
 soldiers. It proved of great utility at their first stage^ 
 Dorchester, in Oxfordshire, when it carried them through a 
 troop of dragoons. 
 
44 The White King. 
 
 From Dorchester they rode, by way of Henley and 
 Maidenhead, to Brentford. At Benson they were examined 
 with some suspicion by a party of horse, but on Ashbum- 
 ham's assertion that they belonged to the Commons were 
 suffered to proceed. At Nettlebed, not a little to their 
 annoyance, a soldier of Ireton's regiment joined them, and 
 kept them company as far as Slough. Observing how 
 liberally Hudson distributed money among the troopers 
 this man turned to the King, who, as we have said, was 
 dressed as a servant, and inquired if his master was of the 
 House of Lords. ' No,' said Charles quietly ; ' he belongs 
 merely to the Lower House.' 
 
 At Brentford Charles once more hesitated whether it 
 would not be better for him to trust himself to the Parlia- 
 ment and the citizens ; but deciding against what would 
 probably have been the safer policy, he and his attendants 
 turned their faces northward, and through Harrow-on-the- 
 Hill rode to Uxbridge, where they deceived another guard 
 with their pass. At Hillingdon he arrived on Monday 
 morning, April 27, between 10 and 11, and stayed for two 
 or three hours ' at one Mr. Teasdale's house, a tavern ' (the 
 Red Lion). Here he experienced another mental conflict ; 
 but it ended, as before, in a resumption of the route to 
 Newark. In passing through St. Albans they met 'an old 
 man with a halbert,' who asked to what party they 
 belonged. Hudson said, ' To the Parliament ;' and throw- 
 ing him a sixpence they urged their horses onward. "When 
 about. a mile beyond St. Albans, they were alarmed by the 
 incident of a horseman galloping furiously after them ; so 
 that the King and Ashburnham turned into a bye-path, 
 and left Hudson to face the suspicious stranger. He turned 
 out, however, to be merely a drunken cavalier, who dashed 
 past them without taking the slightest notice, even of 
 Hudson's courteous salutation. Thence, by a circuitous 
 route, which it is unnecessary to particularize, the King 
 crossed Leicestershire and Norfolk, and at length reached 
 the Scotch camp at Newark, where he surrendered himself 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 45 
 
 to the charge of Lord Leven, the general* (May 5 th, 
 1647). 
 
 He had soon sufficient reason to feel that he had com- 
 mitted a mistake. The Scots treated him neither with 
 affection nor with respect ; he was subjected to a rigid 
 surveillance, was refused, access to his friends and all cor- 
 respondence with them, and was daily lectured or insulted 
 by the Scotch preachers. On one occasion the Presby- 
 terian minister selected, as part of the service of the day, 
 the psalm beginning. 
 
 ' Why dost thou, tyrant, boast thyself, 
 Thy wicked deeds to praise ?' 
 
 But the king, as soon as the obnoxious words were given 
 out, rose from his seat, and calmly proposed to substitute. 
 
 ' Have mercy, Lord, on me, I pray. 
 For men would me devour.' 
 
 It is said that the congregation had the good taste to 
 follow the King's Iqad. 
 
 The Scotch Presbyterian majority in the House of 
 Commons were at first not dissatisfied with his retirement to 
 the Scotch camp. They understood it to mean that he was 
 willing to make concessions, and hastened to submit to him 
 the conditions on which a reconciliation was possible. They 
 demanded that Parliament should have power over the 
 militia for twenty years ; that he should exclude from civil 
 and military office all ' Malignants ' or Royalists who had 
 engaged in the war ; that he should take the Covenant, 
 abolish Episcopacy, and support the Presbyterian form of 
 Church government. These terms, considering the relative 
 positions of the negotiating parties, were not severe, and 
 their acceptance was urged upon him by the Scottish leaders, 
 by his own advisers, even by the Queen ; but with an almost 
 incredible obstinacy he put them aside. His object was to 
 play ' a waiting game.' ' I am not without hope,' he wrote, 
 ' that I shall be able to draw either the Presbyterians or 
 
 * Peck's 'Desiderata Curiosa,' lib. ix. pp. 9-21. Cf. Clarendon, 
 V. 393, 420. 
 
46 , The White King. 
 
 the Independents, to side with me for extirpating 'onQ 
 another. . . . All my endeavours must be the delaying of 
 my answer till there be considerable parties visibly formed.' 
 He expected that the Presbyterians and. the Independents 
 would break out into internecine conflict ; and for months no 
 answer could be obtained from him. When it was given, it 
 proved to be a refusal. The rage and mortification of the 
 majority were extreme. ' What wUl become of us,' said one of 
 them, ' now thait the King has rejected our proposals ?' ' What 
 would have become of iis,' rejoined an Independent, 'if he 
 had accepted them ?' In their perplexity the Presbyterian 
 chiefs resolved on a bold stroke. ' It was plain that the 
 King's game lay in balancing the army against the 
 Parliament, and that the House could hope for no sub- 
 mission to these terms so long as the New Model was on 
 foot. Nor could they venture in its presence to enforce 
 religious uniformity, or to deal as they would have wished 
 to deal with the theories of religious freedom, which were 
 every day becoming more popular. But while the Scotch 
 army lay at Newcastle, and while it held the King in its 
 hands, they could not insist on dismissing their own soldiers. 
 It was only the withdrawal of the Scots from England, and 
 their transfer of the King's person into the hands of the 
 Houses, that would enable them to free themselves from the 
 presence of their own soldiers by disbanding the New Model.' 
 These two objects were easily secured. The Scots, who 
 did not know what to do with their prize, gladly accepted, 
 in January, 1647, a sum of £400,000 in discharge of their 
 claims, transferred Charles to the care of nine commissioners 
 of both Houses, and marched back over the Border. With 
 every mark of respect, the Commissioners conveyed the 
 King to Holmby, or Holdenby House, (February 13th), and 
 the Presbyterians rejoiced in the possession of a person so 
 important to a successful development of their game. They 
 then voted that the New Model should be disbanded, and 
 another army, which should be exclusively officered by 
 Presbyterians, levied for the suppression of the rebellion in 
 
History of Charles I. 47 
 
 Ireland. Before consenting to so summary a dismissal, tlie 
 veterans who had fought under Cromwell and Fairfax 
 demanded their arrears of pay, indemnity for all acts done 
 in war, and a free discharge (according to contract) from 
 service in Ireland, except under their old oiEcers. As the 
 Presbyterian leaders pushed forward their schemes for 
 imposing the Covenant on the nation, the army manifested 
 an increased unwillingness to disband. For this was no 
 force of mercenaries, heedful only of pay and plunder, but 
 an army of Christian soldiers, who had taken their hand 
 from the plough and grasped the sword to do, as they 
 behoved, the special work of the Lord of Hosts. They were 
 the flower of the English middle-class : thoughtful men, 
 who had learned the principles of liberty in religion as well 
 as politics, and were as resolute to resist the tyranny which 
 sought to fetter the conscience, as the, tyranny which had 
 menaced their persons and properties. Eichard Baxter 
 furnishes us with a glimpse of their serious temper: — 
 'Abundance of the common troopers,' he said, 'and many 
 of the officers, I found to be honest, sober, and orthodox 
 men, and others tractable, ready to hear the truth, and of 
 upright intentions ; but a few proud, self-conceited, hot- 
 headed sectaries had got into the highest places, and were 
 Cromwell's chief favourites, and, by their heat and activity, 
 bore down the rest, or carried them along with them, and 
 were the soul of the army. They said, What were the lords 
 of England but William the Conqueror's colonels, or the 
 barons but his majors, or the knights but his captains ? They 
 plainly showed me that they thought God's providence would 
 cast the trust of religion and the kingdom upon them 
 as conquerors.' Such was, indeed, their solemn conviction. 
 Each one of them believed that he had a personal duty 
 to discharge in preserving that religious freedom 'for which 
 so many of their friends' lives had been lost, and so much 
 of their own blood had been spilt.' In becoming soldiers, 
 they had not ceased to be citizens ; and the sword they had 
 drawn as soldiers, they would use in defence of their rights 
 
48 The White King. 
 
 as citizens. Such an army had never served in England 
 before ; such an army has never served in England since. 
 It may be doubted, indeed, whether the world has ever seen 
 its equal or its like. 
 
 The political action of the army was directed by an 
 organization entitled ' The Council of Adjutators or Assist- 
 ants/ who, in the first days of power, by a sudden and 
 dexterous blow, completely baffled the schemes of the Pres- 
 byterian leaders. 
 
 Holmby, or Holdenby House, in Northamptonshire, where 
 Charles was detained, was one of the nineteen palaces belong- 
 ing to the Crown, having been purchased for the King by 
 his mother, Anne of Denmark, when he was Duke of York. 
 His progress thither had been attende4 by signs of loyalty 
 well-fitted to raise his spirits, and to kindle in him a hope 
 of ultimate triumph. ' It is noteworthy,' says Herbert, ' that, 
 through most parts where his Majesty passed, some out of 
 curiosity, but most (it may be presumed) for love, flocked 
 to behold him, and accompanied him with acclamations of 
 joy, and with their prayers for his preservation : and that 
 not any of the troopers who guarded the King gave those 
 country people any check or disturbance, as the King 
 passed, that could be observed, a civility his Majesty was 
 well pleased with.' On his arrival, 'very many country 
 gentlemen, gentlewomen, and others of ordinary rank, stood 
 ready there to welcome the King with joyful countenances 
 and prayers.' During his stay he was treated with the usual 
 etiquette, except that his liberty was restricted. He was 
 allowed to ride out on horseback, and, accompanied by the 
 Parliamentary Commissionets, frequently visited Althorp or 
 Harrowden in order to enjoy a game at bowls, to which he 
 was exceedingly partial. He took walking exercise daily. 
 But it is needless to say that rigorous precautions were 
 observed to prevent his escape. Clandestine attempts were 
 made to communicate with him and his adherents, but all 
 were detected. There was a certain Mary Cook, of a re- 
 spectable family at Stamford, who undertook to convey an 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 49 
 
 important letter to him, trusting to her acquaintance with 
 the hostess of one of the Presbyterian captains who belonged 
 to the Royal Guard. At his hostess's request, the officer 
 consented to obtain for the Stamford gentlewoman the 
 honour of kissing the King's hand. Meanwhile, however, 
 the hostess, with characteristic feminine imprudence, had 
 told her husband the real object which Mary Carr had in 
 view, and the husband, alarmed at the possible conse- 
 quences, had revealed it to the captain. Accordingly, on 
 the day appointed for her admission to the royal presence, 
 the young lady made her appearance at Holmby, but was, 
 immediately arrested by order of the Commissioners, and 
 rigorously searched. Nothing was found on her person ; 
 but some days afterwards an important letter was discovered 
 behind the hangings of the room, where, it was supposed 
 she had managed to conceal it. 
 
 While the Kiag was a prisoner in the hands of the Scots, 
 he despatched a Major Bosville, on whose fidelity he could 
 rely, with a letter to the Queen at Paris. Having obtained 
 her reply, Bosville returned to England, and made his way 
 to Holmby, where he lingered in the neighbourhood for 
 several days, watching for an opportunity to deliver his 
 despatch. ' Three nights he spent at the meanest cottages, 
 and twice slept under furze-bushes in the open air.' At 
 last he assumed a rustic dress, and, with a fishing-rod in 
 his hand, waited by a narrow bridge, which he knew the 
 King would have to cross. Making a low obeisance, he 
 placed the documents in Charles's hands. Unfortunately, 
 the Commissioners detected him ; Charles told them, how- 
 ever, that it was simply a letter from the Queen, recom- 
 mending that the Prince should serve in the French army 
 during the next campaign. Bosville was afterwards examined 
 by the Commissioners, but he does not seem to have been 
 punished for his loyalty. 
 
 The harshest feature of the Commissioners' conduct was 
 their refusal to allow Charles to enjoy the ministrations of 
 his own chaplain. In this, however, they were supported 
 by the Presbyterian majority in the Commons, who refused 
 
 VOL. I. 4 
 
50 The White King. 
 
 the appeals which Charles twice addressed to them on the 
 subject. ' The Parliament,' says Neal, ' appointed two of 
 their clergy, Mr. Caryl and Mr. Marshall, to preach in the 
 chapel, morning and afternoon, on the Lord's-day, and to 
 perform the devotions of the chapel on week-days ; but his 
 Majesty never gave his attendance. He spent his Sundays 
 in private, and, though they waited at table, he would not 
 so much as admit them to ask a blessing. He was also 
 limited in the number of his personal attendants ; but this 
 was a measure of precaution, which the Parliament were 
 compelled, by the very necessity of the case, to adopt ; and 
 his entourage was eventually reduced to two grooms of 
 the bed-chamber, Maxwell and Maule, to whom Harrington 
 and Sir Thomas Herbert were afterwards added. Mean- 
 while, his physical well-being was not affected by his mental 
 troubles. Kegular exercise and an abstemious diet kept 
 him in excellent health. Herbert tells us that he drank 
 but twice, ' only dinner and supper, once of beer and once 
 of wine and water mixed, only after fish a glass of French 
 wine ; the beverage he himself mixed at the. cupboard, as 
 he would have it ; he very seldom ate and drank before 
 dinner, or between meals.' 
 
 Charles was at Althorp, playing bowls with the Com- 
 missioners, on the afternoon of the 3rd of June, when 
 intelligence arrived that a large and suspicious-looking 
 body of horse was rapidly approaching Holmby. The 
 Commissioners, after brief consultation, deemed it prudent 
 to return thither, where a posture of defence could better 
 be assumed. At midnight arrived Cornet Joyce, with five 
 hundred troopers, commissioned by the Council of Adju- 
 tators to seize the King's person. On his knocking at the 
 gate for admission, the officer in charge demanded his 
 name and person. His name was Joyce, he replied; he 
 was a cornet in Colonel Whalley's regiment, and he desired 
 to speak with the King. From whence did he come ? 
 From himself — an answer which provoked the Presbyterian 
 officer to ' a contemptuous laugh.' Joyce retorted that it 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 51 
 
 was no. laughing matter ; as, indeed, it was not. Mean- 
 while, the troopers outside, and the soldiers inside, had 
 been amicably conversing, and, finding that they belonged 
 to the same army, and had fought for the same cause, the 
 latter threw open the gates, and Joyce took possession of 
 Holmby House. 
 
 After he had posted sentinels at suitable points, Joyce, 
 pistol in hand, betook himself to the royal apartments, and 
 knocked loudly at the door of the grooms of the bed- 
 chamber, in order to gain admission to the King's presence. 
 The royal attendants, on learning his name and object, 
 resolved to sacrifice themselves rather than that he should 
 succeed ; though the sacrifice would have been absolutely 
 useless, as Joyce had full command of the house, and a 
 sufficient force to crush all opposition. Charles Avas 
 aroused by the turmoil, but, on being informed of the 
 cause, positively refused to rise at so early an hour, and 
 Joyce thereupon retired. Early next morning he was 
 summoned before the King, whom he at once informed he 
 had been sent to remove him from Holmby.* ' Where is 
 your commission for this act ?' said Charles. ' It is behind 
 me,' replied the Cornet, pointing to his soldiers, who were 
 drawn up in good order in the inner court. ' And it is 
 written in very fine and legible characters,' replied the King 
 smiling. ' I will depart willingly,' he added, ' if the soldiers 
 confirm all that you have promised me. You will exact 
 from me nothing that offends my conscience or my honour?' 
 ' It is not our maxim,' replied the Cornet, ' to unstrain the 
 conscience of anyone, still less that of our King.' 
 
 Next day the King set out from Holmby in his carriage, 
 attended by three of the Commissioners, the Earls of Pem- 
 broke and Denbigh, and Lord Montague ; the others 
 followed behind on horseback. At Hinchinbrook he was 
 splendidly entertained by Montague for a couple of days. 
 
 This exceedingly ingenious and daring stratagem com- 
 
 ® It would S3em tbat Charles was in communication with the- 
 Adjatators, and fully prepared for his removal. 
 
 4—2 
 
52 Tlie White King. 
 
 pletely overthrew the projects of the Presbyterian faction. In 
 their wrath they fiercely attacked Cromwell, who had relin- 
 quished his command, and for some time had been engaged 
 in endeavouring to establish a good understanding between 
 the Army and the Parliament. Their violence forced him 
 to imite his interests with those of the army, who eagerly 
 accepted him as their chief and representative; and on 
 the 10th of June marched upon London with loud cries of 
 ' Justice ! justice !' Halting at St. Albans, they laid before 
 the Commons an accusation of eleven of the Presbyterian 
 leaders as the authors of the existing troubles ; and, after 
 some hesitation, these eleven found it advisable to 'ask 
 leave to retire for six months.' The demands of the army, 
 as set forward in a letter addressed to the Lord Mayor, 
 Aldermen, and Common Council of the City of London, 
 were by no means immoderate. 'We desire,' they said, 
 ' no alteration of the Civil Government. As little do we 
 desire to interrupt, or in the least to intermeddle with, the 
 settling of the Presbyterial Government. Nor do we seek 
 to open a way for licentious liberty, under the pretence of 
 obtaining ease for tender consciences. We profess as ever 
 in these things. Whence once the State has made a settle- 
 ment, we have nothing to say but to submit or suffer. Only 
 we could wish that every good citizen, and every man who 
 walks peaceably in a blameless conversation, and is beneficial 
 to the Commonwealth, might have liberty and encourage- 
 ment — this being according to the true policy of aU States, 
 and even to justice itseH' 
 
 Six weeks of chaotic confusion and disorder in Parliament 
 followed ; and then the army, its patience being exhausted, 
 resumed its march upon London, and advanced as far as 
 Brentford, the headquarters of Cromwell and Fairfax being 
 stationed at Hampton Court. 
 
 Meanwhile, the King had passed from Hinchinbrook to 
 Childerley, the seat of Sir John Cutts, about four miles 
 from Cambridge. Thither resorted many of the fellows 
 and scholars ot the University to offer their homage ; and 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 53 
 
 some of the principal officers of the army, including Crom- 
 well, Ireton, Lambert, and Whalley, paid their respects. 
 With Cromwell and Fairfax he had several interviews, and 
 they laid before him the conditions on which the army 
 would replace him in power. From Childerley the King 
 went on to Newmarket, and was lodged in his own palace. 
 To his great satisfaction, he here got rid of Comet Joyce, 
 whose familiarity of manner he had found peculiarly 
 offensive, and some of the restrictions hitherto enforced 
 were withdrawn. He was free to take exercise on the 
 heath, either in his carriage or on horseback ; his chaplains 
 resumed their attendance; and the officers of the army 
 treated him with the greatest deference. He felt himself 
 every inch a King. As in the old days, he dined in public; 
 his presence chamber was thronged with the neighbouring 
 gentry. When he went abroad, the country people received 
 him with loyal shouts. On the 24th of June he travelled 
 to Koyston, where he stayed two days, and thence removed 
 to Hatfield. At the beginning of July he spent a couple of 
 days at Windsor before proceeding to Caversham, Lord 
 Craven's seat, near Reading. On the way he met his 
 children and passed the evening with them at Maidenhead, 
 to his intense delight. Cromwell seems to have been 
 present at the interview, and much impressed by the King's 
 display of affection. ' He told me,' says Sir John Berkeley, 
 ' that he had lately seen the tenderest sight that ever his 
 eyes beheld, which were the interviews between the King 
 and his children, and wept plentifully at the remembrance 
 of it.' Ludlow confirms the statement, and says that the 
 tears rolled down Cromwell's rugged cheeks while he de- 
 scribed the pathetic scene. The children remained with 
 their royal father during his brief stay at Caversham. 
 
 At Woburn the King met with an exceptionally loyal 
 reception. Thence he was conveyed to Latimers, and, in 
 succession, to Moor Park, near Rickmansworth ; Stoke, 
 near Windsor, and Oatlands, near \Veybridge, arriving at 
 Hampton Court in the middle of August. 
 
.54 ' The Whit& King. ■ ■ 
 
 Here he was once more surrounded with the pomp and 
 circumstance of royalty. He dined in public in the 
 Presence Chamber ; he walked in the park and played at 
 tennis : now and then he enjoyed the pleasures of the chase. 
 His favourites were never more servile to him, never more 
 arrogant to others. His former counsellors, Richmond, 
 Capel, Hartford, Southampton, .hastened to rejoin him, as 
 if he were on the point of resuming and exercising the 
 sovereign power. His cherished and coniidential attendants, 
 Berkeley, Ashbumham, Ford, Apsley, passed incessantly 
 between the Court and the headquarters of the army ; and 
 Cromwell's door was always open to them, though rigorously 
 closed against a crowd of persons of rank and distinction. 
 In their turn, Cromwell and Ireton, either by interview 
 or message, maintained with Charles the most intimate 
 relations. They walked with him alone in the park ; they 
 were closeted with him in his cabinet. The wives of the 
 leaders, Mrs. CromweU, Mrs. Ireton, Mrs. Whalley, were 
 presented, and Charles received them with particular dis- 
 tinction. So much familiarity became a scandal. It was 
 openly bruited among the soldiery that their officers were 
 meditating the betrayal of the cause. Cries arose' for the 
 abolition of the House of Lords, for the election of a new 
 House of Commons, even for the abolition of the Monarchy. 
 With his usual courage Cromwiell faced the storm. He 
 prohibited the discussion of those exciting subjects, and 
 ordered the adjutators to rejoin their regiments. He was 
 still anxious to come to terms with the King. He was too 
 conservative to wish to break wholly with the past; too 
 practical to be led away by the theories of enthusiasts ; too 
 great an administrator to bear patiently with disorder and 
 agitations. His object was to effect ' a settlement ' of the 
 nation on the basis of religious tolerance and civil freedom ; 
 and this settlement, he believed, could best be accomplished 
 in alHance with the King, whose name was still a power, 
 who was the only representative and symbol of the historic 
 traditions of the country. But he soon discovered that he 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 55 
 
 was leaning on a broken reed. While Cromwell was risking 
 so much for him, Charles was intriguing with the Presby- 
 terians, intriguing with the discontented in London, in- 
 triguing with the Scotch Covenanters ; and believing that, 
 if he could obtain his liberty, he could carry these intrigues 
 to the desired end, he listened to one of his advisers, who 
 spoke of the Isle of Wight as a convenient and secure 
 asylum. It was within easy reach of the mainland. Its 
 population was notorious for its loyal sympathies. Its 
 governor. Colonel Hammond, was a nephew ^of Dr. Ham- 
 mond, the King's old and faithful chaplain. As was his 
 wont, Charles hesitated; but at length he consented to 
 make the attempt. 
 
 On the 11th of November, professing to feel indisposed, 
 he retired to his bedchamber at an early hour. When 
 all was silent, he passed, accompanied by Ashburnham, 
 Berkeley, and Legge — every man wearing a disguise — 
 through the vaulted passages of the palace into the garden. 
 Thence a private door opened upon the Thames, where a 
 boat was in attendance to convey them across the river to 
 Thames Ditton, Horses had been provided ; and mounting 
 without delay, they rode through the dark and stormy 
 night towards Oatlands, and so on to Sutton, in Hampshire, 
 though the King, who had undertaken to act as guide, lost 
 his way, and took them fuUy ten miles out of their proper 
 course. At the inn they found a committee of the county 
 engaged upon ' the Parliament's business/ and accordingly 
 they remounted and made for Southampton. Some not 
 unnatural apprehensions disturbed the King's mind ; and 
 at his request he and his attendants led their horses down 
 a steep hill, that they might have an opportunity of consider- 
 ing whether he should change his course. Nothing came of 
 the discussion ; but on touching the seashore near South- 
 ampton, Charles found no vessel ready as he had been led to 
 expect, and therefore he turned his horse's head towards 
 Titchfield, the residence of the Countess Dowager of South- 
 ampton, who received him with glad enthusiasm. 
 
56 The White King. 
 
 Here he again held cpunsel with his friends upon the 
 step to be taken next. Ashburnham urged him to carry- 
 out his original design — cross over to the Isle of Wight, 
 and throw himself upon the honour of Colonel Hammond. 
 But ultimately it was agreed that Ashburnham and Berkeley 
 should first visit the island, and confer with Hammond, 
 though they were specially instructed not to acquaint hini 
 with the King's whereabouts, unless he pledged himself 
 not to detain him if he could not undertake his defence. 
 On reaching Carisbrooke, they were told that the Governor 
 had just ridden towards Newport, whither they made haste 
 to follow him. On overtaking him, Berkeley drew him apart, 
 and let him know that the King was in the neighbourhood. 
 ' Hammond,' says Berkeley, ' grew so pale, and fell into such 
 a trembling, that I did really believe he would have fallen 
 off his horse, which trembling continued with him at least 
 half an hour after.' He was firm enough, however, in 
 refusing to give any pledge for the King's safety. He 
 declared his attachment to the royal person, but added that 
 he owed a duty to his superiors. The truth is, that he was 
 by no means a very ardent politician ; but he was an honest 
 soldier, with a soldier's rigid adherence to discipline and to 
 the letter of his orders. It is inconceivable why, in these 
 circumstances, Ashburnham should have carried Hammond 
 back with him to Titchfield, and thus forced upon the 
 conscientious governor a charge which he had not shown 
 any willingness to undertake. When the King learned the 
 untoward result of the expedition, he exclaimed, with much 
 anguish, ' Oh, Jack, thou hast undone me !' ' Jack ' wept 
 bitterly, and ofi'ered to put Hammond to death, which, of 
 course, Charles would not allow. The evil had been done, and 
 nothing could undo it. He received Hammond courteously, 
 and agreed to accompany him back to the Isle of Wight.* 
 
 Meanwhile, at Hampton Court the greatest excitement 
 
 * These details have beeji collected from Clarendon, Ashbnruhani, 
 Berkeley, etc. ; but as Charles escaped from Hampton Court with the 
 distinct intention and resolve of going to Carisbrooke, it is not easy to 
 understand why at the la^t moment any difficulty was made. 
 
PersoTwl History of Charles I. 57 
 
 prevailed. The discovery of the King's escape seems to 
 have been made within about three hours of its having 
 taken place, under the circumstances described by Colonel 
 WhaUey, who was in command at Hampton Court, with 
 great minuteness, in his official despatch to the Speaker : 
 
 ' Mondays and Thursdays,' he says, ' were the King's set 
 days for his writing letters to be sent into foreign parts. 
 His usual time of coming out of his bedchamber on 
 Mondays was betwixt five and six of the clock. Presently 
 after he went to prayers ; and about half an hour after that 
 to supper, at which times I set guards about his bed- 
 chamber, because he made no long stay after supper before 
 he retired himself thither. 
 
 ' About five of the clock I came into the room next his 
 bedchamber, where I found the Commissioners and bed- 
 chamber-men. I asked them for the King. They told me 
 he was writing letters in his bedchamber. I waited there 
 without mistrust till six of the clock. I then began to 
 doubt ; and told the bedchamber-men, Mr. Maule and Mr. 
 Murray, I wondered why the King was so long a-writing. 
 He answered, He wondered too. But withal said: 'The 
 King told him he was to write letters to the Princess of 
 Orange,' which gave me some satisfaction for the present. 
 
 'But my fears with the time increased. So that, when it 
 was seven of the clock, I again told Mr. Maule, I exceedingly 
 wondered the King was so long before he came out. He 
 told me he was writing. I replied, possibly he might be ill, 
 therefore, I thought, he should do well to see, and to satisfy 
 both myself and the House, that were in fears of him. He re- 
 plied, the King had given strict commands not to molest him, 
 therefore durst not ; besides he had bolted the door to him. 
 
 ' I was then extreme restless in my thoughts ; looked oft 
 in at the key-hole, to see whether I could perceive his 
 Majesty, but could not. Pressed Mr. Maule to knock very 
 soft, that I might know whether his Majesty were there or 
 not, but aU to no purpose. He still plainly told me, he durst 
 not disobey his Majesty's commands. 
 
58 The White King. 
 
 ' When it drew towards eight of the clock. I went to Mr. 
 Smithby keeper of the privy lodgings desiringhim to go along 
 with me the back way through the garden, where I had 
 sentinels, and we went up the stairs, and from Chamber to 
 Chamber, till we came to the Chamber next to his Majesty's 
 bed-chamber; where we saw his Majesty's cloak lying on the 
 midst of the floor, which much amazed me. 
 
 ' I went presently back to the Commissioners and bed- 
 chamber men, acquainted them with it, and therefore 
 desired Mr. Maule to see again whether his Majesty was in 
 his bed-chamber or not. He again told me he durst not. 
 I replied, that I would then command him, and that in the 
 name of the Parliament, and therefore desired him to go 
 along with me. He desired that I would speak to the 
 Commissioner to go along Tvith us. I did, and we all went. 
 
 'When we came into the room next the King's bed-chamber, 
 I moved Mr. Maule to go in. He said he would not, except I 
 would stand at the door. I promised I would, and did. 
 
 ' Mr. Maule immediately came out, and said the King was 
 gone. We all then went in, and one of the Com- 
 missioners said, it may be the King is in his closet. Mr. 
 Maule presently replied, and said, He is gone.' 
 
 Among the papers found in the royal bedchamber was a 
 letter from the King to Colonel Whalley, which is charac- 
 teristic enough to merit transcription : 
 
 • Colonel Whalley, — I have been so civilly used by you 
 and Major Huntingdon, that I cannot but by this parting 
 farewell acknowledge it under my hand, as also to desire the 
 continuance of your courtesy, by the protecting of any 
 household stuff and moveables of all sorts which I leave 
 behind me in this house, that they be neither spoiled nor 
 embezzled. Only there are here three pictures which are 
 not mine, that I desire you to restore; to wit, my wife's 
 picture, in blue, sitting in a chair, you must send to Mrs. 
 Kirk ; my oldest daughter's picture, copied by Belcan, to 
 the Countess of Anglesey; and my Lady Stanhope's picture 
 
Personal Hisiofy of Charles I. 59 
 
 to Lady Raleigh. There is a fourth, which I had almost 
 forgot ; it is the original of my eldest daughter ; it hangs in 
 this chamber, over the board next the chimney, which you 
 must send to my Lady Aubigny. So being confident that 
 you wish my preservation and restitution, I rest, 
 
 ' Your friend, 
 
 ' Charles Rex. 
 
 ' P.S. T assure you it was not the letter you showed me 
 yesterday that made me take this resolution, nor any adver- 
 tisement of that kind. But I confess that I am loth to be 
 made a close prisoner under pretence of securing my life. I 
 had almost forgot to desire you to send the black grew-bitch 
 to the Duke of Richmond.' 
 
 Active steps were being taken to trace the King's footsteps 
 when the Houses of Parliament received information of his 
 arrival in the Isle of Wight, and detention in ' Carisbrooke's 
 narrow case,' where he was much more effectually a prisoner 
 than he had been at Hampton Court. In fact his flight was, 
 in every sense of the word, a blunder. It was a voluntary 
 surrender of a position in which he was able to play the 
 Army against the Parliament, and to exercise the influence 
 that still attached to the occupant of the throne for one in 
 which that influence was largely modified, and in which the 
 limitations imposed upon his actions gradually weakened 
 the traditional reverence for the royal person. It provoked 
 the indignation of the Army, which CromweU, with difficulty, 
 prevented from breaking into open mutiny ; and it swept 
 away the confidence which the leaders of the army had been 
 disposed to place in him. 'The King,' said Cromwell, 'is a 
 man of great parts and great understanding; but so great a 
 dissembler, and so false a man, that he is not to be trusted.' 
 A day or two later the Coramons voted that they would 
 make no more addresses to the King ; that none might apply 
 to him without leave of the two Houses, upon pain of being 
 guilty of high treason ; and that the administrative control 
 of England and Ireland should be vested in the ' Committee 
 
60 The White King. 
 
 of the two Kingdoms,' henceforth known, from their place 
 of meeting, as the 'Derby House Committee.' When 
 Charles stole out of the garden-door of Hampton Court he 
 was unconsciously setting his feet in the path that led to 
 Whitehall and its dismal scaffold. 
 
 On landing in the Isle of Wight (Nov. 22nd), escorted 
 by Hammond and his soldiers, Charles spent the first night 
 in a small ale-house at Cowes. The next day he was con- 
 ducted to Carisbrooke Castle. As he passed through New- 
 port, a gentlewoman* presented him with a damask rose, 
 which still braved the November air in her sheltered garden, 
 accompanying it with a prayer for his happiness. The 
 King received it with thanks. 
 
 Colonel Hammond's letter to the Speaker of the House of 
 Peers may here be quoted : 
 
 ' My Lord, — I hold it my duty to give your lordship an 
 account of the King's unexpected coming into this island, 
 and of the manner of it, which was thus : 
 
 ' This morning, as I was on the way passing from Caris- 
 brooke Castle to Newport, Mr. Ashburnham and Sir John 
 Berkeley overtook me, and, after a short discourse, told me 
 that the King was near, and that he would be with me that 
 night ; that he was come from Hampton Court upon infor- 
 mation that there were some intended to destroy his persouj 
 and that he could not with safety continue any longer 
 there ; and that, finding his case thus, choose rather to put 
 himself in my hand, being a member of the army ; whom, 
 he said, he would not have left, could he have had security 
 to his person, than to go to any other place. Being here- 
 with exceedingly surprised at present, I know not what 
 course to take: but upon serious consideration, weighing 
 the great concernment that the person of the King is of, in 
 this juncture of affairs, to the settlement of the peace of the 
 kingdom, I resolved it [to be] my duty to the King, to the 
 Parliament, and kingdom, to use the utmost of my endea- 
 *• Tradition has preserved her name as Frances Prattlev 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 61 
 
 Tours to preserve his person from any such horrid attempt, 
 and to bring him to a place of safety, where he may also be 
 in a capacity of answering the expectations of Parliament 
 and kingdom in agreeing to such things as may extend to 
 the settlement of those great divisions and distractions 
 abounding in every comer thereof. Hereupon I went 
 immediately with them over the water, taking Captain 
 Basket, the Captain of Caris Castle, with me, and found the 
 King near the water-side ; and finding myself no way able 
 to secure him there, I chose, he desuing it, to bring him 
 over into this island, where he now is. 
 
 ' My lord, my endeavours, as for my life, shaU be to pre- 
 serve and secure his person. And I humbly desire I may 
 receive the pleasure of the Parliament in this great and 
 weighty matter ; and that the Lord will direct your counsels 
 to His glory and the kingdom's good and peace, shall be my 
 prayer ; and my endeavour shall be ever to express myself in 
 all things in my power. 
 
 ' My lord, your lordship's and the kingdom's most humble 
 and faithful servant, 
 
 'KoBEKT Hammond. 
 
 Cowes, Nov. 18, 1627. 
 
 The Houses duly thanked Colonel Hammond, and issued 
 instructions for his guidance ; besides voting £5,000 for his 
 Majesty's present necessities and accommodation, £10 daily 
 for his table, and an annual supply of £5,000 ; also reward- 
 ing the Governor, on account of his increased responsibility, 
 with a gratuity of £1,000, and an annuity of £500 for him- 
 seK and his heirs. 
 
 The Parliament's instructions ran as foUows : 
 
 'Resolved by the Lords and Commons in Parliament 
 assembled : 
 
 '1. That the surest place during the time the King shall 
 think fit to continue him in the Isle of Wight be Caris- 
 brooke Castle. 
 
62 The White King. 
 
 ' 2. That no person who hath been in arms, or assisted, 
 etc., in this unnatural war against the Parliament, be per- 
 mitted to come or remain in the same isle during the King's 
 residence there, unless they be inhabitants of the isle, and 
 have compounded with the Parliament. 
 
 ' 3. That no person who hath, been in arms, or assisted in 
 this unnatural war against the Parliament, be permitted 
 to come into the King's presence, or into any fort or 
 castle in the said isle, during the King's residence there, 
 although he be an inhabitant and hath compounded with 
 the Parliament. 
 
 ' 4. That no stranger or person of a foreign nation shall 
 be permitted to come into the King's presence without the 
 directions of both Houses, except such as have warrant 
 from the Parliament of Scotland, or from the committee of 
 that Parliament thereunto authorized, and are not disabled 
 by the propositions agreed on by both kingdoms. 
 
 ' 5. That a sufficient guard be appointed by Colonel Eobert 
 Hammond, Governor of the said isle, for security of the King's 
 person from any violence, and preventing his departing, 
 the said isle without the directions of both Houses.'* 
 
 It must be owned that the position of Colonel Hammond 
 was one of both delicacy and difficulty. If he neglected his 
 trust, he could expect but little from the tender mercies of 
 the dominant party, while, however lenient his treatment 
 of his royal prisoner, he would necessarily incur the sus- 
 picion and dislike of the Royalists. We believe that he 
 endeavoured to do his duty with moderation and gentleness; 
 but this did not shelter him from the insults and calumnies 
 of the Royalist news-letters and pamphlets. Later writers, 
 trusting to these uncertain and dubious authorities, have 
 followed in the same direction. Sir Thomas Herbert, how- 
 ever, who had opportunities of observing him closely, 
 speaks of him in honourable terms, and confesses that the 
 Puritans suspected him of being ' too much of a courtier.' 
 And Taylor, the water poet, though a zealous Royahst, 
 'Journals, House of Commons,' 1547. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 63 
 
 ■warmly vindicates him from the aspersions of his enemies. 
 Premising that he will speak of him without flattery, he 
 says : ' The plain truth is, that myself, with many others, 
 did hate him so much that he was very seldom or never 
 prayed for. The reasons and motives Avhich possessed 
 most men with this mistaking and misapplied inveterate 
 malice was upon the flying, lying reports that the Governor 
 had behaved himself most coarsely, rigid, and barbarously 
 unrespective to his Majesty. The false weekly pamphlets 
 and pamphleteers (being inspired by their father the devil) 
 were not ashamed to publish in print that the Governor 
 had proceeded so far in uncivility as to immure or wall his 
 Majesty in a small, close room, under many bolts, bars, 
 grates, locks, and keys, and debarred him the comforts of 
 his soule and of the society of men ; and further, it was 
 often printed (by severall lying villaines) that the said 
 Governor Hammond did strike the King on the face, and 
 gave him a black eye. These reports being invented by 
 the devil's imps (the firebrands of contention), printed and 
 published by needy, greedy knaves and varlets, and believed 
 by too many fools and foolish Gotehamists (among which 
 number I, with much simplicity, was one) ; and as by oath 
 and duty I am bound to serve, love, and honour my 
 sovereign lord and master, so (on the contrary) myselfe, 
 with all true and loyall subjects, had no cause to be well 
 affected to any man that should dare to affront his Majesty 
 with such transcendent base indignities. 
 
 ' But to give the world satisfaction of the truth, it is 
 certaine that all those aspersions and rumours against 
 the Governour are most odious, scandalous, and malicious 
 lies; for, according to the trust reposed in him, he hath 
 always carried himself with such deportment and humble- 
 ness of dutifuU service to his Majesty, that he hath gained 
 much love and favour from his sovereigne, and such good 
 regard from aU knowing men as belongs to a gentleman of 
 his place and quality.'* 
 
 ° ' Journal of Brit. Archl. Assosiation,' Dec. 1853. 
 
64 The Whiie Kmg. 
 
 Considerable liberty was allowed to Charles during the 
 first few weeks of his detention. He was permitted to enjoy 
 the chase in the green glades of Parkhurst Forest ; to re- 
 ceive the visits of the gentry of the island ; to converse with 
 his naost devoted servants ; and to share the ministrations 
 of his chaplains, Drs. Sheldon and Hammond. Something 
 of the etiquette of a Court still surrounded his person. His 
 household arrangements were under the care of Colonel 
 Hammond's mother, a lady of good family ; and the royal 
 furniture was brought from some of his palaces to give an 
 air of state to the bare chambers of Carisbrooke. 
 
 While Charles was thus sheltered within his prison-asylum 
 and his adherents were everywhere plotting his speedy 
 restoration to power, the victorious Parliament, or more 
 correctly speaking, the majority which controlled its pro- 
 ceedings, were busily endeavouring to effect a settlement of 
 the troubles of the nation ; and on the 14th of December, 
 after prolonged discussion, passed four resolutions, to which, 
 as to an ultimatum, they required the King's assent, before 
 entering upon a personal treaty with him. Their effect was, 
 to place the royal prerogative in the hands of the Parliament, 
 vesting in it the command of the army for twenty years ; to 
 limit the creation of Peers ; to empower the Houses, at their 
 pleasure, to adjourn from place to place ; and to insist upon 
 the King's acknowledgment of the justice of their cause. 
 Encouraged by secret communications with his supporters, 
 and by a treaty which he had privately concluded with the 
 Scotch Commissioners, Charles protested that ' neither the 
 desire of being freed from that tedious and irksome condition 
 of life which he had so long suffered, nor the apprehension 
 of anything that might befall him, should ever prevail with 
 him to consent to any one act till the conditions of the 
 whole peace should be concluded.' 
 
 His partizans, meanwhile, had concerted a plan of escape, 
 and a ship provided by the Queen for some days lingered off 
 the shores of the Wight. The evening of the day on which 
 he forwarded to the Parliament his peremptory rejection of 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 65 
 
 the ultimatum was appointed for the enterprise ; but 
 Hammond obtained inteUigence of it and proceeded to 
 enforce restriction, which he had hitherto avoided. His 
 suspicions were strengthened by a singular emeute which 
 occurred in the town of Newport. 
 
 Among its inhabitants at that time was a certain Captain 
 Burley, who had served in the royal army, and afterwards 
 held a military command in the island. Whether moved by 
 some sudden impulse, or acting on a preconcerted scheme, 
 he caused a drum to be beaten, and drawing together a small 
 company of the more adventurous spirits, declared himself 
 their leader, and proposed to attempt the King's deliverance. 
 But Berkeley and Ashburnham, apprehending no good 
 consequences to their royal master from such an escapade, 
 hastened to dismiss to their homes the noisy volunteers. A 
 detachment of soldiers was sent out from Carisbrooke, 
 Burley taken prisoner, and the riot summarily brought to 
 a conclusion. A Commission of Oyer and Terminer was 
 immediately appointed by the Parliament to sit at 
 Winchester, under Chief Baron Wilde^(January 22, 1648) ; 
 Burley was found guilty of high treason, and on the 2nd of 
 February suffered the usual punishment, behaving with 
 heroic fortitude, and exclaiming to the last, ' Fear God and 
 honour the King !' 
 
 The Parliament seems to have been much alarmed by 
 this strange episode, the particulars of which are surroimded 
 with obscurity. Sir William Constable, Lieutenant-Colonel 
 Goffe, and Lieutenant-Colonel Salmon were sent from the 
 army to the Isle of Wight. Keinforcements of troops were 
 poured in, the ports garrisoned and victualled ; and Vice- 
 Admiral Kainsborough's fleet was ordered to cruise off the 
 island. The safe custody of the King was entrusted to a 
 special Commission, known from the place of its meeting 
 as the Derby House Committee. It consisted of seven Peers, 
 the Earls of Kent, Manchester, Northumberland, and 
 Warwick, the Lords Roberts, Say and Sele, and Wharton, 
 and thirteen commoners — Sir William Armine, Sir John 
 VOL. I. 5 
 
66 The White King. 
 
 Evelyn, Sir Gilbert Gerrard, Sir Arthur Haselrig, and Sir 
 Harry Vane, the Lieutenant-General Cromwell, and Pierpoint, 
 Harry Vane the younger, Francis, Brown, Crew, St. John, 
 and Wallop. They communicated direct with Hammond, 
 the correspondence being conducted in cj'pher ; and their 
 measures were so well devised, and they were served by such 
 faithful and skilled agents, that every movement of the 
 Koyalists was known to them, and they frequently apprised 
 Hammond of plots hatched in his immediate neighbourhood, 
 of which he himself had not the slightest knowledge. 
 
 The conditions of the King's imprisonment were at once 
 made more onerous, and he was watched with a more 
 vigorous vigilance. Four conservators were appointed, 
 Herbert, Mildmay, Captain Titus, and Preston, who took it in 
 turns, two at a time, to guard the royal apartments. When 
 Charles took exercise he was always accompanied by 
 Colonel Hammond, and his walks were confined within the 
 precincts of the Castle. Most of his personal attendants were 
 dismissed, a circumstance which greatly afi'ected him, though 
 not so much as the departure of his chaplain, who was 
 ordered to leave the island. Hammond, however, did what 
 he could to lighten the burden of the King's imprisonment. 
 He converted the barbican or place of arms of the Castle into 
 a bowling-green, ' scarce to be equalled, and at one end 
 built a pretty summer-house for retirement.' His manner 
 was marked by courteous deference, and he was careful always 
 to respect his sovereign's privacy. A contemporary writes* 
 that his Majesty is as merry as formerly; ' all quiet and fair 
 between his Majesty and Colonel Hammond.' He adds that 
 ' His Majesty takes usually every morning a walk about the 
 Castle wall, and the like in the afternoon, if fair ; much time 
 spent every day in private ; he speaks most to us at dinner.' 
 The King's daily course of life at this period was monotonous 
 enough ; he rose early, prayed, and read the Scriptures, then 
 breakfasted, and afterwards took exercise within the walls — 
 a place sufficiently large and convenient for his walking, and 
 " Rushworth, ' Collections,' iv. 2. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 67 
 
 having good air, and a delightful prospect both to the sea 
 and land. ' After he had dined, — and during his dinner, 
 always a temperate one, he entered into familiar converse 
 "with those who waited on him, — he withdrew to his closet, 
 and read or wrote until the evening meal. Then he took 
 further exercise, and so, at an early hour, retired to rest.' 
 
 His favourite books have been noted down. ' The Sacred 
 Scriptures he most delighted in; read often in Bishop 
 Andrews' Sermons ; Hooker's " Ecclesiastical PoHty ;" Dr. 
 Drummond's works ; Villapandus upon Ezekiel, etc. ; 
 Sands' (Sandy's) " Paraphrase upon King David's Psalms ;" 
 Herbert's "Divine Poems;" and also "Godfrey of Bul- 
 loigne," written in Italian by Torquato Tasso, and done into 
 English heroic verse by Mr. Fairfax — a poem his Majesty 
 much commended, as he did also Ariosto, by Sir John 
 Harrington, a facetious poet, much esteemed of by Prince 
 Henry, his master ; Spencer's " Fairie Queen," and the like, 
 for alleviating his spirits after serious studies.' He amused 
 himself occasionally in composition ; wrote some common- 
 place verses, the ' Suspiria Regalia, or Royal Sighs,' and 
 ' Majesty in Misery ;' and translated from the Latin Dr. 
 Sanderson's treatise, ' De Juramentis.' Of his little library 
 Herbert was the faithful custodian. 
 
 Charles was very fond of writing Latin and Greek 
 
 mottoes in his books ; his favourite was ' Dum spiro, spero ' 
 
 (' While I breathe I hope '). In one he wrote a couplet, 
 
 which was evidently an expression of his own feelings : 
 
 ' Kebus in adversis facile est contemnere vitam ; 
 Fortiter ille facit qui miser esse potest.' 
 
 (' It is easy to despair life when we are in adversity ; the 
 brave man is he who calmly endures wretchedness '). The 
 King's scholarship was considerable ; Herbert reports that 
 he was conversant with five languages — Latin, Greek, 
 French, Spanish, and Italian. 
 
 He told Sir Philip Warwick, that his best companion 
 was ' an old, little, crumpling man/ who ' for three months 
 together made my fire ;' but this statement must surely 
 
 5—2 
 
68 The White King. 
 
 have been exaggerated or misunderstood, as Sir Thomas 
 Herbert continued in close attendance on the King through- 
 out his captivity. From the time that he was deprived of 
 his usual retinue ' he would never suffer his hair to be cut, 
 nor cared he to have any new clothes ; so that his aspect 
 and appearance was very different from what it had used to 
 be ; otherwise, his health was good, and he was much more 
 cheerful in his discourses towards aU men, than could have 
 been imagined after such a mortification of all kinds. He 
 was not at all dejected in his spirits, but carried himself 
 with the same majesty he had used to do. His hair was 
 all gray, which, making all others very sad, made it thought 
 that he had sorrow in his countenance, which appeared 
 only by that shadow.'* 
 
 As the poUtical complications of the kingdom increased 
 in difficulty, and involved every day more serious conse- 
 quences to the King, his friends devoted all their energies 
 to the perfection of a plan of escape. 
 
 Amongst the household was a gallant and ingenious man 
 named Henry Firebrace. He was known to the King, and 
 privately summoned to join him at Carisbrooke, for which 
 purpose he applied to the Commissioners for permission to 
 wait upon the King as page of the bedchamber, and 
 obtained their consent. His first step was to open up com- 
 munications with the King's friends in the island, among 
 whom was one of the conservators or wardens of the island, 
 named Captain Titus, and through his means he obtained 
 entire freedom of access to his Majesty. When he had any 
 letters to deliver, he concealed them in a certain flaw in the 
 royal bedchamber, where in due time the King also 
 deposited his answer. And in the wainscot, which was 
 covered by thick hangings, was made an aperture, through 
 which the King could secretly communicate with his 
 attendants, instantly letting fall the tapestry on the approach 
 of any suspicious person. 
 
 These preliminaries having been effected, Firebrace and 
 « Clarendon, yi. 190-198. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 69 
 
 Titus proceeded to elaborate their plans ; taking into their 
 confidence Mr. Edward Worsley of Gatcombe, Mr. John 
 Newland of Newport, and a Mr. Eichard Osburn, or 
 Osborne, 'a gentleman of an ancient family and singular 
 good parts/ who had been placed about the King's person 
 by the Parliament, but had been converted by Charles's 
 gracious manner and conversation into a zealous Koyalist. 
 They decided, after long discussion, on the following 
 project of escape. 
 
 The King, at a certain signal made by Firebrace, a stone 
 thrown against his bedroom window, was to force himself 
 through the casement, and lower himself therefrom by a 
 stout rope. Firebrace had some misgivings as to the 
 narrowness of the opening ; but Charles felt certain that 
 where his head could pass, his body would follow. On his 
 safely gaining his feet, Firebrace would conduct him across 
 the court, where no sentinel was stationed, to the great 
 wall, which he was to descend by means of a thick rope, 
 with a stick attached to it for a seat. Then, climbing 
 the low counterscarp, he would find a horse ready saddled 
 (with boots and pistols), and Osborne and Worsley, well 
 mounted, waiting to escort him across the island to the 
 seashore, where Mr. Newland would be in readiness with a 
 well-appointed sailing-boat. 
 
 The night came. Charles dismissed his attendants, as 
 if he were retiring t^ rest. Worsley and Osborne, mean- 
 while, had gained their appointed posts ; and on the other 
 side of the island was Newland, with his well-found craft. 
 Firebrace took up his station beneath the King's window, 
 and gave the signal.* ' Then his majesty,' says Firebrace, 
 ' put himself forward, but, too late, found himself mistaken, 
 he sticking fast between his breast and shoulders, and not 
 able to get backward or forward ; but that, at the instant 
 before he endeavoured to come out, he mistrusted, and tied 
 a piece of his cord to a bar of the window within, by 
 means whereof he freed himself back. Whilst he stuck, I 
 * See G. Hillier, ' Narrative of the Detention of Charles I.,^ pussim. 
 
70 The White King. 
 
 heard him groan, but could not come to help him, which, 
 you may imagine, was no small affliction to me. So soon 
 as he was in again, to let me see, as I had to my grief 
 heard, the design was broken, he set a candle in the 
 window. If this unfortunate impediment had not hap- 
 pened, his majesty had certainly then made a good escape.' 
 
 Firebrace warned his confederates of the failure of their 
 scheme by flinging stones from the high wall at the place 
 where the King should have descended. They took the 
 alarm, and got away without being discovered. 
 
 Some hint of the project, however, had reached the 
 Derby House Committee ; and Cromwell wrote to Ham- 
 mond, to put him on his guard, expressly naming Firebrace 
 ' as the gentleman who led the way,' and cautioning him 
 against Captain Titus, Dowatt, and others of the royal 
 household. Firebrace was soon after dismissed, though not 
 before he had succeeded in arranging a new mode of com- 
 munication with the King's friends, and rendering some 
 help towards a second attempt at escape. He wrote to a 
 Mrs. Whorwood, ' a tall, well-fashioned, and well-languaged 
 gentlewoman,' and a staunch Eoyalist, who resided in 
 London ; and desired her to forward some files and aqua- 
 fortis to sever the window-bars. For these things she had 
 recourse to William Lilly the astrologer, who, in his turn, 
 applied to one George Farmer, a locksmith, in Bow Lane. 
 The Derby House Committee, however, were apprised of 
 Firebrace's expedients. The aquafortis never reached the 
 King, being ' upset on the road ;' but, in spite of the pre- 
 cautions of his keepers, he received a hacker, intended to 
 convert into saws a couple of knives which Charles had 
 managed to hide away. 
 
 It was at this time that the King was removed from 
 the apartments he had occupied since his confinement at 
 Carisbrooke to the chief-officer's, ' in a building on the left 
 side of the first court." As the window here contained only 
 a single bar, Hammond ordered the insertion of another, 
 so as to leave scarcely five inches between each bar and the 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 7l 
 
 stone muUions. Beneath it was thrown up a platform of 
 earth, where a sentinel was stationed, and big guns were 
 mounted so as to command the various approaches. 
 
 Under certain restrictions the King was still permitted 
 to give audience to those who waited upon him. He 
 held frequent conversations with a Mr. Troughton, the 
 governor's Puritan chaplain, who, as a young man of good 
 parts, ' could argue pretty well.' On one occasion, while 
 disputing with him more warmly than usual, Charles 
 suddenly took a sword from an officer who was in attend- 
 ance, and drew it, much to the alarm of the young 
 disputant; but a gentleman present, better interpreting 
 the King's intention, bent his knee, received the honour of 
 knighthood, and rose ' Sir John Duncomb.' The King 
 remarked that at that time he had no better method of 
 acknowledging his services. 
 
 Occasionally the King received a gift of a newly published 
 work from its author. A Mr. Sedgwick posted down from 
 London to present him with his 'Leaves of the Tree of 
 Life.' He accepted it for perusal, read it, and returned it, 
 ironically remarking, ' That, by what he had read in that 
 book, he believed the composer stood in some need of 
 sleep.' 
 
 In the month of May a new attempt at escape was 
 meditated. The proposition was that Charles should sever 
 the iron window-bars with a file or some aquafortis, let 
 himself down, cross the bowling-green, descend the counter- 
 scarp, mount a horse ready saddled, and, accompanied by 
 Osborn and Worsley, ride across the island to the seashore, 
 embark on board Mr. Newland's boat, and go to the coast 
 of Hampshire. There he would find horses in readiness to 
 convey him to Sir Edward Alford's seat, near Arundel, in 
 Sussex, whence, at a suitable opportunity, he might proceed 
 to Queensborough, and take ship for Holland. But Major 
 Rolfe, Hammond's deputy, ' a fellow of low extraction and 
 very ordinary parts,' a fanatical Puritan, and a brutal 
 • soldier, obtained information; so that when Charles, on the 
 
72 The White King. 
 
 evening of Sunday, May the 20th, made the attempt, ho 
 found, on coming to the window, more persons in waiting 
 than he had expected, and scenting danger, closed the 
 casement, and calmly retired to rest. Kolfe, at a vantage 
 point, had posted a soldier on whom he could rely, with 
 orders (it is said) to fire at the King if he got through the 
 window; others, armed with pistols, were stationed round 
 about, so that his escape would have been impossible. 
 Osborne and Worsley, taking the alarm, rode off at full 
 gallop, passing uninjured through the fire of the musketeers 
 placed in order to intercept them ; but on reaching New- 
 land's boat, the master refused to take them on board, 
 because they were unaccompanied by the King. So, leaving 
 their horses on the shore, they hid themselves in the woods 
 of Gatcombe for several days, obtaining provisions at night 
 through the agency of a kinsman of Mr. Worsley's, until 
 they found an opportunity of escaping from the island, and 
 making their way to London. 
 
 Osborne immediately addressed a letter to Lord Wharton, 
 in which he expressed a strong conviction that Kolfe had 
 intended to murder the King, and repeated conversations 
 to that effect, which Rolfe had held with him when he was 
 understood to be in the interest of the Parliament. As 
 Lord Wharton ignored his communication, Osborne ad- 
 dressed himself to the Peers, who took up his complaint 
 very seriously, and invited the Commons to join with them 
 in investigating its truth. 
 
 Abraham Dowatt, who had assisted in the project of 
 escape, and whose fidelity had long been considered doubtful, 
 was examined in support of Osborne's statement ; but, being 
 ' imperfect in the Enghsh language,' was permitted to put 
 in the following written declaration (July 3rd) : 
 
 ' 1. I am ready to make oath that Mr. Richard Osborne 
 told me the King's person was in great danger, and that 
 the said Rolfe had a design on foot for the conveying his 
 Majesty's person to some place of secrecy, where only three 
 should go with him, and where they might dispose of his 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 73 
 
 person as they should think fit ; which information from 
 Mr. Osborne, and the assurance I had of his Majesty's in- 
 tentions forthwith to come to his Parhament," was the cause 
 of my engagement in this business. 
 
 ' 2. I am ready likewise to depose that the said Rolfe 
 came to me (when I was a prisoner in the Castle) and, in a 
 jeering manner, asked me why the King came not down 
 according to his appointment; and then, with great in- 
 dignation and fury, said he waited almost three hours under 
 the new platform, with a good pistol ready charged to 
 receive, if he had come.' 
 
 Major Rolfe strongly protested his innocence : 
 
 ' My Lords, — Knowing myself (I speak in the presence 
 of that God Who searcheth all hearts) to be perfectly clear 
 and innocent of that foul and horrid crime charged upon 
 me, that I abhor the very thought of it, earnestly desiring 
 an opportunity of appearing for vindication of my innocency, 
 or whatever else malice in wicked men can lay against me ; 
 resting fully assured that, whatsoever reward I shall find 
 at the hands of men, I shall enjoy the happiness of an 
 upright and peaceable conscience with the same God in 
 Whose presence I stand. 
 
 'Edwaed [? Edmund] Rolfe.' 
 
 The charge brought against him by Osborne and Dowatt 
 is unsubstantiated by any other evidence than their own ; 
 and it seems improbable that the wary Puritan would have 
 indulged in such dangerous confidences with men whose 
 attachment to the King had long been suspected. Nor, at 
 that time, would the King's death have been of any special 
 advantage to Rolfe's party. His guilt, however, was very 
 generally credited by the Royalists, who were ready to 
 believe anything, however monstrous, of their adversaries, 
 and it furnished the news-writers and pamphleteers of the 
 day with a prolific subject for their malignant pens. Thus, 
 a versifier exclaims : 
 
74 The White King. 
 
 ' That he [the King] hath 'scaped the cursid plot 
 Thanks, Osborn, unto thee !' 
 
 Mercurius Bellicus, July 11th, 1648. 
 
 Another is more elaborate : 
 
 ' Now if the people do proceed to sing, 
 God curse the Parliament and bless the King : 
 If they continue their unpleasant notes — 
 Give us our Prince or else we'll cut your throats ; 
 Then there may hap a treaty, Rolfe may die. 
 Else Osborn's trust for his discovery.' 
 
 Mercurius Psittacus, July 10th. 
 
 An anonymous pamphleteer indulges in a curious rhap- 
 sody anent the King's sufferings in his captivity : 
 
 ' And were it but onely for abusing their sovereigne lord 
 the King in so vile and transcendant a manner, they (the 
 Puritan leaders) could not but expect the strictest 
 vengeance, while, contrary to their oathes, their frequent 
 solemn protestations, their publishing to the world in print 
 that they intended nothing but his preservation with the 
 supportance, and backing him in all his just privileges, 
 they have shut him up in prison, put so strict a guard upon 
 him that he enjoyeth not the liberty of the meanest of his 
 subjects; have accused him for poisoning his father,* 
 thereby endeavouring, as much as in them lay, not only to 
 render him odious in the eyes of his subjects, but also to 
 take away his life ; have limited his meales, so that the 
 meanest gentleman is served with more varieties ; and, 
 which is worst of all, have made Hammond, the worst of 
 villaines, his jailer, whom they countenance — yea, authorize 
 — to revile him on all occasions to his face; which hell- 
 hound, the other day, upon a pretended order from them, 
 in the dead of night, came and knockt at his Majestie's 
 door, and when the King, all amazed, demanded who was 
 there, he told him it was he, and he must come in. His 
 Majestic desired him to put off the business till the morrow, 
 but he replied he neither could nor would, and that if he 
 opened not the door he would break it open, whereupon the 
 meek prince presently arose, and, casting his cloak about 
 * See ante, chapter I. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 75 
 
 him, admitted him. Being in, he told him he had an order 
 from the Houses to search his cabinet for letters, wherefore 
 his Majestie, opening his cabinet, took thence two letters, 
 and left him to view the rest, which the trayter perceiving, 
 demanded them also. The King told him he should not 
 have, them, and, with that word, threw them into the fire ; 
 -when Hammond, endeavouring to gain them, the King 
 tripped up his heels, and laid him on the fire also. Where- 
 upon the viUaine bauld out for aide, when presently came 
 in a ruffian, and laid hands on the King in such a rude 
 manner as he would have strangled him, and, striving with 
 him, pusht his face upon the hilt of Hammond's sword, 
 whereby it was extremely bruised ; and, attempting him 
 further, hit him also against the 'pommel of a chair, 
 whereby his Majestie's eye is black and blue ; but Tuaugre 
 the utmost of the two devils, the letters were burnt, and 
 Hammond, rising up, threatened his Majesty in very 
 opprobrious language, and so departed at that point.'* 
 
 Here is another example of the calumnies circulated 
 about Hammond : 
 
 ' They have any time this six months frequently solicited 
 Hammond (a mercenary slave, a fellow whose literature lies 
 in his heels, and whose nature is so flexible that with small 
 ■allurements he may be woo'd to act any kind of villanie), 
 his Majestie's demoniacall jaylor, to convey his Majestie's 
 person out of the Isle of Wight to some more obscure place 
 (perhaps to immure him in some hollow cave cut out of the 
 intraills of the earth), and there to dispatch him by poyson, 
 to depress him beneath a feather-bed, or as hell should 
 prompt his executioner ' (' Mercurius Bellicus,' July 5th). 
 
 Kolfe was tried at Winchester on the 28th of August, 
 acquitted, and shortly afterwards discharged from custody ; 
 when the Commons ordered him, as a recompense for his 
 imprisonment, a gift of £150. He returned to the Isle of 
 Wight, and resumed his position at Carisbrooke Castle. 
 
 The two Houses of Parliament had resolved, on the 3rd 
 » ' Declaration from the Isle of Wight,' 1648. 
 
76 2%e White King. 
 
 of August, that a personal treaty should be negotiated with 
 the King, in the hope of securing ' a settlement ' of the 
 distractions of the realm ; and it was ultimately agreed that 
 the necessary conferences should take place at Newport, the 
 chief town of the Isle of Wight. 
 
 Fifteen Commissioners were appointed to represent the 
 two Houses — five peers : the Earls of Middlesex, Northum- 
 berland, Pembroke, and Salisbury, and Lord Say and Sele ; 
 and ten Commoners : Thomas, Lord Wenman, Sir Harbottle 
 Grimston, Sir John Potts, Sir Harry Vane, Samuel Brown, 
 John Bulkley, or Buckley, John Ems, Denzil Holies, William 
 Pierrepoint, and John Glynn, the Kecorder of London. It 
 was estimated that £10,000 would defray the expenses, and 
 the Commissioners were allowed £200 towards their personal 
 outlay. Messrs. Marshall and Eye were appointed chap- 
 lains. The restrictions upon the King's personal liberty 
 were considerably relaxed ; horses were provided for him to 
 take his pleasure, and a certain number of peers, prelates, 
 clergy, and gentry were permitted to repair to the Isle of 
 Wight to attend upon him. Amongst them were the Duke 
 of Eichmond, the Marquis of Hertford, the Earls of Lindsay 
 and Southampton, who were named Gentlemen of the Bed- 
 chamber ; the Bishops of London and Salisbury, the Dean 
 of Canterbury, Doctors Sanderson and Heywood, his Chap- 
 lains ; Nicholas Oudart, Charles Whitaker, Sir Edward 
 Walker, and Sir Philip Warwick, his Secretaries; Henry 
 Firebrace, Clerk of the Kitchen ; and Anthony Mildmay, his 
 Carver. 
 
 The royal household were lodged in Mr. Matthew 
 Hopkins's house, near the Grammar School ; the Parlia- 
 mentary Commissioners at the Bull (now the Bugle) Inn ; 
 and the debates between the two parties took place in the 
 Town Hall, where the King sat upon a dais, under a canopy, 
 and the Commissioners on each side of a long table, at a 
 convenient distance from him. When he desired refresh- 
 ment, or to consult with his friends, he withdrew to an 
 adjacent chamber. During the negotiations Charles dis- 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 77 
 
 played so clear an intellect and so keen an apprehension, as 
 to conquer the admiration even of the most hostile of the 
 Commissioners. Sir Harry Vane pronounced him ' a person 
 of great abilities.' ' The Earl of Salisbury,' says Clarendon, 
 ' thought him " wonderfully improved of late." ' 
 
 This important Conference, in which the interests of the 
 kingdom were so deeply involved, lasted over three months. 
 A minute report of each day's proceedings is furnished by 
 Nicholas Oudart, in his ' Diary ;'* but we shall here confine 
 ourselves to personal details. 
 
 During his residence at Newport, Charles continued his 
 practice of rising early. He gave the usual length of time 
 to his performance of his religious duties ; then breakfasted, 
 and devoted the morning to discussions with the Commis- 
 sioners. Afterwards he gave audience to the gentry of the 
 island, who waited upon him to pay their respects ; to his 
 friends, and to poor creatures suffering from the king's evil, 
 who wished to be ' touched ' by his healing fingers. Taylor, 
 the water-poet, mentions some of these cases. Having 
 dined, he conversed with his chaplains and the bishops in 
 attendance ; and, after supper, retired to his private apart- 
 ment to take note of the events of the day, and dictate 
 letters to the Queen or the Prince of Wales. 
 
 On Sundays, one of the royal chaplains, or some learned 
 divine, performed Divine service in the apartment in the 
 Grammar School now used as the schoolroom. The names 
 of the preachers, and the texts which they expounded, are 
 preserved by Oudart : 
 
 Sunday, Oct. 8. Dr. T. Turner. John v. 14. 
 
 Sunday, Oct. 15. Dr Heywood 
 
 Wednesday, Oct. 25 (fast-day). Dr. B. Baylis. Psalms xlii. 5, 6. 
 
 Sunday, Oct. 29. Dr. T. Turner. Matt. xi. 28. 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 5. Dr. Heywood. Psalms Ixviii. 1. 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 12. Dr. Jos. G-ulson. 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 19. Archbp. of Armagh. Genesis xlix. 3. 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 26. Dr. Sanderson. Hebrews x. 4. 
 
 Oudart also preserves two quaint couplets, ' written about 
 <* See Peck's ' Desiderata Curiosa' (edit. 1779), book ix. 
 
78 The White King. 
 
 this time, in the King's own hand,' which were found among 
 the royal manuscripts : 
 
 ' A coward's still unsafe, but courage knows 
 No other foe but him who doth oppose.' — 
 
 And— 
 
 ' A pickshank and a picklock, bbth are alike evil ; 
 The difE'rence is, this trots, that ambles to the devil.' 
 
 In Royston's collection of ' The Works of King Charles 
 the Martyr ' (ed. 1672), we find the following reports of the 
 speeches delivered by the King during the Newport negotia- 
 tions. 
 
 The first was addressed to the Parliamentary representa- 
 tives on the arrival at Carisbrooke, August 7th, 1648. 
 
 The votes of the two Houses having been read and pre- 
 sented to his Majesty, the Earl of Middlesex desired his 
 ' speedy answer ;' their return being limited to ten days. 
 
 The King then asked whether the ten days were not to 
 be counted from that of the delivery of the message. 
 
 ' No, sir,' replied the Earl ; ' they are to be counted 
 from the day of our setting forth.' 
 
 The King : ' I have not, then, five days allowed me to 
 consider of my answer, which I presume you expect in 
 writing ; and I have none to help me — no, not so much as 
 a clerk to transcribe. I will really contribute my best 
 endeavours to a happy peace.' 
 
 After a short pause he added : ' I would have sent to the 
 Parliament ; but I desire them to take notice that my long 
 silence proceeds not from a dull stupid laziness, or my 
 being insensible of my own or the kingdom's condition, 
 but from the incapacity that lay on me by reason of former 
 votes. But now a way is opened to a treaty, which I ever 
 apprehended as the only means to a durable peace, I shall 
 cheerfully embrace it, and none shall more speedily run to 
 it than myself. And, for my part, as being more concerned 
 than anyone in this kingdom, nay, should I say more than 
 all, I speak it without vanity, I hope it will be thought no 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 79 
 
 hyperbolical expression, for I am assured, whosoever gains, 
 I shall be a loser." . . . 
 
 ' His Majesty then read the votes to himself, after which 
 he said : " I like them well ; my desires being included in 
 these votes ; for what can I desire more than to treat with 
 honour, freedom and safety upon the proposition, and such 
 other things, as either I or the two Houses shall offer ?" 
 
 ' Then asking whether the Commissioners to treat were 
 yet nominated, Middlesex answered, " No, sir." 
 
 ' The King : " In a treaty two sorts of things are consider- 
 able, some necessary, others convenient." Then, breaking 
 off, he said, " I will go and apply myself to my answer, that 
 I may not delay a minute to promote so good a work ;" 
 and so withdrew, dismissing the Commissioners.' 
 
 The second was on Thursday, August 10, when Lord 
 Middlesex and his colleagues came to consider the King's 
 answer. 
 
 ' He said. He was sorry he was limited to so short a time, 
 and had so little help for despatch ; yet, notwithstanding, 
 he had prepared hts answer. 
 
 ' Before the reading of it, he added, That the last message 
 he sent to the Houses was delivered to the Commission as 
 sealed ; and had it been so presented, it would have been 
 better for him. But now he thought fit to send this open, 
 because he could not be in a worse condition, being under 
 so close a restraint, none being suffered to speak a word to 
 him without suspicion. 
 
 ' Then, producing his answer, he read it aloud in the 
 presence-chamber, being full of company, which done, he 
 said that he hoped he had therein endeavoured to give 
 satisfaction to his Parliament; there being nothing in it but 
 what he conceived was implied in their votes. 
 
 ' And further added. That there might be some that 
 would oppose this treaty, as being gainers by these wars, 
 and therefore desired the continuance of it. Others might 
 think him revengeful, but, he said, he was so far from 
 
80 The White King. 
 
 seeking revenge, tliat if a straw lay in their way to hurt 
 them, he would stop and take it up to prevent it. God 
 forgive them, for so I do. 
 
 ' Then the Commissioners coming to take their leaves, 
 his Majesty asked them how they liked his answer. They 
 replied, They thought and hoped it would produce a 
 sudden and happy well-grounded peace.' 
 
 The third speech was addressed to the Commissioners at 
 the first close of the Treaty, at Newport, November 4, 1648. 
 
 ' His Majesty said. That he hoped they were now 
 sensible that none was more desirous of a good and lasting 
 peace than himself; that he had gone very far to give 
 his two Houses satisfaction ; that he thought, though the 
 time for the Treaty was ended, yet the Treaty itself was 
 not ; that he expected to hear from his two Houses about 
 his own propositions, and would be ready to make his con- 
 cessions binding by giving them the force of laws. 
 
 ' He desired that they would put a good interpretation 
 upon his vehement expressions in some of his debates, there 
 being nothing in his intentions but kindfless ; and that as 
 they had taken abundance of freedom, and showed great 
 abilities in their debates, which have taken his Majesty off 
 from some of his own opinions, so he doubted not, had they 
 had power to recede, some of his reasons would have pre- 
 vailed with them, as he is confident, had it been with his 
 two Houses, it would have done with them ; and therefore 
 beseeches them to take the same freedom with his two 
 Houses, to press them to a compliance with him in those 
 things his conscience is not yet satisfied, in, which more 
 time may do, his opinion not being like the laws of the 
 Medes and Persians, unalterable or infallible. 
 
 ' He added his very hearty thanks for the pains they had 
 taken to satisfy him, professing that he wanted eloquence 
 to commend their abilities. He desired them candidly to 
 represent all the transactions of this treaty to his two 
 Houses, that they might see nothing of his interest, how 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 81 
 
 near or dear soever, but that wherein his conscience is un- 
 satisfied, can hinder on his part a happy conclusion of this 
 treaty. 
 
 The fourth and last was spoken when the Commissioners 
 took leave, Nov. 27 : 
 
 ' My Lords, you are come to take your leave of me ; and 
 I believe we shall scarce ever see each other again ; but 
 God's will be done. I thank God I have made my peace 
 ■with Him, and shall without fear undergo what He sh^U 
 bp pleased to suffer man to do unto me. 
 
 ' My Lords, you cannot but know that in my fall and 
 ruin you see your own, and that also near to you. I pray 
 God send you better friends than I have found. 
 
 ' I am fuUy informed of the whole carriage of the plot 
 against me and mine ; and nothing so much afflicts me as 
 the sense and feeling I have of the sufferings of my subjects, 
 and the miseries that hang over my three kingdoms, drawn 
 upon them by those who, upon pretences of good, violently 
 pursue their own interests and ends.' 
 
 Meanwhile, the army had become more powerful than 
 the Parliament, and its leaders had resolved to get the 
 King's person into their own hands. Fairfax summoned 
 Colonel Hammond, whose fidelity to his trust was a serious 
 obstacle in their way, to the headquarters at Windsor ; and 
 Colonel Ewer was ordered to repair to the island, take charge 
 of the King, and remove him from Newport to Carisbrooke. 
 
 But Colonel Hammond, though compelled to obey th^ 
 General's orders in a matter of military discipline, refused 
 to surrender the trust reposed in him by the Parliament to 
 any other authority ; and before his departure for Windsor, 
 devolved the government of the island and the custody of 
 the King's person upon three officers. Major Kolfe, Captain 
 Bowerman, and Captain Hawes. They were strictly enjoined 
 to prevent the King's removal. 
 
 On the 27th of November Charles signed the treaty ; and 
 
 VOL. I. 6 
 
82 The White King. 
 
 the Commissioners, accompanied by Colonel Hammond, 
 immediately set out for London. The King, with his suite, 
 returned to Carisbrooke. 
 
 The leaders of the army, however, were resolved to secure 
 his person, and for this purpose they despatched to the 
 island a strong body of horse and foot, under Lieutenant- 
 ■Colonel Cobbit. One of the royal attendants was informed 
 •of their arrival by a person in disguise, and the King was 
 necessarily much alarmed. He summoned to his presence 
 the Duke of Kichmond, the Earl of Lindsay, and Colonel 
 Cooke, who, though one of Cromwell's soldiers, was warmly 
 attached to the King. As the result of their deliberations, 
 Cooke repaired to Rolfe, and acquainted him that the King 
 wished to know whether the army had resolved to seize 
 him that night. 
 
 ' Not that I know of,' replied Rolfe ; and he added, ' You 
 may assure the King from me that he may rest quietly 
 this night' 
 
 Cooke, noticing the stress placed upon these words, 
 pressed him further on the intentions of the army, but 
 without obtaining any satisfactory answer. Rolfe promised, 
 however, to give the King due notice of what they might 
 purpose in reference to his removal. But he did not keep 
 his promise. 
 
 Having acquainted the King with what had passed, 
 •Colonel Cooke, ' though the night was extraordinarily dark, 
 and the rain fell in torrents, made his way to Newport, 
 where he speedily found his worst fears confirmed.' The 
 streets were thronged with soldiers — with the faces of men 
 whom he well knew ; and he soon discovered that any 
 officer suspected of sympathizing with the King had been 
 removed, and his place supplied by a commonwealth man. 
 'The Governor (Captain Bowerman) plainly told him he 
 was no better than their prisoner in his own garrison, for 
 they had threatened him with immediate death if he but 
 so much as whispered with any of his servants.'* 
 *• Colonel Cooke's 'Narrative.' 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 83 
 
 During his absence Firebrace had vainly endeavoured to 
 persuade the King to escape under cover of the prevaiUng 
 confusion, and make for the coast, where John Newland's 
 boat might still be made available. But the King, having 
 given a pledge ' not to go out of the island during the treaty, 
 nor twenty days after, without the advice of both Houses of 
 Parliament,' steadily refused. 
 
 On Colonel Cooke's return to the Castle, ' he found,' he 
 
 says, ' a great alteration Guards not only set round 
 
 the King's lodging, and at my window, but even within 
 doors also; nay, sentinels in the King's very chamber- 
 door, so that the King was almost suffocated with the 
 smoke of their matches.' After much entreaty, Cooke 
 succeeded in relieving him from this annoyance. 
 
 Having related what he had seen and heard, the Colonel, 
 conjointly with the Duke of Richmond and the Earl of 
 Lindsay, solicited Charles, while there was yet time, to 
 accomplish his escape. But though they showed that it 
 was perfectly possible, and adduced many serious argu- 
 ments why it should be attempted, the King continued 
 firm in his resolve : ' They have promised me, and I have 
 promised them ; and I will not break first.' 
 
 So, after awhile. King Charles retired to rest ; his 
 sorrowful attendants holding themselves in readiness for 
 whatever might occur. 
 
 ' It was then,' says Colonel Cooke, ' about one o'clock ; 
 and though Colonel Cooke went not to bed all that night 
 yet all things were carried withjsuch secresy and quiet, 
 that not the least noise was heard, nor the least cause of 
 suspicion given. 
 
 ' But next morning, just at break of day, the King, 
 hearing a great knocking at his outward door, sent the 
 Duke of Richmond to ask what it meant ; who demanding, 
 " Who was there ?" he was answered, " My name is Mild- 
 may" (one of the servants the Parhament had put to the 
 King, and brother to Sir Henry). 
 
 'The Duke demanded, "What he would have?" who 
 
 6—2 
 
84 The White King. 
 
 answered, "There were some gentlemen from the army, 
 very desirous to speak with the King." 
 
 'Which account the Duke gave the King; but the 
 knocking rather increasing, the King commanded the 
 Duke to let them into the room. No sooner was this done, 
 but, before the King could get from his bed, three officers 
 rushed into his chamber, and abruptly told the King they 
 had orders to remove him. 
 
 ' " From whom ?" said the King. They replied, " From 
 the army." 
 
 'The King asked, "To what place?" "To the Castle," 
 said they. 
 
 •The King demanded, "To what Castle?" Again they 
 answered, " To the Castle !" 
 
 ' " The Castle," said the King, " is no castle ;" and added, 
 "he was well enough prepared for any castle," requiring 
 them to name the castle. 
 
 ' After a short whisper together, they said, " Hurst 
 Ce^stle." 
 
 ' " Indeed !" said the King, " you could not have named 
 a worse." Whereupon, immediately, the King called to 
 the Duke of Kichmond to send for the Earl of Lindsay and 
 Colonel Cooke. 
 
 ' At first they scrupled at the Earl of Lindsay's coming ; 
 but the King saying, "Why not both, seeing both lie 
 together ?" 
 
 ' Then having whispered together, they promised to send 
 for both ; but sent for neither. 
 
 ' Meanwhile the King had dressed, and Firebrace had 
 prepared breakfast for him ; but the rough soldiers hurried 
 him ii^to the coach, which was in waiting, without suf- 
 fering him to taste it. After he had taken his seat, 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Cobbit, "with his hat on," attempted 
 to .jump in; but Charles stoutly pushed him back, ex- 
 claiming, "It is n|0t come to that yet ; get you out !" And 
 the unmannerly fellow was forced to content himself with 
 a seat beside the driver, while Herbert, Harrington, and 
 
Personal History of Chxtrles I. 85 
 
 Mildmay entered the coach.' Then the King hastily bade 
 his servants farewell, with an evident presentiment of 
 coming evil. 'At other times,' says Herbert, 'he was 
 cheerful; but at parting from his friends he showed the 
 sorrow in his heart by the sadness of his countenance — a 
 real sympathy.' 
 
 Through the shadows of the night the coach, escorted 
 by two troops of horse, ' went westward, towards Worsley's 
 Tower, in Freshwater Isle, a little beyond Yarmouth 
 Haven.' Having rested there an hour, the King and his 
 attendants were put on board a small sailing vessel, and 
 conveyed across the narrow strait to Hurst Castle. 
 
 A lonely stronghold situated at the extremity of a narrow 
 spit of sand and gravel which projects from the Hampshire 
 coast below Lymington. ' A dismal receptacle,' says Herbert 
 ' for so great a monarch, the greatest part of whose life had 
 been so fuU of earthly glory. . . . The captain of this wretched 
 place,' he adds, ' was not ill-suited to the scene around. At 
 the King's going ashore he stood ready to receive him with 
 small observance ; his look was stern, his hair and large beard 
 were black and bushy ; he held a partizan in his hand, and 
 a great basket-hilt sword by his side ; hardly would one see 
 a man of a more grim aspect ; and no less robust and rude 
 was his behaviour. Some of his Majesty's servants were not a 
 little fearful of him.' There is probably a touch of exaggera- 
 tion in this description. Charles, at Hurst Castle, however, 
 must have suffered greatly. The place offered no con- 
 venience for the pedestrian exercise to which he was 
 accustomed; his apartments were dark and iU-fumished5 
 and the dampness of the situation was unfavourable to his 
 health. He was detained there three weeks, and the 
 Parliament leaders then resolved to remove him to Windsor, 
 and put him on his trial for treason against the State, 
 Towards the expiry of the three weeks, there was heard 
 one night an unusual stir in the Castle. The drawbridge 
 was suddenly lowered, and the clatter of horses' hoofs 
 became distinctly audible. The noise awoke the King, who 
 
86 Tlie White King. 
 
 sent Herbert to ascertain the cause, when it appeared that 
 Major Harrison had arrived with a troop of cavalry. De- 
 siring his attendant to retire into the outer room, Charles gave 
 himself up to prayer for nearly an hour.* On re-opening his 
 door, he appeared to be in such profound grief that Herbert 
 could not control his tears. 'I am not afraid,' said the King, 
 ' but do you not know that this is the man who intended to 
 assassinate me V Adding, ' This is a fit place for such a 
 purpose. Herbert, I trust to your care ; go again, and make 
 further inquiry into this business.' Herbert obeyed ; and 
 shortly afterwards returned with the intelligence, evidently 
 very acceptable to the King, that he was to be conducted to 
 Windsor. 
 
 Two days later, and Charles, nothing loath, took leave of 
 Hurst. At Winchester he was received with many marks of 
 respectful loyalty. The bells rang their liveliest peals ; the 
 Mayor and Aldermen presented him with the official mace 
 and the keys of the city ; the gentry waited upon him in 
 such numbers as to revive the recollections of a levee at 
 Whitehall. He spent the night at a gentleman's house at 
 Farnham, when several officers of the army and navy and the 
 neighbouring gentry waited upon him. The next day he 
 dined at Lord Newburgh's house at Bagshot, where a project 
 of escape which Lord Newburgh had devised, was baffled by 
 an accident. On hearing that Charles was to be removed to 
 Windsor, the nobleman had sent to him a private message 
 suggesting that, before he reached Bagshot, he should con- 
 trive to lame the horse which he rode, and adding that he 
 would furnish him with one from his own stables, scarcely 
 matched for speed in all England. Charles's departure from 
 Lord Newburgh's was to be delayed to as late an hour as 
 possible, so that night would have folded in before he and 
 his escort reached the middle of Windsor's wooded glades, 
 when he was to set spurs to his horse, and aided by his 
 knowledge of the Forest, to ride for life and freedom. 
 It is difficult to believe that Charles would have succeeded 
 * 'Herbert,' p. 137. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 87 
 
 in eluding his guards ; and if he had, whither would he have 
 gone for safety ? But the attempt could not be made ; the 
 horse on which Lord Newburgh set so much value having 
 been lamed the day before. 
 
 Charles arrived at Windsor on the 23rd of December, and 
 was received with due respect by Colonel Whichcot, the 
 Governor of the Castle. He had not wholly abandoned his 
 hopes of ultimate success, and still took an interest in private 
 as well as public matters; as, for instance, sending the seeds 
 of some Spanish melons to be sown in the Queen's gardens 
 at Wimbledon. His private apartments overlooked that 
 part of the Terrace which commands a view of Eton, 
 and it was there that he generally took the daily exercise 
 to which he was so partial* 
 
 Meantime, the House of Commons, or at least so much of 
 it as remained after Colonel Pride's famous Purge,-f- had 
 resolved that the King should be brought to justice, and a 
 Committee was appointed to prepare the articles of accusa- 
 tion. Small as was the number of members present, several 
 voices protested against the measure, some denianding that 
 they should confine themselves to an act of deposition ; 
 others perhaps, not unwilling that he should secretly be 
 put to death, so that they might profit by the act without 
 being responsible for it. But the men who were in earnest, 
 the men who believed that they were discharging a patriotic 
 duty, insisted on a solemn public engagement, which should 
 prove their strength and proclaim their right. Cromwell 
 alone spoke with some degree of hesitation. Had anyone, 
 he said, brought forward the motion of premeditated design, 
 he should have regarded him as the greatest traitor in the 
 world, but since Providence and necessity had forced the 
 Chamber into that deliberation, he prayed God to bless 
 their counsels, though he was not prepared at once to offer 
 his advice. With a strange eagerness, in the midst of all its 
 illegal action, to observe the forms of law, the House voted, 
 
 * ' Clarendon,' vi. 221. 
 
 ■j- By which 96 members were excluded from the House. 
 
88 The White King. 
 
 on the 2nd of January, 1649, that the King was guilty of 
 treason in waging war against the Parliament ; and having 
 thus defined his crime, they constituted a High Court of 
 Justice to try him for it. It was to consist of one hundred 
 and fifty members, including six Peers, three Judges, eleven 
 Baronets, two Knights, six London Aldermen, and all the 
 Independent leaders in the Army, the Commons, and the 
 City, except Sir Harry Vane and Oliver St. John, who 
 formally declared that they disapproved of the act, and 
 would take no part in it. The Upper House rejected the 
 OrdLaance ; but the Commons had gone too far to recede, 
 and they passed a fresh resolution to the effect: 'That the 
 people are under God, the original of aU just power ; that 
 the Commons of England, in Parliament assembled, being 
 chosen by and representing the people, have the supreme 
 power in this nation ; and that whatsoever is enacted and 
 declared for law by the Commons in Parliament assembled 
 hath the force of a law, and all the people of this nation are 
 concluded thereby, although the consent and concurrency of 
 the King or the House of Peers be not had hereunto.' By 
 another Ordinance (January 6th), the High Court of Justice, 
 restricted to one hundred and thirty-five members, was 
 ordered to meet immediately, and make preparations for the 
 King's trial. 
 
 When Colonel Whichcot informed his prisoner that in 
 a few days he would be removed to London, he replied, 
 ' God is everywhere, and everywhere the same in wisdom, 
 power, and goodness.' But the iaformation disquieted him 
 greatly, for he had hitherto been lulled in a dream of confi- 
 dent security, and convinced that he would recover his 
 throne on his own terms. Looking back upon the course of 
 events, from the battle of Naseby to the King's flight to 
 Carisbrooke, we feel that he had good reason for a sanguine 
 view of his situation, and that he had lost the game, which 
 at one time was in his own hands, simply because he had 
 played it badly, with a passion which had over-reached 
 itself, and a want of good faith which had converted into 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 89 
 
 enemies even the most favourably disposed of his opponents. 
 His own terms, indeed, he could never, or should never, 
 have expected to obtain ; but he could have secured condi- 
 tions which ^would have left unimpaired the dignity of his 
 crown. Lost opportunities, however, can never be recovered. 
 Charles had missed or misused those which a benevolent 
 fortune had pressed upon him ; and now the end was 
 come. This dreary fact he could no longer hide from 
 himself ; he could not but see that the punctilios of Court 
 etiquette were abandoned ; that his guards and attendants 
 had laid aside the ceremonial which had hitherto indicated 
 their respect for royalty. On the 19th a body of cavalry, 
 under Major-General Harrison, appeared at Windsor. A 
 carriage with six horses was drawn up in the quadrangle, 
 and through a double line of soldiers Charles was conducted 
 to it. Before taking his place he was allowed a brief inter- 
 view with Duke James of Hamilton, who was also a prisoner 
 in the Castle, and was soon afterwards to share the same 
 fate as his sovereign. Falling on his knees and kissing the 
 King's hand, Hamilton sobbed out the words, ' My dear 
 master !' ' Aye,' replied Charles, ' I have, indeed, been so to 
 you.' After a sad and solemn farewell, they parted, and the 
 royal prisoner, with a heavy escort of cavalry, went on his 
 way to London. A man named Proctor, who met the caval- 
 cade, afterwards told the following story. ' Having occa- 
 sion,' he says,* ' to go from London to Windsor, the day 
 that the King was brought from thence a prisoner, a little 
 on this side Brentford I saw a great troop of horse. I did 
 conceive what the cause was, having heard the King was to 
 be brought up to his trial. After I had passed some number 
 of horses, at last I espied the prisoner at the bar,-|- imme- 
 diately before the King's coach, riding singly before the 
 coach-horses, and the King sitting alone in the coach. My 
 lord, I did put off my hat, and he was graciously pleased to 
 put off his hat. The troopers, seeing this, threw me into the 
 
 * Tracts of the Regicides,' p. 518. 
 
 f Hugh Peters, the fanatical Puritan minister. 
 
90 The White King. 
 
 ditch, horse and all, where I stayed till they passed by, and 
 was glad I escaped so.' At first he was lodged in St. 
 James's Palace, which was closely surrounded by guards. 
 Two sentries were posted at the door of his bedchamber ; of 
 all his faithful attendants Herbert alone remained, and 
 every night he slept by the bedside of his unfortunate 
 master. 
 
 For a few days Charles was treated with a certain amount 
 of deference. He dined publicly in the Presence-chamber ;; 
 the gentlemen of his household waited on him at his meals ; 
 the cup was presented to him kneeling. But the Council of 
 Adjutators interfered to prevent the continuance of a cere- 
 monial which preserved in men's minds the traditions of 
 royal authority, and decreed that the etiquette of the Court 
 should no longer be observed, reducing, at the same time, 
 the number of his servants and the luxury of his table. 
 These slights were keenly felt by Charles, who, when he 
 found himself waited upon by common soldiers, exclaimed, 
 ' There is nothing more contemptible than a despised 
 Prince !' Thenceforward he took his meals in the privacy 
 of his own chamber. 
 
 Ashbumham alleges that at this time another project of 
 escape was meditated. ' I laid the design of his escape from 
 St. James's, and had attempted it, had he not been close 
 restrained that very day it was to be put in execution, of 
 which there are three persons of honour yet living who 
 were to have had equal shares in that dutiful action ; but 
 man proposeth, and God disposeth, and no creature is able 
 to resist His power.' It is almost certain that no attempt, 
 however ingeniously devised, could have been successful. 
 There was no possibility of bribery, even if the Puritan 
 soldiers had been men of the sort who take bribes, for 
 Charles's guards were changed daily. How thoroughly the 
 King misunderstood the character of his adversaries is clear 
 from the fact that he never dreamed of the possibility of a 
 public trial and the headsman's axe ; his apprehension was 
 lest he should privately be put to death. At other times he 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 91 
 
 feared that he might be imprisoned for life, and monarchy 
 abolished in England ; in more sanguine moments, that he 
 might be deposed in favour of his son Charles. His surprise 
 and consternation was great when he was informed that on 
 a charge of high treason he was to be brought before a 
 tribunal of his subjects. 
 
 On the 19th of January he was conveyed in a sedan-chair 
 from St. James's to Whitehall, where he was allowed to use 
 his own chamber. Next day, the 20th, he was removed to 
 Sir Eobert Cotton's house, on the river-bank, near the south 
 end of Westminster Hall. Here he was summoned by 
 Colonel Hacker to make his appearance before his judges. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Westminster Hall, Saturday afternoon, Jan. 20th. 
 For at noon on that memorable day, which was to witness 
 so novel and singular a spectacle, the High Court of Justice 
 had marched in solemn procession to Westminster Hall, 
 with its President, John Bradshaw,* a lawyer of some 
 eminence, at its head. The sword and the mace were 
 borne before him, and in advance went sixteen officers, 
 armed with partizans. The President took his place on a 
 fauteuil of cramoisy velvet. At his feet was seated the 
 Usher, near a table covered with a rich Turkey carpet, on 
 which were deposited the mace and the sword of justice ; 
 to his right and left, on seats of scarlet cloth, were placed 
 the members of the Court ; and at either end, but slightly 
 in advance of the tribunal, a body of armed men. The 
 shot-torn banners won at Marston Moor, at Naseby, at 
 Preston, were suspended from the walls — sad memorials of 
 civil strife which was ending now in so strange and fatal a 
 
 * Bradshaw's ofSce was a dangerous one. A cavalier, named 
 Burghill, had resolved on shooting him, but his design having been dis- 
 covered, he was arrested. His guard becoming intoxicated, he suc- 
 ceeded in effecting his escape. It is said that Bradshaw, as a measure 
 of defence, wore a high-crowned beaver hat, which is now preserved 
 among the curiosities of the Museum at Oxford. 
 
92 The White King. 
 
 scene ! The Court being installed, the doors were thrown 
 open, and an excited multitude passed in from every avenue. 
 As soon as silence was restored the names of the members 
 of the Court were called over. Sixty-nine responded. 
 ' Sergeant,' said Bradshaw, ' bring forth the prisoner.' 
 
 Charles appeared, under the charge of Colonel Hacker 
 and thirty-two officers. A fauteuil, covered with velvet 
 was prepared for him at the bar. He advanced, surveyed 
 the tribunal with a long and searching glance, partly in- 
 dignant, partly contemptuous, and seated himself in the 
 fauteun, without removing his hat ; rose again suddenly ; 
 looked behind him at the guards on the left and the crowd 
 of ^'spectators on the right of the hall ; bestowed another 
 glance on his judges, and re-seated himself in the midst of 
 profound silence. 
 
 Bradshaw immediately rose, and addressed the royal 
 prisoner. ' The Commons of England, assembled in Parlia- 
 ment,' he said, ' considering him to be the author of aU the 
 evils which had fallen upon the nation, had resolved that 
 he should answer for them before the High Court of Justice 
 then and there assembled. He would hear the charges 
 brought against him.' Cooke, the prosecutor, started to his 
 feet. ' Hold a little !' said the King, touching him on the 
 shoulder with his staff. Cooke turned round, surprised and 
 irritated, and the golden head of the staff feU off — an 
 accident which, it was plain from the rapid change of the 
 King's countenance, considerably affected him. He sat 
 down again, and listened without comment to the act of 
 accusation read by Cooke, laughing contemptuously when 
 he was described as ' Charles Stuart, tyrant, traitor, and 
 murderer.' ' One thing was remarked in him,' says Mrs. 
 Hutchinson, 'that when the blood spilt in many of the 
 battles where he was in his own person, and had caused it 
 to be shed by his own command, was laid to his charge, he 
 heard it with disdainful smiles and looks and gestures. 
 He stuck not to declare in words that no man's blood spilt 
 in this quarrel troubled him but only one, meaning the 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 93 
 
 Earl of Strafford.' And certainly it was open to him to 
 contend that the war had been forced upon him by the 
 Parliament, and that he had taken up arms only in defence 
 of the rights of the Crown, and, to some extent, of the 
 liberties of the people ; so that the blood-guiltiness lay with 
 his enemies and not with him. This view was not whoUy 
 right, it is true, but no more was that of the Puritan faction, 
 which ascribed all the wrong-doing to Charles and his 
 advisers. The quarrel was one in which both parties could 
 plead a degree of justification, and it was one in which both 
 parties had been fataUy in error. 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Sir, you have now heard your charge read, 
 containing such matters as appear in it : you find that in 
 the close of it, it is prayed to the Court, in the behalf of 
 the Commons of England, that you answer to your charge. 
 The Court expects your answer.' 
 
 The King. ' I would know by what power I am called 
 hither. I was not long ago in the Isle of Wight ; how I 
 came there is a longer story than I think is fit at this time 
 for me to speak of; but there I entered into a treaty with 
 both Houses of Parliament, with as much public faith as 
 it's possible to be had of any people in the world. I 
 treated then with a number of honourable lords and gentle- 
 men, and treated honestly and uprightly ; I cannot say but 
 that they did very nobly with me : we were upon a con- 
 clusion of the treaty. Now I would know by what 
 authority (I mean lawful; there are many unlawful 
 authorities in the world, thieves and robbers by the high- 
 ways ; but I would know by what authority) I was brought 
 from thence, and carried from place to place, and I know 
 not what. And Tihen I know by what lawful authority, I 
 shall answer. 
 
 ' Eemember, I am your king, your lawful king, and what 
 sins you bring upon your heads, and the judgment of God 
 upon this land : Think weU upon it, I say, think well upon 
 it, before you go further from one sin to a greater. There- 
 fore let me know by what lawful authority I am seated 
 
94 The White King. 
 
 here, and I shall not be unwilling to answer. In the mean- 
 time I shall not betray my trust : I have a trust committed 
 to me by God, by old and lawful descent ; I will not betray 
 it to answer to a new unlawful authority. Therefore render 
 me that, and you shall hear more of me.'* 
 
 Bradshaw. 'If you had been pleased to have observed 
 what was hinted to you by the court at your first coming 
 hither, you would have known by what authority : which 
 authority requires you, in the name of the people of England, 
 of which you are elected king, to answer.' 
 
 The Kivg. ' No, sir, I deny that.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' If you acknowledge not the authority of the 
 Court, they must proceed.' 
 
 The King. ' I do tell them so : England was never an 
 elective kingdom, but an hereditary kingdom for now these 
 thousand years : therefore let me know by what authority 
 I am called hither. I do stand more for the liberty of my 
 people than any here that come to be my pretended 
 judges; and therefore let me know by what lawful au- 
 thority I am seated here, and I will answer it ; otherwise I 
 wiU not answer it.' 
 
 Bradshaw. 'Sir, how really you have managed your 
 trust is known : your way of answer is to interrogate the 
 court, which becomes not you in this condition. You have 
 been told of it twice or thrice.' 
 
 The King. ' Here is a gentleman, Lieutenant-Colonel 
 Cobbit, ask him if he did not bring me from the Isle-of- 
 Wight by force. I do not come here as submitting to the 
 court. I will stand as much for the privilege of the House 
 of Commons, rightly understood, as any man here what- 
 soever : I see no House of Lords here that may constitute a 
 Parliament ; and the King, too, should have been. Is this 
 the bringing of the King to his Parliament ? Is this the 
 bringing an end to the treaty in the public faith of the 
 world? Let me see a legal authority, warranted by the 
 
 * It is said that this line of defence was suggested to the king by 
 Sir Matthew Hale. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 95 
 
 Word of God, the Scriptures, or warranted by the con- 
 stitution of the Kingdom, and I will answer.' 
 
 Bradshaw. 'Sir, you have propounded a question, and 
 have been answered. Seeing you will not answer, the 
 Court will consider how to proceed. In the meantime, 
 those who brought you hither are to take charge of you 
 back again. The Court desires to know whether this be all 
 the answer you will give or no.' 
 
 The King. ' Sir, I desire that you would give me and 
 all the world satisfaction in this. Let me tell you it is not 
 a slight thing you are about. I am sworn to keep the 
 peace by that duty I owe to God and my country, and I 
 will do it to the last breath of my body ; and therefore you 
 shall do well to satisfy, first, God, and then the country by 
 what authority you do it. If you do it by an usurped 
 authority, you cannot answer it : there is a God in heaven 
 that will call you, and all who give you power, to account. 
 Satisfy me in that, and I will answer ; otherwise I betray 
 my trust and the liberties of the people ; and therefore 
 think of that, and then I shall be willing. For I do aver, 
 that it is as great a sin to withstand lawful authority as it 
 is to submit to a tyrannical or any other ways unlawful 
 authority. And, therefore, satisfy God and me and all the 
 world in that, and you shall receive my answer. I am not 
 afraid of the Bill.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' The Court expects that you should give 
 them a final answer. Their piu-pose is to adjourn till 
 Monday next. If you do not satisfy yourself, though we 
 do tell you our authority, we are satisfied with an authority, 
 and it is upon God's authority and the kingdom's ; and 
 that peace you speak of will be kept in the doing of justice, 
 and that's our present work.' 
 
 The King. 'For answer, let me tell you; you have shown 
 no lawful authority to satisfy any reasonable man.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' That's in your apprehension; we are satisfied 
 that are your judges.' 
 
96 The White King. 
 
 The King. • 'Tis not my apprehension, nor yours neither, 
 that ought to decide it.' 
 
 Bradahaw. ' The Court hath heard you, and you are to 
 be disposed of as they have commanded.' 
 
 When he gave directions to the guard to remove him, 
 Charles only replied, ' Well, sir ;' and as he passed along, 
 pointing with his staff to the axe, he said emphatically, ' I 
 do not fear that' And he retired amidst shouts of 'Justice t 
 justice !' mingled with loyal exclamations of ' God save the 
 King ! God save your Majesty !' 
 
 Monday afternoon, January 22nd. 
 
 ' Sunday being spent in fasting and preaching (according 
 to their manner of making religion a pretence and prologue 
 to their villanies), on Monday afternoon they came again 
 into the hall, and, after silence commanded, called over 
 their Court, when seventy persons being present, answered 
 to their names. « 
 
 'His majesty being brought in, the people gave a shout. 
 
 ' Command given to the captain of their Guard to fetch 
 and take into his custody those who make any disturb- 
 ance.' 
 
 Cooke, their solicitor, after referring to the King's refusal 
 to recognize the authority of the Court, moved ' That the 
 prisoner may be directed to make a positive answer, either 
 by way of confession or negation ; which if he shall refuse 
 to do, that the matter of charge may be taken pro confesso, 
 and the Court may proceed according to justice.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Sir, you may remember at the last Court 
 you were told the occasion of your being brought hither, 
 and you heard a charge made against you, containing a 
 charge of high treason and other high crimes against this, 
 realm of England ; you heard likewise that it was prayed 
 in the behalf of the people that you should give an answer 
 to that charge, that thereupon such proceedings might be 
 had as should be agreeable to justice; you were then 
 pleased to make some scruples concerning the authority of 
 
Personal History of Charles I. &7 
 
 this Court, and knew not by what authority you were 
 brought hither. You did divers times propound your 
 questions, and were as often answered. That it was by 
 authority of the Commons of England assembled in Parlia- 
 ment, that did think fit to caU you to account for those 
 high and capital misdemeanours wherewith you were then 
 charged. Since that the Court hath taken into considera- 
 tion what you then said : they are fully satisfied with their 
 own authority, and they hold it fit you should stand 
 satisfied with it too ; and they do require it, that you do 
 give a positive and particular answer to this charge that is 
 exhibited against you. They do expect you should either 
 confess or deny it ; if you deny, it is offered, in the behalf 
 of the kingdom, to be made good against you. Their 
 authority they do aver to the whole world, that the whole 
 kingdom are to rest satisfied in, and you are to rest satisfied 
 with it ; and therefore you are to lose no more time, but to 
 give a positive answer thereunto.' 
 
 The King. ' When I was here last, 'tis very true, I made 
 that question ; and if it were only my own particular case, 
 I would have satisfied myself with the protestation I made 
 the last time I was here against the legality of this court,, 
 and that a King cannot be tried by any superior jurisdiction 
 on earth. But it is not my case alone, it is the freedom 
 and liberty of the people of England ; and do you pretend 
 what you will, I stand more for their liberties. For if 
 power without law may make laws, may alter the 
 fundamental laws of the kingdom, I do not know what 
 subject he is in England that can be sure of his life, or 
 anything that he calls his own. Therefore, when last I came 
 here, I did expect particular reasons, to know by what law, 
 what authority, you did proceed against me here; and 
 therefore I am a little to seek what to say to you in this 
 particular, because the affirmative is to be proved, the 
 negative often is very hard to do. But since I cannot 
 persuade you to do it, I shall tell you my reasons as short 
 as I can. My reasons why in conscience, and the duty I 
 
 VOL. I. 7 
 
98 The White King. 
 
 owe to God first, and my people next, for the preservation 
 of their lives, liberties, and estates; I conceive I cannot 
 answer this, till I be satisfied of the legality of it. All pro- 
 ceedings against any man whatsoever . . .' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Sir, I must interrupt you ; which I would not 
 do, but that what you do is not agreeable to the proceedings 
 of any court of justice. You are about to enter into 
 argument and dispute concerning the authority of this 
 court, before whom you appear as a prisoner, and are 
 charged as a high delinquent. If you take upon you to 
 dispute the authority of the Court, we may not do it, nor 
 will any court give way unto it : you are to submit unto it : 
 you are to give a punctual and direct answer whether you 
 will answer your charge or no, and what your answer is.' 
 
 The King. ' Sir, by your favour, I do not know the forms 
 of law ; I do know law and reason, though I am no lawyer 
 professed ; but I know as much law as any gentleman in 
 England. And therefore, under favour, I do plead for the 
 liberties of the people of England more than you do. And, 
 therefore, if I should impose a belief upon any man without 
 reasons given for it, it were unreasonable : but I must tell 
 you, that that reason that I have as thus informed, I cannot 
 yield unto it.' 
 
 Bradshaiu. ' Sir, I must interrupt you ; you may not be 
 permitted. You speak of law and reason: it is fit there 
 should be law and reason ; and there is both against you. 
 Sir, the vote of the Commons of England assembled in 
 Parliament, it is the reason of the Kingdom ; and they are 
 there, too, that have given that law according to which you 
 should have ruled and reigned. Sir, you are not to dispute 
 our authority ; you are told it again by the Court. Sir, it 
 wiU be taken notice of, that you stand in contempt of the 
 court, and your contempt will be recorded accordingly.' 
 
 The King. ' I do not know how a King can be a de. 
 linquent : but by any. law that ever I heard of, all men 
 (delinquents, or what you will) let me tell you, they may 
 put in demurrers against any proceeding as legal, and I do 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 99 
 
 demand that, and demand to be heard with my reasons ; if 
 you deny that, you deny reason.' 
 
 Bradshaw. 'Sir, you have ofifered something to the 
 Court ; I shall speak something unto you the sense of the 
 Court. Sir, neither you nor any man are permitted to dis- 
 pute that point. You are concluded, you may not demur 
 to the jurisdiction of the Court : if you do, I must let you 
 know that they overrule your demurrer. They sit here by 
 the authority of the Commons of England and aU your 
 predecessors and you are responsible to them.' 
 
 The King. ' I deny that ; show me one precedent.' 
 
 Bradshaw. 'Sir, you ought not to interrupt while the 
 Court is speaking to you. This point is not to be debated 
 by you, neither will the Court permit you to do it. If you 
 offer it by way of demurrer to the jurisdiction of the Court 
 they have considered of their jurisdiction : they do affirm 
 their own jurisdiction.' 
 
 The King. ' I say, sir, by your favour, that the Commons 
 of England was never a court of judicature : I would know 
 how they came to be so.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Sir, you are not to be permitted to go on in 
 that speech and these discourses.' 
 
 The clerk of the Court then said : 
 
 ' Charles Stuart, King of England, you have been accused 
 on the behalf of the people of England of High Treason 
 and other high crimes; the Court have determined that 
 you ought to answer the same.' 
 
 The King. ' I will answer the same so soon as I know by 
 what authority you do this.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' If this be aU that you will say, then, gentle- 
 men, you that brought the prisoner hither take charge of 
 him back again.' 
 
 The King. ' I do require that I may give in my reasons 
 why I do not answer, and give me tioie for that.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Sir, 'tis not for prisoners to require.' 
 
 The King. ' Prisoner, sir. I am not an ordinary prisoner.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' The Court hath considered of their jurisdic- 
 
 7—2 
 
300 The White King. 
 
 tion, and they have already affirmed their jurisdiction. If 
 you -will not answer, we shall give order to record your 
 default.' 
 
 The King. 'You never heard my reasons yet.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Sir, your reasons are not to he heard against 
 the highest jurisdiction.' 
 
 The King. ' Show me that jurisdiction where reason is 
 not to be heard.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Sir, we show it you here, the Commons of 
 England ; and the next time you are brought, you will 
 know more of the pleasure of the Court, and, it may be, 
 their final determination.' 
 
 The King. ' Show me wherever the House of Commons 
 was a Court of Judicature of that kind.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Sergeant, take away the prisoner.' 
 
 The King. ' Well, sir, remember that the King is not 
 suffered to give in his reasons for the liberty and freedom 
 of all his subjects.' 
 
 Bradsha/w. ' Sir, you have not liberty to use this 
 language. How great a friend you have been to the laws 
 and liberties of the people, let all England and the world 
 judge.' 
 
 The King. ' Sir, under favour, it was the liberty, freedom, 
 and laws of the subject that ever I took — defended myself 
 with arms. I never took up arms against the people, but 
 for the laws.' 
 
 Bradsha/w. ' The command of the Court must be obeyed. 
 No answer will be given to the charge.' 
 
 The King. ' Well, sir.' 
 
 Then Bradshaw ordered the default to be recorded, and 
 the contempt of the Court, and that no answer would be 
 given to the charge. 
 
 The King was escorted, as before, to Sir Robert Coltin's 
 house. 
 
 Not being allowed to deliver his reasons by word of mouth, 
 the King thought fit to leave them in writing to the more 
 impartial judgment of posterity, as follows : 
 
Personal History of Gliarles I. 101 
 
 ' Having already made my protestations, not only against 
 the illegality of this pretended Court, but also that no 
 earthly power can justly call me, who am your King, in 
 question as a delinquent, I would not any more open my 
 mouth upon this occasion more than to refer myself to 
 what I have spoken, were I in this case alone concerned. 
 But the duty I owe to God in the preservation of the true 
 Hberty of my people will not suffer me at this time to be 
 silent. For how can any freeborn subject of England call 
 life or anything he possessed his own, if power without 
 right daily make new, and abrogate the old fundamental 
 law of the land ? — which I now take to be the present case. 
 Wherefore, when I came hither, I expected that you would 
 have endeavoured to have satisfied me concerning these 
 grounds which hinder me to answer to your pretended 
 impeachment ; but since I see that nothing I can say will 
 move you to it — though negatives are not so naturally 
 proved as aflSrmatives — yet I will show you the reason why 
 I am confident you cannot judge me, nor indeed the 
 meanest man in England. For I will not, like you, without 
 showing a reason, seek to impose a belief upon my subjects. 
 
 ' There is no proceeding just against any man but what 
 is warranted either by God's laws or the municipal laws of 
 the country where he lives. Now I am most confident this 
 day's proceeding cannot be warranted by God's law ; for, on 
 the contrary, the authority of obedience unto kings is 
 clearly warranted and strictly commanded both in the Old 
 and New Testament; which, if desired, I am ready instantly 
 to prove. And for the question now in hand ; there it is 
 said, That " where the word of a King is, there is power; 
 and who may say unto him, What dost thou?" (Eccles. 
 viii. 4). Then, for the law of the land, I am no less con- 
 fident that no learned lawyer will affirm that an impeach- 
 ment can lie against the King, they all going in his name ; 
 and one of their maxims is, " That the King can do no 
 wrong." Besides, the law upon which you ground your 
 proceedings must either be old or new : if old, show it ; if 
 
102 The White King. 
 
 new, tell what authority, warranted by the fundamental 
 laws of the land hath made it, and when. But how the 
 House of Commons can erect a court of judicature, which 
 was never one itself, as is well known to all lawyers, I leave 
 to God and the world to judge ; and it were full as strange 
 that they should pretend to make laws without King or 
 Lords' House to any that have heard speak of the laws of 
 England. 
 
 ' And admitting, but not granting, that the people of 
 England's commission could grant you pretended power, I 
 see nothing you can show for that ; for certainly you never 
 asked the question of the tenth man in the kingdom ; and 
 in this way you manifestly wrong even the poorest plough- 
 man, if you demand not his free consent. Nor can you 
 pretend any colour for this your pretended commission 
 without the consent at least of the major part of every man 
 in England, of whatsoever quality or condition, which I am 
 sure you never went about to seek, so far are you from 
 having it. Thus you see that I speak not for my own right 
 alone, as I am your King, but also for the true liberty of 
 all my subjects, which consists not in the power of Govern- 
 ment, but in living under such laws, such a government as 
 may give themselves the best assurance of their lives and 
 propriety of their goods. Nor in this must or do I forget 
 the privileges of both Houses of ParUament, which this 
 day's proceedings do not only violate, but likewise occasion 
 the greatest breach of their pubKc faith that (I believe) was 
 ever heard of With which I am far from charging the two 
 Houses ; for all pretended crimes laid against me bear date 
 long before this l^te treaty at Newport, in which I, having 
 concluded as much as in me lay, and hopefully expecting 
 the Houses' agreement thereunto, I was suddenly surprised, 
 and hurried from thence as a prisoner; upon which account 
 I am, against my will, brought hitherto, where, since I am 
 come, I cannot but to my power defend the ancient laws 
 and liberties of this kingdom, together with my own just 
 right. Then, for anything that I can see, the higher House 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 103 
 
 is totally excluded. And for the House of Commons, it is 
 well known that the major part of them are detained or 
 deterred from sitting ; so as, if I had no other, this were 
 sufficient for me to protest against the lawfulness of your 
 pretended Court. Besides all this, the peace of the king- 
 dom is not the least in my thoughts ; and what hopes of 
 settlement is there, as long as power reigns without rule or 
 law, changing the whole frame of that Government under 
 which this kingdom hath flourished for many hundred 
 years ? (Nor will I say what will fall out in case this law- 
 less, unjust proceeding against me do go on). And, believe 
 it, the Commons of England will not thank you for this 
 change ; for they will remember how happy they have been 
 of late years under the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the King 
 my father, and myself, until the beginning of these unhappy 
 troubles, and will have cause to doubt that they shall 
 never be so happy under any new. And by this time it 
 win be too sensibly evident that the arms I took up was 
 only to defend the fundamental laws of this kingdom 
 against those who have supposed my power hath totally 
 changed the ancient Government. 
 
 'Thus having shown you briefly the reasons why I 
 cannot submit to your pretended authority, without 
 violating the trust which I have from God for the welfare 
 and liberty of my people, I expect from you either clear 
 reasons to convince my judgment, showing me that I am 
 in an error (and those truly I will answer), or that you wUl 
 withdraw your proceedings. 
 
 ' This I intended to speak in Westminster Hall on 
 Monday, 22nd January, but, against reason, was hin- 
 dered to show my reasons.' 
 
 Westminster Hall, Tuesday, Jan. 23rd, Afternoon. 
 
 There were signs on this, the third day, that the popular 
 
 sympathy was flowing towards the royal prisoner, as was 
 
 natural enough in the singular and unwonted circumstances 
 
 in which he was placed. The officers and soldiers on guard 
 
104 The White King. 
 
 still cried ' Justice, execution !' but were overpowered by 
 the surging shout of ' God save the King !' Even the army- 
 was not untouched by a sentiment of loyalty ; and as 
 Charles quitted the HaU, one of the soldiers exclaimed, 
 ' God bless you, sir !' An oflScer striking him with his 
 cane, the King observed, ' Sir, the punishment exceeds the 
 offence.' The public excitement was increased by letters 
 which were published from the Queen and the Prince of 
 Wales, and by a formal protest on the part of the Scotch 
 Commissioners against the action of the Court. 
 
 Seventy-one members of the Court were present. The 
 proceedings began with an address from Cooke, the prose- 
 cutor, in which he prayed for speedy judgment against the 
 prisoner at the bar. Bradshaw followed with a demand 
 that the King should plead Not guilty or Guilty to the 
 treasons laid to his charge — a demand to which the King 
 did not condescend to make a direct reply. 
 
 The King. ' When I was here yesterday, I did desire to 
 speak for the liberties of the people of England; I was 
 interrupted. I desire to know yet whether I may speak 
 freely or not.' 
 
 Bradshaw repeated that the Court required of him an 
 acknowledgement of its jurisdiction, and an answer to the 
 charge. 
 
 The King. ' For the charge, I value it not a rush. It is 
 the liberty of the people of England that I stand for. For 
 me to acknowledge a new Court that I never heard of 
 before — I that am your King, that should be an example 
 to all the people of England for to uphold justice, to 
 maintain the old laws — indeed, I do not know how to do it. 
 
 ' You spoke very well the first day that I came here, on 
 Saturday, of the obligations that I had laid upon me by 
 God to the maintenance of the liberties of my people. The 
 same obligation you spoke of I do acknowledge to God that 
 I owe to Him and to my people to defend, as much as in 
 me lies — the ancient laws of the kingdom. Therefore, 
 until that I may know that this is not against the funda- 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 105 
 
 mental laws of the kingdom, by your favour, I can put in 
 no particular answer. If you wiU give me time, I will show 
 you my reasons why I cannot do it ; and this ' 
 
 [Here, being interrupted, he said], 
 
 ' By your favour, you ought not to interrupt me.' 
 
 ' How I came here, I know not ; there's no law for it, to 
 make your King your prisoner. I was in a treaty upon the 
 public faith of the kingdom; that was the known two 
 Houses of Parliament that was the representative of the 
 kingdom ; and when that I had almost made an end of the 
 treaty, then I was hurried away and brought hither ; and 
 therefore ' 
 
 Bradshaw. 'Sir, you must know the pleasure of the 
 Court.' 
 
 The King. ' By your favour, sir.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Nay, sir, by your favour, you may not be 
 permitted to fall into those discourses. You appear as a 
 delinquent ; you have not acknowledged the authority of 
 the Court. The Court craves it not of you ; but once more 
 they command you to give your positive answer. Clerk, 
 do your duty.' 
 
 The King. ' Duty, sir !' 
 
 The Clerk (reading). ' Charles Stuart, King of England, 
 you are accused, in the behalf of the Commons of England, 
 of divers high crimes and treasons, which charge hath been 
 read unto you. The Court now requires you to give your 
 positive and final answer by way of confession or denial of 
 the charges.' 
 
 The King. ' Sir, I say again to you, so that I might give 
 satisfaction to the people of England of the clearness of my 
 proceeding, not by way of answer, not in this way, but to 
 satisfy them that I have done nothing against that trust 
 that hath been committed to me, I would do it ; but to 
 acknowledge a new Court against their privileges, to alter 
 the fundamental laws of the kingdom, sir, you must 
 excuse me.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Sir, this is the third time that you have 
 
106 The White King. 
 
 publicly disavowed this Court, and put an affront upon it. 
 How far you have preserved the privileges of the people 
 your actions have spoke it ; but truly, sir, men's intentions 
 ought to be known by their actions : you have written 
 your meaning in bloody characters throughout the whole 
 kingdom. But, sir, you understand the pleasure of the 
 Court. Clerk, record the default. And, gentlemen, you 
 that took charge of the prisoner, take him back again.' 
 
 The King. ' I will only say this one word more to you ; 
 if it were only my own particular, I would not say any 
 more nor interrupt you.' 
 
 Bradshaw. 'Sir, you have heard the pleasure of the 
 court, and you are — notwithstanding you will not under- 
 stand it — to find that you are before a Court of justice.' 
 
 The sittings of the 24th and 25th were occupied in 
 receiving the evidence of two and thirty witnesses, and 
 when this superfluous imitation of legality was at an end, 
 the Court voted, almost without debate, the condemnation 
 of the King as a tyrant, traitor, murderer, and enemy of 
 his country. 
 
 There is a story that, on the last morning of the trial, 
 Bradshaw's wife rushed into his chamber at Westminster, 
 and implored him, by all his hopes of present happiness 
 and future salvation, not to attend any more meetings of 
 the Court. ' Do not sentence this earthly King,' she said 
 ' for fear of the dreadful sentence of the King of Heaven. 
 You have no child. Why should you do such a monstrous 
 act to favour others ?' ' I confess,' replied Bradshaw, ' he 
 has done me no harm, nor will I do him any, except what 
 the law commands.' 
 
 Westminster Hall, Saturday, Jan. 27th, Afternoon. 
 After a conference of two hours in the Painted Chamber, 
 the members of the Court assembled for the last time, 
 under the presidency of Bradshaw. Sixty-seven members 
 answered to their names. When that of Fairfax was 
 called, ' He has too much sense to be here,' cried a woman's 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 107 
 
 voice from the gallery. After a momentary pause of 
 surprise and hesitation, the proceedings were continued. 
 As Charles entered the Hall a loud shout was raised of 
 ' Execution ! justice ! execution !' Silence was sternly com- 
 manded, and the captain of the guard was ordered to take 
 into custody any person making a disturbance. 
 
 The King. ' I desire a word ; to be heard a little ; and I 
 hope I shall give no occasion of interruption.' 
 
 Brddsha^u. 'You may answer in your time: hear the 
 Court first.' 
 
 The King. ' If it please you, sir, I desire to be heard, and 
 I shall not give any occasion of interruption, and it is only 
 in a word. A sudden judgment ..." 
 
 Bradshaw. 'Sir, you shall be heard in due time; but 
 you are to hear the Court first.' 
 
 The King. ' Sir, I desire it ; it will be in order to what I 
 believe the Court will say; and therefore, sir — a hasty 
 judgment is not so soon recalled.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Sir, you shall be heard before the judgment 
 be given ; and in the meantime you may forbear.' 
 
 The King. ' Well, sir, shall I be heard before the judg- 
 ment be given ?' 
 
 Charles then took his seat, and Bradshaw addressed the 
 court : ' Gentlemen,' he said, ' it is well known to all or most 
 of you here present, that the prisoner at the bar hath been 
 several times convented and brought before this Court, to 
 make answer to a charge of treason and other high 
 crimes, exhibited against him in the name of the people of 
 England . . .' 
 
 'Not half the people!' interjaculated the same voice 
 which had answered to Fairfax's name. 'Where are the 
 people ? Where is their consent ? OUver Cromwell is a 
 traitor!' This plain speaking disconcerted the audience, 
 and every eye was turned towards the gallery. ' Soldiers I 
 fire upon her I' exclaimed Colonel AxteU — but it was soon 
 perceived that the speaker was Lady Fairfax, and with due 
 courtesy she was removed from the Court. The commotion, 
 
108 Tlie White King. 
 
 however, had been general, and it was not without difficulty 
 that the soldiers succeeded in repressing it. As soon as 
 order was restored, Bradshaw reminded his hearers of the 
 King's persistent refusal to plead to the accusation, and of 
 the notoriety of the crimes imputed to him ; but declared 
 that the Court, though it had agreed upon its sentence, was 
 willing, before pronouncing it, to hear the prisoner's defence, 
 provided he no longer disputed its jurisdiction.' 
 
 The King. ' Since I see that you will not hear anything 
 of debate concerning that which I confess I thought most 
 material for the peace of the kingdom and for the liberty of 
 the subject, I shall waive it, I shall speak nothing to it. 
 But only I must tell you, that this many a day all things 
 have been taken away from me but that that I call dearer 
 unto me than my life, which is, my conscience and my 
 honour. And if I had a respect to my life, more than to 
 the peace of the kingdom and the liberty of the subject, 
 certainly I should have made a particular defence for 
 myself; for by that at leastwise I might have delayed an 
 ugly sentence which I beheve will pass upon me. There- 
 fore, certainly, sir, as a man that hath some understanding 
 some knowledge of the world, if that my true zeal to my 
 country had not overcome the care that I have for my own 
 preservation, I should have gone another way to work than 
 that I have done. Now, sir, I conceive that a hasty 
 sentence once passed may sooner be repented of than 
 recalled : and truly the selfsame desire that I have for the 
 peace of the kipgdom, and the liberty of the subject, more 
 than my own particular ends, makes me now at last desire, 
 that I, having something to say that concerns both, I desire, 
 before sentence be given, that I may be heard in the Painted 
 Chamber before the Lords and Commons. This delay 
 cannot be prejudicial unto you, whatsoever I say. If that 
 I say no reason, those that hear me must be judges ; I can- 
 not be judge of that that I have. If it be reason, and really 
 for the welfare of the kingdom, and the liberty of the subject, 
 I am sure on it it is very well worth the hearing. There- 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 109 
 
 fore I do conjure you, as you love that that you pretend — I 
 hope it is real — the liberty of the subject, the peace of the 
 kingdom — that you will grant me this hearing before any 
 sentence be passed. I only desire this, that you will take 
 this into your consideration : it may be you have not heard 
 of this beforehand. If you wiU, I will retire, and you may 
 think of it ; but if I cannot get this liberty, I do protest 
 that these fair shows of liberty and peace are pure shows, 
 and that you will not hear your King.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' Sir, you have now spoken.' 
 
 The King. ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' And this that you have said is a further 
 declining of the jurisdiction of this Court, which was the 
 thing wherein you were limited before.' 
 
 The King. ' Pray excuse me, sir, for my interruption, 
 because you mistake me. It is not a declining of it ; you 
 do judge me before you hear me speak. I say it will not, 
 I do not decline it ; though I cannot acknowledge the juris- 
 diction of the Court ; yet, sir, in this give me leave to say, 
 I would do it, though I do not acknowledge it : in this I 
 do protest ; it is not the declining of it, since, I say, if I do 
 say anything but that, that is for the peace of the kingdom 
 and the liberty of the subject, then the shame is mine. 
 Now I desire that you will take this into your considera- 
 tion ; if you will, I will withdraw.' 
 
 The agitation in the Hall was now excessive. Everybody 
 strove to conjecture the King's reason for demanding a 
 conference with the two Houses, and what he would pro- 
 pose to them ; the general opinion being that he wished to 
 offer to abdicate in favour of his son. Meanwhile, the 
 Court was not a little perplexed, for there was obvious 
 danger in delay. Bradshaw contended that the King's 
 demand was made only with a view of escaping the juris- 
 diction of the Court ; but Colonel Downes, one of the 
 judges, declaring that it ought to be considered, the Court 
 retired for that purpose into the Court of Wards. They 
 were absent half an hour ; the time being spent, according 
 
110 The White King. 
 
 to a Royalist authority, in ' chiding Downes, and with 
 reproaches and threats hardening him to go through the 
 remainder of their villainy with them.' On their return, 
 Bradshaw announced that the King's proposal was rejected, 
 and that they had unanimously resolved to proceed to 
 sentence and to judgment. 
 
 The King. ' Sir, I know it is in vain for me to dispute : 
 I am no sceptic for to deny the power that you have ; I 
 know that you have power enough. Sir, I must confess I 
 think it would have been for the kingdom's peace if you 
 would have taken pains for to show the lawfulness of your 
 power. For this delay that I have desired, I confess it is a 
 delay; but it is a delay very important for the peace of the 
 kingdom ; for it is not my person that I look at alone — it 
 is the kingdom's welfare and the kingdom's peace. It is 
 an old sentence, " That we should think on long before we 
 resolve of great matters suddenly." Therefore, sir, I do say 
 again that I do put at your doors all the inconveniency of 
 a hasty sentence. I confess I have been here now, I think, 
 this week — this day eight days was the day I came here 
 first ; but a little delay of a day or two further may give 
 peace, whereas a hasty judgment may bring on that trouble 
 and perpetual inconveniency to the kingdom, that the child 
 that is unborn may repent it. And therefore, again, out of 
 the duty I owe to God and to my country, I do desire that 
 I may be heard by the Lords and Commons in the Painted 
 Chamber, or any other chamber that you will appoint me.' 
 
 BradsJiMw. ' You have been already answered to what 
 you even now moved, being the same you moved before, 
 since the resolution and the judgment of the Court in it. 
 And the Court now requires to know whether you have any 
 more to say for yourself than you have said, before they 
 proceed to sentence.' 
 
 The King. ' I say this, sir, that if you hear me, if you 
 will give me but this delay, I doubt not but that I shall 
 give some satisfaction to you all here, and to my people 
 after that; and therefore I do require you, as you will 
 
Personal History of Charles I. Ill 
 
 answer it at the dreadful day of judgment, that you will 
 consider it once again.' 
 
 Bradshaw. 'Sir, I have received direction from the Court.' 
 
 The King. ' Well, sir.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' If this must be reinforced, or anything of 
 this nature, your answer must be the same ; and they will 
 proceed to sentence, if you have nothing more to say.' 
 
 The King. 'I have nothing more to say; but I shall 
 desire, that this may be entered what I have said.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' The Court then, sir, hath something to say 
 unto you, which, although I know it will be very unaccept- 
 able, yet, notwithstanding, they are willing and are resolved 
 to discharge their duty.' 
 
 He went on to address him at great length, his harangue 
 forming a kind of apologia for the actions of the Parlia- 
 ment, and a recital of the evils of the civil war, of which 
 he declared the King to be the author. The language 
 employed was harsh, but grave, elevated, devout, and 
 animated by an obvious sincerity. The King listened in 
 dignified silence, without offering any interruption ; but 
 when Bradshaw ceased, he exclaimed : 
 
 ' I would desire only one word before you give sentence ; 
 and that is, that you would hear me concerning those 
 great imputations that you have laid to my charge.' 
 
 Bradshaw: ' Sir, you must give me now leave to go on ; for 
 I am not free from your sentence, and your time is now past.' 
 
 The King. ' But I shall desire you will hear me a few 
 words to you ; for truly, whatever sentence you wiU put 
 upon me, in respect of those heavy imputations that I see 
 by your speech you have put upon me. Sir, it is very true 
 that ' 
 
 Here Bradshaw interposed, and, after some further 
 remarks on ' the large dimension' of the King's sins, he 
 called upon the clerk, Broughton, to read the sentence, 
 which ran as follows : ' Whereas the Commons of England 
 in Parliament had appointed them a High Court of Justice 
 for the trial of Charles Stuart, King of England, before 
 
112 
 
 The White King. 
 
 whom he had been three times convented, and at the first 
 tune a charge of high treason, and other crimes and mis- 
 demeanours, was read in the behalf of the kingdom of 
 England . . . which charges being read unto him as afore- 
 said, he, the said Charles Stuart, was required to give his 
 answer; but he refused so to do ... . for all which 
 treasons and crimes this court doth adjudge, that he, the 
 said Charles Stuart, as a tyrant, traitor, murderer, and 
 public enemy, shall be put to death by the severing of his 
 head from his body.' 
 
 Bradshaw. ' This sentence, now read and published, is the 
 act, sentence, judgment, and resolution of the whole court.' 
 
 All the members here rose in token of assent.* 
 
 " The warrant ordering the King's execution, issued by the High 
 Court of Justice on Monday, the 29th of January, was worded as 
 follows : 
 
 'Whereas Charles Stuart, King of England, is, and standeth Con- 
 Ticted, Attainted, and Condemned of High Treason and other high 
 Crimes, and Sentence upon Saturday last was pronounced against him 
 by this Court, to be put to death by the severing of his Head from his 
 Body, of which Sentence Execution yet remains to be done : These 
 are therefore to will and require you to see the said Sentence executed 
 in the open Street before White-Hall upon the morrow, being the 30 
 day of this instant Month of January, between the hours of Ten in 
 the Morning and Five in the Afternoon of the same day, with full 
 effect : And so doing this shall be your sufficient Warrant. And 
 these are to require all Officers and Soldiers, and other the good 
 People of this Nation of England, to be assisting unto you in this 
 service. 
 
 ' To Colonel Francis Hacker, Colonel Huncks, and Lieutenant- 
 Colonel Phayre, and to every one of them. 
 ' Given under our hands and seals.' 
 
 John Bradshaw. 
 Thomas Gray. 
 01. Cromwell. 
 Edw. Whaley. 
 Mi. Livesey. 
 John Okey. 
 Jo. Danvers. 
 Jo. Bourcheir. 
 Rich. Ingoldsby. 
 W. Cawley. 
 J. Barkestead. 
 Isaac Ewer. 
 J. Dixwell. 
 Val. Walton. 
 Simon Mayne. 
 
 Theo. Horton. 
 H. Ireton. 
 Tho. Maleverer. 
 John Blakeston. 
 Jo. Hutchinson. 
 Will. Goffe. 
 Tho. Pride. 
 Pe. Temple. 
 Tho. Harrison. 
 Hen. Smith. 
 Per. Pelham. 
 Bi. Dean. 
 Bob. Tichbume. 
 Hum. Edwards. 
 Dan, Blagran, 
 
 Owen Rowe. 
 WilliamPurefoy. 
 Ad. Scroope. 
 James Temple. 
 A. Garland. 
 Edm. Ludlow. 
 Hen. Martin. 
 Vincent Porter. 
 W. Constable. 
 Jo. Jones. 
 Jo. Moore. 
 Ha. Waller. 
 Gilb. Millington. 
 C. Fleetwood. 
 
 J. Alured. 
 Rob. Lilburne. 
 W. Saye. 
 Anth. Stapeley. 
 Gre. Norton. 
 Tho. Chaloner. 
 Tho. Wogan. 
 Jo. Venne. 
 Greg. Clement. 
 Jo. Downes. 
 Tho. Waite. 
 Tho. Scott. 
 Jo. Carew. 
 Miles Corbet. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 113 
 
 The KHrng. ' Will you hear me a word, sir ?' 
 
 Bradshaw. 'Sir, you are not to be heard after the 
 sentence.' 
 
 The King. ' No, sir.' 
 
 Bradshaw. 'No, sir, by your favour, sir. Guard, with- 
 draw your prisoner.' 
 
 The King. I may speak after sentence, by your favour, 
 sir; I may speak after sentence, ever. By your favour, 
 hold ; the sentence, sir — I say, sir, I do — I am not suffered 
 to speak ; expect what justice other people wUl have.' 
 
 At this moment, the guard pressed around him, and 
 literally forced him from the bar, hurrying, him along to 
 the place where his chair was in waiting. As he de- 
 scended the staircase, the soldiers repeated their cries of 
 'Justice! execution!' blowing the smoke of their tobacco 
 — which was very distasteful to him — in his face, while one 
 person, more insolent than the rest, actually spat at him — 
 the King, with his usual calmness, taking no more notice of 
 the indignity than to cleanse his face with his handkerchief 
 Above the furious shouts of the soldiery might be heard at 
 times the voices of the people : ' God save your Majesty ! 
 God deliver your Majesty from the hands of your enemies !' 
 And, until he was seated in his chair, the bearers, in spite 
 of the angry threats of Colonel Axtell, stood bareheaded. 
 The cortege set out for Whitehall ; the streets were lined 
 with soldiers, behind whom, and at the doors and windows, 
 an immense crowd had collected, for the most part silent, 
 but some weeping, and others praying aloud for their King. 
 At intervals, to celebrate their triumph, the soldiers renewed 
 their savage exclamations : ' Justice ! justice ! execution I 
 execution!' But by this time Charles had recovered his 
 composure. ' Poor souls !' he cried, ' for a piece of money 
 they would do so for their commanders.' 
 
 In the evening ' a member of the army' acquainted the 
 committee with his Majesty's desire, that inasmuch as they 
 had passed a sentence of death upon him, and his time 
 might be nigh, he might be allowed to see his children, and 
 
 VOL. I. 8 
 
114 The White King. 
 
 that Dr. Juxon, Bishop of London, might assist him in his 
 private devotions, and administer the Sacrament. 
 
 These requests were granted. 
 
 And the next day, being Sunday, the 28th, he was 
 attended by the guard to St. James's, when Bishop Juxon 
 preached before him upon these words : ' In the day when 
 God shall judge the secrets of all men by Jesus Christ, ac- 
 cording to my Gospel.'* 
 
 Assisted by Bishop Juxon, Charles prepared to meet his 
 doom with an unaffected dignity, and a calm composure, 
 which rose to the height of heroism. After sending messages 
 ■of affectionate remembrance to his friends, he expressed a 
 strong desire that his devotional exercises might not be in- 
 terrupted by any interviews. ' I know,' he said, ' that my 
 nephew the Elector will endeavour it, and other lords that 
 love me, which I should take, in good part, but my time is 
 short and precious, and I am desirous to improve it the best 
 I may in preparation. I hope they wiU not take it ill that 
 none have access to me but my children. The best office 
 they can do now is to pray for me.' The same night he gave 
 orders for the removal of his dogs, and sent a farewell to his 
 wife. When some of the Puritan divines requested per- 
 mission to pray with him, he thanked them for their offer, 
 and desired them to remember him in his prayers, but he 
 had already chosen his spiritual adviser. 
 
 On the night of the 28th, the King took a ring from his 
 finger, and instructed Herbert to take it to a certain house 
 in Channel Row, at the back of King Street, Westminster, 
 where he was to deliver it, without saying a word, to Lady 
 Wheeler, the keeper of the royal laundry. Having obtained 
 the password from Colonel Tomlinson, Herbert hastened to 
 execute his commission. On receiving the ring. Lady 
 Wheeler told him to wait in the room until she returned. 
 Soon afterwards she reappeared, and placing in his hands a 
 
 ** We have taken this detailed account of the King's trial from the 
 report preserved in Royston'sj collection of his ' Works,' i. 425-448 
 (Ed. 1662). 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 115 
 
 small cabinet sealed with three seals, requested him to give 
 it to the person from whom he had received the ring. Next 
 morning, in Herbert's presence, Charles broke the seals, 
 when in the casket was found a number of diamonds and 
 other precious stones, mostly set in broken insignia of the 
 Order of the Garter. ' This,' said the King, ' is all the wealth 
 which I have it in my power to bequeath to my children.' 
 
 On the 29th, the last day but one, the Princess Elizabeth 
 and the Duke of Gloucester were allowed to take leave of 
 their royal father. The Princess was a child of precocious 
 intelligence, whom the sad parting deeply moved ; and her 
 boy brother, conscious that something was out of gear, wept 
 with loud sobs and cries. Falling at his feet, they asked the 
 King to bless them. He raised them up, kissing them 
 affectionately, and, placing the Princess on his knee, desired 
 her to tell her brother James that he must regard his 
 brother Charles thenceforth as his Sovereign ; adding, that 
 it was his dying wish they should love one another, and 
 forgive their father's enemies. He told her not to grieve for 
 him, inasmuch as he died for the laws and liberties of the 
 land, and for the maintenance of the Protestant religion ; 
 and she was to assure her mother that his thoughts had 
 never wandered from her, and that his love had survived to 
 the last. He then gave her his blessing, which she was to 
 convey to her brothers and sisters, and she was also to 
 remember him to all whom he held dear. 'But, sweet- 
 heart,' he said, ' you will forget this.' ' No,' she replied, 
 ' never while I live ;' and breaking into a passion of tears, 
 she promised to write down aU that he had said to her. 
 
 Then he took on his knee the Duke of Gloucester. 
 ' Sweetheart,' he said, as the child looked up at him with 
 wistful eyes, ' they will cut off thy father's head. Mark 
 what I say ; they will cut off my head, and perhaps make 
 thee a king ; but mark what I say : you must not be made 
 a king as long as your brotherSj Charles and James, are 
 
 " The young Duke was in his tenth year, the Princess in her 
 fourteenth. 
 
 8—2 
 
116 The White King. 
 
 alive ; for they will cut oif your brothers' heads when they 
 catch them, and cut off thy head at last ; and therefore I 
 charge you not to be made a king by them.' ' I will be 
 torn in pieces first,' replied the boy; an answer which 
 evidently gave great satisfaction to the King, He then 
 presented the two children with his jewels ; and while the 
 tears fell fast and freely, kissed them with many kisses, and 
 implored for them the Divine blessing. His feelings when 
 they left him it is impossible to describe ; but as the door 
 was about to close upon them, he hurried towards it, clasped 
 them again in his arms, and kissed them passionately. 
 This was his sharpest experience ; but he soon recovered 
 his composure, and gave the rest of the day to prayer and 
 devout meditation. Bishop Juxon preached a sermon 
 before him from the 16th verse of the 2nd chapter of 
 Romans ; after which he received the Sacrament, and 
 until a late hour of the night continued in religious conver- 
 sation. For a couple of hours after the bishop had left him 
 he prayed and read by himself. He then called to Herbert 
 to place his bed on the floor by his own, and sank into a 
 calm, sweet slumber.* 
 
 As for Herbert, he could rest but little, and the brief 
 sleep he had was much troubled by a painful dream. 
 ' Some hours before day,' he says, ' the King drew his bed- 
 curtain to awaken me, and could, by the light of a wax 
 lamp, perceive me troubled in my sleep. The King rose 
 forthwith ; and, as I was making him ready, " Herbert," said 
 the King, " I would know why you were disquieted in your 
 sleep ?" I replied, " May it please your Majesty, I was in a 
 dream." " What was your dream ?" said the King, " I 
 would hear it." " May it please your Majesty," said I, " I 
 dreamed that, as you were making ready, one knocked at 
 the bed-chamber door, which your Majesty took no notice 
 of, nor was I willing to acquaint you with it, apprehending 
 it might be Colonel Hacker. But knocking the second 
 ume, your Majesty asked me if I heard it not ? I said I 
 
 ° These details are from Herbert's ' Memoirs of the last Two Years 
 of Charles I.' [Ed. 1702], pp. 225-299. 
 
Personal History of Charles 1. 117 
 
 did ; but did not choose to go witbout your orders. " Why- 
 then, go ; know who it is, and his business.' Whereupon 
 I opened the door, and perceived that it was the Lord 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Laud, in his pontifical 
 habit, as worn at Court ; I knew him, having seen him 
 often. The Archbishop desired he might enter, having 
 something to say to the king. I acquainted your Majesty 
 with his desire ; so you bade me let him in. Being in, he 
 made his obeisance to your Majesty in the middle of the 
 room, doing the like also when he came near your person j 
 and falling on his knees, your Majesty gave him your hand 
 to kiss, and took him aside to the window, when some 
 discourse passed between your Majesty and him, and I kept 
 a becoming distance, not hearing anything that was said, 
 yet could perceive your Majesty pensive by your looks, and 
 that the Archbishop gave a sigh ; who, after a short stay, 
 again kissing your hand, returned, but with his face all the 
 way towards your Majesty, and making his usual rever- 
 ences, the third being so submiss as he fell prostrate on his 
 face on the ground, and I immediately stepped to him to 
 help him up, which I was then acting when your Majesty 
 saw me troubled in my sleep. ■ The impression was so lively 
 that I looked about, verily thiaking it was no dream. 
 The King said my dream was remarkable, but he is dead ; 
 yet had we conferred together during life, 'tis very likely 
 (albeit I loved him well) I should have said something to 
 him might have occasioned his sigh.' 
 
 When Herbert began to make him ready, the King said, 
 in a cheerful voice : ' Herbert, this is my second marriage 
 day ; I would be as trim as may be to-day, for before night 
 I hope to be espoused to my blessed Jesus.' He particu* 
 larised the clothes he should wish to wear, and asked for 
 an additional shirt, lest the coldness of the day should 
 make him tremble,* and his enemies might think it was 
 with fear.f ' I do not dread death,' he said ; ' death is not 
 terrible to me. I bless my God I am prepared.' 
 
 " Evelyn records that the Thames was frozen over. 
 t Compare Byron's ' Marino Falieri.' 
 
118 The White King-. 
 
 A few minutes were spent in indicating the memorials 
 which he wished to bequeath. To Prince Charles his Bible, 
 which contained many private remarks and annotations. He 
 desired that he would read it often, and with great care, 
 and added that in affliction he would find it to be his 
 surest friend. To the Duke of York he sent a curious ring 
 which he had been accustomed to wear ; to the Princess 
 Elizabeth, Bishop Andrews' 'Sermons,' Hooker's ' Ecclesiasti- 
 cal Polity,' and Archbishop Laud's tractate against the 
 Jesuit Fisher; to the Duke of Gloucester, King James's 
 works and Dr. Hammond's ' Practical Catechism ' ; his gold 
 watch to the Duchess of Richmond, the daughter of his old 
 friend and favourite, Buckingham ; and ' Cassandra,' to the 
 Earl of Lindsay. 
 
 When Bishop Juxon arrived, the King retired with him 
 to prayer. After the usual service of the church, the Bishop 
 read the 27th chapter of St. Matthew, which records our 
 Saviour's Passion. The King applied it to his own condi- 
 tion, and thanked the Bishop for his selection. He was 
 greatly pleased when informed that the chapter was ap- 
 pointed in the calendar for the lesson of the day. 
 
 At ten o'clock Colonel Hacker appeared, and in a low 
 tremulous voice announced that the moment of departure 
 had arrived. Charles answered that he would come pre- 
 sently ; and in a minute or two, taking the Bishop by the 
 hand, and bidding Herbert bring with him his silver cloak, 
 he went forth. He wore, we are told, a long black cloak 
 and grey stockings. As he passed through the gardens 
 of St. James's, he inquired of Herbert the time, and 
 bade him keep the cloak in remembrance of his royal 
 master. 
 
 Crossing the bare and frozen Park, through a double 
 line of infantry, with a detachment of halberdiers in front 
 and rear, their drums beating and colours flying, Charles 
 walked with a stately and assured step; on his right, Bishop 
 Juxon, in his robes ; on his left, Colonel Tomlinson, com- 
 mandant of the guard, both bare headed. With the latter 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 119 
 
 he conversed freely and calmly, speaking to him of his in- 
 terment, and of the persons whom he wished to be charged 
 with the duty of attending to it. Tradition relates that, as 
 he passed along, he pointed out a tree, near to the entrance 
 to Spring Gardens, as planted by his brother. Prince Henry. 
 It is said that, during the journey, he was subjected to 
 more than one insult. A fanatical officer, reviving an old 
 calumny, asked if it were true that he was privy to his 
 father's murder ; and a ' mean citizen,' walking close by 
 his side, iixed on him a look of peculiar malignity, until he 
 was driven away by some of the attendants. The soldiers 
 marching at a slow pace, Charles requested them to move 
 faster. ' I go,' he said, ' to strive for a heavenly crown, 
 with less solicitude than I have formerly encouraged my 
 soldiers to fight for an earthly one.' Once during the 
 journey, being apparently faint, he sat down and rested 
 himself. 
 
 Amid the roll of drums he reached Whitehall, and, ascend- 
 ing the staircase lightly, traversed the great gallery, and 
 gained his bedchamber, where he received the Sacrament 
 from Bishop Juxon's hands. Dinner had been prepared for 
 him ; and at the Bishop's suggestion he ate a morsel of 
 bread and drank a glass of claret. At one o'clock Colonel 
 Hacker knocked at the door. The Bishop and Herbert fell 
 on their knees, weeping ; Charles gave them his hand to 
 kiss, and assisted the aged prelate to regain his feet. To 
 Colonel Tomlinson, who had behaved with great delicacy 
 in a painful situation, he presented his gold tooth-pick 
 case, requesting him to remain with him to the last ; and 
 then, turning to Hacker, he said: 'March; I follow you.' 
 Between a double hedge of pikes he passed along the 
 Banqueting Hall, and, through an opening which had been 
 made in the centre of the wall, stepped out upon the black 
 scaffold, where stood two headsmen, masked. A body of 
 cavalry, with flashing helm and breastplate, thronged the 
 open space in front, preventing the approach of the crowd. 
 The King was thus prevented ' from speaking what he had 
 
120 The White King. 
 
 premeditatedi and prepared for them to hear ;' but, ' omitting 
 much of his intended matter, he addressed the following 
 observations chiefly to Colonel Tomlinson : 
 
 ' I shall be very little heard of anybody here ; I shall 
 therefore speak a word unto you here. 
 
 ' Indeed, I could hold my peace very well, if I did not 
 think that holding my peace would make some men think 
 that I did submit to the guilt as well as to the punishment. 
 But I think it is my duty to God first, and to my country, 
 for to clear myself both as an honest man, and a good King, 
 and a good Christian. 
 
 ' I shall begin first with my innocency. In truth, I think 
 it not very needful for me to insist long upon this, for all 
 the world knows that I never did begin a war first with the 
 two Houses of Parliament ; and I call God to witness, to 
 whom I must shortly make an account, that I never did 
 intend for to encroach upon their privileges ; they begun 
 upon me : it is the Militia they began upon ; they contest 
 that the Militia was mine ; but they thought it fit for to 
 have it from me. And, to be short, if anybody will look to 
 the dates of commissions, of their commissions and mine, 
 and likewise to the declarations, they will see clearly that 
 they began these unhappy troubles, not I. So that, as to 
 the guilt of these numerous crimes that are laid against 
 me, I hope in God tha,t God will clear me of it. I wiU not 
 — I am in charity — God forbid that I should lay it on the 
 two Houses of Parliament ; there is no necessity for either : 
 I hope they are free of this guilt. For I do believe that 
 ill instruments between them and me have been the chief 
 cause of all this bloodshed. So that, by way of speaking, 
 as I find myself clear of this, I hope and pray God that 
 they may too. Yet, for all this, God forbid that I should 
 be so ill a Christian as not to say that God's judgments are 
 just upon me : many times He does pay justice by an unjust 
 sentence ; that is ordinary. I will only say this, that an 
 unjust sentence I sufiisred for to take effect [the Earl of 
 Strafford's] is punished now by an unjust sentence upon m,e. 
 
. Personal History of Charles I. 121 
 
 That is — so far I have said to show you that I am an 
 ianoeent man. 
 
 ' Now for to show you that I am a good Christiaa I 
 hope there is a good man [pointing to Bishop Juxon] that 
 wUl bear me witness that I have forgiven all the world, and 
 even those in particular that have been the chief causes of 
 my death : who they are, God knows — I do not desire to 
 know ; I pray God forgive them. But this is not all. My 
 charity must go further. I wish that they may repent ; for 
 indeed they have committed a great sin in that particular ; 
 I pray God, with St. Stephen, that this be not laid to their 
 charge. Nay, not only so, but that they may take the right 
 way to the peace of the kingdom: for my charity com- 
 mands me not only to forgive particular men, but my charity 
 commands me to endeavour to the last gasp the peace of 
 the kingdom. So, Sirs, I do wish with all my soul — and I 
 do hope there is some here* will carry it further — that they 
 may endeavour the peace of the kingdom. 
 
 'Now, Sirs, I must show you both how you are out of 
 the way, and will put you in a way. 
 
 'First, you are out of the way. For certainly all the 
 way you have even had yet, as I could find by anything, is 
 the way of Conquest. Certainly this is an ill way ; for Con- 
 quest, Sir, in my opinion, is never just, except there be a 
 good just cause, either for matter of wrong, or just title ; 
 and then, if you go beyond it, the first quarrel that you 
 have to it, that makes it unjust at the end that was just at 
 the first. But if it be only matter of Conquest, then it is 
 a great robbery, as a pirate said to Alexander, that he was 
 the great robber, that he was but a petty robber. And so. 
 Sir, I do think the way that you are in is much out of the way. 
 
 ' Now, sir, for to put you in the way : believe it, you will 
 never do right, nor God will never prosper you, until you 
 give God His due, the King his due (that is, my successors), 
 and the people their due : I am as much for them as any 
 of you. 
 
 * ' Turning to some gentlemen that wrote.' 
 
122 The White King. 
 
 ' You must give God His due, by regulating rightly the 
 Church according to His Scripture, which is now out of 
 order. For to set you in a way particularly, now I cannot ; 
 but only this. A National Synod, freely called, freely 
 debating among themselves, must settle this, when that 
 every opinion is freely and clearly heard. 
 
 ' For the King^ indeed I will not. 
 
 [Here, observing that a gentleman touched the axe, he 
 exclaimed : ' Hurt not the axe ; that may hurt me !'] 
 
 ' For the King, the laws of the land will clearly instruct 
 you for that ; therefore, because it concerns my own par- 
 ticular, I only give you a touch of it. 
 
 'For the People: and truly I desire their liberty and 
 freedom as much as anybody whomsoever ; but I must tell 
 you that their liberty and freedom consists in having of 
 Government those laws by which their life and their goods 
 may be most their own. It is not for having share in 
 Government, Sir; that is nothing pertaining to them; a> 
 subject and a sovereign are clear different things. And 
 therefore, until they do that, I mean, that you do put the 
 people in that liberty as I say, certainly they will never 
 enjoy themselves. Sirs, it was for this that now I am come 
 here : if I would have given way to an arbitrary way, for 
 to have all laws changed according to the power of the 
 Sword, I needed not to have come here; and therefore I 
 tell you— and I pray God it be not laid to your charge — 
 that I am the Martyr of the People. 
 
 ' In truth. Sirs, I shall not hold you much longer ; for I 
 will only say this to you. That in truth I could have desired 
 some little time longer, because that I would have put this 
 that I have said in a little more order, and a little better 
 digested than I iave done ; and therefore I hope you will 
 excuse me. 
 
 ' I have delivered my conscience. I pray God that you 
 do take those courses that are best for the good of the 
 kingdom and your own salvation.' 
 
 At the end of the King's oration. Bishop Juxon turned 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 123 
 
 to him and said : ' Though it be very -well known what your 
 Majesty's affections are to the Protestant religion, yet it 
 may be expected that you should say somewhat for the 
 world's satisfaction in that particular.' 
 
 The King : ' I thank you very heartily, my Lord, for 
 that ; I had almost forgotten it. In troth, Sirs, my con- 
 science in religion, I think, is very well known to all the 
 world ; and therefore I declare before you all. That I die 
 a Christian, according to the profession of the Church of 
 England, as I found it left me by my father; and this 
 honest man [pointing to the Bishop], I think, wUl wit- 
 ness it.' 
 
 Addressing the officers, he said : ' Sirs, excuse me for this 
 same. I have a good cause, and I have a gracious God. I 
 will say no more.' 
 
 To Colonel Hacker he said : ' Take care that they do not 
 put me to pain. And, Sir, this, and it please you.' 
 
 He paused abruptly, for another gentleman was passing 
 near the headsman's fatal weapon. ' Take heed of the axe ; 
 pray take heed of the axe !' 
 
 To the executioner, Kobert Branden, he said : ' I shall 
 say but very short prayers, and when I thrust out my 
 hands ' 
 
 Then he called to the Bishop for his cap, and having put 
 it on, asked the executioner : ' Does my hair trouble you ?' 
 He was requested to put it all under his cap, and while 
 doing so he repeated to the Bishop, ' I have a good cause, 
 and a gracious God on my side.' ' There is but one stage 
 more,' rejoined the Bishop, ' which, though turbulent and 
 troublesome, yet is a very short one. You may consider it 
 will now carry you a very great way ; it will carry you from 
 earth to heaven ; and there you shall find, to your great 
 joy, the prize you hasten to — a crown of glory,' ' I go 
 from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown,' said Charles ; 
 ' where no disturbance can be — no disturbance in the 
 world.' 'You are exchanged,' added the Bishop, 'from 
 a temporal to an eternal crown : a good exchange.' 
 
124 The White King. 
 
 The King here asked the executioner, ' Is my hair well V 
 and taking off his cloak and George, the insignia of the 
 Garter, he handed his George to the Bishop, with the em- 
 phatic injunction, ' Remember !' Then, removing his 
 doublet, to put on his cloak again, and looking at the 
 block, said to the executioner, ' You must set it fast.' ' It 
 is fast, sir.' The King : ' It might have been a little higher.' 
 Executioner : ' It can be no higher, sir.' The King: ' When 
 
 I put out my hands this way, then ' Having said a few 
 
 words to himself, still standing, with hands and eyes lifted 
 up towards heaven, he stooped down, and laid his head 
 upon the block. The executioner again putting his hair 
 under his cap, Charles, thinking that he was about to 
 strike, exclaimed, ' Stay for the sign !' ' Yes, I will, and it 
 please your Majesty.' After a very short pause, the King 
 stretched forth his hands ; the axe flashed through the air ; 
 and with a single stroke all was over, a dismal groan rising 
 involuntarily from the multitude — a groan which has re- 
 sounded through the pages of our English history to this 
 day. 
 
 The executioner held up the head to the people, accord- 
 ing to custom ; afterwards, along with the lifeless body, it was 
 placed in a coiBn covered with black velvet, and conveyed 
 to St. James's. The blood was collected by ' divers persons 
 for different ends ' — by some as ' trophies of their villainy,' 
 by others as ' reliques of a martyr ;' and one writer asserts 
 that in many cases, it had the same effect, by the blessing 
 of God, which was often found in his sacred touch when 
 living.' 
 
 Having been embalmed, the body was deposited in a 
 leaden cofiSn, and left open for some days to the inspection 
 of the people. At length, upon Wednesday, February 7th, 
 it was delivered to four of his servants, Herbert, Mildmay, 
 Preston, and Joyner, who, with attendants, in mourning 
 equipage, escorted the hearse that night to Windsor, and 
 placed the coffin in the room which had been the dead 
 King's bedchamber. On the following day it was removed 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 125 
 
 into tlie Dean's Hall, which was hung with black, and 
 darkened, and tapers were set round about it. About three 
 in the afternoon the Duke of Kichmond, the Marquis of 
 Hertford, the Earls of Southampton and Lindsay, and the 
 Bishop of London — ' others that were sent to refusing that 
 last service to the best of princes ' — arrived at the Castle, 
 bearing an order from Parliament that the arrangements of 
 the late King's burial should be committed to the Duke, 
 provided that the expenses did not exceed £500. This 
 order they presented to Colonel Chichester, the Governor 
 of the Castle, with a request that the interment might take 
 place in St. George's Chapel, according to the forms of the 
 Church of England.' The latter portion of the request was 
 refused on the ground ' that it was improbable the Parlia- 
 ment would permit the use of what they had so solemnly 
 abolished, and therein destroy their own act.' The Lords 
 replied, 'that there was a diflference betwixt destroying 
 their own act and dispensing with it ; and that no power 
 so binds its own hands as to disable itself in some cases.' 
 The Governor, however, was not to be persuaded. An 
 ordinary grave had been dug in the body of St. George's 
 Chapel for the reception of the corpse ; but the Lords con- 
 trived, ' by the direction of an honest man, one of the old 
 knights, to use an artifice to discover a vault in the middle 
 of the choir, by the hollow sound they might perceive in 
 knocking with a staff upon that place ; that so it might 
 seem to be their own accidental finding out, and no person 
 receive blame for the discovery.' The vault having been 
 opened, they saw in the middle of it a large coffin of lead, 
 covered with a velvet pall, and a lesser by its side, which 
 they supposed to be the coffins respectively of Henry YIII. 
 and Queen Jane Seymour. On the other side they resolved 
 to lay the King. 
 
 Hither the hearse was borne by the officers of the garrison, 
 the four lords supporting the comers of the velvet paU, and 
 the Bishop of London following. The snow fell heavily, so 
 that by the time the door of the chapel was reached, the 
 
126 The White King. 
 
 pall had become quite white — white, 'the colour of 
 inuocency.' And in this manner were the King's remains, 
 about three in the afternoon of Friday, the 9th of February, 
 'silently, and without other solemnity than of sighs and 
 tears, committed to the earth, the velvet pall being thrown 
 into the vault over the coflfin, to which was fastened an in- 
 scription in lead of these words, " King Charles, 1648." ' 
 
 Nothing in the life of Charles became him like the leaving 
 of it. He nothing common did or mean, upon that 
 memorable scene ; but behaved with a dignity and a serene 
 courage which threw a lustre about the scaffold, and have 
 blinded men's eyes to the grave defects of his character, and 
 the fatal tendencies of his policy. As for his adversaries, it 
 must be admitted that they, too, showed no littleness of 
 spirit; not rejoicing indecently over a vanquished man, but 
 discharging what they conceived to be a solemn duty with 
 a composed and even stately demeanour. It was a painful 
 duty which was laid upon them ; and they undertook it like 
 men who, though they acted reluctantly, yet acted from 
 conviction. ' I am fully persuaded,' says Ludlow, ' that an 
 accommodation with the King was unsafe to the people of 
 England, and unjust and wicked in the nature of it. The 
 former, besides that it was obvious to all men, the King 
 himself had proved by the duplicity of his dealing with the 
 Parliament, which manifestly appeared in his own papers, 
 taken at the battle of Naseby and elsewhere. Of the latter 
 I was convinced by the express words of God's law, " that 
 blood defiled the land, and that the land cannot be cleansed 
 of the blood that is shed therein but by the blood of him 
 that shed it."' 'And as for Mr. Hutchinson,' writes his 
 noble wife, ' he addressed himself to God by prayer, desiring 
 the Lord that if, through any human frailty, he was led into 
 any error or false opinion in these great transactions, He 
 would open his eyes, and not suffer him to proceed, but that 
 he would confirm his spirit in the truth, and lead him by a 
 right enlightened conscience ; and finding no check, but a 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 127 
 
 confirmation in his conscience, that it was his duty to act as 
 he did, he, upon serious debate, both privately and in his 
 addresses to God, and in conferences with conscientious, 
 upright, and unbiassed persons, proceeded to sign the 
 sentence against the King.' But though it was in this 
 solemn and devout spirit that the governing body of the 
 Parliament sent Charles to the block, it is impossible to 
 deny that their act was unconstitutional and illegal, inas- 
 much as in no sense did they represent the nation, and that, 
 apart from all other considerations, it was a great political 
 error. It rekindled a strong and enthusiastic loyalty in the 
 hearts of the people, who forgot the arbitrary actions of the 
 sovereign in the pathetic and impressive circumstances that 
 attended his so-called martyrdom. And it brought them 
 face to face with that sovereign's heir and successor, who 
 was chargeable with none of his father's faults as a ruler, 
 and whose youth and misfortunes could not but produce 
 an effect on the popular sympathies. 
 
 Mr. Gardiner, the most judicial of our historians, deals 
 fairly with the case of both parties. ' It was not from the 
 law,' he says, ' that Charles had suffered. Legal tribunals 
 are not infallible, but they are formed in such a way as to 
 secure as much impartiality as possible, and are accustomed 
 to act according to certain rules which offenders are aware 
 of in advance. . . . Never was any army more desirous of 
 escaping from the necessity of using brute force than this 
 one. The cause which it sustained was the right cause, and 
 it sustained it worthily with the pen as well as with the 
 sword. But they could not endure that all their sacrifices 
 should go for nothing; that foolish unwise prejudices 
 should have the upper hand; that armies should gather 
 round Charles in the absurd expectation that he would rule 
 otherwise than he had ruled before. If only Charles's head 
 was off', justice would be done, and men's minds would no 
 longer be set on so ridiculous a quest as that of a 
 Presbyterian Charles I. Not so! That which seemed to 
 end all, ended nothing. ... It was bad enough to contend 
 
128 The White King. 
 
 with the eflements of confusion which had gathered round 
 Charles ; it would be worse to contend with them when the 
 narrow-minded and self-willed prince had been elevated to 
 the position of a saint and a martyr ; and when the defence 
 of violated law, and the maintenance of popular rights 
 against the iron will of a triumphant soldiery, came to be 
 the watchword of the followers of Charles II.' 
 
 At this period of time it is difficult to imagine the 
 shock sent through the whole civUized world by the trial 
 and execution of Charles I. It seemed like a disruption of 
 the whole social order ; an event of so portentous and so 
 incredible a character that men could find nothing with 
 which to compare it but the crucifixion of Christ. 
 Salmasius, in his ' Defensio Regia,' shrieks out against its 
 authors as 'tetrae belluae, ac acolossis suis ferociores' — 
 hideous monsters, more ferocious than their own mastiffs 
 — and, no doubt, this was the] opinion of them generally 
 entertained. In putting to death the Lord's anointed, they 
 had committed a crime of unspeakable atrocity, at which 
 the world stood aghast. Hence the vehemence, not to say 
 the fury, which marks the royalist writings of the time, 
 whether in verse or prose. The White King, as they called 
 him, was a martyred saint ; his executioners were wretches 
 steeped in bloodguiltiness like the murderers of Stephen. 
 Thus, an anonymous elegist exclaims : 
 
 ' But lo ! a charge is drawn, a day is set, 
 The silent lamb is brought, the ■wolves are met. 
 Law is arraigned of treason, peace of war, 
 And justice stands a prisoner at the bar. 
 This sure was like the passion-tragedy : 
 His Saviour's person none could act but he. . . . 
 And Where's the slaughter-house ? Whitehall must be, 
 Lately his Palace, now his Calvary. 
 Great Charles, is this thy dying- place ? and where 
 Thou wert our king, art thou our martyr there ? . . . 
 Religion veils herself, and mourns that she 
 Is forced to cover such horrid villany. 
 The Church and State do shake ; that building must 
 Expect to fall, whose prop is turned to dust. 
 But cease from tears, Charles is most blest of men ; 
 A God on earth, more than a saint in Heaven.' 
 
Personal History of Charles I. • 129 
 
 The author of ' The Royal Martyr : or King Charles the 
 First no Man of Blood but a Martyr for his People* 
 breaks into the following rhapsody : 
 
 'The sun. in the firmament, and the four great quarters 
 of the earth, and the shapes and lineaments of them are not 
 so universally known, seen, or spoken of, as this will be 
 most certain to the present, as well as after ages. The end 
 hath now verified the beginning, and quod jyrimuTn, ftiit in 
 intentione ultimo loco agitur. Seven years' hypocritical 
 promises and practises, seven years' pretences, and seven 
 years ' preaching and prattlLug have now brought us all to 
 the conclusion as well as confusion. The blood of old 
 England is let out by greater witchcraft and cozenage than 
 that of Medea, when she set Pelias' daughters to let out old 
 blood, that young might come in the place of it ; the cedars 
 of Lebanon are devoured, and the trees have made the 
 bramble King, and are like to speed as well with it as the 
 frogs did with the stork that devoured them. And they 
 have not only slain the King their father, but, like Nero, 
 ripped up the belly of the Commonwealth, which was then- 
 mother. The light of heaven is put out; and the King, 
 laws, religion, and hberties of the people murthered — an 
 action so horrid, and a sin of so great a magnitude and 
 complication, as if we shall ask the days that are past, and 
 inquire from one end of the earth to the other, there will 
 not be found any wickedness like to this great wickedness, 
 or hath been heard like it. The Severn, Thames, Trent, 
 and Humber, four of the greatest rivers of the Icingdom. 
 with all their lesser running streams of the island in their 
 continual courses, and those huge heaps of water in the 
 ocean girdle of it, in their restless agitations, will never be 
 able to scour and wash away the guilt and stain of it, 
 though aU the rain which the clouds shall ever bring forth 
 and impart to the nation, and the tears of those that bewail 
 the loss of a King of so eminent graces and perfections be 
 added to it.' 
 
 ° Published by Henry Bell, London, 1660. 
 VOL. I. 9 
 
130 The White King. 
 
 ' Quis cladem illius dixi ? quis f unera fando 
 Explicet ? aut possit lachrymis jequare dolores ? 
 Gens antiqua ruit, multps dominata per annos.' 
 
 That the temper of the opposite party was not less bitter 
 might be proved from a hundred pamphlets ; but we may 
 be content with a single example from 'The None-Such 
 Charles/ which professes to have been ' published by au- 
 thority' (1651), and is attributed by Horace Walpole to the 
 venal pen of Balthazar Gerbier. It deals with the King's 
 career and character in the most caustic manner, and is 
 enlivened by anecdotes extracted ' out of divers Original! 
 Transactions, Dispatches, and the Notes of severall Publick 
 Ministers and CouEdillors of State as well at Home as 
 Abroad.' Here is a specimen of the language employed : 
 
 'The best words which he may have been observed to 
 speak, or the best ever which he may be said to have had, 
 was, at his entering at the Banqueting house door, where he 
 went as to the place of execution, for there he called for the 
 black scarf to have his head laid in, which he knew was to 
 answer for that body of his ; which his wilful head had so 
 much abused oft, and brought to that pass. 
 
 ' For after it had played foul and false with as good men 
 as himself, courted neighbour princes that it had acted the 
 same with his own people, with his most faithful servants, 
 nay, with those in whose hands and guard he was; who 
 proffered several means unto him for his recovery; yet 
 would he then, even as before said (when he thought to 
 have had the game in his own hands) nor that own heady 
 wilfulness as to lose all at a stroke ; and rather choose to 
 submit himself to the justice of an axe in a hangman's hand, 
 than to sway a sceptre with equity. .... 
 
 ' Now men see on what grounds it was that Queen Anne 
 (of Denmark) said to the Earl of Warwick, now living, and 
 the then Earl of Pembroke (when as they condoled with her 
 on the death of Prince Henry, persuading her how hopeful 
 a prince her son Charles was), she in a great passion burst 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 131 
 
 out, and said, 'My lords, lie wiU undo you all, and this 
 nation to boot. 
 
 ' Now, men may see how much reason Ben Jonson had, 
 when as, lying sick in his bed, very poor, and that after 
 much importunity of courtiers, ten pounds were sent to him 
 by the King, after the receipt of which, Ben threw them 
 through the glass windows, saying, " This man's soul was 
 not fit to live in an alley." 
 
 ' And this man's soul was more fixed on Ben's verses, and 
 other romances, during the time of his imprisonment, than 
 on those Holy Writs, wherein salvation is to be sought for 
 the soul as well as for the body. 
 
 ' Yet some men of these times will be gulled, and made 
 believe that he who could never speak nor write like a 
 tyrant, would at last write like a divine. 
 
 ' Moreover, the world wiU be so foolish as to suppose that 
 there was reason and common sense in the man, when all 
 his career showed the contrary : nay, how that he had not 
 any capacity at all to be his own friend, or to contradict 
 what his own mother had foretold of him. 
 
 ' That he had not any capacity at all to judge, when it 
 was fit for him to accept that which might have saved him. 
 For an instance whereof, a treaty was oiffered to him, right 
 several times, when as one treaty might have served, to 
 reconcile himself with his people, and this was after he had 
 been beaten twice: yet would he (being reduced to his 
 people's mercy) juggle in his treaties, have new designs 
 during the time of each treaty for to destroy his people.' 
 
 The concluding paragraphs are very quaintly worded : 
 
 ' It is not material to describe his personal features, nor 
 his other eminent qualities, or to allege his middle-size 
 stature, chestnut hair, brownish complexion, his gray eyes, 
 narrow forehead, his indifferent big nose, his defect by his 
 stammering in his speech, his temperance in diet and 
 clothing, his general inclination to aU arts and sciences, his 
 excelling so far in them as that he might have got a live- 
 lihood by them. . . . 
 
 9—2 
 
132 The White King. 
 
 'Originally sprang from those two stems, to wit, King 
 James and King Henry the Fourth of France, whose chil- 
 dren's children (as it's apparent) have been designed to be 
 the visible objects of the wrath of God, as well for their 
 own iniquities as for those of their stems; to wit, their 
 hypocrisies towards God, and their dissemblings with men. 
 
 ' Their hypocrisy towards God, in that they have said and 
 done those things which were contradictory to their public 
 preservation in point of religion. 
 
 'Their dissembling with men, in that all their actions 
 have contradicted their words and writings, and by this the 
 late King hath approved himself to be a None such Charles, 
 and hath justly drawn on himself the following conclusions, 
 viz. 
 
 ' He spake not the speech of a Prince, for that he was 
 accustomed to denials. 
 
 ' He had not the gait of a Prince, for that he walked 
 more like a lackey. 
 
 ' He did not ride like a Prince, but like a post-boy. 
 
 ' He did not woo like a Prince, for that he never was ad- 
 mitted to so much as one single conference with his first 
 mistress. 
 
 ' He had not at his coronation all the ceremonials befitting 
 a King. 
 
 ' Neither was his entry into the City of London so com- 
 pletely performed as that of other princes had been before. 
 
 ' He did not marry in that pomp and state which befitted 
 a King. 
 
 ' He gave not his daughter in marriage as it behoved a 
 King. 
 
 'He kept not his word, as a King should have done, 
 neither with his neighbours, nor with his subjects. 
 
 ' He did not reign like a King, for that he was unjust, 
 both to his own people and to other nations. 
 
 'Neither died he like a King. [This is certainly a 
 calumny.] 
 
 ' Nor was he mourned for like a King. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 133 
 
 ' Finally, his effigies were not suffered to stand like that 
 of a King. 
 
 ' And, therefore, he is by right termed 
 
 'The None-Such Charles.' 
 
 However diverse the judgments which men may pro- 
 nounce upon Charles I. as a ruler, I suppose that nearly 
 everybody will agree in their estimate of him as an accom- 
 plished gentleman, with considerable intellectual powers 
 and cultivated tastes. In the variety of his acquirements 
 very few of his subjects could have surpassed him. Nor 
 were these all of a light or superficial character. He was 
 deeply versed in theology, and in the history and laws of 
 his own country. His knowledge of mathematics was ex- 
 tensive. He had studied the writers of antiquity with 
 attention, and had an unusual command of French, 
 Spanish, and Italian. He was well acquainted with the 
 principal industries, and his saying that he believed he 
 could earn his livelihood by any trade except tapestry- 
 weaving, was not an idle boast. He displayed in his 
 discussions with the Parliamentary commissioners at New- 
 port remarkable powers of attack and defence, and a good 
 deal of legal acumen ; though he was overheard to remark 
 that, if compelled to choose a profession, he would not 
 embrace that of a lawyer. ' I would not,' he said, ' defend a 
 bad cause, nor yield in a good one.' Henderson, the well- 
 known Presbyterian divine — a disputant of exceptional 
 gifts — bore testimony to the powers in dialectics of his 
 illustrious adversary: 'I do declare before God and the 
 world,' he said, ' whether in relation to Kirk or State, I 
 found his Majesty the most intelligent man that ever I 
 spoke with ; as far beyond my expression as expectation. I 
 profess that I was oftentimes astonished with the solidity 
 and quicloiess of his reasons and repUes — wondered how he, 
 spending his time in sports and recreations, could have at- 
 tained to so great knowledge ; and must confess that I was 
 convinced in conscience, and knew not how to give him any 
 
134 The White King. 
 
 reasonable satisfaction ; yet the sweetness of his disposition 
 is such, that whatsoever I said was well taken. I must say- 
 that I never met with any disputant of that mild and calm 
 temper, which convinced me that such resolution anid 
 moderation could not be without an extraordinary measure 
 of the Divine grace. I dare say, if his advice had been 
 followed, all the blood that is shed, and all the rapine that 
 is committed, should have been prevented.' 
 
 No one of our sovereigns, at least until this present reign, 
 has shown so warm and critical an appreciation of the fine 
 arts. We know that he was the liberal and intelligent 
 patron of Vandyck — who repaid him for his patronage by 
 idealising him into the picturesque figure so familiar to aU. 
 of us — and of Kubens. In the Issue KoU of Thomas 
 de Brantingham mention is made of various sums paid to- 
 those great artists for their work : ' To Sir Anthony Van- 
 dyck' — he was knighted by Charles — 'for divers pictures, 
 viz., our own royal portraiture; another of Monsieur, th& 
 French King's brother ; and particular of the Archduchess,, 
 at length, at £25 a piece. One of our royal consort; 
 another of the Prince of Orange; and another of their 
 son, at half-length, at £20 a-piece. One great piece of 
 our royal self, consort, and children, £100. One of the 
 Emperor ViteUius, £20; and for mending the picture of 
 the Emperor Galbus, £5.' 
 
 ' To Sir Anthony Yandyck, £444, for nine pictures of our 
 royal self and most dearest consort the Queen ; £40 for the 
 picture of our dearest consort, the Queen, by him made, and 
 by our command delivered unto our right trusty and weU- 
 beloved cousin and counsellor, the Lord Viscount Went- 
 worth, our deputy of Ireland. 
 
 ' To Sir Peter Kubens, Knight, £3,000, for certain pictures, 
 from him sold unto us.' 
 
 With admirable taste and unwearied dihgence the King 
 collected a superb gallery of pictures, statues, and antiqui- 
 ties. He purchased at one time the entire cabinet of the 
 Duke .of Mantua, considered the finest in Europe. Tha^ 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 135 
 
 value of pictures in Europe was doubled, it is said, by tbe 
 eager competition between himself and Philip IV. of Spain 
 for any work of indubitable merit. Rubens, in one of his 
 letters, observes that he was chiefly induced to visit England 
 by the information he had received that its King was the 
 best judge of art in Europe. He was certainly the most 
 liberal. It is stated that before the Civil War broke out he 
 was on the point of concluding an agreement with Tan- 
 dy ck by which that great artist, for a sum of £8,000, was to 
 decorate the walls of the banqueting-house at Whitehall 
 with illustrations of the ceremonial connected with the 
 Order of the Garter. When Panzani, a secret agent of the 
 Roman Court, came to England to promote the revival of 
 Popery, Cardinal Barberini recommended him to the royal 
 favour by representing him as an agent for procuring statues, 
 fine pictures, and curiosities ; and the King's inquiries and 
 commissions show that he possessed an exact knowledge of 
 the most interesting remains of ancient art. He was parti- 
 cularly desirous of obtaining a statue of Adonis in the Villa 
 Ludovisia, at Rome, but aU the influence of Barberini could 
 not prevail upon the Duchess of Fiano to part with it. In 
 reference to other commissions the Cardinal writes : ' The 
 statues go on prosperously ; nor shall I hesitate to rob Rome 
 of her most valuable ornaments, if, in exchange, we might 
 be so happy as to have the King of England's name among 
 those princes who submit to the Apostolic See.' 
 
 He possessed four-and-twenty palaces, all of them 
 'elegantly and completely furnished,' and all embellished 
 with precious works of art. At Greenwich, his principal 
 residence until the beginning of the Civil War, he was 
 assisted in his favourite pursuit by his Queen, who 'so 
 finished and furnished ' the ' House of Delight ' which Anne 
 of Denmark had began, that it far surpassed ' all other of 
 that kind in England.' It was completed in 1635, under 
 the direction of Inigo Jones. The ceilings were painted by 
 Gentileschi. The Queen had intended to form here a 
 cabinet of pictures, and to have employed Rubens and 
 
136 The White King. 
 
 Jordaens to decorate the walls and ceilings of her oratory 
 and other rooms, but political and pecuniary difficulties 
 prevented the fulfilment of her design. 
 
 At Hampton Court he was a frequent visitor, and many 
 of its artistic treasures were provided by him and his Queen. 
 It was here he knighted, on October 2nd, 1638, Balthazar 
 Gerbier, who had been negotiating for him at the Hague a 
 pacific arrangement with Spain, and the purchase of works 
 of art. Wimbledon House also contained many evidences 
 of the elegant tastes of Charles and his Queen. 
 
 It was at those and other palaces that they gave the 
 famous entertainments which, for their combined splendour 
 and refinement, were the talk of Europe. Those masques 
 and ballets, in which were skilfully blended the charms of 
 music and dancing, poetry and scenic illustrations, exhibited 
 the various gifts of Ben Jonson, Inigo Jones, and Balthazar 
 Gerbier. Laniere and Ferabosco composed the symphonies ; 
 the King, the Queen, and the young nobility danced in the 
 interludes. In the famous masque of the ' Cesium Britan- 
 nicum ' — written by Thomas Carew and composed by Henry 
 Lawes — produced at the Banqueting House on February 
 1st, 1633, the masquers included the King, the Duke of 
 Sussex, the Earls of Devonshire, Holland, Newport, and 
 Elgin, Viscount Grandison, Lords Kich, Fielding, Digby, 
 Dungarvan, Durham, Wharton, Paget, and Saltoun, with 
 the following young lords and noblemen's sons : Lords 
 Walden, Cranborn, Brackley, Chandos, Messrs. William 
 Herbert, Thomas Howard, Thomas Egerton, Charles Caven- 
 dish, John Howard, and Henry Spencer. Garrard, writing 
 to the Earl of Strafford (January 9th, 1633), says : ' On 
 Twelfth Night the Queen feasted the King at Somerset 
 House, and presented him with a play, newly studied, " The 
 Faithful Shepherdess" [by Fletcher], which the King's 
 players acted in the robes she and her ladies acted their 
 pastoral in last year. I had almost forgot to tell your lord- 
 ship that, the dicing night, the King carried away in James 
 Palmer's hat £1850. The Queen was his half, and brought 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 137 
 
 him that luck ; she shared presently £900. There are two 
 masques in hand, the first of the Inns of Court, which is to 
 be presented on Candlemas Day, the other the King pre- 
 sents the Queen with on Shrove Tuesday, at night. High 
 expenses ; they speak of £20,000, that it wiU cost the men 
 of law.' 
 
 After the death of the King his art treasures were disr 
 persed iu the most ruthless manner. In March, 1649, the 
 Parliament ordered a commission to be appointed for inven- 
 torying the goods and personal estate of the late King, the 
 Queen, and the Prince. The catalogue, when complete, 
 formed ' a magnificent folio, of near a thousand pages, of an 
 extraordinary dimension, bound in crimson velvet and 
 richly gilt, written in a fair large hand, but with little 
 knowledge of the objects which the inventory-writer 
 describes.' It is entitled 'An Inventory of the Goods, 
 Jewels, Plate, etc., belonging to King Charles I., sold by 
 order of the Council of State, from the year 1649 to 1652,' 
 and is now preserved in the Harleian Collection at the 
 British Museum. 
 
 From this interesting manuscript it appears that ' every 
 article was appraised, nothing was sold under the affixed 
 price, but a slight competition seems sometimes to have 
 raised the sum ; and when the Council of State could not 
 get the sum appraised, the gold and silver was sent to the 
 Mint, and assuredly many fine works of art were valued by 
 the ounce. The names of the purchasers appear ; they are 
 usually English, but probably many were the agents for 
 foreign Courts. The coins or medals were thrown promis- 
 cuously into drawers ; one drawer, having twenty-four 
 medals, was valued at £2 10s. ; another, of twenty, at £1 ; 
 another, of twenty-four, at £1 ; and one drawer, containing 
 forty-six silver coins, with the box, was sold for £5. On the 
 whole, the medals seem not to have been valued at much 
 more than a shilling apiece. The appraiser was certainly 
 no antiquary. The King's curiosities in the Tower jewel- 
 house generally fetched above the -price fixed ; the toys of 
 
138 The White King. 
 
 art could please the unlettered minds that had no concep- 
 tion of its works.' 
 
 The Temple of Jerusalem, made of ebony and amber, 
 fetched £25. 
 
 A fountain of silver, for perfumed waters, artificially made 
 to play of itself, £30. 
 
 A chess-board, said to be Queen Elizabeth's, inlaid with 
 gold, silver, and pearls, £23. 
 
 A conjuring demon from Lapland, with an almanack cut 
 on a piece of wood. 
 
 Several sections, in silver, of a Turkish galley, a Venetian 
 gondola, an Indian canoe, and a first-rate man-of-war. 
 
 A Saxon king's mace used in war, with a ball full of 
 spikes, and the handle covered with gold spikes and 
 enamelled, £37 8s. 
 
 A gorget of massy gold, chased with the manner of a 
 battle, weighing thirty-one ounces, at £3 10s. per ounce, was 
 sent to the Mint. 
 
 A Koman shield, of buif leather, covered with a plate of 
 gold, finely chased with a Gorgon's head, set round the rim 
 with rubies, emeralds, turquoise stones, in number 137, 
 £132 12s. 
 
 The pictures, removed from Whitehall, Windsor, Wim- 
 bledon, Greenwich, Hampton Court, etc., formed a magni- 
 ficent collection ; but it is impossible to understand on what 
 principle, if any, they were valued by the appraiser. With 
 respect to the masterpieces, however, he seems to have had 
 a right idea of their artistic worth, for a Sleeping Venus, by 
 Correggio, and a Madonna, by Kaphael, were rated at and 
 sold for £1,000 and £2,000 respectively. A Nativity, by 
 Giulio Komano, fetched £500 ; a small Madonna and Child, 
 by Kaphael, £800 ; and the great ' Venus and Adonis,' by 
 Titian, at £600. These were the only pictures which sold 
 for moderately large sums. As a rule, Titian's pictures 
 brought in about £100 each. Kubens's ' Peace and Plenty ' 
 reached £200 ; his ' Woman taken in Adultery ' only £20. 
 Guide's ' Venus Dressed by the Graces ' was sold for £200. 
 
Personal History of Charles 1. 139 
 
 The famous cartoons of Kaphael were appraised at £300, 
 but found no purchaser. 
 
 Some of the portraits bear witness, in the low prices they 
 realized, to the excited state of public feeling. For ex- 
 ample : 
 
 Queen Elizabeth, in her ParKament robes, yalued £1. 
 
 The Queen-Mother, in mourning habit, £3. 
 
 Portrait of George Buchanan, £3 10s. 
 
 The King, when ' a youth in coats,' £2. 
 
 The Queen, in her pregnancy, 5s. 
 
 King Charles, an equestrian portrait, by Vandyck, was 
 bought by Balthazar Gerbier for £20. 
 
 The pictures, furniture, gold and silver plate, etc., sold for 
 £118,080 10s. 6d. 
 
 Charles had also a fine taste for tapestry, and liberally 
 encouraged the works for weaving it which had been 
 established at Mortlake, since 1619, by Sir Francis Crane. 
 While at Madrid, in 1623, he sent home orders to pay £500 
 for a set of Mortlake tapestry representing the Months, 
 which had been woven specially for him ; and soon after he 
 became Ejng he gave an acknowledgment to Sir Francis of 
 £6,000, owing to him for ' three suits of gold tapestry for our 
 use,' at the same time settling upon him an annuity of £1,000, 
 and allowing him a grant of £2,000 yearly for ten years, 
 for the better maintenance of the said works of tapestries. 
 At a later date he bestowed upon him and the Dowager 
 Duchess of Kichmond the exclusive right for seventeen years 
 of coining copper farthings. On the death of Sir Francis 
 Crane, in 1633, he purchased the interest in the works, which 
 were thenceforward known as the King's works. It was in 
 order to their being copied at Mortlake, that Charles, at the 
 suggestion of Rubens, purchased the cartoons of Raphael, 
 then known as ' The Acts of the Apostles.' Still extant is 
 the warrant, dated December 3rd, 1639, to Sir James 
 Palmer, Bart., Governor of his Majesty's Works for making 
 of Hangings at Mortlake, directing him ' to sell unto the 
 Earl of Holland five pieces of hangings of the Story of 
 
140 The White King. 
 
 the Apostles, being of the Second sort, for the sum of 
 £886 17s. 6d., being the price his Majestie allowed for the 
 same.' 
 
 Painting was not the only art loved and cultivated by 
 Charles ; he was passionately fond of music, was a pupil of 
 Cooper, and played with some degree of skill on the viol di 
 gamba. He greatly affected the society of men of letters, 
 and was a friend of the poets, especially of May and Ben 
 Jonson. Of Shakespeare he was an arduous and assiduous 
 student. Milton records that the great poet was 'the 
 •closet companion of Charles's solitudes.' 
 
 The grave and decorous character of Charles necessarily 
 impressed itself upon his Court, in which prevailed a 
 dignity and a refinement unknown for many years. ' The 
 face of the Court,' says Mrs. Hutchinson, who, as a Puritan, 
 might be expected to refrain from exaggeration, ' was much 
 changed in the change of the King ; for King Charles was 
 temperate, chaste, and serious, so that the fools, mimics, and 
 catamites of the former Court grew out of fashion ; and the 
 nobility and courtiers, who did not quite abandon their 
 debaucheries, had yet that reverence to the King to retire 
 into corners to practise them.' Bassompierre, the French 
 Ambassador, describing his first audience of Charles and 
 the Queen, says : ' I found the King on a stage raised two 
 steps, the Queen and he on two chairs, who rose at the first 
 bow I made them on coming in. The company was magni- 
 ficent, and the order exquisite.' Charles helped to maintain 
 this order by insisting on a strict observance of Court 
 etiquette. ' He kept State to the full,' says Lord Clarendon, 
 ' which made his Court very orderly, no man presuming to 
 be seen in a place where he had no pretence to be.' An 
 anecdote in illustration of this point of the King's character 
 may here be repeated. It is told by Ferdinando Masham, 
 one of the King's esquires of the body. 
 
 ' I remember,' he says, ' that coming to the King's bed- 
 chamber door, which was bolted on the inside, the late Earl 
 of Bristol, then being in waiting and lying there, he un- 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 141 
 
 bolted the door upon my knocking, and asked me " What 
 news ?" I told him I had a letter for the King. The Earl 
 then demanded the letter of me, which I told him I could 
 deliver to none but the King himself; upon which the 
 King said : " The esquire is in the right ; for he ought not 
 to deliver any letter or message to any but myself, he being 
 at this time the chief officer of my house ; and if he had 
 delivered the letter to any other I should not have thought 
 him fit for his place." ' The rule was, that after the guard 
 had been posted, and the ' All night ' word up, the esquire 
 in waiting took sole command of the royal household. 
 
 It is said that Charles was deficient in tact and in that 
 courtly graciousness which in a sovereign ruler possesses 
 such an indescribable charm ; but he must have been gifted 
 with fine quahties of mind and nature to have secured the 
 fervent loyalty and self-sacrificing devotion of so many 
 adherents through all the gloomy fortunes of the later 
 years of his reign. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 SOME OF THE ROYAL CHILDREN* — PRINCESS ELIZABETH, 
 DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, PRINCESS MARY, AND HENRIETTA, 
 DUCHESS OF ORLEANS. 
 
 The pathetic story of the Princess Elizabeth has often been 
 told. The fifth child and second daughter of Charles I. 
 and Henrietta Maria, she was born on the 20th of January, 
 1635, at St. James's Palace. Her birth called forth a special 
 embassy of congratulations from the States of Holland, 
 with some costly gifts for the royal mother : — ' a massive 
 piece of ambergris, two fine and almost transparent china 
 basins, a curious clock, and of far greater value than these, 
 two beautiful originals of Titian, and two of Tintoret.' 
 
 As she grew out of infancy into childhood, she developed 
 a strong likeness to her sister, the Princess Mary, so that 
 the poet Crashaw compared them to 'two silken sister- 
 flowers.' Her portrait, painted by Vaughan when she was 
 five years old, represents her as singularly fair, with long 
 loose ringlets, and a tender expression of countenance. 
 Beneath an engraving from this portrait, which was inserted 
 in ' The True Effigies of the Royal Progeny,' some lines are 
 written of a very complimentary character : 
 
 ' Here is the grace of Nature's workmanship, 
 Wherein herself hei'self she did outstrip. 
 Elizabeth the fair, the rare, the great, 
 In birth and blood and virtues full replete ; 
 A high-prized jewel, an unvalued gem 
 Of more worth than a Itingly diadem.' 
 
 " The lives of Charles II. and James II. are omitted because they 
 belong to history. 
 
Some of the Royal Children. 143 
 
 From her earliest years her constitution seems to have 
 been very delicate. She was ' sad, and somewhat liable to 
 complaints of the spleen ;' and when but nine years old 
 (1643), she met with an accident while running across a 
 room, which caused a fractured leg. The debility of her 
 frame did not, however, exercise any injurious influence 
 on her intellect. ' She proved a lady of parts beyond her 
 age; the quickness of her mind making recompense for 
 the weakness of her body.' Her first governess was a Mrs. 
 Meekings, under whose care she made so remarkable a pro- 
 gress that, before she was eight years of age, she could 
 read and write five languages beside her own — Hebrew, 
 Greek, Latin, French, Italian. To the study of the first 
 two she was led by her religious convictions to apply her- 
 self with special enthusiasm ; and she read the Scriptures, 
 an exercise in which she specially delighted, in their 
 ■original tongues. Her theological acquirements must have 
 been exceptional for a young lady of nine, if she could 
 understand and relish the work which William Greenhill 
 dedicated to her in 1644, his 'Exposition of the First Five 
 Chapters of Ezekiel.' At a later date she accepted the 
 dedication of Alexander Rowley's ' Scholar's Companion,' 
 an English-Latin lexicon of Greek and Hebrew words em- 
 ployed in the Bible. Rowley speaks of ' the fame of her 
 great inclination to the study of the Book of Books, and of 
 its two original languages.' And Greenhill says — 'Your 
 desire to know the original tongues, that you may under- 
 stand the Scriptures better, your resolution to write them 
 out with your own princely hand, and to come to the per- 
 fect knowledge of them, breed in us hopes that you will 
 exceed aU you say, and be without equal in Europe.' 
 
 For a few years of her chUdhood she enjoyed the happi- 
 ness of home ; but in February, 1642, Henrietta Maria sailed 
 for Holland with her eldest daughter Mary, betrothed to 
 the Prince of Orange, to raise supplies for her husband's 
 assistance in his war with the Parliament, and the Princess 
 never saw her mother or sister again. In October of the 
 
144 The White King. 
 
 same year, the plague having become epidemic in the neigh- 
 bourhood of St. James's Palace, the Commons gave orders 
 that her household should be removed to a healthier 
 locality, and, for this purpose. Lord Cottington's house in 
 Bond Street was selected. At this time her establishment 
 was on a scale inferior to that of an ordinary tradesman, 
 and the restriction imposed upon her was so rigorous that 
 she was not allowed to speak or write with any of the King's 
 friends. The Countess of Koxburgh, who acted as her 
 gouvernante, was at length compelled to appeal to the 
 Parhament, and, after due inquiry, the Speaker declared 
 that the Princess's poverty was so great, that ' he should be 
 ashamed to speak of it.' Thereupon a monthly payment of « 
 £400, afterwards considerably increased, was ordered to be 
 paid to Colonel Holland for the Princess's maintenance. 
 
 In 1643 she was placed under the charge, first, of Lady 
 Vere, and next of the Countess of Dorset. The removal of 
 her old attendants pained the child exceedingly, and she 
 addressed the following remonstrance to the House of 
 Lords: 
 
 'My Lords, — I account myself very miserable that I 
 must have my servants taken from me, and strangers put to 
 me. You promised me that you would have a care of me ; 
 and I hope you will show it in preventing so great a grief 
 as this would be to me. I pray, my lords, consider of it, 
 and give me cause to thank you, and trust your loving 
 friend, 
 
 ' Elizabeth.' 
 
 In reply to this application the lords appointed a com- 
 mittee of inquiry, but the result was unsatisfactory. The 
 Commons would not permit their interference, and them- 
 selves determined the composition of the Princess's house- 
 hold, namely: two cofferesses, four chamberwomen, a 
 laundress, and a starcher; two physicians (the senior of 
 whom was the celebrated Sir Theodore Mayerne); six 
 chaplains, and one house chaplain ; two gentlemen ushers, 
 
Some of the Royal Children. 145 
 
 •one French master, four pages, etc. They also ordered that 
 prayers should be read twice daily, and two sermons 
 preached every Sunday ; the gates were to be locked at 
 sunset, and on no occasion opened after ten p.m. without 
 the special license of the chief resident ojfficer. For the 
 house expenses £100 annually was allowed, with an 
 additional sum for the Princess's wardrobe. 
 
 ' In July, 1644, she was removed to Sir J. Dan vers' house 
 at Chelsea, and in September to Whitehall. But early in 
 1645, on the death of the Countess of Dorset, the Princess 
 and her brother, the young Duke of Gloucester, were placed 
 in charge of the Earl of Northumberland, and for a few 
 weeks resided at • Sion House, near Chiswick. The Earl 
 was allowed £3,000 for his fee, and £9,500 for the main- 
 tenance of his wards. From Sion House they returned to 
 St. James's Palace, where they were joined by the young 
 Duke of York, after the capture of Oxford by the Parlia- 
 mentary army. Weary days succeeded, days clouded by 
 sorrow and misfortune, until it became known that Charles 
 had been seized by the soldiery at Holmby House. The 
 King, at considerable personal risk, sought an interview 
 •with his children, who, therefore, on the 16th of July were 
 ■escorted to Maidenhead by the Earl of Northumberland. 
 They passed along thoroughfares made gay with flowers, 
 until they arrived at the Greyhound Inn, where, about eleven 
 o'clock, they were joined by King Charles. The meeting 
 was profoundly affecting. - To the Duke of Gloucester, then 
 a boy of seven, the King said : ' Do you know me, child ?' 
 and when the little Prince rephed, 'No,' he continued, 'I 
 am your father, child ; and it is not one of the least of my 
 misfortunes that I have brought you and your brothers and 
 sisters into the world to share my miseries.' * 
 
 From Maidenhead the royal children went to Caversham, 
 
 where they spent a couple of days very pleasantly. During 
 
 the King's detention at Hampton Court, he was several 
 
 times permitted to see them. On more than one occasion 
 
 « Whitelocke, p. 259. 
 
 VOL. I. 10 
 
146 The White King. 
 
 Cromwell was present, and it is to be observed that he alone 
 of all the Puritan leaders, bent the knee to the royal 
 children. A longer interval than usual having at one time 
 occurred, the Princess, it would appear, affectionately com- 
 plained ; the King replied as follows : 
 
 ' Hampton Court, 27th October, 1647. 
 ' Dear Daughter, — This is to assure you that it is not 
 through forgetfulness, or any want of kindness, that I have 
 not, all this time, sent for you, but for such reasons as is 
 fitter for you to imagine (which you may easily do) than 
 me to write ; but now I hope to see you upon Friday or 
 Saturday next, as your brother James can more particularly 
 tell you, to whom referring you, I rest your loving father, 
 
 ' Charles R' 
 
 The aspect of public affairs was at this time so menacing 
 that the partizans of the King's cause thought it advisable 
 to remove the young Duke of York out of the reach of the 
 Parliament. The King, while at Hampton Court, had fore- 
 seen that this step would be advisable, and had enjoined 
 upon him 'when a fit opportunity offered, to make his 
 escape beyond the seas.' With his brother and sister, he 
 was residing at St. James's, ' where,' says Clarendon, ' they 
 had the liberty of the garden and park to walk and exercise 
 themselves in, and lords and ladies, and other persons of 
 condition, were not restrained from resorting thither to visit 
 them.' A certain Colonel Bamfield, ' a man of an active 
 and insinuating nature,' availed himself of this permission 
 to devise a project of escape ; and the Princess, providing 
 her brother with female apparel, the young Duke, when 
 they were all engaged in a game at hide-and-seek, took 
 advantage of a favourable opportunity to slip into the 
 garden, and thence by a private door into the park, where 
 Colonel Bamfield met him and conducted him to the river 
 (April 21, 1647). He afterwards reached Holland in 
 safety. 
 
 His flight caused considerable excitement, and a con- 
 
Some of the Royal Children. 147 
 
 ference respecting it was held in the Painted Chamber 
 between the Lords and Commons. The young Duke was 
 out of reach ; but it was decided to place the Princess and 
 the Duke of Gloucester in charge of the Earl of Leicester, 
 with an allowance of £2,500 per annum. On the morning 
 of the 29th of January, 1649, the two children were sum- 
 moned to take their last leave of their royal father. After- 
 wards the Princess recorded what passed at this sad inter- 
 view in the following simple narrative : 
 
 ' What the Icing said to me 29th January last, being the 
 last time I had the happiness to see hiTn. — He told me 
 that he was glad I was come, for, though he had not time 
 to say much, yet somewhat he wished to say to me which 
 he could not to another, and he feared "the cruelty" was 
 too great to permit his writing. " But, sweetheart," he 
 added, " thou wilt forget what I tell thee." Then shedding 
 abundance of tears, I told him that I would write down all 
 he said to me. " He wished me," he said, " not to grieve 
 and torment myself for him, for it was a glorious death he 
 should die, it being for the laws and religion of the land." 
 He told me what books to read against Popery. He said 
 that " he had forgiven all his enemies, and he hoped God 
 would forgive them also," and he commanded us, and all 
 the rest of my brothers and sisters, to forgive them also. 
 Above all, he bade me tell my mother that " His thoughts 
 had never strayed from her, and that his love for her would 
 be the same to the last," withal, he commanded me and my 
 brother to love her, and be obedient to her. He desired me 
 not to grieve for him, for he should die a martyr ; and that 
 he doubted not but God would restore the throne to his son, 
 and that then we should be all happier than we could 
 possibly have been if he had lived;" with many other 
 things which I cannot remember. 
 
 ' Then, taking my brother Gloucester on his knee, he said : 
 " Sweetheart, now will they cut off thy father's head;" upon 
 which the child looked very stedfastly upon him. " Heed, 
 my child, what they say : they will cut off my head, and 
 
 10—2 
 
148. The White King. 
 
 perhaps make thee a king. But mark what I say: you 
 must not be a king as long as your brothers Charles and 
 James live; therefore, I charge you, do not be made a 
 king by them." At which the child, sighing deeply, 
 replied, " I will be torn in pieces first." And these words 
 coming from so young a child, rejoiced my father exceed- 
 ingly ; and his majesty spoke to him of the welfare of his 
 soul, and to keep his religion, commanding him to fear 
 God, and He would provide for him. All which the young 
 child earnestly promised. 
 
 ' His Majesty also bid me send his blessing to the rest of 
 my brothers and sisters, with commendations to all his 
 friends. So, after giving me his blessing, I took my leave.'* 
 
 At this interview the King gave to Elizabeth two seals 
 in which were set two diamonds, and a Bible, observing, 
 that it had been his great comfort and constant companion 
 through all his sorrows, and that he hoped it would be 
 hers : as, indeed it proved to be, and she died with her 
 cheek resting upon its open page. 
 
 After the King's execution, his children were removed to 
 Penshurst, thus adding another to the historic associations 
 which enrich the home of the Sidneys. Their allowance 
 was reduced by the Parliament to £1,000 each, and their 
 household was greatly curtailed. Orders were issued that 
 ' they should be treated without any addition of titles, and 
 that they should sit at their meat as the children of the 
 family did, and all at one table.' At Penshurst they were 
 under the care of the Countess of Leicester, the mother of 
 Algernon Sidney, who ' observed the order of the ParHament 
 with obedience enough,' says Clarendon, ' and treated them 
 with as much respect as the lady pretended she durst pay 
 to them.' 
 
 While at Penshurst, the disease which had so long 
 
 lurked in the Princess's feeble constitution began to de- 
 
 velope itself, and the constant attendance of her physician. 
 
 Dr. Treherne, became necessary. Otherwise her situation 
 
 ° ' Eeliquise Saorse,' pp. 337, 338. 
 
Some of the Royal Children. 149 
 
 was pleasant enough ; and for her refined taste the historic 
 and poetic memories of the ancient pile would unquestion- 
 ably have a strong attraction. The massive oaken table at 
 which she took her place with ' the children of the family ' 
 had been graced by the presence of ' the chivalrous author 
 of the " Arcadia " ' — of that virtuous Countess of Pembroke 
 whom Ben Jensen's epitaph has immortalised — the amiable 
 Edward VI. — Elizabeth and her splendid favourite, the 
 Earl of Leicester — the astute and unscrupulous Cecil — the 
 pedant-king, James I. — and Charles, while yet in his grave 
 and decorous youth. There is still preserved at Penshurst 
 a relic of the, times of our unfortunate Princess. In the 
 south court, on a darkened framework of timber, hangs a 
 great bell, with the inscription in raised letters of ' Kobert, 
 Earl of Leicester, at Penshurst, 1649.' It is probable that 
 Elizabeth and her brother witnessed the elevation of this 
 bell, and heard its earliest tones swell over the old plea- 
 saunces and float afar down the waters of the Medway. 
 
 In the following year the royal children were conveyed to 
 Carisbrooke Castle, in pursuance of an order of the Commons 
 for the removal of the Princess and her brother ' out of the 
 limits of the Commonwealth.' They landed at Cowes on 
 Thursday, August 13th, 1650, but did not reach Carisbrooke 
 imtil Saturday, the 16th. The apartments allotted to them 
 in the castle were suitably furnished, and their charge was 
 entrusted to Mr. Anthony Mildmay, whom even the Eoyalist 
 writers describe as ' an honest and faithful gentleman.' In 
 attendance upon them were Mr. Lord," the young Duke's 
 tutor ; John Barmiston, gentleman usher ; Judith Briott, 
 her gentlewoman ; Elizabeth Jones, her ' laundrie-mayde ;' 
 and John Clarke, groom of the chamber. It is almost 
 needless to state that no foundation exists for Hume's 
 calumny that the leaders of the Commonwealth intended 
 to apprentice the Princess to a button-maker at Newport, 
 and the young Duke to a shoemaker. Yet reports to this 
 effect reached the ear of Queen Henrietta, and caused her a 
 good deal of uneasiness. It is true that in the House of 
 
150 The White King. 
 
 Commons a debate arose on the question of making provi- 
 sion for the royal children, and Cromwell, in his blunt, 
 vigorous way, gave it as his opinion that it would be better 
 to bind the young boy to a good trade. But Parliament 
 carried its severity no further than to give directions that 
 ' no person should be allowed to kiss their hands, and that 
 they should not be otherwise treated than as the children of 
 a gentleman.' 
 
 The imprisonment of the Princess was abruptly termi- 
 nated. On the Monday following her arrival (August I7th), 
 while playing at bowls, she was caught in a sudden shower. 
 In her feeble condition this proved sufficient to give her 
 cold. The next day 'she complained of headache and 
 feverish distemper, which by fits increased upon her ; and 
 on the first three or four days she had the advice of Dr. 
 Bagnell, a worthy and able physician, of Newport, and then 
 care was taken by Dr. Treherne, in London, to send a 
 physician and remedies of election to her. But notwith- 
 standing the care of that honest and faithful gentleman, 
 Anthony MUdmay, Esq., and all the art of her physicians, 
 her disease grew upon her, and, after many rare ejaculatory 
 expressions, abundantly demonstrating her unparalleled 
 piety, to the eternal honour of her own memory and the 
 astonishment of those who waited on her, she took leave of 
 the world on Sunday, the 8th of September, 1650.' 
 
 The Pere Gamache, a Capuchin attached to the Court of 
 Henrietta Maria, preserves in his Memoirs a different 
 account of the Princess's illness and death, founded, of 
 course, upon the more or less highly coloured reports which 
 travelled from England to Paris. ' The Princess, then about 
 twelve years old, endowed with an excellent understanding, 
 and Justly appreciating her high birth, vexed at being 
 obliged to leave the royal residence of St. James's, was 
 absorbed in melancholy thoughts on approaching the castle. 
 There she made many doleful reflections, and they made 
 such deep impression on her heart, and so heated her blood, 
 that a violent fever ensued. It seemed at first that it was 
 
Some of the Royal CKildren. 151 
 
 too violent to last long, but the event proved otherwise, for 
 the disorder kept increasing, resisted all remedies, and at 
 length put an end to the life of the afflicted Princess.'* 
 According to Sir Theodore Mayerne, who was summoned 
 to her assistance, but did not reach the castle until after 
 her decease, 'she died of a malignant fever, which con- 
 stantly increased, she being far distant from physicians and 
 remedies.' Heath repeats a similar error : ' The Princess 
 Elizabeth, coming from bowls with her brother, the Duke of 
 Gloucester, complained first of her head, and, having lain 
 sick a fortnight, died. Little care was theh taken of her, 
 the place affording no learned physician, yet Dr. Mayerne 
 sent out some fitting cordials.' These statements are untrue, 
 for Drs. Bagnell and Treherne were in constant attendance 
 upon her. From a recent examination of her remains it 
 has been ascertained that she died of the disease rachitis, 
 or riokets, which was then a new importation into England, 
 and the treatment of which was comparatively unknown to 
 English practitioners. 
 
 After having been embalmed and deposited in a leaden 
 coffin, the Princess's body lay in state for a period of four- 
 teen days. On Wednesday, the 24th of September, it was 
 •conveyed in a borrowed coach to Newport. Outside the 
 borough boundaries ' the corpse was met and waited on by 
 the Mayor and Aldermen thereof in their formalities to the 
 church, where, about the middle of the east part of the 
 chancel in St. Thomas's Chapel, her Highness was interred 
 in a small vault, purposely made, with an inscription of the 
 •date of her death engraved on her coffin.' 
 
 ' The hawks of Norway,' says quaint old Fuller, ' where a 
 winter's day is hardly an hour of clear light, are the swiftest 
 -of wing of any fowl under the firmament. Nature teaching 
 them to bestir themselves, to lengthen the shortness of 
 the time with their swiftness. Such the active piety of 
 this lady, improving the little life allotted to her in running 
 ihe way of God's commandments.' 
 
 ~ ' Court and Times of Charles I.' 
 
152 The White King. 
 
 The coffin was made of strong lead, ridged in the middle. 
 On the lid was fixed a brass plate, with the brief inscrip- 
 tion, ' Elizabeth, second daughter of y^ late King Charles 
 died Sept. viii., m.d.cc' It was deposited in the centre 
 of the east part of the chancel, and the letters ' E. S.' were 
 cut in the adjacent wall. But in the course of time the 
 vault and its hapless occupant were forgotten; until, in 
 October, 1793, some workmen employed in opening a new 
 grave discovered the coffin; and that the spot might not 
 again be overlooked, a plate with a few descriptive words 
 was affixed to the stone-covering of the vault. 
 
 In 1854-56, when a new parish church was erected, three 
 memorial windows of stained glass (two presented by the 
 Queen and the late Prince Albert, and one by the young, 
 ladies of the congregation) were dedicated to the memory 
 of the Princess ; and a graceful monument was erected at 
 the Queen's expense. A figure of pure Carrara marble, 
 representing EHzabeth as recumbent on her left side, with 
 her cheek resting on an open Bible, is inclosed within an 
 enriched niche or shrine. The sculptor was the late Baron 
 Marochetti. 
 
 Henry, Duke of Gloucester, who seems to have had as 
 much capacity as his brother Charles, and more judgment 
 than his brother James, was born at Oatlands in Surrey, 
 on the 8th of July, 1639. He shared the captivity of his- 
 sister Elizabeth until her death ; and a year or two after- 
 terwards, through the generosity of Cromwell, was allowed 
 to join the royal family in their French exile. Henrietta 
 Maria was greatly delighted to welcome the promising lad,, 
 of whom since his birth she had seen but little, and 
 maternal affection combined with religious zeal to secure 
 in him a convert to the Koman CathoHc faith. In this she 
 failed : the boy remembered the solemn injunctions of his 
 dying father, and could not be persuaded by her entreaties 
 or convinced by her arguments. He pleaded, moreover,, 
 that by changing his religion Tie should incur the dis- 
 pleasure of his brother and sovereign — which was true 
 
Some of the Royal Children. 153 
 
 perhaps at the time, but would not have been true a few 
 years later. And he added, with pathetic simplicity, that 
 it was unfair to entangle him in the snares of theological 
 controversy in the absence of his tutor, who was more con- 
 versant with such matters then a boy of thirteen could be. 
 The Queen gave way to fits of violent passion at this oppo- 
 sition to her will, and since she could not bend endeavoured 
 to break. She forbade him her presence, ordered his 
 horses to be turned out of the royal stables, would not 
 allow any dinner to be prepared for him, and denied him 
 the comfort of sheets in his bed. 
 
 He remained firm, however, in his resolution, and was 
 rewarded for his firmness by a letter from his brother 
 Charles — a sufficiently curious document when it is con- 
 sidered that the writer, if indeed the Prince wrote it, was 
 a young man of licentious habits, who, if he had any 
 religious tendencies at all, inclined even then towards the 
 Romish communion. It is dated ' Cologne, November 10, 
 1654,' and runs as follows : 
 
 'Deak Brother, 
 
 ' I have received yours without a date, in which you 
 teU me that Mr. Montague' [the Abbd Montague, Henrietta 
 Maria's almoner] 'has endeavoured to pervert you from 
 your religion. I do not doubt but you remember very well 
 the commands I left with you at my going away concerning 
 that point I am confident you will observe them; yet 
 your letters that come from Paris say that it is the Queen's 
 purpose to do all she can to change your religion, in which, 
 if you do hearken to her or anybody else in that matter, 
 you must never think to see England again ; and whatever 
 mischief shall fall on me or my affairs, from this time, I 
 must lay all upon you as being the only cause of it. There- 
 fore, consider well what it is to be not only the cause of 
 ruining a brother that loves you so well but also of your 
 King and country. Do not let them persuade you either 
 by force or fair promises: for the first they neither dare nor 
 
154 The White King. 
 
 will use; and for the second, as soon as they have per-, 
 verted you, they will have their end, and then, they will 
 care no more for you. I am also informed that there is a 
 purpose to put you into the Jesuits' College, which I com^ 
 mand you, upon the same grounds, never to consent to. 
 And whensoever anyone shall go to dispute with you in 
 religion, do not answer them at all ; for though you have 
 the reason on your side, yet they, being prepared, will have 
 the advantage of anybody that is not upon the same 
 security that they are. If you do not consider what I say. 
 unto you, remember the last words of your dead father, 
 which were, to be constant to your religion, and never to 
 be shaken in it. Which, if you do not observe, this shall 
 be the last time you will hear from, 
 
 ' Dear brother, your most affectionate brother, 
 
 ' Charles R' 
 
 Charles and his advisers were well aware of the grave 
 political consequences that would ensue upon the perversion 
 of the young Duke ; and, to prevent it effectually, the 
 Marquis of Ormonde was sent to escort him immediately 
 to Cologne. Henrietta Maria bitterly resented this in- 
 terference, but was afraid or unable to detain the young 
 Prince by force ; and Ormonde, having raised a few pounds 
 by the sale of his last valuable — the George belonging to the 
 insignia of the Garter — to defray the expenses of the 
 journey, he and the Duke of Gloucester arrived safely at 
 Cologne. 
 
 In 1658, the Duke accompanied his brother James to the 
 campaign in the Low Countries, and fought under the 
 Prince de Cond^ at the battle of the Dunes, gaining much 
 distinction by his chivalrous courage. At the Kestoration 
 he returned to England, the Parliament voting him £5,000 
 for his personal expenses. He seems to have been a young 
 man of fine parts, and more than usual promise. His 
 brother James, in his Memoirs, asserts that he had all the 
 natural qualities to make a great prince ; and Evelyn refers 
 
Some of the Royal Children. 155 
 
 to him as ' a prince of extraordinary hopes' — upraise probably 
 more sincere, and certainly more trustworthy, than Sir John 
 Denham's exaggerated compliment : 
 
 ' Oh, more than human Gloucester, Fate did shew 
 Thee but iiO earth, and back again withdrew.' 
 
 His career, however, was abruptly terminated by an attack 
 of small-pox, to which he fell a victim — partly, if Pepys may 
 be credited, through the neglect of his physicians — on the 
 3rd of September, 1660, in his 22nd year. He was buried 
 in Westminster Abbey, in the same vault with Mary Queen 
 of Scots and Lady Arabella Stuart. 
 
 The eldest daughter of Charles I., Mary or Marie, was 
 born at St. James's on the 4.th of November, 1631. Those 
 who are fond of coincidences will remember that her 
 famous son, William III., was born on the 4th of Novem- 
 ber ; married on the 4th of November to Mary, the daughter 
 of James II.; and that his expedition to deliver England 
 from the Stuarts arrived off' Torbay on the 4th of November. 
 
 The Princess Mary, in her childhood, was placed under 
 the direction of Catherine, Lady Stanhope, afterwards 
 Countess of Chesterfield — a lady well fitted for so im^ 
 portant a trust. She was just nine years old when the 
 States-General of Holland proposed a contract of marriage 
 between her and the only son and heir of the Prince of 
 Orange (January, 1640) ; but at the time Charles was dis- 
 satisfied with some proceedings of the Dutch Government, 
 and was inclined towards her union with the son of the 
 King of Spain. Towards the end of the year, however, the 
 political difficulties in which Charles found himself in- 
 volved, induced him to look with greater favour on the 
 Dutch proposal ; and mutual assistance having been given 
 or promised, he announced his consent to the marriage on 
 the 19th of January, 1641. He expressed to the Dutch 
 ambassadors a hope that the marriage treaty might be ac- 
 companied by a pohtical alliance between the two States. 
 The negotiations were soon completed. The .only question 
 
156 The White King. 
 
 at issue referred to the time at -which the child-bride was to- 
 be sent to Holland. Charles withdrew a demand on which 
 he had previously insisted, that his daughter should be 
 allowed the use of the ceremonies of the Church of England, 
 ' It may be/ said one of the English Commissioners, ' that in 
 three months there will be no such ceremonies here.' And 
 on the 10th of February, the conclusion of the marriage- 
 treaty was duly announced to Parliament. 
 
 The wedding ceremony, or more properly speaking, the 
 contract, was celebrated on Sunday, the 3rd of May, 1641. 
 ' Prince WiUiam of Orange, the bearer of the most illustrious 
 name in Europe, a bright, hopeful lad of fifteen, plighted 
 his troth at Whitehall to the child of nine who was one day 
 in her early widowhood to bring forth a child who, nurtured 
 in adversity, was to become the deliverer of half a continent. 
 The day of the Princess's marriage was one of anxiety and 
 gloom, and the ceremony was shorn of its accustomed 
 splendour. There were divisions even in Charles's own 
 household, and the Elector Palatine refused to be present 
 at the banquet because the bride had not been given to 
 himself'* BaiUie, the Scottish news-monger, furnishes- 
 some interesting details.-f ' On Sunday,' he writes, ' in the 
 King's chapel, ' both the Queens being present at service,, 
 the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York led in the 
 Princess Mary to the chapel, convoyed with a number of 
 ladies of her own age, of nine or ten years, aU in cloth of 
 silver. The Prince of Orange went in before with the am- 
 bassadors, and his cousins of Tremonul [Tremouille] and 
 Nassau. The King gave him his bride. Good Bishop 
 Wren made the marriage. At night, before aU the court,, 
 they went to bed in the Queen's chamber. A httle after,. 
 the King and Queen bade the bridegroom good-night as 
 their son ; he, as it was appointed, arose and went to his 
 bed in the King's chamber.' 
 
 In the following February, when Queen Henrietta Maria 
 
 » 8. E. Gardiner, ' History of England,' ix., 347, 348. 
 t Baillie, ' Letters and Journals ' from 1637—1602, i. 462. 
 
Some of the Royal Children. 157 
 
 crossed over to the Continent, she carried with her the 
 young Princess, and placed her under the protection of the 
 States General. She thus escaped being a witness of the 
 misfortunes and sorrows that overtook her family, whom, 
 at a later period, she liberally and lovingly relieved in their 
 necessities. She was not without a sorrow of her own, 
 however, for the Prince, her husband, died on the 27th of 
 October, 1656, just a week before the birth of her 
 illustrious son, leaving her a widow at the early age of 
 nineteen. 
 
 That she regretted him sincerely cannot be doubted, but 
 she was too young to retain any very deep impression from 
 her loss; and being beautiful and accomplished, became 
 the object of a good deal of admiration, which she does not 
 seem to have found displeasing. Scandal connected her 
 name, with that of the handsome and wily George Villiers 
 second Duke of Buckingham ; though she erred in nothing 
 more than in permitting his attentions, and when she 
 found that they tended to her discredit, very judiciously 
 insisted on their discontinuance. There appears to be 
 some slight foundation for the report that she was after- 
 wards united in marriage to Henry Jermyn, the courtier and 
 roud, who makes so conspicuous a figure ia Count 
 Hamilton's lively pages ; but shortly after her return to 
 iTngland in 1660, she was attacked by the disease which 
 had slain her brother Henry but a few weeks before, and 
 died of small-pox, on the 24th of December, 1660. She was 
 interred by the side of her brother under Westminister's 
 stately roof. 
 
 The most brilliant of Charles's daughters was his youngest, 
 who was named after her mother, Henrietta. She was 
 born in Bedford House, Exeter, on the 16th of June, 1644. 
 On the Queen's escape to the Continent, the infant was 
 entrusted to the care of the Countess of Morton, who 
 resided with her at Oatlands. When the Koyal cause 
 seemed hopeless, the Countess resolved to carry her charge 
 
158 The White King. 
 
 to Paris, and disguising herself as a country woman, and 
 attiring the Princess in a coarse grey frock, she made her 
 way, mostly on foot, to the sea-coast, and there obtained a 
 boat to carry them across the Channel (1646). Her daring 
 and successful enterprise was, of course, a fitting theme for 
 the courtly muse of Waller. 
 
 I ' From, armed foes to bring a royal prize, 
 
 Shows your brave heart victorious as your eyes. 
 If Judith, marching with the General's head, 
 Can give no passion when her story's read ; 
 What may the living do, which brought away, 
 Though a less bloody, yet a nobler prey ? 
 Who from our flaming Troy, with a bold hand 
 Snatched her fair charge, the princess, like a brand : 
 A brand preserved to warm some prince's heart, 
 And make whole kingdoms take her brother's part.' 
 
 The childhood of the Princess was passed in Paris, and 
 the education she received was that of a young French- 
 woman, developing her personal graces and her mental 
 gifts, but neglecting the cultivation of the higher qualities 
 of the mind and heart. Sir John Eeresby, who saw her 
 several times at her mother's court, affords us a glimpse at 
 her accomplishments: 'As I spoke the language of the country, 
 and danced pretty well,' he says, ' the young Princess, then 
 about fifteen years of age, behaved towards me with all the 
 civil freedom that might be. She made me dance with her, 
 played on the harpsichord to me in her Highness's chamber, 
 suffered me to wait on her as she walked in the garden^ 
 and sometimes to toss her in a swing between two trees,, 
 and, in fine, to be present at all her innocent diversions.' 
 
 The Princess grew up very lovely, and not only very 
 lovely, but incomparably graceful, with a charm of manner 
 which was almost irresistible, and a keen and rapid wit 
 that shone out like a rapier, and inflicted, perhaps, as 
 dangerous wounds. The young King, Louis XIV. was 
 among her earliest and warmest admirers ; though Bishop 
 Burnet declares that his suit to the Princess was intended 
 to cover his secret wooing of Louise de la Vallifere, and that 
 Henrietta flashed up in sudden vs^rath when she discovered 
 
Some of the Royal Children. 159 
 
 the fraud that had been practised upon her. A beautiful 
 and fascinating young creature, without any strong sense of 
 moral laws, the Princess, it is to be feared, responded too 
 readily to the bold addresses of some of her impassioned 
 suitors; though whether her honour was compromised as 
 well as her discretion, a generous posterity wiU be in no 
 hurry to decide. At the Kestoration she paid a short visit 
 to her brother's Court, where Pepys saw her, and criticised 
 her somewhat unfavourably. She ' is very pretty,' he 
 admits ; but adds, ' much below my expectation ; and her 
 dressing of herself with her hair frizzed short up her ears, 
 did make her seem so much the less to me. But my wife 
 standing near her with two or three black patches on, and 
 well dressed, did seem to me more handsome than she,' — a 
 proof of his uxorious affection, rather than, if contemporary 
 evidence may be trusted, of his critical judgment. 
 
 On the 31st of March, 1661, she made the great mistake 
 that ruined her life, marrying Philip, Duke of Orleans (the 
 only brother of Louis XIV.) a handsome libertine, as narrow 
 of mind as he was cold and corrupt of heart. She bore 
 him three children : Philip, who died young ; Maria, who 
 became the wife of Charles II., King of Spain ; and Anna 
 Maria, who married Victor Amadeus, first King of Sardinia. 
 Her married life, however, was wretchedly unhappy through 
 the jealousy of her husband, who, while so censorious about 
 his wife's conduct, made no attempt to disguise his own 
 infidelities. 
 
 In May, 1670, Henrietta again visited England. She was 
 known to possess a remarkable influence over the King, her 
 brother, and the French Court employed her as its emissary 
 in concluding with Charles an intimate alliance. She was 
 received at Dover by the King, attended by the Duke of 
 York, Prince Rupert, and the Duke of Monmouth ; and for 
 a fortnight the ancient sea-port was the scene of the most 
 splendid festivities, which served to disguise the pohtical 
 purpose of the Princess's visit. She was successful in her 
 mission, for both parties were equally eager to effect an 
 
160 The White King. 
 
 arrangement. By the treaty which was thus clandestinely 
 negotiated Charles bound himself to announce his conversion 
 to the Eoman faith, and to declare war upon Holland, in 
 consideration of a large annual subsidy to be paid to him 
 by the French King ; and the latter undertook, in case any 
 popular outbreak followed the announcement of Charles's 
 change of religion, to support him with a French army. 
 The treaty was signed at Dover on the third of May. 
 
 A few days after her return to St. Cloud, this brilliant 
 young beauty was seized with a mortal illness, under cir- 
 cumstances which have greatly perplexed the historical 
 mind. The common account runs, that, having drank 
 freely of succory water, her favourite beverage, she com- 
 plained of its bitter flavour, and soon afterwards was 
 attacked by pains of an exceedingly severe character. 
 Declaring that she was poisoned, she requested her gentle- 
 women to put her to bed, and that her confessor should be 
 summoned. Louis, on hearing of her sudden iUness, repaired 
 at once to the palace, accompanied by his own physician, 
 who appears to have thought it possible she might recover, 
 though she herself from the first abandoned hope. 
 
 During her illness she behaved with the greatest fortitude 
 and composure. She bade farewell to Louis with character- 
 istic gracefulness, assuring him that her chief regret in 
 leaving the world was that she should lose the enjoyment 
 of his friendship and regard. To Montague, the English 
 ambassador, who remained with her to the last, she admitted 
 that between her husband and herself an unfriendly feeling 
 had prevailed, and that he had recently exhibited much ill- 
 temper on finding her in intimate, but, she said, innocent 
 conversation with a friend. Montague asked her in English 
 if she thought she had been poisoned ; but her confessor 
 apparently guessed the purport of his inquiry, and bade 
 her accuse no one. Later, the ambassador repeated his 
 question ; but she contented herself Avith shrugging her 
 shoulders. She charged him with many afiectionate and 
 tender messages to her brother, King Charles, and more 
 
Some of the Royal Children. 161 
 
 than once alluded to the sorrow he would feel at her death. 
 ' I have always loved him,' she said, ' above all things in 
 the world, and should not regret to leave it but that I leave 
 him.' 
 
 Henrietta died at St. Cloud on the 30th of June, just 
 fourteen days after completing her twenty-sixth year. It 
 was inevitable that a death so sudden should, in an age 
 when medical science was still imperfect, be attributed to 
 poison ; but there is really no evidence to justify such a 
 conclusion. And though her husband was much given to 
 jealousy, it does not seem to have been of that vehement 
 character which can be satisfied only by the murder of its 
 victim. It is true that as a beauty, a wit, and a political 
 intriguante the Princess had probably made many enemies ; 
 but suspicion does not appear to have rested upon any par- 
 ticular individual ; and for our own part, while admitting 
 that the cause of her death is obscure, we see no good 
 reason for believing that it was otherwise than natural. 
 
 Of the Princess Anne there is little more to be said than 
 that she was born at St. James's on March 17th, 1636, and 
 died December 8th, 1640. Fuller relates a pretty anecdote 
 of her last moments. One of her attendants had invited 
 her to pray. She answered that she was not able to say her 
 long prayer—that is, the Lord's Prayer — but would repeat 
 her short one : ' Lighten mine eyes, Lord, that I sleep 
 not the sleep of death.' But her Heavenly Father knew 
 what was best for her, and almost immediately took her to 
 His loving arms. 
 
 VOL. I. 11 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 the court of charles t. — philip, earl of pembroke. — 
 the countess of carlisle. — sir kenelm digby. 
 
 Philip, Earl of Pembroke. 
 
 It was the proud distinction of Philip Herbert, Earl of 
 Pembroke and Montgomery, to be the son of that fair and 
 noble ladj', Mary Sidney — who inspired her brother, the 
 poet-knight, to invent his 'Arcadia ' — and the nephew, there- 
 fore, of Sir Philip Sidney; but that he was unworthy of the 
 heritage of blood so pure and chivalrous, the historian must 
 perforce admit. 
 
 He was bom about 1582, and educated at New College, 
 Oxford. His first appearance at Court was made while he 
 was still a youth, but he seems to have had none of that 
 modesty which our ancestors regarded as youth's natural 
 appanage. ' Mr. Philip Herbert is here,' writes Rowland 
 White, ' and one of the forwardest courtiers that ever I saw 
 in my time. He had not been here two hours, but he grew 
 as bold as the best'— or worst. Of a handsome person, 
 skilled in the exercises of the joust and the tourney, 
 passionately fond of the chase, and with much knowledge 
 of dogs and horses, he rose rapidly in the favour of James I., 
 through whose influence the family of Lady Susan Vere 
 (daughter of Edward, seventeenth Earl of Oxford) were 
 induced to consent to his marriage with that well dowered 
 and beautiful maiden. The wedding was celebrated at 
 Whitehall, with exceptional splendour, on St. John's Day, 
 
The Court of Charles I. 163 
 
 1604. The bride was conducted to churcli by Prince Henry 
 and the Duke of Holstein, and the King himself gave her 
 away. After the ceremony a splendid banquet was served 
 up to the wedding guests, and a not less splendid masque 
 presented. Nor was the indelicacy wanting which on these 
 occasions our ancestors seem to have regarded as an essen- 
 tial part of the proceedings. ' There was no small loss that 
 night/ says Sir Dudley Carleton, ' of chains and jewels ; and 
 many great ladies were made shorter by the skirts, and were 
 very well served that they could keep cut no better. The 
 presents of plate and other things given by the noblemen 
 were valued at £2,500 ; but that which made it a good 
 marriage was a gift of the King's, of £500, for the bride's 
 jointure. They were lodged in the Council Chamber, where 
 the King, in his shirt and nightgown, gave them a reveille 
 matin before they were up. No ceremony was omitted of 
 bride-cakes, points, garters, and gloves, which have been 
 ever since the livery of the Court ; and at night there was 
 sewing into the sheet, casting off the bride's left hose, and 
 many other pretty sorceries,' which surely must have been 
 highly offensive to the modesty of a young bride. 
 
 In June, 1605, Philip Herbert was created Earl of Mont- 
 gomery, and in May, 1608, received the Order of the Garter. 
 When Robert Carr rose upon the horizon of James's favour, 
 Montgomery sank to the position of second favourite ; 
 which, according to Clarendon, he contrived to retain, who- 
 ever might chance to be first. He enjoyed so much of 
 James's confidence, that, on his death-bed, when the King 
 suspected Buckingham and his mother of poisoning him, he 
 turned to Montgomery and exclaimed, ' For God's sake, look 
 that I have fair play !'* 
 
 The chroniclers of the time attribute to the Earl a 
 cowardice which one would not look for in a Herbert. In 
 1607, on the racecourse at Croydon, having quarrelled with 
 Ramsay, the Scotchman who was afterwards made Earl of 
 
 ** This is stated by Weldon, whose authority, of course, is by no 
 means unimpeachable. 
 
 11—2 
 
164 The White King. 
 
 Holderness, the latter horsewhipped him publicly. The 
 English gentlemen present were fain to have made it a 
 national quarrel; but Montgomery, submitting to his dis- 
 grace with composure, they withdrew from the ground. In 
 one of the burlesques of the Earl's speeches, attributed to 
 Butler, he is made to allude to this disgraceful affair : ' For 
 my part I'll have nothing to do with them. I cannot abide 
 a Scot, for a Scot switched me once, and whacked my crown 
 with my own staff, the virge of my Lord Chamberlainship, 
 and now they are all coming to switch you too.' He was 
 not Lord Chamberlain, however, when the fracas occurred. 
 
 Clarendon speaks of him in depreciating terms : ' There 
 were very few great persons in authority who were not fre- 
 quently offended by him by sharp and scandalous discourses 
 and invectives against them, behind their backs, for which 
 they found it best to receive satisfaction by submissions, and 
 professions, and protestations, which was a coin he was 
 plentifully supplied with for the payment of all their debts.' 
 In 1610, while playing in the tennis-court, he quarrelled 
 with the Earl of Southampton (Shakespeare's friend), and 
 the two noblemen flung the rackets at each other's head. 
 Serious consequences were averted only by the interposition 
 of the King. 
 
 Ward asserts that he was so ill-educated that he could 
 scarcely write his own name. On the other hand, he was a 
 liberal patron of men of letters, and it was to him and his 
 brother, William, Earl of Pembroke, that Heminge and 
 Condell dedicated the famous 1623 folio edition of Shake- 
 speare's plays. They allude to him as the personal friend 
 of the poet. It is evident that he must have possessed some 
 fine qualities of character, or he would not have been dis- 
 tinguished by the favour and confidence of Charles I., who, 
 soon after his accession, made him his Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 On the 10th of April, 1630, his brother died suddenly, 
 and Philip succeeded to the Earldom of Pembroke. His 
 brother had also fiUed the office of Chancellor of the Univer- 
 sity of Oxford, and Earl Philip was put in nomination by 
 
The Court of Charles I. 165 
 
 the Calvinistic party in opposition to Laud, who, however, 
 was elected by a majority of nine. We may, perhaps, infer 
 from this circumstance that the Earl was inclined towards 
 Puritanism ; and, if such were the case, some incidents in 
 his later career would receive a tolerably satisfactory ex- 
 planation, and, at the same time, we should be able to 
 understand the obvious animosity which the Koyahst 
 chroniclers exhibit in speaking of him. In this same year, 
 having been left a widower by the death of his first wife, he 
 married Anne, widow of Eichard SackvUle, Earl of Dorset, 
 and heiress of the Cliffords, Earls of Cumberland. The 
 marriage was not a happy one ; the Earl is said to have 
 been profligate, and the Countess is known to have been 
 high-tempered, and after a few years they agreed to a sepa- 
 ration. 
 
 A confirmation of our supposition that he favoured the 
 principles of Puritanism is afforded by the fact that, in 1634, 
 the French and Dutch refugees, who fied from the axe and 
 faggot to worship God in their own language and in their 
 own fashion, and had formed little congregations of 
 Huguenots and Lutherans in many of our towns, turned to 
 him, when persecuted by Archbishop Laud, in 1634, to obtain 
 their admission to the royal presence that they might express 
 their loyalty and solicit toleration. Pembroke, however, 
 could not obtain for them this indulgence, but they were 
 allowed to offer their petition to the King on his way to 
 chapel. The King took it and handed it to Pembroke. All 
 they gained by it, however, was that the use of the English 
 Prayer-book was not imposed upon those who had been 
 born abroad. 
 
 In the previous year Pembroke's choleric temper had 
 involved him in a discreditable affair with May, the poet, 
 and the translator of Lucan. While a masque was being 
 performed in the Banqueting-house by the gentlemen of the 
 Inns of Court, May accidentally came into collision with the 
 Earl, who, in hot haste, lifted his staff and broke it over 
 May's shoulders. Wood says that, had it not been for the 
 
166 The White King. 
 
 Earl's office and tlie royal presence, it might have been a 
 question whether the Earl would ever have struck again. 
 Garrard, the Earl of Strafford's correspondent, gives the 
 following account of the affair : ' Mr. May, of Gray's Inn, a 
 fine poet — he also translated Lucan — came athwart my 
 Lord Chamberlain in the Banqueting-house, who broke his 
 staff over his shoulders, not knowing who he was, the King 
 present, who knew him, for he calls him his poet, and told 
 the Chamberlain of it, who sent for him the next morning 
 and fairly excused himself to him and gave him fifty pounds 
 in pieces. I beheve he was thus indulgent for his name's 
 sake.'* 
 
 Pembroke, during the long Parliamentary struggle which 
 preceded the Civil War, sided more and more with the 
 Opposition, and by his political action incurred the resent- 
 ment of the Queen. Age had not cooled his fiery temper ; 
 and in July, 1641, during a debate in the House of Lords, 
 he came to blows with Lord Mowbray, son of the Earl of 
 Arundel. By order of the House, the offending nobleman 
 was sent to the Tower; and the Queen, availing herself 
 of the occurrence, persuaded Charles to dismiss Pem- 
 broke from the Lord Chamberlainship. Thenceforward the 
 Earl threw in his lot with the Puritan party, who, in 
 August, 1641, by a majority of both Houses, invited the 
 King to make him Lord High Steward. Charles refused ; 
 and in the following year, at the outbreak of hostilities, 
 Pembroke became a member of the Committee of Safety, 
 consisting of five Peers and ten Commoners, which was 
 appointed ' to take into consideration whatsoever might 
 concern the safety of the kingdom, the defence of the 
 Parliament, and the preservation of the peace of the king- 
 dom, and opposing any force that might be raised against 
 the Parliament.' 
 
 After the execution of Charles I. and the abolition of the 
 House of Lords, he sat as member for Berkshire in the 
 House of Commons, and served on the Council of State 
 * ' The Strafeord Letters,' i. 207. 
 
The GouH of Charles I. 167 
 
 which undertook the administration of the Commonwealth. 
 He was chosen to remodel the University of Oxford in 
 accordance with the -views of the Puritan party. This 
 appointment provoked the caustic humour of Butler, who 
 put forward a parody of his address to the senate of the 
 University of Oxford, in which the Earl's tendency to use 
 language and his faults of expression were mercilessly 
 ridiculed. This early specimen of political parody is 
 amusing enough, though no doubt grossly unfair : 
 
 ' My Visitors, — I am glad to see this day ; I hope it will 
 never end, for I am your Chancellor. Some say I am not 
 your Chancellor ; but dam me, they lye, for my brother 
 was so before me, and none but rascals would rob me of 
 my birthright. They think the Marquis of Hertford is 
 Chancellor of Oxford, because, forsooth, the University 
 •chose him. 'Sdeath, I sit here by ordinance of Parliament ; 
 and, judge ye, gentlemen, whether he or I look like a 
 chancellor. I'll prove he is a party, for he himself is a 
 .scholar : he has Greek and Latin ; but all the world knows 
 I can scarce write or read. Dam me, this writing and 
 reading hath caused all this blood. I thank God, and I 
 thank you. I thank God I am come at last ; and I thank 
 you for giving me a gilded Bible : you could not give me a 
 better book ; dam me, I think so. I love the Bible, though 
 I seldom use it — I say I love it ; and a man's affection is 
 the best member about him. I can love it, though I 
 ■cannot read it, as you, Dr. Wilkinson, love preaching, 
 .though you never preach.' 
 
 The Earl died on the 22nd of January, 1650. The hatred 
 entertained towards him by the Royalists pursued him to 
 his grave; and an anonymous lampoonist, in a doggerel 
 pamphlet, entitled ' The Life and Death of Philip Herbert, 
 the late infamous Knight of Berkshire, once Earl of 
 Pembroke,' proposed the following lines as an appropriate 
 .epitaph : 
 
 ' Here lies the mirror of our age for treason, 
 Who in his life was void of sense and reason ; 
 
168 The White King. 
 
 The Commons' pest, a knave in everything ; 
 A traitor to his master, lord, and king ; 
 A man whose virtues were to whore and swear, 
 God damn him was his constant daily prayer.' 
 
 Lucy, Countess of Carlisle. 
 
 ' You, the slight graceful girl, 
 Tall for a flowering lily.' — Eobekt Browning. 
 
 On the many-coloured and crowded canvas which depicts- 
 the reign of Charles I., not one of the least interesting or 
 attractive figures is that of Lucy, Countess of Carlisle. 
 Bishop Warburton, with a good deal of exaggeration, has 
 called her ' the Erinnys of her time.' She was, in reality, 
 one of those women, never very numerous in English 
 society, who, with a talent for intrigue, have employed their 
 wit and beauty in the acquisition of political influence, and 
 have essayed to take a direct part in the management of 
 public affairs. This has been a rdle always played more 
 successfully by the helles esprits of France than by those 
 of England ; partly, perhaps, because our system of govern- 
 ment affords less scope for the development of Court 
 cabals and social conspiracies. And even of the Countess of 
 Carlisle, it is probably true that she. played with politics as 
 Sir Toby Matthews says she played with love, ' as with a 
 child.' Still it cannot be doubted that she exercised a 
 certain power over statesmen so dissimilar as Strafford and 
 Pym, any more than it can be doubted that nature had 
 been very bountiful to her in the matter of personal charms 
 as well as of intellectual endowments. Now, a beautiful 
 woman, even if she be a fool, can have a good deal of her 
 own way in courts, camps, and groves; for beauty draws 
 us with a single hair ; but if she be not only a beauty but 
 a wit, why, she can play the very devil ! The gravest and 
 wisest of men go down before her imperial motion, Hke 
 skittles before the well-aimed ball. The evidence of the 
 Countess's contemporaries is incontestable as to her com- 
 bined ' gifts and graces.' I will not quote Virtue, though he 
 may be considered an unimpeachable witness ; nor the well- 
 
The Court of Charles I. 169 
 
 known Character written by Sir Toby Matthews ; but Waller 
 was a good judge of pretty women, and you laiow those 
 glowing verses of his on Lady Carlisle's bedchamber, begin- 
 ning: 
 
 ' They taste of death that do at heaven arrive, 
 But we this Paradise approach alive.' 
 
 Sir John Suckling, too, had an excellent taste in the same 
 
 direction, and his Muse exceeds the bounds of propriety in 
 
 her, raptures upon ' the Lady Carlisle's walking in Hampton 
 
 Court Gardens': 
 
 ' Didst thou not find the place inspired ? 
 And flowers, as if they had desired 
 No other sun, start from their beds, 
 And for a sight steal out their heads ? 
 Heardst thou not music when she talked ? 
 And didst not find that as she walked 
 She threw i :ire perfumes all about, 
 Such as beau blossoms newly out, 
 Or chafed spices give ?' 
 
 Then there is William Cartwright, with his ' Panegyric to 
 
 the Most Noble Lucy, Countess of Carlisle,' in which he 
 
 says: 
 
 ' Your limbs have tracks of light, still as you go ; 
 Your gait's illumination, and for you 
 Only to move a step is to dispense 
 Brightness and force, splendour and influence . . . 
 
 We 
 
 What elsewhere is called beauty, in you hold 
 But so much lustre cast into a mould . . . 
 But beauty is not all that makes you so 
 Adored by those who either see or know : 
 'Tis your proportioned soul, for who e'er set 
 A common useless weed in crystal yet ?' 
 
 and in this strain the poet continues for a hundred and 
 eighty lines. 
 
 Browning introduces Lady Carlisle into his tragedy of 
 ' Strafford,' and, as the motto we have prefixed to this 
 memoir shows, speaks of her as ' a slight, graceful girl.' 
 Tall, slight, and graceful she seems to have been ; but at 
 the time when she was the friend and confidante of Strafford 
 she was in the ripeness of her beautiful womanhood — no 
 girl, but a woman of thirty or more. 
 
170 The White King. 
 
 Lucy, Countess of Carlisle, was the youngest daughter of 
 Henry, eighth Earl of Northumberland, and brother of the 
 ninth earl, ' a courteous and high-spirited young nobleman,' 
 who was made Admiral of the Fleet in 1636. She was 
 married, while still in her teens, on the 6th of 'November, 
 1660, to James Hay, afterwards Earl of Carlisle, who, in the 
 later years of James I. and the earlier years of Charles was 
 employed on some important diplomatic missions. Their 
 married life does not appear to have been fortunate ; and 
 the Countess sought change and excitement in the festivities 
 and intrigues of the Court, where, for some years, she held 
 her position as ' the reigning beauty.' It is not certain 
 when her friendship with Strafford began; but from 
 allusions in the Strafford Letters, we take it to have been 
 before his departure to Ireland, and while as Sir Thomas 
 Wentworth he was still the hope and pride of the Opposition. 
 In 1636 she was left a widow,* and thenceforward she cul- 
 tivated politics with a good deal of assiduity. For them as 
 a serious occupation, it is true that she had no aptitude ; 
 but having outlived her youth and the freshness of her 
 charms, she felt a woman's pride in attaching to herself 
 the strong heads by which the world was ruled, as in youth 
 she had attached to herself the witty courtier or the agile 
 dancer. It was worth a statesman's while to cultivate her 
 acquaintance. She could make him a power in society as 
 well as in council, could worm out a secret which it behoved 
 him to know, and could convey to others his suggestions 
 with assured fidelity. 
 
 Her name is connected with both Strafford and Pym, and 
 slanderous chronicles assert that she was successively the 
 mistress of the Earl and his great adversary. There is not 
 a tittle of evidence in support of the calumny, which is as 
 dishonouring to them as to her. Neither of these illustrious 
 men was capable of descending to vulgar debauchery. As for 
 herself^ no doubt it was purely personal motives that attached 
 
 * Both Waller and Sir William Davenant addressed her in verse 
 on this occasion, making it the excuse for much fine poetical flattery. 
 
The Cov/rt of Charles I. I7l 
 
 her to them — the pride of having a great statesman at her 
 beck and call — a woman's admiration of strength and power 
 and superior manhood. For their pohtical theories she cared 
 httle or nothing. But it is possible that some glow of warmer 
 feeling may have been kindled in the lonely Strafford's 
 breast. ' It was something to have an ally at Court ready 
 at all times to plead his cause with gay enthusiasm, to warn 
 him of hidden dangers, and to offer him the thread of that 
 labyrinth which, under the name of ' the Queen's ride,' was 
 such a mystery to him. It was something, too, no doubt, 
 that this advocate was not a gray-haired statesman, but a 
 woman, in spite of growing years, of winning grace and 
 sparkling activity of eye and tongue.' 
 
 To Strafford she showed herself loyal even in his darkest 
 hours ; and it was, I think, her resentment at the King's 
 desertion of him which impelled her to transfer her sym- 
 pathies and her talent for intrigue to the Parliamentary 
 party. When Strafford was gone, the foremost statesman in 
 England was unquestionably John Pym, and with him she 
 formed a secret intimacy for political purposes. Perhaps, 
 after all, her governing motive was vanity, the pleasure 
 which a beauty and a wit feels in sharing, as she supposes, 
 the confidences, and participating in the projects and plans, 
 of a ruler of men. And surely Mr. Gardiner uses language of 
 unnecessary strength when he says that, ' to the excitement 
 of a youth of pleasure was to follow the excitement of a 
 middle age of treachery. It was to be her sport to listen to 
 trustful words dropped in confidence, and to betray them 
 to those who were ready to take advantage of her knowledge.' 
 She probably thought that all was fair in politics as in love, 
 and never realized in her self-consciousness that she was 
 guilty of any treachery at all.' 
 
 At all events, in her equivocal position she became the 
 means of rendering her country a great service. As the 
 confidante of the Queen, she received information of 
 Charles's intention to arrest the five leaders of the Oppo- 
 sition (January 4, 1642) — an intention which, if fulfilled. 
 
172 The White King. 
 
 would have been the cause of infinite bloodshed. She 
 revealed the secret to Lord Essex, who at once communi- 
 cated the news to Pym and his colleagues, and prepared 
 them for an opportune flight. Thenceforward she makes 
 little figure in the annals of the time. Under the Protec- 
 torate she had no field for the exercise of her intriguing 
 capacity ; and as her years advanced, and her personal 
 charms faded, her influence rapidly waned. After the 
 Restoration, she made some efi'ort to secure the return of 
 her former mistress, Queen Henrietta Maria, to England,, 
 hoping, no doubt, to occupy in her Court a conspicuous 
 position ; but death suddenly broke in upon her complex 
 web of ambition and pleasure, on the 5 th of November, 
 1660. She died at Little Cashiobury House, and was 
 interred at Petworth, in the burial-place of the Percys.* 
 
 Sir Kenelm Digby. 
 
 Sir Kenelm's two most serious works are his treatises on 
 ' The Nature of Bodies,' and ' The Nature of Man's Soul,' 
 printed by Gilles Blaizot, and published at Paris, in 
 1644. Au exhaustive analysis of them cannot be at- 
 tempted within the present writer's limits; and a brief 
 account will probably satisfy the needs of most readers. 
 In his dedicatory preface to his son Kenelm, he says : 
 ' The calamity of this time being such as hath bereft me 
 of the ordinary means of expressing my affections to you, 
 I have been casting about to find some other way of doing 
 that in such sort as you may receive most profit by it. 
 Therein I soon pitched upon this consideration ; that 
 parents owe unto their children not only material sub- 
 sistence for their body, but much more, spiritual contribu- 
 tions to their better part, their mind. I am much bound 
 to God that he hath endued you with one very best capable 
 of the best instructions ; and withal, I do therefore esteem 
 
 * ' The Sidney Papers,' edited by Blenoower ; Clarendon, ' History 
 of the Eebellion ;' Waller, Davenant, and Sir John Suckling, 'Poems ;' 
 ' Memoirs of Madame de Motteville ;' 8. R. G-ardiner, ' History of 
 England,' etc., etc. 
 
The Court of Charles I. 173 
 
 myself obliged to do my utmost for moulding it to its most 
 advantage.' With this view he has composed ' these con- 
 siderations of the nature and immortality of human Souls' 
 which are embodied in the second treatise ; and for his 
 further improvement the first treatise ' of the Nature of 
 Bodies,' in which he aims no further than ' to show what 
 may be effected by corporeal agents.' He earnestly im- 
 presses upon his son, and upon others who may peruse the 
 two treatises, the necessity of a careful study of them. 
 He begs them not to pass their answer upon any particular 
 piece, or bestow praise of either of them, taken by itself. 
 ' Let them draw the entire thread through their fingers, 
 and let them examine the consequentness of the whole 
 body of the doctrine I deliver ; and let them compare it by 
 a like survey with what is ordinarily taught in the 
 schools : and if they find in theirs, many breaks and short 
 ends which cannot be spun into an even piece, and in 
 mine, a fair coherence throughout, I shall promise myself 
 a favourable doom from them, and that they will have an 
 acquiescence in themselves to what I have here presented 
 them with. Whereas, if they but ravel it over loosely, and 
 pitch upon disputing against particular conclusions that, 
 at the first encounter of them single, may seem harsh unto 
 them (which is the ordinary course of flashy wits, who 
 cannot fathom the whole extent of a large discourse) it is 
 impossible but that they should be very much unsatisfied of 
 me ; and go away with a persuasion that some such truths 
 as upon the whole matter are most evident (one stone in 
 the arch supporting another and the whole) are mere 
 chimeras and wild paradoxes.' 
 
 The treatise 'On the Nature of Bodies' is divided into 
 thirty-eight chapters, and the character and quality of its 
 contents may be inferred from their descriptive headings. 
 Chapter I. is a Preamble to the whole Discourse ; concerning 
 notions in general ; Chapter II. Treats of Quantity ; Chap- 
 ter III, Of Rarity and Purity; Chapter IV., Of the Four 
 First Qualities of the Four Elements ; Chapter V., Of the 
 
174 The White King. 
 
 Operations of the Elements in general, and of their Activities 
 compared with one another ; Chapter YI., Of Light — what 
 it is ; Chapter VII., Two objections answered against Light 
 being Fire ; a more ample proof of its being such ; Chapter 
 VIII., An answer to three other objections formerly pro- 
 posed, against Light being a substance; Chapter IX., Of 
 Local Motion in common; Chapter X., Of Gravity and 
 Levity, and of Local Motion, generally termed Natural; 
 Chapter XL, An Answer to the Objections urged against 
 the Causes of Natural Motion, avowed in the former 
 chapter, and a refutation of the contrary opinion ; Chapter 
 XII., Of Violent Motion ; Chapter XIII., Of three Sorts of 
 Violent Motion, Kefluxion, Undulation, and Refraction; 
 Chapter XIV., Of the Composition, Qualities, and Genera- 
 tion of Mixed Bodies ; Chapter XV., Of the Dissolution of 
 Mixed Bodies; Chapter XVI., An Explication of certain 
 Maxims touching the Operations and Qualities of Bodies, 
 and whether the Elements be found pure in any Part of the 
 World ; Chapter XVII., Of Rarefaction and Condensation, 
 the Two First Motions of Particular Bodies; Chapter 
 XVIIL, Of another Motion belonging to Particular Bodies, 
 called Attraction, and of certain Operations, termed 
 Magical ; Chapter XIX., Of Three Other Motions belonging 
 to Particular Bodies, Filtration, Restitution, and Electrical 
 Attraction; Chapter XX., Of the Loadstone's Generation, 
 and its Particular Motions ; Chapter XXI., Positions drawn 
 out of the Former Doctrine, and Confirmed by Experimental 
 Proofs ; Chapter XXII., A Solution of Certain Problems 
 Concerning the Loadstone, and a Short Sum of the whole 
 Doctrine touching it; Chapter XXIII. , A Description of 
 the Two Sorts of Living Creatures, Plants and Animals; 
 and how They are framed in common to perform Vital 
 Motion ; Chapter XXIV., A More Particular Survey of the 
 Generation of Animals, in which is discovered what Part of 
 the Animal is First Generated ; Chapter XXV., How a 
 Plant or Animal cometh to that Figure it hath ; Chapter 
 XXVI., How Motion beginneth in Living Creatures, and 
 
The Court of Charles I. 175 
 
 of the Motion of the Heart, Circulation of the Blood 
 Nutrition, Augmentation, and Corruption or Death ; Chap- 
 ter XXVII., Of the Motions of Sense, and of the Sensible 
 Qualities in General ; and in particular of Those which be- 
 long to Touch, Taste, and Smelling ; Chapter XXVIII., Of 
 the Sense of Hearing, and of the Sensible Quality of Sound ; 
 Chapter XXIX., Of Sight and Colours ; Chapter XXX., Of 
 Luminous or Apparent Colours; Chapter XXXI., The 
 Causes of Certain Appearances in Luminous Colours, with a 
 Conclusion of the Discourse touching the Senses and the 
 Sensible Qualities ; Chapter XXXIL, Of Sensation, or the 
 Motion whereby Sense is Properly Exercised; Chapter 
 XXXIII., Of Memory; Chapter XXXIV., Of Voluntary 
 Motion, Natural Faculties, and Passions ; Chapter XXXV., 
 Of the Material Instrument of Knowledge and Passion, of 
 the several Effects of Passions, of Pain and Pleasure, and 
 how the Vital Spirits are sent from the Brain into the In- 
 tented Parts of the Body, without mistaking their Way; 
 Chapter XXXVI., Of some Actions of Beasts, that seem to 
 be formal Acts of Keason, as Doubting, Resolving, In- 
 venting; Chapter XXXVII., Of the Docility of some Ir- 
 rational Animals, and of Certain Continual Actions of a 
 long tract of Time so orderly performed by Them, that 
 they seem to argue Knowledge in Them; Chapter 
 XXXVIIL, Of Prescience of Future Events, Providences, 
 the Knowing of Things never seen before, and such other 
 actions observed in some living creatures, which seem to be 
 even above the reason that is in man himself 
 
 It will be seen that Sir Kenelm took a sufficiently com- 
 prehensive view of his subject. As for his treatment of it, 
 in many parts it is empirical ; often ingenious ; but not in- 
 frequently grotesque. In those early days of science even 
 the keenest wits entertained quite gravely the most 
 chimerical ideas. What Sir Kenelm says of 'the Load- 
 stone's generation ' may be quoted as a fair illustration of 
 his style and method : 
 
 'Let us reflect upon the disposition of parts of this 
 
176 The White King. 
 
 habitable globe, whereof we are tertants for life. And we 
 shall find that the sun, by his constant course under the 
 Zodiac, heateth a great part of it unmeasurably more than 
 he doth the rest. And, consequently, that this Zodiac 
 being in the midst between two (as it were) ends, which 
 we call the Poles, these Poles must necessarily be extremely 
 cold, in respect of the torrid zone ; for so we call that part 
 of the earth which lieth under the Zodiac. 
 
 ' Now looking into the consequence of this ; we find that 
 the sun, or the sun's heat, which reflecteth from the earth 
 in the torrid zone, must rarefy the air extremely, and, accord- 
 ing to the nature of all heat and fire, must needs carry away 
 from thence many parts of the air and of the earth sticking 
 to that heat, in such sort as we have formerly declared. 
 
 'Whence it followeth, that other air must necessarily 
 come from the regions towards both the Poles, to supply 
 what is carried away from the middle, as is the course in 
 other fires, and as we have explicated above ; especially 
 considering, that the air which cometh from the Pole 
 wards, is heavier than the air of the torrid zone ; and there- 
 fore, must naturally press to be still nearer the earth ; and 
 so, as it were, shouldereth up the air of the torrid zone 
 towards the circumference, by rolling into its place; and 
 this, in great quantities ; and, consequently, the Polar air 
 must draw a great train after it. 
 
 'Which if we consider the great extent of the torrid 
 zone, we shall easily persuade ourselves that it must reach 
 on each side to the very pole : for taking from Archimedes 
 that the spherical superficies of a portion of a sphere is, to 
 the superficies of the whole sphere, according as the part 
 of the axis of that sphere comprised within the said portion 
 is to the whole axis ; and considering that, in one case, the 
 fact of the axis comprised within the torrid zone is to 
 the whole axis of the earth in about the proportions 
 of 4 to 10 ; it must of necessity follow that a fire or great 
 heat reigning in so vast an extent, will draw air very 
 powerfully from the rest of the world. 
 
The Court of Charles I. 177 
 
 ' Neither let any man apprehend that this course of the 
 sun's elevating so great quantities of atoms in the torrid 
 zone, should hinder the course of gravity there : for first 
 the medium is much rarer in the torrid zone than in other 
 parts of the earth; and therefore the force of the de- 
 scending atoms needeth not to be so great there as in 
 other places, to make bodies descend there as fast as they 
 do elsewhere. Secondly, they bring a perpetual supply of 
 fresh air from the Polar parts, streaming continually into 
 the Torrid zone ; it must of necessity happen that in the 
 air there come atoms to the torrid zone of that grossness 
 that they cannot suddenly be so much rarefied as the 
 subtler parts of air that are there : and therefore, the 
 more those subtler parts are rarefied, and thereby happen 
 to be carried up, the stronger and the thicker the heavier 
 atoms must descend. And thus this concourse of air from 
 the Polar parts maintaineth gravity under the Zodiac, 
 where otherwise all would be turned into fire, and to have 
 no gravity.' 
 
 Sir Kenelm goes on to argue that the atoms of these 
 two streams, on meeting, are apt to incorporate ; that by 
 their union at the Equator divers rivulets of atoms of each 
 Pole are continuated from one Pole to the other ; and that 
 of these atoms incorporated with some fit matter in the 
 bowels of the earth, is made a stone. 
 
 ' NoAv, then, let us suppose this stone to be taken out of 
 the earth, and hanged in the air, or set conveniently 
 upon some little pin, or otherwise put in liberty, so as a 
 small impulse may easily turn it any way ; it will in this 
 case certainly follow that the end of the stone which in the 
 earth lay towards the north pole, will now in the air con- 
 vert itself in the same manner towards the same point; 
 and the other end, which lay towards the south, turn by 
 consequence to the south. I speak of these countries 
 which lie between the Equator and the North ; in which it 
 cannot choose but that the stream going from the North 
 to the Equator, must be stronger than the opposite one. . . . 
 
 VOL. I. ] 2 
 
178 The White King. 
 
 ' From hence we may gather that this stone will join and 
 cleave to its attraction, whensoever it happeneth to be 
 within the sphere of its activity. Besides, if by some acci- 
 dent it should happen that the atoms or steams which are 
 drawn by the sun from the polewards to the equator, should 
 come stronger from some part of the earth which is on the 
 side hand of the pole, than from the very pole itself ; in this 
 case the stone will turn from the pole towards that side. 
 Lastly, whatsoever this stone wiU do towards the pole of the 
 earth, the very same a lesser stone of the same kind will do 
 towards a greater. And if there be any kind of other sub- 
 stance that hath participation of the nature of this stone, 
 such a substance wiU behave itself towards this stone in the 
 same manner as such a stone behaveth itself towards the 
 earth ; all the phenomena whereof may be the more plainly 
 observed if the stone be cut into the form of the earth.' 
 
 The second treatise, ' Declaring the Nature and Operation 
 of Man's Soul, out of which the Immortality of Eeasonable 
 Souls is Convinced,' is very short, and contains only twelve 
 chapters. The first of these treats of Simple Apprehen- 
 sions ; Chapter II., of Thinking and Knowing ; Chapter III., 
 of Discoursing ; Chapter IV., How a Man proceedeth to 
 Action ; Chapter V. contains Proofs out of our Single 
 Apprehensions that our Soul is Incorporeal; Chapter VI. 
 contains Proofs out of our Soul's Operations in Knowing or 
 Deeming anything, that she is of a Spiritual Nature; 
 Chapter VII., that our Discoursing doth prove our Soul to 
 be Incorporeal ; Chapter VIII. contains Proofs out of our 
 Manner of Proceeding to Action, that our Soul is Incor- 
 poreal ; Chapter IX., that our Soul is a Substance and 
 Immortal ; Chapter X. declares what the Soul of a Man, 
 separated from his Body, is, and of her Knowledge and 
 Manner of Working ; Chapter XI. shows what Effects the 
 divers manners of living in this world do cause in a Soul 
 after she is separated from her Body ; and. Chapter XII., of 
 the Perseverance of a Soul in the state she findeth herself 
 in, at the first separation from the Body. 
 
The Court of Charles I. 179 
 
 The matter of this treatise is, as a whole, too vague and 
 transcendental to interest the ordinary reader, though con- 
 siderable skill is shown in forming the various links of 
 demonstration ; but a passage or two from the conclusion 
 will show that its writer, whatever his faults of character 
 and temper, was not incapable of high thoughts and pure 
 aspirations. 
 
 ' To thee, then, my soul,' he says, ' I now address my 
 speech. For since by long debate and toilsome raving 
 against the impetuous tides of ignorance and false appre- 
 hensions which overflow thy banks and hurry thee headlong 
 down the stream, whilst thou art imprisoned m thy clayey 
 mansion, we have with much ado acceded to aim at some 
 little atom of thy vast greatness ; and with the hard and 
 tough blows of strict and wary reasoning we have strucken 
 out some few sparks of that glorious light which environeth 
 and swelleth thee, or, rather, which is thee, it is high time 
 I should retire myself out of the turbulent and slippery 
 field of eager strife and litigious disputation to make my 
 accounts with thee ; where no outward noise may distract 
 us, nor any way intermeddle between us, excepting only 
 that eternal deity which by thee shineth upon my faint 
 and gloomy eyes, and in which I see whatsoever doth or can 
 content thee in me. I have discovered that thou, my soul, 
 wilt survive me ; and so survive me as thou wilt also 
 survive the mortality and changes which belong to me, and 
 which are but accidental to thee merely because thou art in 
 me. Then shall the vicissitude of time, and the inequality 
 of dispositions in thee, be turned into the constancy of 
 immortality, and into the evenness of one being, never to 
 end, and never to receive a change, or succession to better 
 or worse. 
 
 ' When my eye of contemplation hath been fixed upon 
 this bright sun as long as it is able to endure the radiant 
 beams of it ; when redundant light visitest the looker-on 
 with a dark mist, let me turn it for a little space upon the 
 straight passage and narrow gullet through which thou 
 
 12—2 
 
180 The White King. 
 
 strivest, my soul, with faint and weary steps, during thy 
 hazardous voyage upon the earth, to make thyself a way ; 
 and let me examine what comparison there is between thy 
 two conditions : the present one, wherein thou now findest 
 thyself immersed in flesh and blood, and the future state 
 that will betide thee, when thou shalt be melted out of this 
 gross ore and refined from this mean alloy. Let my term of 
 life be of a thousand long years, longer than ever happened 
 to our aged forefathers, who stored the earth with their 
 numerous progeny, by outliving their skill to number the 
 ditfused multitudes that swarmed from their loins ; let 
 me, during this long space, be sole emperor and absolute 
 lord of all the huge globe of land and water encompassed 
 with Adam's offspring ; let all my subjects lie prostrate at 
 my feet with obedience and awe, distilling their activest 
 thoughts in studying, day and night, to invent new pleasures 
 and delights for me ; let Nature conspire with them to give 
 me a constant and vigorous health, a perpetual spring of 
 youth that may to the full relish whatsoever good all they 
 can fancy; let gravest prelates and greatest princes come 
 instead of flatterers to heighten my joys, and yet those joys 
 be raised above their power of flattery ; let the wise men of 
 this vast family, whose sentiments are maxims and oracles 
 to govern the world's beliefs and actions, esteem, reverence, 
 and adore me in the secretest and the most recluse with- 
 drawings of their heart ; let all the wealth which, to this 
 very day, hath ever been torn out of the bowels of the earth, 
 and all the treasures which the sea hideth from the view of 
 greedy men, swell round about me, whilst all the world 
 besides lieth gaping to receive the crumbs that fall neglected 
 by me from my full-laden table ; let my imagination be as 
 vast as the unfathomed universe, and let my felicity be as 
 accomplished as my imagination can reach unto, so that, 
 wallowing in pleasure, I be not able to think how to increase 
 it, or what to wish for more than that which I possess and 
 enjoy. 
 
 ' Thus, when my thoughts are at a stand and can raise 
 
The Court, of CharUs I. 181 
 
 my present happiness no higher, let me call to mind how 
 this long lease of pleasant days will come to an end ; this 
 torture of a thousand joyful years will at length be un- 
 wound, and nothing remain of it. And then, my soul, thy 
 infinitely longer-lived Immortality will succeed ; thy never- 
 ending date will begin a new account, impossible to be 
 summed up, and beyond all proportion infinitely exceeding 
 the happiness we have rudely tried to express ; so that no 
 comparison can be admitted betwixt them. For suppose, 
 first, that such it were, as the least and shortest of those 
 manifold joys which swell it to that height we have fancied, 
 was equal to all the contentment thou shalt enjoy in a 
 whole million of years, yet millions of years may be so 
 often multiplied as, at length, the slender and limited con- 
 tentments supposed in them may equalize and outgo the 
 whole heap of overflowing bliss, raised so high in the large 
 extent of three thousand happy years. Which, when they 
 are cast into a total sum, and that I compare it with the 
 unmeasurable eternity which only measureth thee — then I 
 see that all this huge product of algebraical multiplication 
 appeareth as nothing in respect of thy remaining and 
 never-ending survivance, and is less than the least point in 
 regard to the immense universe. But then, if it be true, 
 as it is most true, that thy least spark and moment of real 
 happiness in that blessed eternity thou hopest for is in- 
 finitely greater and nobler than the whole mass of fancied 
 joys of any thousand years' life here on earth — how in- 
 finitely will the value of thy duration exceed all proportion 
 in regard to the felicity I had imagined myself ? And see- 
 ing there is no proportion between them, let me sadly 
 reflect upon my own present condition ; let me examine 
 what it is I so busily and anxiously employ my thoughts 
 and precious time upon ; let me consider my own course, 
 and whither they lead me ; let me take a survey of the 
 lives and actions of the greatest part of the world, which 
 make so loud a noise about my ears, and then may I justly 
 sigh out from the bottom of my anguished heart — to what 
 
182 The White King. 
 
 purpose have I hitherto lived ? To what purpose are all 
 these millions of toilsome ants that live and labour about 
 me? — to what purpose were CiBsars and Alexanders? — to 
 what purpose Aristotles and Archimedeses ? How miser- 
 ably foolish are those conquering tyrants that divide the 
 world with their lawless swords'! What senseless idiots 
 those acute philosophers, who tear men's wittes in pieces 
 by their different ways and subtle logic, striving to show 
 new beatitudes in this world and seeking for that which, if 
 they had found, were but a nothing of a nothing in respect 
 of their beatitude! He only is Avise who, neglecting all 
 that flesh and blood desireth, endeavoureth to purchase at 
 any rate this felicity, which thy survivance promiseth : the 
 least degree of which so far surmounteth all the heaps 
 which the giants of the earth are able to raise by throwing 
 hills upon hills, and striving in vain to scale and reach 
 those eternities which reside above the skies. Alas ! how 
 fondly doth mankind suffer itself to be deluded ! How 
 true it is that the only thing necessary proveth the only 
 thing that is neglected ! Look up, my soul, and fix thine 
 eye upon that truth which eternal light maketh so clear 
 unto thee, shining upon thy face with so great evidence as 
 defieth the noontide sun in its greatest brightness. And 
 this it is, that every notion of thine, be it never so slight, 
 is mainly mischievous; or be it never so bedeckt with 
 those spurious considerations which the wise men of the 
 world judge important, is foolish, absurd, and unworthy of 
 a man — and unworthy of one that understandeth and 
 acknowledgeth thy dignity, if in it there be any speck, or 
 if, through it, there appear any spark of those mean and 
 flat motives which, with a false bias, draw anyway aside 
 from attaining that happiness we expect in thee. That 
 happiness ought to be the end and mark we level at — that, 
 the rule and model of all our actions ; that, the measure of 
 every circumstance of every atom, of whatsoever we bestow 
 so precious a thing upon, as the employment of thee is.' 
 The peroration is not without a certain stately eloquence : 
 
The Court of Charles I. 183 
 
 ' But whither art thou flown, my soul ? — to what a 
 
 dazzling height art thou mounted ! Thou art now soared 
 
 to such a lessening pitch as my faint eyes are no longer 
 
 able to follow thy towering flight ; my head groweth giddy 
 
 with gazing up, whilst thou lookest down to see time run 
 
 an infinite distance beneath thee, wafting the existences of 
 
 all corporeal things from nothing to nothing in a perpetual 
 
 stream ; and thou secure, and out of the reach of its 
 
 venomous and all-destroying truth ! Let me call to mind 
 
 all the violent pleasures of my heady youth ; let me sum 
 
 up their extent according to those deceitful measures I 
 
 then rated happiness by ; let me in my fancy chuse over 
 
 again the excessive good I then fondly imagined in them ; 
 
 and to all this, let me add, as much more joy and felicity as 
 
 in my weak thoughts I am able to fathom or but aim at, 
 
 and then let me say, and with vigorous truth I shall say it, 
 
 all this excess of bliss will be resumed, will be enjoyed to 
 
 the full, in one indivisible moment. Let me think with 
 
 myself, if then, when Pleasure was the Idol I sacrificed all 
 
 my thoughts unto, I might, in one quarter of an hour, have 
 
 enjoyed a pleasure, or at the least have hoped for one, that 
 
 should have equalized at once all those that in my life I 
 
 ever tasted — what would not I have been content to give 
 
 in purchase of that single quarter of an hour ? And 
 
 instead of this pleasant dream, I now see that one real 
 
 moment will truly and solidly give to thee and me the 
 
 quintessence, the elixir of content and happiness ; not 
 
 drawn out of such forty years as I have struggled through 
 
 the world in various fortunes, but out of ages and ages of 
 
 pleasure greater far than can be conceived by a heart of 
 
 flesh, and multiplied beyond the arithmetic of intelligences. 
 
 And this happy moment shall not be of their sudden, 
 
 fleeting, and expiring nature that are assigned to Time, but 
 
 shall endure beyond the extent of that time which sur- 
 
 passeth all multiplication. I see plainly that I must multiply 
 
 eternity by eternity to preserve a scantling of that bliss 
 
 which a well-passed life in this world shall bring me to in 
 
 the next .... 
 
184 The White King. 
 
 ' Now, then, if Nature, by sliort and thick steps at the 
 beginning, and by larger paces in the progress, hath de- 
 livered us over into a night of pure light, where we can 
 see nothing because everything is too visible ; so that we 
 are fain to veil our eyes, and are constrained to retire our- 
 selves to medicate and arm them, before we expose them to 
 so strong and glorious beams : how should we dare to look 
 upon these admirable heights, infinitely surpassing all 
 these, with which the ever-conquering Grace hath crowned 
 and swelled up the extent of nature ? What sight is sharp 
 enough to penetrate into the mysterious essence, sprouting 
 into different persons ? Who can look upon the self- 
 multiplied unity, upon the incomprehensible circuminces- 
 sion, upon these wondrous possessions, and idioms reserved 
 for angels' eyes ? 
 
 ' Of these, my soul, whose shootings reach infinitely 
 higher beyond all that we have said than what we have 
 said is beyond the dull and muddy motions of this life, 
 thou art not capable now of receiving any instructions. 
 Let first the mystagogical illuminations of the great 
 Areopagite, and the Ascetic discipline of the Anachoriti- 
 cal inhabitants of the wilderness, purify thy eye, before 
 thou attemptest to speak or to aim at the discovery of 
 these abyssing depths. By them they must be first irrigated 
 with the sweet showers of mornings and evenings, with 
 the gentle dews, and manna-drops, which fall abundantly 
 from those bounteous favours that reside in a higher sphere 
 than nature ; and that pour out unknown and unconceiv- 
 able blessings upon prepared hearts ; which fructify into 
 that true bliss, in comparison whereof, all that we have 
 hitherto declared, is but shadow, vanity, and nothing.' 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A king's favourite : — GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF 
 BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 In the history of his time you will discover no more 
 brilliant figure than that of George Villiers, Duke of Buck- 
 ingham; yet few men who have risen to so splendid a 
 position have shown so great an incapacity for filling it 
 worthily. It has been said of him, with much felicity, that 
 he was bom to shine in a Court, and give offence to a 
 nation. Of a handsome person and graceful bearing, par- 
 tial to pomp and display, courageous to audacity, sincere in 
 his friendship, candid and open in his enmity, never rising 
 to the height of self-sacrifice nor descending to the depth 
 of hypocrisy, he was successful as a courtier, but failed 
 miserably as a statesman. He governed from the impulse 
 of the hour, and without any fixed principles of policy ; 
 was ignorant, rather than deliberately careless, of the true 
 interests of the Throne and the people ; was ambitious, but 
 with a light and unsteady ambition, which never settled on 
 any permanent object. He was not without considerable 
 gifts ; but it. was his grave misfortune that he did not 
 know how to make use of them. He was too brave to be 
 afraid of danger, and without the sagacity to foresee and 
 avert it. With perfumed locks, and doublet and shoes 
 blazing with jewels, he tripped along the dizzy heights of 
 power, unconscious of or indifferent to the precipices that 
 darkened on either side, and the chasm that yawned before 
 him. Yet all who came within the range of his influence 
 acknowledged that there was a certain fascination about the 
 
ISG The White King. 
 
 man, which they found it difficult to resist — a charm of 
 manner, a vivacity of temper, a fluency of speech, a pic- 
 turesqueness of appearance, a dashing chivalrous air — all 
 combining in a most attractive whole. Says Lord Clarendon, 
 who had had opportunities of observing him closely : 'Had 
 the Duke of Buckingham have been blessed with a faithful 
 friend, qualified with wisdom and integrity, the Duke 
 would have committed as few faults, and done as transcen- 
 dent worthy actions, as any man in that age in Europe. . . . 
 He was the most rarely accomplished the Court had ever 
 beheld; while some that found inconveniences in his 
 nearness, intending by some affront to discountenance him, 
 perceived he had masked under this gentleness a terrible 
 courage, as could safely protect all his sweetness.' And 
 Sir Henry Wotton, who knew him well, eulogizes 'his 
 sweet and attractive manner, so favoured by the Graces.' 
 
 The elder Disraeli remarks that his very errors and 
 infirmities seem to have originated in the qualities of a 
 generous nature. He was too enthusiastic as a friend, too 
 frank as a foe, wearing his heart upon his sleeve for every 
 daw to peck at. When on the point of leaving Spain, he 
 flamed out upon Olivares, the great Spanish minister, that 
 he would always - cement the friendship between the two 
 nations, ' but with regard to you, sir,' he added, ' in par- 
 ticular, you must not consider me as your friend, but must 
 ever expect from me all possible enmity and opposition ' 
 —the speech of a high-spirited gentleman, but not of a 
 statesman. To calumnies he was serenely indifferent; 
 when Dr. George Eglisham, James I.'s physician, published 
 his atrocious libel, ' The Forerunner of Revenge,' the Duke 
 could not be persuaded to notice it. His great defect was 
 an excessive sanguineness of disposition, so that he entered 
 upon vast enterprises without allowing for their failure, and 
 forgot to erect a golden bridge by which retreat might be 
 possible and secure. ' He was ever,' says Wotton, in his 
 charming Memoir of the great Duke, ' greedy of honour, 
 and hot upon the public ends, but too confident in the 
 
A King's Favourite. 187 
 
 prosperity of beginnings.' "With much of the hero in him, 
 but without military capacity ; a minister, without the gift 
 of governing ; at one time the favourite, at another the 
 execration of the people ; the envy of his equals, and the 
 victim of his own creatures, who were constantly betraying 
 him ; ' delighting too much in the press and affluence of 
 dependants and suitors, who are always burrs, and some- 
 times the briars of favourites ;' the friend and adviser of 
 two kings, who differed as widely as light from darkness in 
 the essentials of their characters, he must certainly be held 
 worthy ' to be registered among the great examples of time 
 and fortune.' 
 
 On the men and events of Charles I.'s reign, no historian 
 writes with an authority equal to that of Mr. S. R. Gardiner, 
 and his estimate of George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, 
 will, therefore, be accepted by many readers. Mr. Gardiner's 
 great work is, of course, easily accessible ; but it may be 
 convenient for us to transcribe the passage :* 
 
 ' Buckingham owed his rise to his good looks, 'to his 
 merry laugh f and winning manners ; but to compare him 
 with Gaveston is as unfair as it would be to compare 
 Charles with Edward II. As soon as his power was 
 established, he aimed at being the director of the destinies 
 of the State. Champion in turn of a war in the Palatinate, 
 of a Spanish alliance, and of a breach, first with Spain and 
 then with France, he nourished a fixed desire to lead his 
 country in the path in which for the time he thought that 
 she ought to walk. J His abilities were above the average, 
 and they were supported by that kind of patriotism which 
 clings to a successful man when his objects are, in his own 
 eyes, inseparable from the objects of his country. If, how- 
 
 * S. E. Gardiner, ' History of England,' vi. 358. 
 
 t To Charles, with his constitutional melancholy, the liveliness of 
 his favourite must have been a constant attraction. 
 
 J But surely as much as this may be said of every powerful states- 
 man, from Walpole and Pitt to Beaconsfield and Gladstone. A states- 
 man's policy is simply his individual view of the course that ought to 
 be taken under certain circumstances. 
 
188 The White King. 
 
 ever, it is only just to class him amongst ministers rather 
 than amongst fayourites, he must rank amongst the most 
 incapable ministers of this or of any other country. He 
 had risen too fast in early life to make him conscious of 
 difficulty in anything which he wished to do. He knew 
 nothing of the need of living laborious days which is in- 
 cumbent on those who hope to achieve permanent success. 
 He thought that eminence in peace and war could be 
 carried by storm. As one failure after another dashed to 
 the ground his hopes, he would not see that he and his 
 mode of action were the main causes of the mischief. Ever 
 ready to engage in some stupendous undertaking, of which 
 he had never measured the difficulties, he would not under- 
 stand that to the world at large such conduct must seem 
 entirely incomprehensible, and that where men saw his 
 own fortunes prospering in the midst of national ruin and 
 disgrace, they would come to the mistaken but natural 
 conclusion that he cared everything for his own fortunes 
 and nothing for the national honour.' 
 
 The career of the Duke of Buckingham to a great extent 
 forms part of the history of his time. We shall content 
 ourselves with a glance at its principal episodes, and more 
 particularly at those which will illustrate his remarkable 
 and attractive individuality. 
 
 George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, was the son of Sir 
 George Villiers, of Brokesby, by his second wife, Mary 
 Beaumont, who, though of an ancient family, had previously 
 filled some menial capacity in her husband's household. 
 He was born on the 20th of August, 1592. After his father's 
 death, which took place when he was in his fourteenth 
 year, his mother took charge of his education, and though 
 she neglected to develop or strengthen his intellectual 
 powers, she saw that he was thoroughly trained in the 
 graceful accomplishments which catch the eye and ear of 
 the world. That nothing might be wanting to him in this 
 
A King's Favourite. 189 
 
 respect, she sent Mm, at the age of eighteen, into France, 
 where he remained about three years. 
 
 Gifted with singular beauty of person and rare grace of 
 manner, ' of a sweet and accostable nature,' an admirable 
 fencer and dancer, with a rare taste in dress, Villiers, in 
 1614, was introduced at Court under the auspices of Wilham, 
 Earl of Pembroke. He had already found time, as young 
 men will do, to fall in love ; the object of his attachment, 
 which was returned, being a daughter of Sir Roger Aston, 
 Master of the Robes to King James. The course of true 
 love, however, had not run smooth. The lady enjoyed a 
 considerable dower, and her father required, therefore, that 
 Villiers should settle upon her a jointure of £80 a year, 
 which, as his income at that time did not exceed £50, was 
 impracticable. 'The gentlewoman,' says Weldon, 'loved 
 him so well, as, could all his friends have made for her great 
 fortune but a hundred marks jointure, she had married him 
 presently, in despite of all her friends, and, no question, 
 would have had him without any fortune at all.' The 
 question was still undecided, when, either at Apthorpe or 
 at a Cambridgeshire horse-race, the handsome young gen- 
 tleman attracted the King's notice, and, as the prospect of a 
 brilHant fortune opened before him, he was induced by his 
 friends, though not without reluctance, to sacrifice love to 
 ambition, and withdraw his pretensions to the lady's hand. 
 
 In March, 1615, James paid a visit to Cambridge Univer- 
 sity, and the patrons of Villiers, who hoped to elevate him 
 into the place in the royal favour then held by the notorious 
 Carr, Earl of Somerset, prepared to bring him more promi- 
 nently before the King's notice, and confirm the good 
 impression already produced. For this purpose, splendidly 
 attired, he was present among the audience assembled in 
 Clare Hall to witness the performance of the satirical play, 
 or burlesque, entitled ' Ignoramus.'* The anticipations of 
 
 ** Modern playgoers will shudder to hear that the performance occu- 
 pied eight hours. The actors were chiefly Fellows of Clare Hall and 
 Queen's College, and their exertions evoked great demonstrations of 
 
190 The White King. 
 
 himself and his patrons were realized. ' The King fell into 
 admiration of him,' and expressed himself so warmly and 
 unreservedly that the enemies of Somerset began to rejoice 
 exceedingly. The Earl of Pembroke and the Countess of 
 Bedford supplied 7 illiers liberally with the money necessary 
 to his maintenance of a handsome appearance, and Sir 
 Thomas Lake bought for him the place of a cup-bearer. 
 Lloyd, in his ' State Worthies,' announces that he entered 
 on his hazardous course amidst general applause; the 
 courtiers wished him. well, because he was an Englishman ; 
 the nobility, because he was a gentleman ; the King, 
 because he had manly beauty and parts ; and the ladies, 
 because he was ' the exactest courtier ' in Christendom. 
 He obtained the powerful support of Archbishop Abbot, 
 who, if he discerned the flaws, detected also the excellent 
 qualities of the young courtier's character, and, through 
 him, was recommended to the Queen, Anne of Denmark. 
 It was with her compliance, and through her agency, that 
 Villiers was presented to the King for the twofold honour of 
 receiving knighthood and being appointed a Gentleman of 
 the Bedchamber (April 23rd, 1615). The Queen and 
 Prince being in the King's bedchamber, and Villiers, by 
 appointment, close at hand, the Queen seized a favourable 
 opportunity to invite his entrance. ' Then did the Queen 
 speak to the Prince to draw out the sword and to give it 
 her ; and immediately, with the sword drawn, she kneeled 
 to the King, and humbly beseeched his Majesty to do her 
 that especial favour as to knight this noble gentleman, 
 whose name was George, for the honour of St. George, whose 
 feast was now kept. The King at first seemed to be afraid 
 
 approval. Bishop Corbet, in his 'Grave Poem,' thus alludes to 
 them : 
 
 ' Their play had sundry wise factors, 
 
 A perfect diocese of actors 
 
 Upon the stage, for I am sure that 
 
 There was both bishop, pastor, curate. 
 
 Nor was their labour light and small, 
 
 The charge of some was pastoral.' 
 
A King's Favourite. 191 
 
 that the Queen should come too near him with a naked 
 sword, but then he did it very joyfully, and it might very 
 well be that it was his own contriving, for he did much 
 please himself with such inventions.' 
 
 It was about this time that an incident occurred which 
 illustrated the new favourite's brilliant courage and the old 
 favourite's rapid decline in influence. One of Somerset's 
 creatures, in carrying a dish to the royal table, contrived to 
 spill a portion of its contents over Villiers's splendid dress. 
 Villiers promptly punished his insolence with a stinging box 
 on the ear. By so doing, according to the practice of the 
 Court, he had exposed himself to the penalty of losing his 
 hand, and Somerset, as Lord Chamberlain, was prepared to 
 see the penalty inflicted. But James at once interposed 
 and pardoned the offender, ' who henceforth,' says Sander- 
 son, ' was regarded as a budding favourite, and appeared like 
 a proper palm beside the discerning spirit of the King, who 
 first cherished him, through his innate virtue, that surprised 
 all men.' 
 
 A budding favourite ! Yes ; but he rapidly bloomed out 
 into full flower. In ten years he rose to the highest dignity 
 which it was possible for a subject to obtain. Thus, he was 
 appointed Cup-bearer, and received into the King's house- 
 hold, 1613. On St. George's Day, 1615, he was knighted, 
 made a Gentleman of the Bedchamber, and gratified with a 
 pension of £1,000 a year. At New Year's-tide following he 
 received the appointment of Master of the Horse. In July, 
 1616, was made a Knight of the Garter ; and on the 22nd 
 of August, Baron Whaddon, of Whaddon, in the county of 
 Bucks, and Viscount Villiers. On the 5th of January, 1617, 
 he was created Earl of Buckingham and a Privy Councillor ; 
 and on the 18th of May, 1623, Earl of Coventry and Duke 
 of Buckingham. But this glittering record does not 
 exhaust the enumeration of this most fortunate favourite's 
 dignities. He was also Chief Justice in Eyre, Warden 
 of the Cinque Ports, Master of the King's Bench OfiSce, 
 Steward of the Manor of Hampton Court, Lord High 
 
192 The White Kiv^. 
 
 Admiral of England, Steward of Westminster, Constable of 
 Windsor, and Chancellor of the University of Cambridge. 
 
 Endowed by nature with a love of the picturesque and 
 sumptuous, his magnificence of appearance kept pace with 
 his fortunes. His equipages, his entertainments, his dress 
 were all on the costliest scale. It is said, though chronology 
 militates against the truth of the statement, that he was 
 the first person in England to be carried in a sedan-chair, 
 and that this circumstance provoked the public indigna- 
 tion against him : for it was a shame, said the crowd, that 
 men should be brought to as servile condition as asses. 
 When he travelled, his gilded coach was drawn by _ six 
 horses ; a piece of ostentation which the stout old Earl of 
 Northumberland discounted by immediately driving forth 
 with eight. As to his entertainments, he called in Ben 
 Jonson to grace them with the charms of poetry and 
 Inigo Jones to embellish them with the attractions of 
 scenery. Bassompierre describes one of them at which he 
 was present : — ' The King,' he says, ' supped at one table 
 with the Queen and me, which was served by a complete 
 ballet at each course with sundry representations — changes 
 of scenery, tables, and music : the Duke waited on the 
 King at table, the Earl of Carlisle on the Queen, and the 
 Earl of Holland on me. After supper the King and we 
 wore led into another room, where the assembly was, and we 
 entered in by a kind of turnstile, as in convents, without 
 any confusion, where there was a magnificent ballet, in 
 which the Duke danced, and afterwards we set to and 
 danced country dances till five in the morning ; thence we 
 were shown into vaulted apartments, where there were five 
 different collations.' 
 
 The splendid richness of his attire is mentioned by several 
 writers. His jewels alone were valued at a total of £300,000 
 — an immense sum, according to the then value of money. 
 ' It was common with him at an ordinary dancing,' says one 
 authority, ' to have his clothes trimmed with great diamond 
 buttons, and to have diamond hat-bands, cockades, and 
 
A King's Favcmrite. 193 
 
 ear-rings ; to be yoked with great and manifold ropes and 
 knots of pearl ; in short, to be manacled, fettered, and im- 
 prisoned in jewels ; insomuch that at his going over to 
 Paris, in 1625, he had twenty-seven suits of clothes made 
 the richest that embroidery, lace, silk, velvet, gold, and gems 
 could contribute : one of which was a white uncut velvet, 
 set all over, both suit and cloak, with diamonds valued at 
 fourscore thousand pounds, besides a great feather, stuck 
 aU over with diamonds ; as well also his sword and spurs.' 
 
 All this magnificence' well became the new favourite's 
 handsome features and well-proportioned figure. Bishop 
 Goodman, with something more than episcopal fervour, says : 
 ' He had a very lovely complexion ; he was the handsomest 
 bodied man of England ; his limbs were so well compacted, 
 and his conversation so pleasing, and of so sweet a dis- 
 position. And truly his intellectuals were very great ; he 
 had a sound judgment, and was of a quick apprehension, 
 insomuch that I have heard it from two men, and very 
 great men (neither of them had gotten so little as £3,600 
 per annum by the Court), whom of all men in the world 
 Buckingham had most wronged, — yet I heard both those 
 men say and give him this testimony, that he was as 
 inwardly beautiful, as he was outwardly, and that the 
 world had not a more ingenious gentleman, or words to that 
 effect/ The familiar name of ' Steenie,' given to him by 
 Jam^s, alluded to that passage in Acts vi. 15, which, re- 
 ferring to Stephen, says, ' All that sat in the council, looking 
 steadfastly on him, saw his face as it had been the face of 
 an angel.' One of his contemporaries asserts that he had 
 ' no blemish from head to foot ;' and even the grave Clarendon 
 comments on the ' daintiness of his leg and foot, his well- 
 proportioned body, and gracefulness of movement.' 
 
 The tragic downfall of the Earl of Somerset removed from 
 the new favourite's path his only considerable obstacle, and 
 thenceforward his influence over James deepened and ex- 
 tended daily. This influence was due to something more 
 than James's unmanly admiration of manly beauty ; it 
 
 VOL. I. 13 
 
194 The Whit0 King.\ 
 
 rested on Buckingham's courage and dash and brilliancy of 
 talent, which swept along with a rush the King's narrower 
 and more timid, though craftier, intellect. The timid, 
 ailing, distempered, and hesitating sovereign leaned grate- 
 fully upon his new adviser, who seemed the felicitous em- 
 bodiment of health and vigour, and of all the masculine 
 virtues. The death of Anne of Denmark in March, 1619, 
 removed the only counter-influence which could have 
 checked or controlled his own, while it brought Prince 
 Charles more completely within the range of his fascination. 
 On January 30th, 16 If, Buckingham was appointed Lord 
 High Admiral — the first office in which any political 
 responsibility had devolved upon him, and in justice it 
 should be admitted that he exhibited considerable ad- 
 ministrative capacity, and with untiring energy laboured to 
 build up a navy adequate to England's needs. In the 
 following May he was married to Lady Katherine Manners, 
 daughter of Francis, Earl of Eutland, one of the richest 
 heiresses in England, and a lady of great personal charms 
 and many attainments. 
 
 The Lady Katherine was a Roman Catholic, and the 
 King for some time refused his consent to the marriage on 
 account of her religion. But Williams, Dean of Salisbury, 
 undertook her conversion ; and, assisted by her inclination 
 towards her splendid lover, succeeded in the most satisfac- 
 tory manner. A public profession of faith was made by 
 the beautiful convert on her partaking of Holy Communion 
 at an Anglican altar. Nevertheless, Buckingham's suit did 
 not run smoothly, and the Court was filled with rumours 
 and scandals. It was not until the spring of 1620 that the 
 marriage contract was signed, a ceremonial which preceded 
 the ceremony itself usually by a period of forty days. In 
 the interval, Buckingham, if Wilson may be credited,* 
 induced the Lady Katherine to leave her father's house, and 
 received her into his apartments at Whitehall. 'After 
 keeping her there for several days he returned her to her 
 * Arthur Wilson, ' Life of James I.,' p. 149. 
 
A King's Favourite. 195 
 
 father. The stout old earl sent him this threatening mes- 
 sage, " That he was too much of a gentleman to suffer such 
 an indignity, and if he did not marry his daughter to repair 
 her honour, no greatness should protect him from his 
 justice." Therefore, he salved the wound before it grew to 
 a quarrel; and if this marriage stopped the current of his 
 sins, he had the less to answer for.' 
 
 There is no truth in this story. It would seem that the 
 Lady Katherine, while on a visit to the Countess of 
 Buckingham (the Earl's mother), had been taken ill, and 
 was kept by the Countess in her own apartment until 
 morning.* Her father, a zealous Roman Catholic, already 
 indignant at his daughter's apostasy, came at once to the 
 conclusion that she had sacrificed her honour to her lover's 
 impatience, and wrote to the Earl in unmeasured terms : 
 
 ' I confess,' he said, ' I took no great council in this 
 business, for Nature taught me that I was to avoid the 
 occasion of ill, as confidently as I assure myself she is of 
 ill. ... I confess I had noble offers from you, but I expect 
 real performance, which I hope in the end will bring com- 
 fort to us both. . . . My daughter deserves no so great a 
 care from a father whom she little esteems ; yet I must 
 preserve her honour, if it were with the hazard of my life. 
 And for calling our honours in question, pardon me, my 
 lord, that cannot be any fault of mine ; for you would have 
 me think that a contract which, if you will make it so, be it 
 as secret as you will, this matter is only at an end ; there- 
 fore, the fault is only your lordship's if the world talk of us 
 both.' He proceeded to say that all he required was ' proofs 
 that she is yours, and then you shall find me tractable, like 
 a loving father ; although she is not worthy in respect of 
 her neglect of me ; yet, it being once done, her love and due 
 respects to your lordship shall make me forget that which 
 I confess I now am too sensible of . . . To conclude, my 
 lord, this is my resolution, if my conscience may not be 
 
 = State Papers, Domestic, ' Sir Edward Jones to Lord Zouch,' Feb. 
 15th, 16Jg. .. 
 
 13—2 
 
196 The White King. 
 
 fully satisfied she is yours, take your own courses : I must 
 take mine, and I hope I may man myself with patience, and 
 not with rage. Your lordship shall soon find I will be as 
 careful of your honour as I shall be tender of mine own ; and 
 this is my resolution.'* 
 
 Buckingham replied haughtily : 
 
 ' My Lord, — Your mistaking in your fashion of dealing 
 with a free and honest heart, together with your forward 
 carriage towards your own daughter, enforced me the other 
 day to post to Hampton Court, and there cast myself at his 
 Majesty's feet, confessing freely unto him all that hath ever 
 passed in privacy between your lordship and me concerning 
 your daughter's marriage, lest otherwise, by this, your 
 public miscarriage of the business, it might by other means, 
 to my disadvantage, have come to his knowledge. And 
 now that I have obtained my master's pardon for this, my 
 first fault, for concealing, and going further in anything 
 than his Majesty was acquainted with, I can delay no longer 
 of declaring unto you how unkindly I take your harsh 
 usage of me and your own daughter, which hath wrought 
 this effect in me ; that, since you esteem so little of my 
 friendship and her honour, I must now, contrary to my 
 former resolution, leave off the pursuit of that alliance any 
 more, putting it in your free choice to bestow her elsewhere, 
 to your best comfort ; for whose fortune it shall ever be to 
 have her, I will constantly profess that she never received 
 any blemish in her honour but which came by your own 
 tongue. It is true I never thought before to have seen the 
 time that I should need to come within the compass of the 
 law, by stealing of a wife against the consent of the parents, 
 minding of the favours that it pleaseth his Majesty, though 
 undeservedly, to bestow upon me. So, leaving this to you 
 and your wife's censure, I rest, your lordship's servant, 
 
 ' Buckingham.' 
 
 After this outflow of strong language, both parties cooled 
 *> ' Bishop Goodman's Memoirs,' ii, 189-191. 
 
A King's Favourite. 197 
 
 down. The Earl consented to the pecuniary terms de- 
 manded by Lady Buckingham, and forgave his daughter's 
 perversion. The marriage took place on the 16th of May, 
 the celebrant being Williams, who was rewarded for his 
 services with the deanery of Westminster. There were no 
 public festivities, and no one was present at the wedding 
 except King James and the Earl of Kutland. 
 
 The marriage was a happy one. Slander has not failed 
 to accuse Buckingham of vices as a man, no less than of 
 faults as a statesman ; but it is not possible for any reason- 
 ably honest critic to read the wife's letters to her husband 
 without feeling that they were inspired by a sincere admir- 
 ation and affection, which Buckingham's conduct at the 
 time deserved. While he was absent with Prince Charles 
 in Spain she wrote to him frequently. Thus :* 
 
 ' I am very glad that you have the pearls, and that you 
 like them so well ; and am sure they do not help you to 
 Avin the ladies' hearts. Yourself is a jewel that will win 
 the hearts of all the women in the world ; but I am confi- 
 dent it is not in their power to win your heart from a heart 
 that is, was, and ever shall be yours till death. Everybody 
 tells me how happy I am in a husband, and how dear, too, 
 you are ; that you will not look at a woman, and yet how 
 they woo you. Though I was confident of this before they 
 told me, yet it is so many cordials to my heart when they 
 tell me of it. God make me thankful to Him for giving of 
 me you ! Dear love, I did vainly hope I should have had 
 a lock of your hair by Killigrew, and I am sorry I had it 
 not ; but seeing you have a conceit it may prove unlucky, 
 it is well you sent it not, though I think it but an old wife's 
 tale.' 
 
 And again : 
 
 ' I think there never was such a man born as you are ; 
 
 and how much am I bound to God, that I must be that 
 
 happy woman to enjoy you from all other women, and the 
 
 unworthiest of all to have so great a blessing. Only this 
 
 « ' Bishop Goodman,' ii. 279. 
 
198 The White King. 
 
 I can say for myself, you could never have had one that 
 could love you better than your poor true-loving Kate 
 doth, — poor now, in your absence, but also the happiest 
 and richest woman in the world.' 
 
 Yet another specimen : 
 
 ' My lord, indeed I must crave your pardon that I did 
 not write you more particulars of our pretty Moll. I did 
 tell dry-nurse what you wrote to me, and she says you had 
 one letter from her ; and she has sent you word, by every 
 one that has gone, that she was well, and what she could 
 do. But if you will pardon me this fault, I will commit 
 the like no more. She is very well, I thank God, and 
 when, she is set to her feet, and held by her sleeves, she 
 will not go softly, but stamp, and set one foot before 
 the other very fast, and I think she will run before she can 
 go. She loves dancing extremely, and when the saraband 
 is played, she will get her thumb and finger together, 
 offering to snap ; and then, when " Tom Duff" is sung, 
 then she will shake her apron ; and when she hears the 
 tune of the clapping dance my Lady Francis Herbert 
 taught the Prince, she will clap both her hands to- 
 gether, and on her breast, and she can tell the tunes as 
 well as any of us can ; and as they change the tunes, she 
 will change her dancing. I would you come here but to 
 see her, for you would take much delight in her now she 
 is so fuU of pretty play and tricks ; and she has gotten a 
 trick, that when they dance her, she will cry Hah, Hah ; 
 and Nicholas will dance with his legs, and she will imitate 
 him as well as she can. She will be excellent at a hat ; for 
 if one lay her down, she will kick her legs over her head ; 
 but when she is older I hope she will be more modest. 
 Everybody says she grows every day more like you ; you 
 shall have her picture very shortly.' 
 
 This is charming! What a vivid picture is artlessly 
 presented of the fond mother exulting in the forward ways 
 and pretty tricks of her child, and jotting down every one 
 of them for the edification of the father, in the loving con- 
 
A King's Favourite. 199 
 
 viction that they will interest him as they have interested 
 her! 
 
 The lady had had reason, however, to change her opinion 
 of her brilliant husband's chastity during his sojourn at 
 Madrid — 'that wicked Madrid,' as she not infelicitously 
 called it. Doubts of his constancy were confirmed by his 
 own confession, and by his strongly-expressed contrition for 
 his infidelities. A second daughter was born while he was 
 in Spain, and the Duchess's confinement was followed by a 
 dangerous iUness, which caused him great alarm. In a 
 sudden access of compunction he began to look upon her 
 illness as a kind of vicarious punishment for his sins, and 
 he wrote to her that her death he should think too heavy a 
 blow even for one so sinful as himself His wife's reply 
 thrills with the true love of a true woman. ' When you say 
 it is too great a punishment for a greater offender than you 
 hope you are, dear heart, howsoever God had been pleased 
 to have dealt with me, it had been for my sins, and not 
 yours ; for truly you were so good a man, that, but for one 
 sin, you are not so great an offender, only your loving 
 women so well. But I hope God has forgiven you, and I 
 am sure you will not commit the like again, and God has 
 laid a great affliction on me by this grievous absence ; and I 
 trust God will send me life, and Moll too, that you shall 
 enjoy us both ; for I am sure God will bless us both, for your 
 sake ; and I cannot express the infinite affection I bear you ; 
 but, for God's sake, believe me, that there was never woman 
 loved man as I do you.' 
 
 One of the most extraordinary episodes* of a remarkable 
 life was Buckingham's mad passion for Anne of Austria. 
 In 1625 he was sent to Paris, along with the Earl of Mont- 
 gomery, to bring back Henrietta Maria as the wife of 
 Charles ; and he appeared at the French Court in ' all the 
 lustre the wealth of England could adorn him with, out- 
 .shining all the bravery that Court could dress itself in, and 
 
 * Dumas has employed it to much advantage in his Les Trois Mous- 
 ,tjuetaires. 
 
200 The White King. 
 
 overacting the whole nation in their own most peculiar 
 vanities.' The splendid young noble — he was then about 
 thirty-three, and in the prime of manly beauty — ^produced 
 a very favourable impression. Louis XIII. remarked that 
 he was one of the few English gentlemen he had ever seen, 
 and his beautiful wife permitted herself to think of him 
 with feelings of kindness she had never cherished towards 
 any of her former admirers. ' He had a fine figure,' says 
 Madame de Motteville, who held the Queen's confidence; 
 ' his face was very handsome ; his mind and character were 
 free from littleness. He was magnificent in his deportment, 
 and very gracious ; and, as the favourite of a great king, he 
 had large funds at his disposal, and all the crown jewels of 
 England to employ in adorning his person. No wonder, 
 then, that with so many attractions he dared to cherish 
 presumptuous thoughts, to harbour desires at once so lofty, 
 so dangerous, and so criminal. He had the good fortune to 
 persuade those who were aware of his wishes that they were 
 not proffered impertinently ; yet one may venture to 
 suppose that his vows were received in the same way as 
 that in which the gods suffer the homage of humanity.' 
 
 Madame de Motteville tells us that, at a later period, 
 Anne of Austria acknowledged that in the warm spring- 
 time of her youth she had not conceived it possible that the 
 lively but hazardous conversation, which she designated 
 I'honnete galanterie, could attract censure, especially when 
 no secret meaning was concealed beneath the external 
 vivacity. She confessed that the Duchess de Chevreuse, 
 her friend, had been wholly occupied with acts of coquetry 
 and gallantry ; and that she herself, led on by her counsel 
 and example, listened too indulgently to expressions of 
 passion which were more pleasing to her vanity than dan- 
 gerous to her honour. Qui s'excuse s'accuse, and Anne of 
 Austria would never have attempted to defend her conduct 
 if she had not owned to herself that it needed defence. 
 There can be no doubt that Buckingham temporarily 
 charmed and interested her, though she had too much 
 
A King's Favourite. 201 
 
 prudence not to stifle the growth of feelings which could 
 only, if indulged, have led to ruin and dishonour. 
 
 After a week of festivity and excitement, Buckingham 
 prepared to conduct the young Queen of England upon her 
 journey to England. Previous to his departure he ordered 
 some rings, which he intended as presents to the courtiers, 
 to be set in diamonds ; but his intention became known to 
 the Court, and for some reason gave offence. ' I have been 
 informed,' wrote Balthazar Gerbier, the painter, who seems 
 to have acted as the Duke's steward, ' that at the Court 
 where you are they have got intelligence of the diamonds 
 your Excellency is causing to be set in rings, and so they 
 are trying to guess what can be your reason. The greater 
 part think it is in order to make presents, which they are 
 resolved not to receive, i Your Excellency's perfect sagacity 
 needs no interpreter for understanding their policy, which 
 is only that somebody has been such an exceeding busybody 
 as to blow into the ear of the Due de Chevreuse that if your 
 Excellency were to be remarked above others for liberality, 
 it would be greatly to his detriment.' The refusal of the 
 French nobles to accept his gifts was not appreciated by the 
 Duke, who showed no such refinement of disinterestedness, 
 but carried away with him presents amounting in value to 
 £80,000.* 
 
 fiefore leaving Paris, the Duke exchanged impertinences 
 with Cardinal KicheHeu. The great Minister addressed to 
 him a letter with the superscription, ' Le Due de Bucking- 
 ham,' instead of ' Monseigneur le Due' Buckingham was 
 equal to the occasion, and inscribed his reply to ' Monsieur 
 le Cardinal.' 
 
 The young Queen of England was accompanied as far as 
 Amiens by Anne of Austria; and it was here, in the garden 
 of the house where she was lodged, that the interview took 
 place between Buckingham and Anne, which formed the 
 climax of the Duke's infatuation. She was surrounded by 
 her usual attendants when he approached, but they retired ; 
 * ' Bishop Goodman's Memoirs,' i. 290. 
 
202 The White. King. 
 
 and on his expressing a strong "wish to speak to her alone, 
 Putangue, her equerry, also withdrew. In a transport of 
 passion, the Duke seems to have forgotten every dictate of 
 prudence and honour. Having accidentally strayed into a 
 winding alley, which was hid by a palisade from public 
 view, the Queen, finding herself alone, and alarmed perhaps 
 by the unguarded warmth of the Duke's utterances, cried 
 out ; and calling to her equerry, blamed him exceedingly 
 for having quitted her. 
 
 The Duke went on to Boulogne with Henrietta Maria ; 
 but hastily returned to Amiens on the pretext that he was 
 commissioned to discuss with Marie de Medicis, the Queen- 
 mother, the terms of some new negotiation. He sought 
 and obtained, notwithstanding the garden scene, another 
 interview with Anne of Austria, who received him, 
 according to the French fashion, en ruelle, and expressed 
 neither anger nor surprise at her audacious lover's appear- 
 ance. Flinging himself on his knees by her bedside, he 
 kissed her sheet, it is said, with many agitated and passion- 
 ate expressions. Anne for a while remained silent, not 
 displeased, one must think, with the brilliant Englishman's 
 idolatry ; but a venerable dame d'honneur, the Countess 
 de Lannoir, took upon herself to interfere,, and reminding 
 him that such conduct was contrary to the etiquette of the 
 French Court, desired him to rise. The Duke answered 
 rudely that he was not a Frenchman, and therefore was not 
 obliged to observe the French laws, and again addressed 
 the Queen in language of tender devotion. Anne, by this 
 time, had recovered her prudence, and professing to be 
 extremely indignant, though her language was contradicted 
 by her manner, she bade him rise from his knees and quit 
 the apartment. The Duke theii complied. 
 
 A strange scene ; and one hardly knows whether to 
 wonder more at the conduct of Buckingham or the Queen, 
 as the principal actors in it. But one wonders the most 
 when one finds that, next day, the Queen received her 
 lover in public, as if nothing had occurred between them ; 
 
A King's Favourite. 203 
 
 and that, aftei* his return to England, she found means to 
 send him her own garter and a costly jewel as a souvenir. 
 It is said that, sometime later, while walking in the garden 
 at Euel, the Queen met the poet Voiture, and jestingly- 
 asked him the subject of his thoughts. He replied in the 
 following impromptu, which no doubt he had carefully 
 
 prepared : 
 
 Je pensois (car nous autres poetes 
 
 Nous pensons extravagement), 
 Ce que, dans 1' humeur ou vous ^tes, 
 
 Vous feriez, si dans ce moment 
 Vous avisiez en cette place 
 
 Venir le Due de Buckingham, 
 Et lequel servit en disgrace, 
 
 De lui, ou du Pere Vincent. 
 
 Instead of resenting the poet's impertinence, Anne praised 
 his verses highly, and asked for a copy of them. The Pere 
 Vincent, I may add, was the Queen's confessor. 
 
 Buckingham, in quitting France, carried with him a 
 resolution to return at the earliest possible opportunity. 
 But his intrigue (if such it can be called) with Anne of 
 Austria was suspected by the French Court; and Clarendon 
 asserts that he would have been assassinated had he again 
 appeared in Paris. A curious letter from the young Earl 
 of Holland to the Duke is printed in the ' Cabala,'* and it 
 confirms Clarendon's statement. Certain cipher-marks,, 
 used by the Earl, are not difficult of interpretation. The 
 fleur-de-lis evidently stands for the King of France ; the 
 heart, for Anne, of Austria ; and the anchor, for the orderly 
 who was Lord High Admiral. The letter runs as follows : 
 
 ' I find many things to be feared, and none to be assured 
 of a safe and real welcome. For the <$> continues in his 
 suspects, making, as they say, very often discourses of it ; 
 and is willing to hear villains say that ^ hath infinite 
 affections : you imagine which way. They say there is 
 whispered among the foolish young bravadoes of the Court^ 
 that he is not a good Frenchman (considering the reports 
 that are raised) that suffers t to return out of France. 
 Many such bruits fly up and down .... Though neither. 
 
 * Cabala, or Letters of Illustrious Personages (Edit. 1691), p. 263. 
 
204 Tlie White King. 
 
 the business gives me cause to persuade your coming, nor 
 any reason for the matter of your safety ; yet know you 
 are the most happy, unhappy man alive ; for ^ is beyond 
 imagination right, and would do things to destroy her 
 fortune, rather than want satisfaction in her mind. I dare 
 not speak as I would ; I have ventured, I fear, too much, 
 considering what practices accompany the malice of the 
 people here. I tremble to think whether this will find a 
 safe conveyance unto you. Do what you will ; I dare not 
 advise you. To come is dangerous ; not to come is unfor- 
 tunate. As I have lived with you, and only in that enjoy 
 any happiness, so I will die with you ; and I protest to God 
 for you to do you the least service.' 
 
 In September, when difficulties had arisen with regard to 
 the French alliance, Buckingham proposed to cross to Paris 
 in order to settle them personally with the French Court. 
 But the husband of Anne of Austria was unwilling to 
 receive a visit from the man who had made public addresses 
 to his Queen ; and as soon as he heard of the proposal, he 
 sent peremptory instructions to Blainville, his ambassador, 
 to refuse Buckingham permission to enter France. Political 
 considerations had, no doubt, a share in this refusal ; but it 
 was largely determined by the King's anger at the insult 
 to his honour as a husband which the Duke had wantonly 
 offered. 
 
 The political career of Buckingham has been traced by 
 Dr. Samuel Rawson Gardiner with a fulness, an exactness, 
 and a luminous intelligence — lighting up with the light of 
 day passages hitherto obscure and misunderstood — which 
 leaves to the later historian no opportunity of correction or 
 addition. The story is full of diversified interest, but it 
 lies beyond the scope of the present volumes, and we are 
 concerned, as already hinted, with its personal aspects 
 only. 
 
 Gradually the popular discontent with the condition of 
 public affairs, and the policy upon which Charles I. had 
 
A Kmg's Favourite. 205 
 
 entered, was concentrated upon Buckingliam, and an im- 
 peachment threatened by the Commons was averted only 
 by the sudden dissolution of the Parliament (June 15 th, 
 1626). To recover, if possible, his popularity, the Duke 
 urged upon the King a declaration of war against France. 
 He found a pretext in the persecution which the Huguenots 
 were suffering under : their last stronghold, Rochelle, was 
 besieged by the forces of Louis XIII., and its downfall 
 would consummate the ruin of the French reformers. 
 Charles and his advisers hoped that a religious war would 
 appeal to the national sympathies ; and a general loan was 
 called for, of the same amount as the subsidies which Par- 
 liament had promised, but not voted. The anticipated 
 enthusiasm, however, failed to show itself; and in every 
 county the King's commissioners met with stern refusals. 
 And though the recusants were harshly dealt with, the re- 
 fusals continued. The ports and maritime districts were 
 ordered to furnish a certain number of warships, fully 
 equipped. London was assessed for twenty. The citizens 
 represented that Queen Elizabeth had not asked for so 
 many, when the Spanish Armada threatened the shores of 
 England. In reply, they were informed that the precedents 
 of past times pointed to submission, and not to objection. 
 
 After some months of preparation, an expedition for the 
 relief of Rochelle was at last equipped ; and on the 27th of 
 June, 1627, Buckingham sailed from Portsmouth with a 
 hundred ships, of which forty or fifty were men-of-war. 
 The land forces numbered nearly nine thousand, including 
 a squadron of cavalry. In the course of a few days he 
 appeared before Rochelle, but its inhabitants mistrusted his 
 purpose, and refused to admit his fleet into their harbour 
 until he had proved his sincerity by some hostile act 
 •against the French flag. He resolved to make a descent 
 upon the island of Oleron, which was fully garrisoned, but 
 suddenly altered his mind, and sailed for that of Rhe'. 
 Here the principal town, St. Martin's, speedily submitted ; 
 but the citadel, which was well situated, strongly built, and 
 
206 The White King: 
 
 amply supplied, offered a steadfast and prolonged resistance. 
 The Duke ordered an assault ; but his strategy was so 
 defective that he experienced a disastrous repulse, and 
 was compelled to carry his shattered fleet back to 
 England, with loss of precious lives and still more precious 
 honour. ' Every man knows,' wrote Denzil Holies, with 
 painful recollections of the brave men he had seen driven 
 into a hopeless labyrinth of marsh and saltern, ' every man 
 knows that since England was England it received not so 
 dishonourable a blow. Four colonels slain, and, besides the 
 colours lost, thirty-two taken by the enemy. Two thousand 
 of our side killed, and I think not one of theirs.' 
 
 Over the whole country swept a storm of wrath. The 
 most considerable families in England were involved in 
 sorrow and- suffering by this deplorable catastrophe, and 
 the heart of the nation sympathized with them. It was 
 assumed — not altogether with justice — that this misery, 
 and worse, this shame, were due to the arrogant incapacity 
 of Buckingham, and the obstinate weakness of the King, 
 who sheltered and supported him. Nor was the popular 
 temper softened by other occurrences. Foreign ships of 
 war preyed unchecked upon English commerce; and the 
 ports were full of traders who durst not put out to sea. 
 The spirit and enterprise of the country seemed paralyzed ; 
 while the oppressive rigour with which the forced loan had 
 been levied rankled in the minds of men. Even the high 
 spirit and bold temper of Buckingham quailed before the 
 gathering voices of hatred and contempt. He felt that 
 something must be done to extricate him from his perilous 
 entanglement, while Charles knew that something must also 
 be done to fill his exhausted treasury. Eeluctantly they 
 resorted to the constitutional but unwelcome expedient of 
 calling a Parliament, which accordingly assembled, after 
 the usual formalities, and was opened by the King in 
 person on the I7th of March, 1628. This was the Parlia- 
 ment which extorted from Charles I. his assent to the 
 Petition of- Right. After securing that great constitutional 
 
A King's Favourite. 207 
 
 charter, the Commons renewed the attack upon Buckingham 
 which, in the former Parhament, had been suspended by 
 the King's arbitrary exercise of his prerogative of dissolu- 
 tion. It was led by Sir John Eliot, and supported by Sir 
 Edward Coke, who, with all the weight of his many years and 
 long experience, declared that the author and cause of all 
 they suffered, of all that the country suffered, was the Duk^ 
 of Buckingham. That man, he exclaimed, was the author 
 of all their miseries. That man was the grievance of 
 grievances. He it was, and not the King, who had told 
 them not to meddle with the Government or the Ministers 
 of the State. 
 
 Coke here alluded to the. malignant calumny that the 
 Duke had said : ' Tush ! it makes no matter what the 
 Commons or Parliament doth ; for without my leave and 
 authority they shall not be able to touch the hair of a dog.' 
 The Duke earnestly, and with evident sincerity, protested 
 that the accusation was untrue ; but his enemies caught it 
 up with eagerness, and employed it still further to influence 
 the public mind against him. In a satirical copy of verses, 
 entitled ' Khodomontades,' he was represented as exulting in 
 his arbitrary and uncontrolled power : 
 
 ' 'Tis not your threats shall take me from the King, 
 Nor questioning my councils and commands, 
 How with the honour of the State it stands. . . . 
 
 Seem wise, and cease then to protect the realm, 
 
 Or strive with him that sits and guides the helm. 
 
 I know your reading will inform you soon 
 
 What creatures they were that barkt against the moon. 
 
 I'll give you better counsel as a friend : 
 
 Coblers their latchets ought not to transcend ; 
 
 Meddle with common matters, common wrongs ; 
 
 To the House of Commons common things belongs. 
 
 Leave him to the oar that best knows how to row, 
 
 And State to him that best the State doth know. 
 
 If I by industry, deep reach, or grace. 
 
 Am now arrived at this or that great place, 
 
 Must I, to please your inconsiderate rage, 
 
 Throw down mine honours ? Will nought else assuage. 
 
 Your gracious wisdoms ? True shall the verse be yet, 
 
 There's no less will required to keep than get.'* 
 
 « ' Foams on the Duke of Buckingham (Ed. Percy Society), 30. 
 
208 The White King. 
 
 This declaration of omnipotence might with much more 
 justice have been put in the mouth of Charles than of the 
 Duke; but at this period the Opposition passed by the 
 Crown, and directed all their hostility against its Minister. 
 A libel was found nailed to a post in Coleman Street, which 
 expressed the popular conviction of the Duke's guilt as the 
 origo et fans Ttiali. According to a contemporary letter- 
 writer it ran as follows :* 
 
 ' Who rules the kingdom ? The King. 
 Who rules the King ? The Duke. 
 Who rules the Duke ? The devil. 
 Let the Duke look to it : for they intend shortly to use him -worse 
 than they did the doctor -, and if things be not shortly reformed they 
 ■will work a reformation themselves.' 
 
 The ' doctor ' was Dr. John Lambe, ' the Duke's devil,' as 
 he was popularly called, and his confidential agent in his 
 love affairs. He was an astrologer and a quack doctor, a 
 man of infamous life and character, who got a shameful 
 living by showing apparitions or selling the devil's favours, 
 and by making his chambers a rendezvous for the curious 
 and licentious of both sexes. On the evening of June 13th 
 this wretched man had gone to the Fortune Theatre. When 
 leaving it he was followed by a crowd of London 'prentices, 
 who hooted at him with increasing excitement. Growing 
 alarmed, he hired some sailors to escort him to a tavern in 
 Moorgate Street, where he supped. When he came forth, 
 having probably kindled his courage with a cup of wine, he 
 turned upon the lads who lingered at the door and threat- 
 ened them violently, telling them 'he would make them 
 dance naked.' The crowd grew denser and angrier every 
 minute, and pursued him into the Old Jewry, until he 
 attacked them with his sailors and drove them off. They 
 retaliated with showers of stones, and, exhausted and bleed- 
 ing, he sought refuge in the Windmill Tavern. It was im- 
 mediately surrounded, and the landlord compelled the 
 unfortunate man to leave, though not until he had attempted 
 
 ** Meade to Sir M. Stuteville, in Miss Aikin's ' Court and Times 
 of Charles I.,' i. 367. 
 
A King's Favourite. 209 
 
 to disguise him. He fled once more and made another 
 effort to find a refuge. The master of the second tavern 
 sent him forth with four constables to protect him; but 
 they were at once driven aside, and the pursuers fell upon 
 their victim with sticks and stones and beat him to the 
 ground senseless, with one eye forced from its socket. The 
 Lord Mayor's Guard coming up, they rescued the bruised 
 and disfigured body, and carried it to the Compter Prison, 
 where the poor wretch died on the following morning. His 
 murderers, while raining on him their cruel blows, were 
 heard to say that they would serve his master worse, and 
 would have minced his flesh and have had everyone a bit 
 of him. 
 
 Charles was deeplj' moved by this ominous incident. He 
 summoned the Lord Mayor and Aldermen before him, and 
 demanded that double watch and ward should be kept every 
 night within the City walls; and, when they failed to 
 discover the guilty persons, imposed on the City a fine of 
 £6,000. But scurrilous songs and pasquinades passed from 
 hand to hand, retailing the iniquities of the Duke, and the 
 streets echoed with the doggerel refrain : 
 
 ' Let Charles and George do what they can, 
 Yet George shall die like Dr. Lambe.' 
 
 On the 26th of June Charles suddenly prorogued Parlia- 
 ment, and the Duke, whose gay courage had never failed,* 
 obtained a respite from the attacks of his enemies in the 
 Commons. His personal peril, however, seems never to 
 have troubled him. On one occasion he was advised to 
 wear a shirt of mail beneath his clothes. ' A shirt of mail,' 
 he replied, ' would be but a silly defence against any popular 
 fury. As for a single man's assault, I take myself to be in 
 no danger. There are no Koman spirits left.'+ But he felt 
 very keenly the presence of the public anger. With all his 
 faults he was an Englishman, and to gain the confidence of 
 
 * When after the failure at Rhe, the Eoldiers re-embarked, Buck 
 ingham was the last man to quit the shore, 
 f ' Reliquiae Wottonianse,' i. 335. 
 
 VOL. I. 14 
 
210 The White King. ^ 
 
 his countrymen was the dearest wish of his heart. He 
 resolved, therefore, on taking the command of another ex- 
 pedition that was being prepared for the relief of Eochelle — 
 to throw life, fortune, and honour upon one daring cast, and 
 on the dykes of Rochelle to leave his body or vindicate his 
 fame. Sir Balthazar Gerbier records some particulars illus- 
 trative of his devotion : 
 
 'The Duke's intention to succour the Rochellers was 
 manifest, as was his care to assure them of it. He com- 
 manded me to write and convey to them the secret adver- 
 tisement thereof. The last advice I gave them from him 
 contained these words : " Hold out but three weeks, and, 
 God willing, I will be with you, either to overcome or to die 
 there." The bearer of this received from my hands a 
 hundred Jacobuses to carry it with speed and safety.' . . . 
 ' The Duke, a little before his departure from York House, 
 being alone with me in his garden, and giving me his last 
 commands for my journey towards Italy and Spain, one 
 Mr. Wigmore, a gentleman of his, coming to us, presented 
 to his lordship a paper, said to come from the prophesying 
 Lady Davies,* foretelling that he should end his life that 
 month ; besides, he had received a letter from a very consi- 
 derable hand, persuading him to let some other person be 
 sent on that expedition to command in his place ; on which 
 occasion the Duke made this expression to me : " Gerbier, if 
 God please I will go, and be the first man who shall set his 
 foot upon the dyke below Rochelle, to die or do the work, 
 whereby the world shall see the reality of our intentions for 
 the relief of that place." He had before told me the same 
 in his closet, after he had signed certain despatches of my 
 letters of credence to the Dukes of Lorraine and Savoy, to 
 whom I was sent to know what diversion they could make 
 in favour of the King in case the peace with Spain should 
 not take. His Majesty spoke to me, on my going towards 
 my residency at Bruxelles, " Gerbier, I do command thee to 
 
 " Lady Eleanor Davies, an extraordinary woman, who professed to 
 enjoy prophetical powers. 
 
A King's Favourite. 211 
 
 have a continued care to press tlae Infanta and the Spanish 
 Ministers there for the restitution of the Palatinate ; for I 
 am obliged in conscience, in honour, and in maxim of state, 
 to stir all the powers of the world, rather than to fail to try 
 to the uttermost to compass this business." ' 
 
 It was not, however, to be compassed. The grim irony 
 of fate had decreed that the great Duke's desire to win the 
 wreath of victory and the confidence of his country should 
 never be satisfied. There was a strange presentiment in 
 the minds of men that the brilliant noble was going swiftly 
 to his doom. He held so conspicuous, so powerful a place 
 that it was natural enough that his sudden removal from 
 it should be heralded by omens and portents. Clarendon 
 records how the ghost of the Duke's father appeared to 
 an aged servant, and commanded him to warn his son to 
 propitiate the nation he had so gravely offended ; and the 
 Countess of Denbigh, Buckingham's sister, writing to him 
 on the day that proved to be that of his death, ' bedewed 
 the paper with her tears,' and fainted away as she thought 
 of the dangers he was incurring. Even Buckingham him- 
 self, with all his courage, could not repress an uneasy 
 feeling ; and, in taking leave of Laud, begged him to put 
 his Majesty in mind of his poor wife and children. ' Since 
 adventure,' he remarked, ' may kill me as well as another 
 man.' 
 
 It was an outbreak of popular fury, however, which he 
 dreaded — so far as he dreaded anything — and not, as 
 we have seen, the assassin's knife ; and to such an outbreak 
 he nearly fell a victim. It was the 2nd of August. A 
 sailor who had affronted him a fortnight before, and been 
 condemned to death by court martial, was on his way to 
 execution, when an attempt was made to rescue him, and 
 a party of his comrades violently attacked the guard. 
 Followed by a train of mounted attendants, the Duke rode 
 to assist in the defence, and the assailants, after losing 
 ten of their number dead, and many wounded, were driven 
 on board ship. Buckingham then accompanied the pro- 
 
 14—2 
 
212 The White King. 
 
 cession to the gibbet. The Duchess had interceded for the 
 criminal, and his Hfe would have been spared, but for the 
 mutinous attack which rendered lenity impossible. Even 
 after this assertion of his authority, the Duke was still in 
 danger ; but his officers pressed in around him, and with 
 swords drawn, conveyed him safely to the house in the 
 High Street, Portsmouth, where he was lodging. That 
 night the Duke slept uneasily, like one who has bad 
 dreams ; and his loving wife, in the morning, anxiously 
 implored him to take additional precautions. He 
 answered her at first somewhat harshly ; but recovering his 
 usual sweetness of temper, and feeling the influence of her 
 tenderness, he told her that he would take her importunity 
 as a sign of her love. Then, about nine o'clock, he went 
 down to breakfast. 
 
 ISfow there was a certain John Felton, who had served 
 under Buckingham in the disastrous expedition to Ehd — a 
 moody, melancholy man, with grievances as to non-pay- 
 ment of wages and refusal of promotion, and that ex- 
 aggerated idea of self which elevates private injuries into 
 public wrongs, and craves revenge as due both to the 
 individual and the nation. This man, on the morning of 
 Wednesday, the 20th of August, quitted his mother's 
 lodgings in Fleet Street, and betook himself to a neigh- 
 bouring church, where he left a request that he might be 
 prayed for on the following Sunday as for one who was 
 disordered and much discontented in mind. He had been 
 reading the Eemonstrance of the Commons, and convinced 
 himself that the Duke was the author of all the miseries 
 of the kingdom as well as of his own poverty ; and a book 
 called the ' Golden Epistles ' had taught him that every- 
 thing was lawful which was done for the good of the 
 Commonwealth. Kesolved, therefore, to rid his country of 
 a tyrant, and himself of an enemy, he went into a cutler's 
 shop on Tower HUl, and bought a tenpenny dagger-laiife, 
 about twelve inches long, which he so adjusted to his right 
 pocket as to be able to draw it, without having recourse 
 
A King's Favourite, 213 
 
 to his left hand, which was maimed. Upon a paper, which 
 he afterwards pinned to the lining of his hat, he wrote :* 
 
 ' That mail is cowardly base, and deserveth not the name 
 of a gentleman or souldier, that is not willing to sacrifice his 
 life for the honor of his God, his Kinge, and his countrie. 
 Lett noe man commend me for doinge of it, but rather 
 discommend themselves as the cause of it, for if God had 
 not taken away o' harts for o"" sinnes he would not have 
 gone so long unpunished. 
 
 'Jo. Felton.' 
 
 Having thus completed his preparations, he started on 
 his road to Portsmouth, and, partly walking, partly riding, 
 when he fell in with a good-humoured waggoner, he arrived 
 there early on Saturday morning, the 23rd, and at once 
 repaired to Buckingham's lodgings in the High Street. 
 
 The house where the Duke had taken up his quarters 
 was a large and irregular low building, of only two stories. 
 The sleeping-chambers of the second story opened upon a 
 gallery, and this gallery crossed the end of a hall that led 
 to the outer gate, and communicated inwardlj' with the 
 sitting-rooms by a short, dark, and narrow passage .at the 
 bottom of the gallery stairs. On this Saturday morning 
 the haU was crowded with officers passing in to receive 
 orders, and departing to execute them; while the excite- 
 ment of the time had attracted to the outer gate a throng 
 of seamen and common people. The King was at South- 
 wick, Sir Daniel Morton's seat, about four miles distant, 
 having resolved to see the Duke aboard; and Lord 
 Dorchester (Dudley Carleton) arrived with a request from 
 His Majesty that the Duke would join him there. The 
 
 * A different version is given by Lord Dorchester : — ' If I be slain 
 let no man condemn me, but rather condemn himself. Our hearts 
 are hardened, and become senseless, or else he had not gone so long 
 unpunished. He is unworthy the name of geutlemun or soldier, in 
 my opinion, that is afraid to sacrifice his life for the honour of God, 
 his King, and country. — John Felton.' 
 
2l4 The White King. ' 
 
 Duke's coach was -waiting at the gate ; and as Dorchester 
 dismounted, he could see Buckingham descending into the 
 breakfast- room ' in the greatest joy and alacrity I ever saw 
 him in my life.' During breakfast a messenger arrived with 
 the news that Rochelle had been relieved, and a scene of 
 great excitement ensued, the Prince de Soubise, and some 
 Huguenot officers who were present, protesting that it could 
 not be true. Their animated gestures and flashing eyes 
 induced the crowd outside to suppose that menaces and 
 angry words were being exchanged. 
 
 At half-past nine the door opened, and Buckingham 
 made his appearance, preceded by Lord Dorchester, who 
 was delivering the King's message. As he stepped into the 
 busy hall, he stopped to speak with Sir Thomas Fryer, one 
 of his most trusted lieutenants. Suddenly he staggered 
 backward, flinging something from him, with a loud cry of 
 ' VUlain !' Clasping his sword, with an effort to recover 
 himself, he stumbled against a table in the hall, and, while 
 the blood oozed from his nose and mouth, fell to the 
 ground, dead. Many had sprung forward to his assistance, 
 in the belief that he had been seized with a fit of apoplexy ; 
 but the 'flowing blood' and the stained knife lying on the 
 pavement told their own sad story. He had been struck 
 over the arm of Fryer, who Avas a short man, in the left 
 breast, with a blow so heavy and well-aimed that the knife 
 had entered his heart. The Earl of Cleveland, who was 
 following the Duke, said afterwards that he heard ' a 
 thump,' and the words : ' God have mercy on thy soul !' 
 But it must have b^en difficult to know what was said and 
 done in that moment of sudden horror. ' For there was 
 nothing,' says Lord Dorchester, 'but noise and tumult, 
 shouts, and cries, and lamentings, every man drawing his 
 sword, and no man knowing whom to strike, nor from whom 
 to defend himself.' In the confusion, Felton, who, of course, 
 was the murderer, had forced his way into the kitchen, 
 losing, as he did so, his hat, which fell into the hands of a 
 man named Nicholas ; and at a shout of ' A Frenchman ! a 
 
A King's Favourite. 215 
 
 Frenchman !'* raised by some who imagined that the fatal 
 stroke had been dealt by one of the French officers, he un- 
 sheathed his sword, and walked forth into the court, quietly 
 saying, ' I am the man ; here I am.' The crowd made a 
 rush to strike him down, but Lord Dorchester, Sir Thomas 
 Morton, and Lord Montgomery threw themselves before 
 him, and hurried him into the house, where he was 
 properly guarded.t 
 
 Amidst all this stir and frenzy of confusion the body 
 of the murdered Duke had been forgotten. ' There was 
 not a Hving creature in either of the chambers,' says a con- 
 temporary letter- writer, J no more than if it had been in the 
 sands of Ethiopia. Whereas commonly in such cases you 
 shall note everywhere a great and sudden conflux of people 
 unto the place to hearken and to see, it should seem the 
 very horror of this fact had stupefied all curiosity, and so 
 dispersed the multitude.' All at once the air was rent with 
 the shrieks of women. Lady Anglesey, the Duke's sister- V 
 in-law, at the beginning of the tumult, had rushed, terrified, 
 into the chamber of the Duchess, who, being pregnant, was 
 still in bed, and with sobs and sighs had told her that the 
 event so long foreboded had come at last. With a bitter 
 cry, the unhappy wife ran out, in her nightgown, into the 
 gallery, followed by Lady Anglesey, and thence beheld 
 ' the blood of their dearest lord gushing from him.' ' Oh, 
 poor ladies !' says Dorchester ; ' such were their screeches, 
 tears, and distractions, that I never in my life heard the 
 like before, and hope never to hear the like again.'§ 
 
 ** It is said that he mistook the cry for his own name, which he 
 supposed to have become known through the writing in his hat. 
 
 t ' Reliquiae Wott.,'vi. 234. 
 
 J ' Jack Stamford would have run at him, but he was kept ofiE by- 
 Mr. Nicholas ; so, being carried up to a tavern, Captain Morice tore 
 off his spurs, and asking how he durst attempt such an act, making 
 him believe the Duke was not dead, he answered boldly that he knew 
 he was despatched, for 'twas not he, but the hand of Heaven that 
 gave the stroke ; and though his whole body had been covered over 
 with armour of proof, he could not have avoided it. Captain Price 
 went post presently to the King, four miles off, who, being at prayers 
 on his knees when it was told him, yet never stirred.'— Howell, Letters, 
 p. 203. 
 
 § Sic H. Ellis, ' Original Letters,' 1st series, iii. 256. 
 
21(5 The White King. 
 
 The messenger who carried the news to King Charles at 
 South wick found him at evening prayers. His countenance 
 showed how keenly he felt the blow ; but with his usual 
 strictness of devotion he remained on his knees until the 
 service was at an end. Then, retiring to his own apartment 
 and throwing himself upon his bed, he gave way to an 
 agony of grief. He had lost not only a counsellor and a 
 minister, but a friend; the only man to whom he un- 
 bosomed himself without reserve ; the only man in whoin 
 he ever placed absolute and entire confidence. To the last 
 hour of his life 'he cherished his memory ; to his last hour 
 he regarded the Duke's friends as his friends, and the 
 Duke's enemies as his enemies. There must have been 
 something noble and generous in the man who, in Charles's 
 cold and reserved nature, could kindle such an enduring 
 affection. 
 
 Bishop Laud was scarcely less moved than the King by 
 Buckingham's violent death; though he did not deduce 
 from it the warning which to an observant mind it was well 
 fitted to convey. The Court party, speaking generally, 
 were deeply concerned ; they were stricken with a mingled 
 rage and terror, and were not a little disposed to believe 
 that the murder was the result of a conspiracy. But the 
 people rejoiced as heartily as if the death of this one man 
 had opened up a golden era of peace and prosperity for 
 the nation. Their satisfaction found expression in numerous 
 ballads as well as in longer poems, and one effusion was of 
 sufficient merit to be attributed to Ben Jonson, though the 
 Court discovered that its real author was a minister of 
 the gospel, named Zouch Townley, who, to avoid punish- 
 ment, escaped to Holland. It was addressed to Felton : 
 
 ' Nor dare I pray 
 Thine acts may mercy find, lest thy great story 
 Lose somewhat of its miracle and glory. . . . 
 For I would have posterity to hear, 
 He that can bravely do, can bravely bear. . . . 
 Farewell ! for thy brave sake we shall not send, 
 Henceforth, commanders enemies to defend, 
 Nor will it our just monarchs henceforth please 
 
A Kind's Favourite. 217 
 
 To keep an admiral to lose the seas. 
 
 Fareweil ! undaunted stand, and joy to be 
 
 Of public serviie the epitome. 
 
 Let the Duke's name solace and crown thy thrall, 
 
 All we for him did suffer — thou for all ; 
 
 And I dare boldly write, as thou darest die. 
 
 Stout fellow, England's ransom, here doth lie.' 
 
 As tlie murderer, whom a mistaken public feeling was 
 endeavouring to elevate into a patriot, passed through King- 
 ston on his way to London, an old woman exclaimed, 
 ' God bless thee, little David !' From the multitude which 
 had gathered outside the Tower gates to. welcome him, 
 shouts arose of ' The Lord comfort thee ! The Lord be 
 merciful unto thee !'* In the Tower he was lodged in the 
 room previously occupied by Sir John Eliot. He was sub- 
 jected to repeated examinations, and even threatened with 
 the rack ; but the judges unanimously declared that the 
 law of England prohibited the use of torture (November 
 14th), and the King had good reasons for not exercising his 
 prerogative. On the 27th of November, Felton was brought 
 to trial, and at once pleaded guilty, listening with compo- 
 sure to the sentence of death passed upon him. A flash of 
 insight seems to have revealed to him the true nature of his 
 deed, and he asked that the hand which had been its in- 
 strument might be cut off. Necessarily, the request was 
 refused; and, next day, he was hanged at Tyburn. The 
 body was afterwards taken down, and removed to Ports- 
 mouth, where it was suspended in chains, according to the 
 usual custom. 
 
 As for the body of Felton's victim, it was taken up into 
 the room in which the Duke had breakfasted, and there, in 
 the excitement and alarm, was for a few minutes left un- 
 guarded. It was afterwards embalmed and conveyed by 
 slow stages to York House, where for some days it lay in 
 state. The funeral took place on the 11th of September, 
 
 ** An anagram made from his name — 'Nob ! flie not !' — was very 
 popular as expressive of his immovable resolution. 
 
218 The White King. 
 
 ' in as poor and confused manner as hath been seen.' At 
 ten o'clock at night, the coffin was carried to Westminster 
 Abbey, with an escort of about a hundred mourners, while 
 'the trainbands kept a guard on both sides of the way all 
 along from Wallingford House, beating up their drums 
 loud, and carrying their spikes and muskets upon their 
 shoulders as in a march, not trailing them at their heels, as 
 is usual in mourning.'* There it was interred in the vault 
 in Henry VII.'s Chapel which the sovereign's favour had 
 already set apart for the Duke's family. A sumptuous 
 monument was afterwards erected by his loving Duchess, on 
 which a lusty Fame proclaims through a trumpet of stone 
 the virtuous and splendid genius of the husband whom she 
 worshipped with so true and generous an affection. 
 
 Buckingham was only thirty-six years old when Felton's 
 knife terminated his romantic career. Thirty-six ! — an age 
 at which nowadays politicians refuse to believe it possible 
 for a man even to begin to be a statesman. Many of his 
 errors of policy were, no doubt, the errors of youth and in- 
 experience ; and it is observable that as he grew in years, 
 and acquired a wider and deeper knowledge of public affairs 
 and of men and manners, he developed a greater discretion 
 and a more accurate appreciation of the difficulties which 
 existed in the change of the national temper and the increased 
 strength of the public will. He was always a bright and 
 brilliant figure, but he was by no means the giddy trifler and 
 feather-brained courtier which some authorities have repre- 
 sented him, nor the haughty and self-willed favourite which 
 has been created by the imagination of others. Gifted with 
 very considerable abilities, he felt the deficiencies of his 
 education for the high post to which fortune had called 
 him, and endeavoured to supply them by seeking the com- 
 pany of learned and experienced men, and ' sifting ' from 
 
 * The story that this Tvas a fictitious funeral, and that the Duke's 
 body had been privately interred the day before, seems to us un- 
 worthy of credence. 
 
A.King's Favourite. 219 
 
 their brains the knowledge of which he stood in need. He 
 had all an Englishman's desire to see his country great and 
 powerful ; his ambition aimed at making her conspicuous in 
 the councils of Europe ; and to this ambition must be attri- 
 buted the variableness of his foreign policy, which was 
 guided by no other principle than that of asserting the 
 influence of England. For this purpose he was ready to go 
 to war with a country which a few months before he had 
 sought to join in friendly alliance, or to conclude peace as 
 quickly as he had declared war. It should ever be remem- 
 bered to his honour that he understood the importance to 
 his country of a strong navy, and his administration as 
 Lord High Admiral was marked by exceptional energy and 
 considerable success. Of a frank, free, and fearless nature, 
 he met the charges of his enemies boldly, and never sought 
 to shelter himself behind the throne, or to gain advantage 
 over them by political intrigues. He was not vindictive, 
 but behaved towards his opponents with a generosity which 
 they showed no disposition to reciprocate, and history has 
 been equally slow to exhibit. So that the justice which his 
 contemporaries denied him has never been accorded to him 
 by posterity, and the Buckingham of popular tradition is, 
 as I believe, an altogether meaner and poorer spirit than the 
 gallant and aspiring Minister and favourite of Charles I. 
 
 Buckingham, like his sovereign, was a liberal patron of 
 the Arts. His taste for them was probably quickened and 
 refined by his visit to Madrid, which revealed to him the 
 treasures of the Spanish Galleries, and the noble works 
 of Spanish architects. On his return to England, he im- 
 mediately began to decorate York House with the finest 
 pictures and sculptures a liberal outlay could secure ; and 
 he assisted and encouraged Charles in forming the noble 
 gallery at Whitehall. When he went to Paris, he made 
 the acquaintance of Rubens, from whom he purchased for 
 £10,000 his entire collection of statues, paintings, and other 
 works of art. Much of his confidence was given to the 
 
220 The White Ki/ng. 
 
 Antwerp painter, Balthazar Gerbier, -whom he employed 
 on delicate commissions, as well as to paint the portraits of 
 himself and family. He drew up a catalogue of Bucking- 
 ham's art-treasures, which included no fewer than thirteen 
 pictures by Eubens, nineteen by Titian, seventeen by 
 Tintoret, twenty-one by Bassano, thirteen by Paul Veronese, 
 three by Kaphael, three by Guido, three by Lionardo da 
 Vinci. The finest among them was the ' Ecce Homo ' of 
 Titian, for which the Earl of Arundel offered the Duke 
 £7,000 in land or money. There were two hundred and 
 thirty in all — sold by the second Duke, in his exile at 
 Antwerp, to furnish him with supplies for his necessities 
 and pleasures. 
 
 Mytens was one of the artists patronized by Buckingham, 
 for whom he executed a portrait of the mettlesome dwarf. 
 Sir Geoffrey Hudson. Walpole tells us that he was ap- 
 pointed in 1625, to the office of his Majesty's ' picture 
 cleaner in ordinary,' — with a fee of £20 per annum, procured 
 by the agency of Endymion Porter, who was the servant 
 and relative of Buckingham, from the Duke. It was on 
 the recommendation of the Duke that Gerard Honthorst, 
 the celebrated portrait-painter, was invited to England. 
 He executed several sprawling allegories on the walls of 
 Hampton Court ; one of which, on the staircase, represents 
 Charles and his Queen as Apollo and Diana, to whom the 
 Duke of Buckingham, as Mercury, introduces the Arts and 
 Sciences, while Genii are driving away Envy and Malice. 
 He also painted portraits of the Duke and Duchess of 
 Buckingham, sitting with their two children; and a 
 humorous picture for the Duke, in which a tooth-drawer 
 plies his trade, with numerous figures looking on. 
 
 The Pisan artist, Gentileschi, was employed by Bucking- 
 ham in decorating York House. He also painted the 
 Villiers family, and a strange picture of a Magdalene, recum- 
 bent in a grotto, and contemplating a shell. Laniere, who 
 was, perhaps, a better musician than painter, was another 
 of the Duke's proteges, and received from him at one time 
 
A King's Favourite. 221 
 
 a gift of £300, and at another of £500. Cornelius Jansen 
 was commissioned by the Duke to paint a portrait of his 
 father, Sir George Villiers; 'less handsome,' says Horace 
 Walpole, ' but extremely like his son.' 
 
 So extensive, and, on the whole, well-directed, was 
 Buckingham's patronage of the Fine Arts. 
 
 [For life of Buckingham, see Bishop Groodman's ' History of His 
 Own Times,' edit, by Brewer, 1839 ; 'Calendar, Domestic State Papers 
 (1625-1628),' edit. Bruce ; 'Cabala, or Letters of Illustrious Persons,' 
 1691 ; Sir A. Weldon, ' Court and Characters of King James' ('Secret 
 History of the Court of James I.,' edit, by Sir W. Scott), 1804 ; 
 Arthur Wilson, 'Life of James L' (' Kennett's England ') ; 'Reliquise 
 Wottonianse ' (' Villiers, Duke of Buckingham '), and Clarendon's ' Dis- 
 parity between the Earl of Essex and the Duke of Buckingham ' ; 
 Aikin, ' Court and Times of Charles I. ' ; ' Poems Relating to the 
 Duke of Buckingham,' edit. Fairholt, for Percy Society ; J. Nichols, 
 ' Progresses and Processions of James I.,' 1828 ; Sir H. Ellis, ' Original 
 Letters, etc.', 1st series, 1825 ; Disraeli, ' Curiosities of Literature ;' 
 S. E. Gardiner, ' History of England ;' Mrs. Thomson, ' Life and 
 Times of George Villiers,' 1860, etc., etc.] 
 
o 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 A. — THE GHOST STORY (p. 211). 
 
 From the Biographia Britannica, art. Villiers, is taken the 
 following delightfully naive narrative of the incident of the 
 ghost related by Clarendon. It was written hj Edmund 
 Windham to Dr. Plot, the author of ' The History of 
 Staffordshire,' and is dated from Boulogne, August 5th, 
 1652: 
 
 ' Sir, — According to your desire and my promise, I have 
 written downe what I remember (divers things being slipt 
 out of my memory) of the relation made me by Mr. 
 Nicholas Towse, concerning the apparition which visited 
 him about 1627. 
 
 ' I and my wife, upon occasion being in London, lay at 
 my brother Pym's house without Bishopsgate, which was 
 next house unto Mr. Nicholas Towse's, who was his kins- 
 man and familiar acquaintance, in consideration of whose 
 society and friendship he took a house in that place ; the 
 said Towse being a very fine musician and very good com- 
 pany — for aught I ever saw or heard, a virtuous, religious, 
 and well-disposed gentleman. About that time, the said 
 Mr. Towse told me that, one night being in bed and per- 
 fectly waking, and a candle burning by him (as he usually 
 had), there came into his chamber and stood by his bedside, 
 an old gentleman, in such a habit as was in use in Queen 
 Elizabeth's time ; at whose first appearance Mr. Towse was 
 very much troubled ; but after a little while, recollecting 
 himself, he demanded of him in the name of God, What he 
 
The Ghost Story. 223 
 
 was ? Whether he were a man 1 And the apparition 
 replied, Boe. Then he asked him, If he were a devil ? And 
 the apparition answered, Noe. Then said Mr. Towse, In the 
 name of God, what art thou then ? And, as I remember, 
 Mr. Towse told me that the apparition answered him that 
 He was the ghost of Sir George Villiers, father to the then 
 Duke of Buckingham,, whom he might very well remeTnher, 
 since fie tvent to school at such a place in Leicestershire — 
 naming the place, which I have forgotten. And Mr. Towse 
 told me that the apparition had perfectly the resemblance 
 of the said Sir George Villiers in all respects, and in the 
 same habit that he had often seen him wear in his lifetime. 
 The said apparition also told him that he could not but 
 remember the much kindness that he, the said Sir George 
 Villiers, had] expressed to him whilst he was a scholar in 
 Leicestershire, as aforesaid ; and that, out of that considera- 
 tion, he believed that he loved him, and that therefore he 
 made choice of him, the said Mr. Towse, to deliver a 
 message to his son, the Duke of Buckingham, thereby to 
 prevent such mischief as would otherwise befall the said 
 Duke, whereby he would be inevitably ruined. And then, 
 as I remember Mr. Towse told me, that the apparition 
 instructed him what message he should deliver to the 
 Duke ; unto which Mr. Towse replied that he should be 
 verj'' unwilling to go to the Duke of Bucks upon such an 
 errand, whereby he should gaine nothing but reproach and 
 contempt, and be esteemed a madman, and therefore desired 
 to be excused from the employment. But the apparition 
 pressed him with much earnestness to undertake it, telling 
 him that the circumstances and secret discoveries (which 
 he should be able to make to the Duke of such passages in 
 the course of his life which were known to none but him- 
 self), would make it appear that his message was not the 
 fancy of a distempered braine, but a reality. And so the 
 apparition took his leave of him for that night, telling him 
 that he would give him leave to consider until the next 
 night, and then he would come to receive his answer. 
 
224 The White King. 
 
 ■whether he would undertake his message to the Duke of 
 Buckingham or not. [The apparition does not seem to 
 have explained why he himself did not go direct to his son.J 
 Mr. Towse passed the next day with much trouble and 
 perplexity, debating and reasoning with himself whether he 
 should deliver this message to the Duke of Buckingham or 
 not ; but in the conclusion he resolved to doe it. And the 
 next night, when the apparition came, he gave his answer 
 accordingly, and then received full instructions. 
 
 ' After which Mr. Towse went and found out Sir Thomas 
 Bladder (Bludyer) and Sir Ralph Freeman, by whom he 
 was brought to the Duke of Buckingham, and had several 
 private and long audiences of him. I myselfe, by the favour 
 of a friend, was once admitted to see him in private con- 
 ference with the Duke, where (although I heard not their 
 discourse) I observed much earnestness in their actions and 
 gestures. After which conference Mr. Towse told me that 
 the Duke would not follow the advice that was given him, 
 which was (as I remember) that he intimated the casting ofi' 
 and rejection of some men who had great interest in him, 
 and, as I take it, he named Bishop Laud ; and that he, the 
 Duke, was to do some popular acts in the ensuing Par- 
 liament, of which the Duke would have had Mr. Towse to 
 have been a burgess, but he refused it, alledging that, unless 
 the Duke had followed his directions, he must doe him hurt 
 if he was of the Parliament. Mr. Towse also then told me that 
 the Duke confessed that he had told him those things that no 
 creature knew but himself, and that none but God or the 
 Devill could reveale to him. The Duke offered Mr. Towse to 
 have the King knighte him, and to have given him prefer- 
 ment (as he told me), but that he refused it, saying that, 
 unless he would follow his advice, he should receive nothing 
 from him. Mr. Towse, when he made this relation, told me 
 the Duke would inevitably be destroyed before such a time 
 (which he then named), and accordingly the Duke's death 
 happened before that time. He likewise told me that he 
 had written downe all the discourses he had had with the 
 
The Ghost Story. 225' 
 
 apparition; and that at last his coming to him was so 
 familiar, that he was as little troubled with it as if it had 
 been a friend or acquaintance that had come to visit him. 
 Mr. Towse told me further, that the Archbishop (then 
 Bishop of London), Dr. Laud, should, by his counsels, be 
 the author of a very great trouble to the kingdom, by 
 which it should be reduced to that extremity of disorder 
 and confusion that it should seem to be past all hope of 
 recovery without a miracle ; but yet, when all people were 
 in despaire of happy days againe, the kingdome should 
 suddenly be reduced and resettled again in a most happy 
 condition. 
 
 ' At this time my father Pym was in trouble, and com- 
 mitted to the Gatehouse by the lords of the Council, about 
 a quarrel between him and the Lord Pawlett, upon which 
 one night I sayd unto my cousin Towse, by way of jest, " I 
 pray you ask your apparition what shall become of my 
 father Pym's business ?" which he promised to do ; and the 
 next day told me that my father Pym's enemies were 
 ashamed of their malicious persecution, and that he would 
 be at Hberty within a weeke, or some few days, which 
 happened accordingly. 
 
 ' Mr. Towse's wife (since his death) told me that her 
 husband and she, living in Windsor Castle, where he had 
 ofSce, that summer the Duke of Buckingham was killed, 
 told her the very day that the Duke was set upon by the 
 mutinous mariners in Portsmouth, saying that the .... 
 would be his death, which accordingly fell out — and that at 
 the very instant the Duke was killed (as upon strict inquiry 
 they found afterwards), Mr. Towse, sitting amongst some 
 company, suddenly started up and said, " The Duke of 
 BucJcingham is slain." Mr. Towse lived not long after; 
 which is as much as I can remember of this apparition, 
 which, according to your desire, is written by, sir, yours, 
 &c., ' Edmund Wixdham.' 
 
 I fear that, after reading this curious statement, the 
 VOL. I. 15 
 
226 The White King. 
 
 reader will conclude that Mr. Towse was either an un- 
 blushing impostor, or Mr. Ednaund Windham a Mendez 
 Pinto for mendacity. 
 
 B. — SIR JEFFEKY HUDSON. 
 
 This celebrated dwarf, who has had the good fortune to be 
 immortalised by Sir Walter Scott, was born in 1629, at 
 Oakham, in Eutlandshii*e — ' the least man in the least 
 county.' He was nine years old at the Duke's death, and 
 twice nine inches high — which diminutive stature he 
 retained until he was over thirty, when he sprang up sud- 
 denly, or almost suddenly, to three feet nine inches. Unlike 
 the majority of the inhabitants of Lilliput, Hudson was of a 
 graceful and well-proportioned figure, and though of a 
 passionate temper, his manners were refined and urbane. 
 
 His father, a burly, broad-shouldered countryman, had 
 charge of Buckingham's 'baiting-bulls,' and presented his 
 tiny offspring, in the year of the Duke's death, to the 
 Duchess Katherine, who dressed him gorgeously in satin 
 and velvet, and placed him in charge of a couple of 
 Anakim. It was on the occasion of a visit paid by Charles 
 and Henrietta to the Duke and Duchess at their seat of 
 Burghley-on-the-Hill, that he was served up at table in a 
 cold pie, and transferred to the service of the Queen. It 
 was not long,' says Fuller, ' before he was presented in a 
 cold baked pie to King Charles and Queen Mary at an 
 entertainment, and ever after lived, whilst the Court lived, 
 in great plenty therein, wanting nothing but humility 
 (high mind in a low body), which made him that he did 
 not know himself, and would not know his father; and 
 which, by the King's command, caused justly, his sound 
 correction : he was, though a dwarf, no dastard.' His spirit 
 was bigger than his person, and he cherished a deep 
 animosity against William Emery, Charles's gigantic porter 
 at Whitehall, who had unceremoniously clapped him in his 
 pocket, and produced him coram populo, to the great 
 amusement of the Court, at a Court masque. 
 
Sir Jeffery Hudson. 227 
 
 He was as clever as he was courageous, and he knew how 
 to keep a secret. He was employed, therefore, on several 
 confidential missions. On one occasion the Queen sent 
 him to Paris to bring back an accoucheuse. At the French 
 Court he was the observed of all observers, and received 
 gifts to the value of £2,500, but on the return voyage, along 
 with the midwife, and the Queen's dancing-master, he was 
 seized by the merry men of Dunkirk, and despoiled of all 
 his wealth. This misfortune suggested to Davenant his 
 burlesque poem of 'Hesperides, or the Captivity of Dun- 
 kirk,' in which the dwarf encounters a furious turkey-cock^ 
 and is rescued only by the prompt intervention of the 
 midwife : 
 
 ' Then Jeffery straight was thrown ; whilst faint and weak,, 
 
 The cruel foe assaults him with his beak. 
 
 A. lady midwife now, he there by chance 
 
 Espied, that came along with him from France. 
 
 A heart nursed up in war, that ne'er before 
 
 This time (quoth he) could bow, doth now implore ; 
 
 Thou that deliveredst hast so many, be 
 
 So kind of nature to deliver me. 
 
 But stay ! for though the learned chronologer 
 
 Of Dunkirk doth confess him freed by her, 
 ' The subtler poets yet, whom we translate, 
 
 In all this epic ode, do not relate 
 
 The manner how ; and we are loth at all 
 
 To vary from the Dutch original.' 
 
 Sir JefiPery was in attendance upon Henrietta Maria when 
 she escaped to France. The jests of the courtiers, from 
 which the irascible little fellow had suffered greatly, pur- 
 sued him thither, and at last the impertinent raillery of 
 a Mr. Crofts drew from him a challenge. It was arranged 
 that the duel should be on horseback and with pistols, to 
 place the dwarf more on a level with his adversary ; but on 
 arriving at the rendezvous Crofts, carrying on his rough 
 humour, presented a squirt. Jeffery, in a storm of passion, 
 immediately fired and killed the unfortunate jester — not 
 the first nor the last to lose his life by a, practical joke. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, being again at sea, Sir Jeffery was 
 taken prisoner by a Turkish pirate, and sold as a slave at 
 
 15—2 
 
228 The White King. 
 
 Tunis. Through the intervention of the Queen, he was 
 ransomed and set free. It is said that for awhile he served 
 as a captain of horse in the Civil War, and then returned 
 to France and resumed his position in Henrietta Maria's 
 household. After the Restoration he found his way to his 
 native country, and settled in London. Probably he was 
 at this time a Roman Catholic, for in 1682 he was accused 
 of participation in the supposed Popish plot, and imprisoned 
 in the Gate House at Westminster, where, in a few weeks, 
 he died, in the sixty-third year of his age. 
 
 Charles I.'s Court boasted of another Lilliputian in the 
 person of Richard Gibson, the King's portrait-painter. He 
 was born in 1615, and being of tiny stature and consider- 
 able artistic ability, obtained the patronage of Charles I., 
 and was retained in the royal household. He painted 
 several pictures for his royal master. To one of them 
 attaches a sorrowful association. It represented the parable 
 of the Lost Sheep, and was highly valued by Charles I, 
 who entrusted it to the care of Vandervort, the keeper of 
 his pictures, with instructions that it should be specially 
 cared for. These instructions the keeper carried out with 
 so much conscientiousness, that he was unable, when the 
 King a short time afterwards asked him for it, to remember 
 where he had placed it. In his perplexity the unfortunate 
 man went and hanged himself. A few days after his death 
 the picture was discovered in the position he had chosen 
 for it. 
 
 Queen Henrietta Maria had a dwarf in her household 
 named Ann Shepherd. She encouraged a marriage between 
 her and Gibson, and the ' compendious couple,' as Evelyn 
 calls them, were made one with a good deal of pomp and 
 circumstance, the King giving away the bride, and Henrietta 
 presenting her with a diamond ring. Waller has written a 
 graceful trifle in commemoration of the event : 
 
 ' Design or chance make others wive, 
 But nature did this match contrive ; 
 
Lilliputians. 229 
 
 Eve might as well have Adam fled, 
 
 As she denied her little bed 
 
 To him, for whom Heaven seemed to frame, 
 
 And measure out this little dame.' 
 
 The united heights of husband and wife did not exceed 
 seven feet. 
 
 The marriage was crowned with fehcity, and the 
 diminutive couple had nine children, five of whom lived 
 to years of maturity, and attained the ordinary stature of 
 their kind. Richard Gibson died on the 23rd of July 
 1690, at the age of seventy-five. His widow survived him 
 nineteen years, and reached the patriarchal age of eighty- 
 nine. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A MODERATE STATESMAN. — LUCIUS CARY, LORD FALKLAND. 
 
 One of a group of remarkable men who, ' if they failed to 
 mould their own age after their image, have long been 
 looked up to by later generations as the pioneers of 
 thought ' — who in religion, as in statesmanship, took for 
 their principle ' moderation ' as distinct from ' compromise,' 
 and 'reason' as antagonistic to 'authority' — was Lucius 
 Gary, Viscount Falkland. 
 
 The history of the Civil War presents few names to 
 which a more romantic interest attaches. In death, as in 
 life, a kind of chivalrous atmosphere surrounded him ; nor 
 is there any picture of that stirring period — a period which 
 no Englishman can contemplate without mingled emotions 
 of pride and sorrow — more impressive than that which 
 presents the figure of the statesman-philosopher, sitting 
 among his friends with sad and serious aspect, and, after 
 a deep silence, ingeminating the word, ' Peace, peace !' We 
 can never think of Falkland except as of one born out of 
 due time. He had all the qualities fitted to obtain dis- 
 tinction and exercise influence in ordinary days, when the 
 methods of government are permanent and solid, and the 
 structure of law and order is unshaken by civil storms ; 
 but he was too scrupulous, too just, too averse from ex- 
 tremes, to play a leading part in the stress and pressure of 
 popular contention. Eminently a moderate man, in the 
 highest and best sense of the word, he was incapable of 
 espousing passionately either side of the great quarrel, and 
 ambition or the love of power had no place in his lofty 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 231 
 
 nature ; so that it was natural for him to separate himself 
 from the more eager spirits— from the fanatics and the enthu- 
 siasts, from the aspiring and the ambitious — and, revolving 
 deeply in his mind the selfishness of the leaders and the 
 ignorance and prejudice of the followers, to sigh for the 
 blessings of tranquillity. It was fortunate for him that he 
 died almost at the opening of the civil war. Sorely as he 
 had been troubled, still keener would have been his suffer- 
 ings had he lived to see the unconstitutional excesses into 
 which both the King and the Parliament were eventually 
 hurried. No doubt his sagacity foresaw the evils that were 
 coming, and their anticipation forced from him those deep 
 groans for ' peace, peace !' Certain it is that he would have 
 shrunk more and more sensitively from contact with motives 
 and causes which gradually became more and more degraded 
 and dishonest. 
 
 To many Englishmen Falkland is familiar, I suspect, less 
 by his writings or his private life and public career, than by 
 tlie brilliantly coloured portrait which his friend, Lord 
 Clarendon, has drawn of him. From other sources we 
 know enough to feel sure that though the artist's touch may 
 have brought up the lights of this portrait, it is, nevertheless, 
 a very fair and accurate likeness ; and, therefore, no appre- 
 hension of exaggerated colouring should interfere to stint our 
 admiration. We have before us the real Falkland, exactly 
 as his contemporaries saw and knew him ; no imaginary or 
 ideal hero, endeavouring to aggravate our sympathies by false 
 pretensions. But I think that in this real Falkland we may 
 recognise the perfect English type rather than in Sir Philip 
 Sidney, whom men have agreed to praise beyond, I would 
 venture to say, all reasonable limits. Falkland was of a 
 more serious temper and more comprehensive intellect than 
 Sidney. If he were less of the courtier, he was more of the 
 statesman. His views of life were higher and broader ; he 
 was in all things a truer and a greater man. He was some-" 
 thing above and beyond the poet and the scholar, though 
 he was both — and above and beyond the soldier — though he 
 
232 The White Kivg. 
 
 was as capable as Sidney of Sidney's martial bearing on the 
 field of Zutphen; for he was the thoughtful and philosophi- 
 cal statesman, the inspiring chief of a circle of rational 
 and moderate thinkers amidst the excesses of a violent and 
 dogmatic age. 
 
 In one respect he was inferior to the Elizabethan hero ; he 
 had no gifts of person. ' His stature was low,' says Claren- 
 don, 'and smaller than most men ;* his motion not graceful 
 and [his aspect far from inviting; but it had somewhat in 
 it of simplicity ; and his voice, the worst of the three, and so 
 untuned that instead of reconciling' it offended the ear, so 
 that nobody would have expected music from that tongue ; 
 and sure no man was ever less beholden to nature for its 
 recommendation into the world. But over these disadvan- 
 tages the inner greatness of the man easily prevailed. That 
 little person, and small stature, were quickly found to contain 
 a great heart, a courage so keen, and a nature so fearless, 
 that no composition of the strongest limbs and most har- 
 monious and proportioned presence and strength ever more 
 disposed any man to the greatest enterprise; it being his 
 greatest weakness to be too solicitous for such adventures. 
 And that untuned tongue and voice easily discovered itself 
 to be supplied and governed by a mind and understanding 
 so excellent, that the wit and weight of all he said carried 
 another kind of admiration in it, and won another kind of 
 acceptation from the persons present, than any ornament of 
 delivery could reasonably promise itself, or is usually 
 attended with. And his disposition and nature was so 
 gentle and obliging, so much delighted in courtesy, kind- 
 ness, and generosity, that all mankind could not but admire 
 and love him.' 
 
 His accomplishments were various; his learning was solid 
 and profound ; yet was he entirely free from pedantry and 
 affectation, the two besetting vices of scholarship. Grace of 
 manner, such as made a Villiers conspicuous, was not at his 
 
 ° ' A little man,' says Aubrey, ' with no great strength of body, 
 blackish hair, something flaggy, and, I think, his eyes black.' 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 233 
 
 command : though so transcendent and obligiirg was his 
 gentleness, his affabihty, ' that it drew reverence and some 
 kind of comph'ance from the roughest and most unpohshed 
 and stubborn constitutions, and made them of another 
 temper of debate, in his presence, than they were in other 
 places.' There was a wonderful delicacy in the generosity 
 with which he helped all who stood in need of help, and 
 especially those unhappy men of letters^ ' whose fortunes 
 required, and whose spirits made them superior to, ordinary 
 obligations.' His magnanimity was equal to his generosity. 
 He showed his high sense ofhonourwhenhe was Secretary 
 of State by prohibiting two practices which all his pre- 
 decessors had sanctioned, the employment of spies and the 
 opening of letters. For the first, he would say, such in- 
 struments must be void of all generousness and common 
 honesty before they could be of use, and afterwards they 
 could never be fit to be credited ; and no singly preservation 
 could be worth so general a wound and corruption of 
 human society, as the cherishing such persons would carry 
 with it. The last he thought such a violation of the law 
 of nature, that no qualification by office could justify him in 
 the trespass.' 
 
 As an English gentleman Falkland, of course, was brave, 
 but there was about his bravery, as about his other qualities, 
 a distinction and an eminence which were peculiarly his 
 own. ' Before any occasion of action, he always engaged his 
 person in those troops which he thought, by the forward- 
 ness of the commanders, to be most like to be farthest 
 engaged. And in all such encounters he had about him an 
 extraordinary cheerfulness, without at all afiecting the 
 execution that usually attended them, in which he took no 
 delight, but took pains to prevent it, when it was not by 
 resistance made necessary. Insomuch that at Edgehill, 
 when the enemy was routed, he was like to have incurred 
 great peril by interposing to save those who had thrown 
 away their arms, and against whom, it may be, others were 
 more fierce for their having thrown them away. So that a 
 
234 The White King. 
 
 man might think he came into the field chiefly out of 
 curiosity to see the face of danger, and charity to prevent 
 the shedding of blood.' At the siege of Gloucester, Mr. 
 Hyde 'passionately reprehended him for exposing his 
 person unnecessarily to danger, as being so much beside 
 the duty of his place that it might be understood rather to 
 be against it ; he would say merely that his office could not 
 take away the privilege of his age, and that a secretary, in 
 war, might be present at the greatest secret of danger ; but 
 withal alleged seriously, that it concerned him to be more 
 active in enterprises of hazard than other men, that all 
 might see that his impatiency for peace proceeded not from 
 pusillanimity or fear to adventure his own person.' 
 
 Intellectually, his most remarkable qualities were his 
 moderation, his fairness, and his lucidity. He was in his 
 nature ' so severe a lover of justice and so precise a lover 
 of truth, that he was superior to all possible temptations 
 for the violation of either.' His moderation made him in 
 politics a reformer, but not a revolutionist. He preferred 
 to take things as they existed, and prune and shape them 
 to the new forms demanded by new circumstances, rather 
 than cut them down and extirpate them, root and branch. 
 This evenness of view disinclined him, as I have already 
 hinted, to adopt the shibboleths of part^^ He had no love 
 for arbitrary power or its methods : ' he thought no mis- 
 chief so intolerable as the presumption of ministers of 
 state to break positive rules for reasons of state, or judges 
 to transgress known laws upon the title of conveniency or 
 necessity, which made him so severe against the Earl of 
 Strafford and the Lord Finch, contrary to his natura 
 gentleness and temper.' But then he had as little love 
 for the pretensions which were advanced by the dominant 
 party in the Parliament, for he saw that they were scarcely 
 less dangerous to the freedom of the people than the pre- 
 rogatives of the Crown. Into ecclesiastical questions he 
 carried the same temper. He did not believe bishops to 
 be jure divmo ; but the regimen of bishops had existed 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 235 
 
 for sixteen centuries, and he saw no reason of public con- 
 Teniency for its overthrow. This was from no superstitious 
 feehng; 'he had in his own judgment such a latitude in 
 opinion, that he did not believe any part of the order or 
 government of it to be so essentially necessary to religion, 
 but that it might be parted with and altered for a notable 
 public benefit or convenience.' Yet was he in no wise 
 affected by the criticism frequently levelled at the episcopal 
 government of the Church, or disposed to accept the ideal 
 which the Puritans maintained with so much vehemence 
 and rigour. 
 
 Mr. Matthew Arnold, in his beautiful Aloge on our hero, 
 dwells upon his historic sense, or, in other words, the clear- 
 ness and accuracy of his political prevision. Looking out 
 upon the field of strife, where the two factions were pitch- 
 ing their camps and making ready for the battle, he held 
 that to preserve or restore the constitution, if possible at 
 all, was possible only through the Crown. Th^ movement 
 begun by the Parliament had in its very nature a disastrous 
 impossibility of limitation ; it could do no other than go 
 on, and as it went on must necessarily increase in rapidity 
 and violence. But upon the Crown it might, perhaps, be 
 feasible to put effectual checks and restrictions. Whether 
 he was right in this latter calculation no one can now 
 determine ; but that he was right in his conviction of the 
 danger to liberty inherent in the victory of the Parliament 
 history has demonstrated with irresistible cogency. The 
 truth was — and to Falkland, if to none of his contemporaries, 
 it was plainly visible — that both sides were in the wrong, and 
 Falkland's moderation induced him to support the side 
 which his clear intellect perceived to be less in the wrong than 
 the other. But he felt that the truth was not there, any 
 more than with the Puritans — neither the truth nor the 
 future. This is what makes his figure and situation so 
 truly tragic. For a sound cause he could not fight, because 
 there was none ; he could fight only for the least bad of two 
 unsound ones. ' ' Publicans and sinners on the one side,' 
 
2'36 The White King. 
 
 as Chillingworth said, ' Scribes and Pharisees on the other.' 
 And Falkland had the lucidity of mind and the largeness 
 of temper to see it. 
 
 Lucius Gary came of the old knightly family of the Carys 
 of Cockington. His father, Sir Henry Gary, was one of 
 James I.'s Privy Gouncillors ; was created for his services 
 Viscount Falkland in 1620, and from 1622 to 1629 governed 
 Ireland as Lord-Deputy, though not with much success. 
 His mother was the sole daughter and heir of Sir Lawrence 
 Tarfield. We know little of her, except that she became 
 a convert to Komanism and imprudently zealous, after the 
 manner of converts. Her son Lucius was born, it is said, 
 at Burford, a market-town in Oxfordshire, about 1610. In 
 the immediate neighbourhood of his birthplace was Great 
 Tew, which afterwards became so famous as his favourite 
 residence. ' He was bred,' says Clarendon, ' in the court 
 and in the university, but under the care, vigilance, and 
 direction of such governors and tutors that he learned 
 all his exercises and languages better than most men do 
 in celebrated places.' When he was about twelve years 
 old he accompanied his father to Dublin, where he began 
 his studies at Trinity GoUege,* and made such good pro- 
 gress in them that, on his return to England in 1627, 'he 
 was not only master of the Latin tongue, and had read 
 all the poets and other of the best authors with notable 
 judgment for that age, but he understood, and spake, and 
 writ French as if he had spent many years in France.' 
 Shortly afterwards he inherited from his maternal grand- 
 father, who in his will passed over his daughter t and her 
 husband, the estate of Great Tew, already spoken of, and 
 another at Burford, the two being worth about £2,000 per 
 annum. He then spent a year or more amidst the vivacities 
 
 " Before he left England he seems to have been entered at St. 
 John's, Cambridge ; but it is certain that he never studied there, and 
 his connection with that college remains a mystery. 
 
 t In his anger at her ' perversion ' to Catholicism. 
 
A Modercpte Statemnan. 237 
 
 of London life — bright, amiable, rich, and accomplished, 
 with an intellect of great activity, which, in search of 
 occupation, turned at one time towards soldiering, and at 
 another towards letters. He became a member of the glorious 
 company which assembled under Ben Jonson's leading at 
 ' the Apollo ' ; and, with the catholicity of a young mind, 
 sought the society of Selden and Hobbes, Chillingworth 
 and Hales, as well as that of Waller, Davenant and Carew, 
 Suckling, Sandys, and Sir Kenelm Digby. But his warmest 
 friendship was contracted with a young man nearly of his 
 own age, who, if he had lived, must have filled a distin- 
 guished place in the history of his time — Sir Henry 
 Morison. Ben Jonson was so deeply impressed by their 
 affection, that he has immortalised it in his glowing verse : 
 "To the immortal memory and friendship of that noble 
 pair. Sir Lucius Cary and Sir Henry Morison.' 
 
 When young Cary had completed his academic course his 
 father promoted him to the command of a company. In 
 1629 the Lords Justices, having quarrelled with Sir Henry, 
 sought to strike at him through his son by depriving the 
 latter of his military rank, and appointing in his place Sir 
 Francis "VVilloughby. With all his gentleness and amiability, 
 young Cary had a fiery spirit ; and though Sir Francis had 
 nothing to do with his humiliation, he demanded satisfac- 
 tion from him with the sword. ' I doe confess you,' he 
 wrote, " a brave gentleman/ and for myne owne sake I would 
 not but have my adversary be soe/, but I knowe no reason, 
 why, therefore, you should have my breechez, which yf any 
 brave man should have, I should be fayne shortly to begg 
 in trowses. I dowght not but you will give me satisfaction 
 with your sword, of which yf you will send me the length, 
 with tyme and place, you shal be sure/ according too see 
 appointment/ too meete.' The result of this ill-judged act 
 was his committal to prison, and he was threatened with 
 a prosecution in the Star Chamber. The King, however, 
 set him free, after a brief detention of ten days, allowed him 
 the arrears of his pay, and salved the young man's wounded 
 
238 The White King. 
 
 honour by a special acknowledgment that he had lost his 
 command through no fault of his own. 
 
 Before he attained his majority he married, taking to 
 himself for wife the accomplished sister of his friend, Sir 
 Henry Morison, and thwarting the parental design of a 
 nobler and wealthier alliance. The elder Gary was so 
 deeply angered that he broke off all connection with him, 
 and rejected any offer of mediation. The son behaved with 
 characteristic generosity, under circumstances which are 
 thus described by Clarendon : — 
 
 ' In a short time after he had possession of the estate 
 his grandfather had left him, and before he was of age, he 
 committed a fault against his father in marrying a young 
 lady whom he passionately lov^d, without any considerable 
 fortune, which exceedingly offepded him, and disappointed 
 all his reasonable hopes and expectation of redeeming and 
 repairing his own broken fortune and desperate hopes in 
 Court, by some advantageous marriage of his son, about 
 which he had then some probable treaty. Sir Lucius Gary 
 was very conscious to himself of his offence and transgres- 
 sion, and the consequence of it, which though he could not 
 repent, having married a lady of a most extraordinary wit 
 and judgment, and of the most signal virtue and exemplary 
 life that the age produced, and who brought him many 
 hopeful children in which he took great delight, yet he con- 
 fessed it, with the most sincere and dutiful applications to- 
 his father for his pardon that could be made ; and for the 
 prejudice he had brought upon his fortune, by bringing no. 
 fortune to him, he offered to repair it by resigning his whole 
 estate to his disposal, and to rely wholly upon his kindness, 
 for his own maintenance and support ; and to that purpose 
 he had caused conveyances to be drawn up by counsel 
 which he brought ready engraved to his father, and was 
 willing to seal and execute them, that they might be valid j 
 but his father's passion and indignation so far transported 
 him (though he was a gentleman of excellent parts) that he 
 refused any reconciliation, and rejected all the offers that 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 239 
 
 was made him of the estate, so that his son remained still in 
 the possession of his estate against his will, for which he 
 found great reason afterwards to rejoice.' 
 
 His father's displeasure grieved him so profoundly that 
 he resolved to plunge into the excitement of a soldier's life, 
 for which he had a natural inclination ; and, accompanied 
 by his wife, he repaired to Holland, where he hoped to pur- 
 chase some military command. But HoUand was then at 
 peace (1631), and nothing came of Gary's visit, except that 
 he there made the acquaintance, as may reasonably be sur- 
 mised, of the illustrious Grotius. In the verses which 
 he afterwards addressed to the great Dutch scholar prefixed 
 to George Sandys' translation of his tragedy of 'Christ's 
 Passion,' he says : 
 
 ' . . . Your acquaintance all of ■worth pursue, 
 And count it honour to be known of you,' 
 
 an expression which seems to imply a certain degree of 
 personal knowledge. 
 
 On his return to England, Lord Falkland — for by the 
 death of his father in 1631 he had acceded to the Scotch 
 title — retired to Great Tew, and for some happy years 
 devoted himself to his books and friends, that 'since he was 
 not likely to improve himself in arms, he might advance in 
 letters.' Here he gathered around him a noble company of 
 scholars and divines, wits, and poets. All men who had 
 any serious purpose in life, or had taken thought upon the 
 great controversies of the time, received a cordial welcome. 
 ' His house,' says Clarendon, ' being within ten or twelve 
 miles of the University, looked like the University itself by 
 the company that was always found there. There was Dr. 
 Sheldon, Dr. Morley, Dr. Hammond, Dr. Earles, Mr. Chil- 
 lingworth, and indeed all men of eminent parts and faculties 
 of Oxford, besides those who resorted thither from London ; 
 who all found their lodgings there as ready as in the college; 
 nor did the, lord of the house know of their coming or 
 going, nor who were in his house, tUl he came to dinner or 
 supper, where all still met. Otherwise there was no trouble- 
 
240 The White King. 
 
 some ceremony or constraint to forbid men to come to the 
 house, or to make them weary of staying there. . So that 
 many came thither to study in a better air, finding all the 
 books they could desire in his library, and all the persons 
 together whose company they would wish, and not found in 
 any other society. Here Mr. Chillingworth wrote and 
 formed and modelled his excellent book* against the learned, 
 Jesuit Mr. Scott, after frequent debates upon the most 
 important particulars ; in many of which he suffered himself 
 to be overruled by the judgment of his friends, though in 
 others be still adhered to his own fancy, which was scepti- 
 cal enough even in the highest points.' 
 
 A full list of the brilliant gathering at Great Tew is 
 furnished by Suckling in that vivid poem of ' The Session 
 of the Poets,' to which we have elsewhere referred. The 
 list includes Selden, the great jurist ; George Sandys, the 
 poet, whom Lord Falkland warmly praises in more than 
 one of his own poems, — 
 
 ' Next Ovid's transformations he translates 
 With so rare art, that those which he relates 
 Yield to this transmutation, and the change 
 Of man to birds and trees appears not strange : 
 Next the poetic parts of Scripture on 
 His brow he wears, and Job and Solomon 
 His pen restores with all .that heavenly quire, 
 And shakes the dust from David's solemn lyre, 
 From which, from all with just consent he won 
 The title of the English Buchanan,' — 
 
 Thomas Carew and Sir William Davenant ; Suckling 
 
 himself; Walter Montague, the author of 'The Shepherd's 
 
 Pastoral,' to which Suckling alludes in a sly satirical 
 
 fashion, — 
 
 ' Wat Montague now stood fresh to his trial, 
 And did not as much as expect denial ; 
 But witty Apollo asked him first of all 
 If lie understood his oiim pastoral ;' 
 
 Townshend; Sir Kenelm Digby ; Edmund WaUer; Hales; 
 Chillingworth; and Falkland's close friend. Sir Francis 
 
 « ' The Religion of Protestants a Safe Way to Salvation.' 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 241 
 
 Wenman. Of the last named, Clarendon has recorded a 
 noble character: 'He was a man of great sharpness of 
 understanding and of a piercing judgment ; no man better 
 understood the affections and temper of the kingdom, or, 
 indeed, the nature of the nation, or discerned further the 
 consequence of counsels, and with what success they were 
 likely to be attended. He was a very good Latin scholar, 
 but his ratiocination was above his learning ; and the 
 sharpness of his wit incomparable. He was equal to the 
 greatest trust and employment, if he had been ambitious of 
 it, or solicitous for it ; but his want of health produced a 
 kind of laziness of mind which disinclined him to business, 
 and he died a little before the general troubles of the 
 kingdom, which he foresaw with wonderful concern, and 
 when many wise men were weary of living so long.'* 
 He seems to have succeeded Morison in Falkland's affec- 
 tions, which, as a gentleman and a scholar, he was well 
 fitted to engage. 
 
 Sidney Godolphin was another of Falkland's intimates. 
 They were nearly of the same age, and both died sword in 
 hand, in the same fatal year. 
 
 To this splendid group were added, at a later period, men 
 of a graver temper and a higher calling, as Falkland's 
 thoughts and studies inclined more towards the theological 
 questions which then occupied so extensively the public 
 mind. It would appear to have been about 1633, that, having 
 made himself master of Greek, he turned from the classical 
 to the .patristic writers. His eager and keen intellect 
 swiftly cultivated the novel field to which it had gained 
 admision; for it was stimulated by the fresh and pure 
 delight which it took in its work. ' He had read all the 
 Greek and Latin Fathers, all the most allowed and authentic 
 ecclesiastical writers, and all the councils, with wonderful 
 
 ° This weariness, it may be noted, was felt chiefly, if not entirely, 
 on the Royalist side. The higher and purer spirits on this side were 
 not satisfied with their cause, and, no doubt, were distrustful of their 
 Jling. 
 
 VOL. I. 16 
 
242 The White King. 
 
 care and observation ; for in religion lie thought too care- 
 ful and too curious inquiry could not be made amongst 
 those whose purity was not questioned, and whose authority 
 was constantly and confidently urged by men who were 
 furthest from being of one mind amongst themselves ; and 
 for the mutual support of their several opinions, in which 
 they most contradicted each other ; and in all those con- 
 troversies he had so dispassioned a consideration, such a 
 candour in his nature, and so profound a charity in his 
 conscience, that in those points in which he was in his own 
 judgment most clear, he never thought the reverse, or in 
 any degree declined the familiarity, of those who were of 
 another mind ; which, without question, is an excellent 
 temper for the propagation and advancement of Chris- 
 tianity. With these great advantages of industry, he 
 had a memory retentive of all that he had ever read, and 
 au understanding and judgment to apply it seasonably and 
 appositely with the most dexterity and address, and the 
 least pedantry and affectation that ever man who knew so 
 much was possessed with, of what quality soever.' 
 
 Here we may fitly pause to consider the outcome of Falk- 
 land's Kevised Version, so far as it assumed a distinct literarj' 
 form. His poetry is not that of a poet, but of a thoughtful 
 and accomplished man of letters. According to Aubrej', 
 Bishop Earle, the author of the ' Microcosmography,' would 
 not allow Falkland to be ' a good poet, though a great wit.' 
 This is true enough ; but when the Bishop added : ' He 
 writ not a smooth verse, but a great deal of verse,' his 
 critical faciilty seems at fault. Surely the following coup- 
 lets from the poem 'Upon the Death of the Ladie Marquesse 
 Hamilton,' are ' smooth' enough : 
 
 ' What beauty did in that faire forme reside ! 
 What any greatness hath, excepting pride ! 
 Eyes of soe modest, yet see bright a flame, 
 To see her and to love her was the same : 
 And if by chance, when shee did neere us stand, 
 Here bright smooth palme but touched my ruder hand, 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 243' 
 
 That did both sences soe at onoe delight, 
 
 The purest swans seemed neither soft nor white.' 
 
 Falkland's poems are the reflex of his affectionate and 
 
 amiable nature. They are all addressed to his friends, in 
 
 commemoration of the virtues and excellencies of those 
 
 whom Death had taken from him, like his ' Eclogue on 
 
 Ben Jonson,' which is his weightiest and most careful 
 
 composition. From this warm panegyric we borrow a few 
 
 lines : 
 
 ' So great his art that much ■which he did write 
 Gave the wise wonder, and the crowd delight. 
 Each sort as well as sex admired his wit, 
 The hees and shees, the boxes and the pit ; 
 And who lesse liked within did rather chuse 
 To taxe their judgments than suspect his muse, 
 With thoughts and wills purged aud amended rise 
 From th' ethicke lectures of his comedies. 
 Where the spectators act, and the shamed age 
 Blusheth to meet her follies on the stage . . . 
 Whose politics no lesse the mind direct 
 Than these the manners ; nor with less effect 
 When his majestic tragedies relate 
 All the disorders of a tottering State, 
 All the distempers which on kingdoms fall 
 Where ease and wealth and vice are generall.' 
 
 To conclude ; if not the poems of a poet, Falkland's are 
 the poems of a man with fine poetic tastes and a warm love 
 of nature. 
 
 His principal prose work is his ' Discourse of the Infalli- 
 bility of the Church of Kome,' in which, and in his elaborate 
 ' Reply to the Answer thereto,' he explains, in clear and 
 distinct language, his religious position ; the position 
 arrived at after the careful and serious inquiry he had made 
 into the subject at Tew, assisted by discussions with 
 Chillingworth and other men of light and leading. Roughly 
 speaking, it may be said to be that of a modern Broad 
 Churchman, — of a liberal Theologian, a Churchman with 
 wide sympathies and absolute independence of opinion — a 
 Christian endowed with a spiriiji of the most generous 
 toleration and indisposed to crystallize differences of opinion 
 on government and ritual into permanent barriers between 
 
 16—2 
 
244 The White King. 
 
 the faithful followers of Christ. It is needless to say that 
 it is in direct antagonism to the claims of the Church of 
 Kome. Kegarding the pretensions of that Church to infalli- 
 bility, Falkland affirms that it is a pretension which can 
 never be accepted on its own authority. It must be 
 supported by the clearest and most irrefragable proofs, and 
 these proofs have never been forthcoming. The necessity 
 of ' some certain guide,' in religious matters is put forward 
 as the ground of infallibility. But if such a guide exist, 
 of what use is it unless it be plainly manifest ? An infallible 
 Church which is not conclusively infallible is just as if God 
 were ' to set a ladder to Heaven, and seem to have a great 
 care of my going up, whereas unless there be care taken that 
 I may know this ladder is true to that purpose, it was as 
 good for me it never had been set.' 
 
 Proceeding to consider the right of private judgment, he 
 argues that where God has not clearly and indubitably 
 revealed His will, it will not be consistent with His good- 
 ness to damn man for not following it. To those who obey 
 their reason in the interpretation of the Scriptures, God will 
 give either His grace and assistance to find the truth, or His 
 pardon if they miss it. And then this supposed necessity 
 of an infallible guide — with the supposed damnation for the 
 want of it — fall together to the ground. 
 
 The idea of persecution for religious opinions is, of course, 
 repugnant in the extreme to Falkland's lofty nature. No 
 dogmatic differences can ever justify intolerance. He refers 
 to the Emperor Constantine's celebrated letter on the 
 Trinitarian controversy, to show that even on this vital 
 question neither side was formerly considered to be without 
 the Church's pale. In the primitive times of Christianity 
 there was no punishing for opinions ; and he adds : ' I 
 believe throughout antiquity you will find no putting any 
 to death, unless it be such as begin to kill first, as the Cir- 
 cumcellians, or such like. I am sure the Christian religion's 
 chiefest glory is, that it increaseth by being persecuted ; and 
 Slaving that advantage of the Mahommedan, methinks it 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 245 
 
 should be to take ill care of Christianity to hold it up by 
 Turkish means — at least, it must breed doubts, that if the 
 religion had always remained the same, it would not now be 
 defended by ways so contrary to those by which at first it 
 was propagated. I desire recrimination may not be used. . . . 
 I confess this opinion of damning so many, and this custom 
 of burning so many ; this custom of binding up of those who 
 knew nothing else in any point of religion, yet to be in a 
 readiness to cry To the fire with him, to Hell with him — these 
 I say, were chiefly the causes which made so many so 
 suddenly leave the Church of Rome.' 
 
 Instead of a blind, credulous acceptance of any dogmas 
 which a so-called infallible Church enunciates, he contends 
 for the right of private inquiry. ' Grant the Church,' he 
 says, ' to be infallible, yet methinks he that denies it, and 
 employs his reason to seek if it be true, should be in as good 
 case as he that believeth it, and searcheth not at all the 
 truth of the proposition he receives. For I cannot see wh}' 
 he should be saved because, by reason of his parents' 
 belief, or the religion of the country, or some such accident, 
 the truth was offered to his understanding when, had the 
 contrary been offered, he would have received that. And 
 the other damned that believes falsehood upon as good 
 ground as the other doth truth, unless the Church be like a 
 conjurer's circle, that will keep a man from the devil, 
 though he came into it by chance. They grant no man is 
 an heretic that believes not his heresy obstinately ; and if he 
 be no heretic, he may soon be saved. It is not then certain 
 damnation for any man to deny the infallibility of the 
 Church of Rome, but for him only that denies it obstinately. 
 And there I am safe, for I am sure I do not. Neither can 
 they say I shall be damned for schism, though not for 
 heresy, for he is as well no schismatic, though in schism — 
 that is, willing to join in communion with the true Church, 
 when it appears to be so to him, as he is no heretic, though 
 he holds heretical opinions, who holds them not obstinately 
 — that is (as I suppose), with a desire to be informed if he be 
 
246 The White King. 
 
 in the wrong. ... I have the less doubt of this opinion, 
 that I shall have no harm for not believing the infallibility 
 of the Church of Eome, because of my being so far from 
 leaning to the contrary, and so suffering my will to have 
 power over my understanding, that if God would leave it to 
 me which tenet should be true, I would rather choose that 
 that should, than the contrary. For they may well believe 
 me that I take no pleasure in tumbling hard and unpleasant 
 books, and making myself giddy with disputing obscure 
 questions.' 
 
 It is sometimes objected that all doubts about the 
 Church's infallibility originate in self-conceit and pride of 
 reason. He sharply rejoins that ' too much impatience and 
 laziness of examining is the cause that many do not 
 doubt it.' What pride can there be, he inquires, in his 
 anxiety to have a rational foundation for belief, since even 
 the infalliblist puts forward a show of argument to justify 
 his position, while Falkland himself is willing to be led 
 wherever Truth may lead him, ' remembering that Truth in 
 likelihood is, where her Author God was, in the still voice, 
 and not the loud wind V He solemnly declares that his 
 mind lies open to any rational influence, to prayer as well 
 as argument. IJe does not wish to be ' wilfully blind,' nor 
 will he ' deny impudently' what his eyes reveal to him ; but 
 he cannot believe in any other certain guide to the Truth 
 than Reason. 
 
 ' To be persuaded by Reason that to such an authority I 
 ought to submit, is still to follow reason, and not to quit 
 her. And by what else is it that you examine what the 
 Apostles taught, when you examine that by ancient 
 tradition, and ancient tradition by a present testimony? 
 Yet when I speak thus of finding the Truth by Reason, I 
 intend not to exclude the Grace of God, which I doubt not 
 (for as much as is necessary to salvation) is ready to come 
 to our instruction, as the sun is to our sight, if we by a 
 wilful winking choose not to make, not it, but ourselves, 
 guilty of our blindness 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 24T 
 
 ' Yet when I speak of God's Grace, I mean not that it in- 
 fuseth a knowledge without reason, but works by it, as by- 
 its minister, and dispels the mists of passions which do 
 wrap up truth from our understandings. For if you speak 
 of its instructing any other way, you leave visible arguments 
 to fly to invisible ; and your adversary, when he hath found 
 your play, will be soon at the same cocke ; and I believe in 
 this sense, infused faith is but the same thing, otherwise 
 apparelled, which you have so often laughed at in the 
 Puritans under the title of private spirit.' 
 
 The general religious attitude assumed and firmly main- 
 tained by Falkland, and the qualities which placed him at 
 the head of the founders of our English school of rational 
 theology and liberal Christianity, are happily sketched by 
 the. late Principal TuUoch* 
 
 ' It is evident,' he says, ' that Falkland added to his 
 general intellectual accomplishments and political sagacity 
 a deep and serious interest in the religious questions which 
 really lay at the root of all the national difficulties of his 
 time. He had pondered these questions thoughtfully, and 
 worked out for himself clear and definite conclusions in 
 favour at once of religious liberty and the national Church. 
 While professedly arguing against the infallibility of the 
 Church of Rome, his argument is equally valid against the 
 Prelatic sacerdotalism which had more or less oppressed 
 England since the accession of the Stuarts, and the Puritan 
 dogmatism which sought to take its place. His plea against 
 infallibility is really a plea in favour of freedom of religious 
 opinion in a sense which neither Prelatist nor Puritan in 
 the seventeenth century understood. It seemed to him 
 then, as it has seemed to many since, possible to make 
 room within the national Church for wide differences of 
 dogmatic opinion, or, in other words, for the free rights of 
 the Christian reason incessantly pursuing its inquest after 
 
 '* Principal TuUoch, ' National Theology in England in the seven- 
 teenth century,' i. 167 — 169. See also Matthew Arnold, 'Mixed 
 Essays,' art. Falkland. 
 
248 The White King. 
 
 truth, and moulding the national consciousness to higher 
 
 conceptions of religious thought and duty This was 
 
 the conservative side of his thought, where he separated 
 entirely from the ' root and branch ' men, on the principle 
 succinctly expressed by him, that ' where it is not necessary 
 to change, it is necessary not to change.' His mind, like all 
 higher minds, sought not so much outward as inward 
 change. He shrank from revolution in Church or State; 
 but he would have liberalised both, in a truer and nobler 
 sense than his contemporary revolutionists, ecclesiastical or 
 political. . . . The seed of wise thought never perishes ; 
 and Falkland's ideal of the Church, no less than of the 
 State, may yet be realized, when bigotries. Christian and 
 anti-Christian, have more thoroughly consumed themselves 
 in their internecine heat, and men have learned that the 
 patient search for truth is better than all dogmas, and that 
 the charity that thinketh no evil and rejoiceth in the 
 truth is a higher Christian grace than the most definite 
 opinions, or even the faith that could remove mountains.' 
 
 From his delightful friendships and serious studies at 
 Tew, Falkland was called away in 1639 by ' the first alarum 
 from the North,' the rebellion in Scotland against the 
 Episcopal government which Charles had sought to enforce 
 upon the Scottish Church. To equip an expedition against 
 the Covenanters, CTiarles claimed the assistance of his 
 English nobility, and Falkland responded to the summons, 
 either because his old soldierly longings returned at the 
 sounds of war, or because, perhaps, as the wearer of a 
 Scotch coronet, he may have considered that a special ob- 
 ligation was imposed upon his loyalty. Disappointed, 
 however, in the command of a troop of horse which had 
 been promised to him, he was compelled to go as a volunteer 
 with the Earl of Essex. This first ' Bishops' War,' as it was 
 called, proved an ignominious failure. But we hear nothing 
 of Falkland throughout; and the most interesting point 
 about it is that it stimulated the muse both of Waller and 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 249 
 
 Cowley to express their admiration of the brilliant young 
 volunteer. The former wrote with unwonted sincerity : 
 
 ' Ah, noble friend, with what impatience all 
 That know thy worth, and know how prodigal 
 Of thy great soul thou art (longing to twist 
 Bays with that ivy which so early kissed 
 Thy youthful temples) — with what horror we 
 Think on the blind events of war and thee ! 
 To fate exposing that all-knowing breast 
 Among the throng as cheaply as the rest.' 
 
 In a more elevated tone Cowley bore witness to his 
 friend's splendid qualities : 
 
 ' Great is thy charge, North ; be wise and just ; 
 England commits her Falkland to thy trust. 
 Beturn him safe ; learning would rather choose 
 Her Bodley or her Vatican to lose. 
 All things that are but writ or printed there, 
 In his unbounded breast engraven are.' 
 
 On his return Falkland seems definitely to have made up 
 his mind to bear the burden of a public life, perceiving, 
 perhaps, that the circumstances of the age were not such as 
 to justify a young man of his rank, influence, and capacity, 
 in lingering among the ohve shades, remote from the 
 alarms that disturbed the public peace. Early in the 
 following year (1640) he was elected member for the 
 borough of Newport, in the Isle of Wight, aiid he attended 
 the three weeks' session of 'the Short Parliament' (from 
 April 15th to May 5th), which Charles so abruptly dis- 
 solved. His brief Parliamentary experience produced a 
 strong impression upon him. 'From the debates,' says 
 Clarendon, 'which were then managed with all imaginable 
 gravity and sobriety, he contracted such a reverence for 
 Parliaments, that he thought it really impossible they 
 could ever produce mischief or inconvenience to the king- 
 dom, or that the kingdom could be tolerably happy in the 
 intermission of them. And from the unhappy and un- 
 reasonable dissolution of that convention, he harboured, it 
 may be, some jealousy and prejudice to the Court, towards 
 which he was not before immoderately inclined.' 
 
250 The White King. 
 
 Falkland was re-elected to the Parliament whicli met for 
 the first time on the 3rd of November, 1640 — the famous 
 Long Parliament, destined to so great and arduous a 
 history. At the outset he acted vigorously with the 
 popular party, opposed the arbitrary measures of the Court, 
 and made a powerful speech against the illegal imposition 
 of ship-money. • He supported Pym and Hampden in every 
 movement of resistance. In the prosecution of Lord- 
 Keeper Finch he was among the foremost, and he joined 
 also in Strafford's condemnation. His love of justice, how- 
 ever, did not fail him in the utmost severity of his conduct ; 
 and he was the only member of the House of Commons who 
 protested that some brief delay before Strafford's impeach- 
 ment was necessary to the dignity and character of the 
 House. He suggested that it would suit better with the 
 gravity of their proceedings, first to digest maiiy of those 
 particulars which had been mentioned by a committee 
 before they sent up to accuse him — declaring himself to be 
 abundantly satisfied that there was enough to charge him. 
 But Pym, apprehensive of Strafford's influence with the 
 King, bore down all opposition, exclaiming that the least 
 delay would be ruin ; if they gave the Earl time to consult 
 with the King, Parliament would be dissolved; and that, 
 for the rest. Parliament only accused, and did not judge. 
 
 The share which Falkland took in the great debates on 
 the Church was characteristic of the man and of his policy. 
 At first he was wholly on the popular side, so that his 
 ardour caused a temporary estrangement between himself 
 and his friend Hyde. He joined in the vote, on the 18th 
 of December, Avhich declared Archbishop Laud a traitor, 
 and ordered his imprisonment in the Tower. The relations 
 between Laud and Falkland had never been friendly. To 
 Laud, Falkland was the leader of a rash revolutionary 
 party, which was prepared to effect extensive changes in 
 the order and constitution of the Church ; while to Falk- 
 land, Laud was the representative of a tyrannical and 
 repressive sacerdotalism. But he does not seem to have 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 251 
 
 taken any part in the Archbishop's impeachment. When on 
 the 9th of February, 1641, the House took into considera- 
 tion the petitions which had been poured in upon it, com- 
 plaining of the oppressions exercised by the Bishops, and 
 praying for their abolition, Falkland spoke with energetic 
 eloquence : — ' He is a great stranger in Israel,' he said, ' who 
 knows not this kingdom hath long laboured under many 
 and great oppressions, both in religion and liberty; and 
 his acquaintance here is not great, or his ingenuity less, 
 who doth not both know and acknowledge that a great, if 
 not a principal cause of both these, have been some Bishops 
 and their adherents. Mr. Speaker, a little search will serve 
 to find them to have been the destruction of unity, under 
 pretence of uniformity — to have brought in superstition 
 and scandal under the titles of reverence and decency — to 
 have defiled our Church by adorning our churches — to have 
 slackened the strictness of that union which was formerly 
 between us and those of our religion beyond the sea, an 
 action as impolitic as ungodty.' When they should have 
 been explaining the precepts of religion, and teaching men 
 how to lead a pure and holy life, the subjects of their 
 discourses had been ' the jus divinum of Bishops and tithes, 
 the sacredness of the clergy, the sacrilege of impropriations, 
 the demolishing of Puritanism.' Some he accused of 
 labouring to introduce an English, though not a. Roman 
 Popery. 'I mean,' he added, 'not only the outside and 
 dress of it, but equally absolute, a blind dependence of the 
 people upon the clergy, and of the clergy upon themselves, 
 and have opposed the Papacy beyond the seas, that they 
 might settle one beyond the water. Nay, common fame is 
 more than ordinarily false, if none of them have found a 
 way to reconcile the opinions of Rome to the preferments 
 of England, and to be so absolutely, directly, and cordially 
 papists. But it is all that fifteen hundred pounds a year 
 can do to keep them from confessing it.' 
 
 But though Falkland was thus severe against particular 
 members of the Episcopacy, he had no prejudice against the 
 
252 The White King. 
 
 order itself, and thought it, if purged of its abuses, a con- 
 venient form of government for the Church. He does not 
 forget that ' the first planters and spreaders of Christianity ' 
 at the reformation were Bishops ; and ' even now,' he says, 
 ' in the greatest defection of that order, there are yet some 
 who have conduced in nothing to our late innovation but 
 in their silence ; some who, in an unexpected and mighty 
 place and power, have expressed an equal moderation and 
 humility, being neither ambitious before nor proud after, 
 either of the crosier's staff or white staff; some who have 
 been learned opposers of Papacy, and zealous suppressors of 
 Arminianism, between whom and their inferior clergy, 
 infrequency of preaching hath been no distinction, whose 
 lives are untouched, not only by guilt, but by malice, scarce 
 to be equalled by those of any condition, or to be excelled 
 by those of any calendar ; I doubt not, I say, but if we 
 consider this, this consideration will bring forth this con- 
 clusion — that Bishops may be good men ; and let us give 
 but good men good rules, we shall have both good 
 governors and good times.' 
 
 His ardour for reform never inclined towards revolution 
 in either Church or State. He was willing that the 
 temporal power of the Bishops should be reduced, and that 
 their incomes, if necessary, should be diminished ; but he 
 did not think it fit, and did not believe that the House 
 would think it fit, ' to abolish, upon a few days' debate, an 
 order which hath lasted, as appears by story, in most 
 Churches these sixteen hundred years, and in all from 
 Christ to Calvin.' And though willing to cut down the 
 income and prune the privileges of the Episcopal office, he 
 was not favourable to any parsimonious process which 
 would impair ' the dignity of learning and the encourage- 
 ment of students.' In short, his view of Episcopacy was 
 this : it was an ancient and primitive, though not a divine 
 order ; it was one which, in his judgment, was both lawful 
 and convenient, and therefore, while prepared to reform, he 
 was not disposed to abolish it. ' Since all great mutations 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 253 
 
 in govemment are dangerous (even wliere Avhat is intro- 
 duced by that mutation is such as would have been profit- 
 able upon a primary foundation), and since no wise man 
 will undergo great danger but for great necessity, my 
 opinion is that we should not root up this ancient tree, as 
 dead as it appears, till we have tried whether by this or the 
 like topping of the branches, the sap, which was unable to 
 feed the whole, may not serve to make what is left both 
 grow and flourish.' 
 
 Here we have very clearly stated the principle of Falk- 
 land's political conduct. He held that all great mutations 
 in govemment were dangerous. While solicitous to carry 
 out with energy and directness a policy of wise and gradual 
 reform, he was opposed to violent and extreme changes 
 which would root up the ' ancient tree ' of the Constitution. 
 He voted at first for the expulsion of the Bishops from the 
 House of Lords. The Bill passed through the Commons, 
 but was thrown out in the Upper Chamber. A few months 
 later, it appeared in the House of Commons ; but this time 
 Falkland voted against it, because in the interval the 
 Puritan party had extended and deepened their designs, 
 and resolved on the destruction of Episcopacy and of the 
 Church of England. Hampden accused him of incon- 
 sistency. ' He was sorry,' he said, ' to find that a noble 
 lord had changed his opinion since the time the last BUI 
 to this purpose had passed the House ; for he then thought 
 it a good BiU, but now he thought this an ill one.' Falkland 
 effectively rejoined that 'he had been persuaded at that 
 time by that worthy gentleman to believe many things 
 which he had since found to be untrue, and therefore, he 
 had changed his opinion in many particulars as weU as to 
 things and persons.' But it soon became obvious that 
 Falkland's principle of conduct would separate him from 
 men who, from the very necessity of their position, were 
 intent upon 'great mutations.' During the summer of 
 1641 he drew further and further away from Pym and 
 Hampden, and the other Puritan leaders ; and the Koyalists 
 
254 The White King. 
 
 endeavoured to profit by this gradual change of opinion in a 
 man whose character and capacity gave him so well-deserved 
 an influence, by inviting him to take office. After very 
 great hesitation he accepted the post of Secretary of State, 
 along with Colepepper, as Chancellor of the Exchequer. He 
 came to this decision in a spirit of the purest patriotism ; 
 for he was by no means in sympathy with the policy of the 
 Court, and he disliked the King's insincerity, obstinacy, 
 and crooked ways. Towards Charles, indeed, he seems to 
 have entertained a personal prejudice; and affable, as he 
 was with most men, in his relation with the King, ' he did 
 not,' says Clarendon, ' practise that condescension, but con- 
 tradicted him with more bluntness and by sharp sentences, 
 a,nd of this his Majesty often complained.' In taking office, 
 he feared the King might require of him a submission 
 which he could not give, but he resolved upon facing every 
 difficulty in the hope that he might succeed in his great 
 desire of reconciling royalty and constitutional government, 
 the just prerogative of the Crown and the lawful rights of 
 the people (1642). 
 
 His hope was soon disappointed. He found there was as 
 much violence on his side as on the other, and more 
 duplicity ; that the breach between the two parties widened 
 daily, and that there was no prospect of throwing a bridge 
 across it. He himself had the misfortune — for in such a 
 time it was a signal misfortune — to be hearty in accord 
 with neither party ; he was a constitutionalist, without 
 being a Parliamentarian ; a royalist, without being a King's 
 man. If he disapproved of much which the Puritan leaders 
 did and purposed, there were actions and designs among 
 the courtiers which he even more vehemently condemned. 
 At the same time he lacked the moral strength to make 
 and lead a party of his own. So that day by day his un- 
 easiness increased. While his sagacious eye clearly foresaw 
 the dangers which were accumulating upon his beloved 
 country, it could not discover any way of averting or 
 escaping from them. With a longing hope that war might 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 255 
 
 still be avoided, he accompanied Hyde and Colepepper and 
 Lord Lyttelton, to York, where thirty-two Peers and sixty 
 Knights and Burgesses attended on the King. But the 
 storm broke. On the 22nd August, Charles raised his 
 standard at Nottingham, and thenceforth, during the short 
 remainder of his life, Falkland knew not a moment's 
 happiness. 'From his entrance into this unnatural war,' 
 says Clarendon, 'his natural cheerfulness and vivacity 
 grew clouded, and a kind of sadness and dejection of spirit 
 stole upon him, which he had never been used to. Yet 
 being one of those who believed that one battle would end 
 all differences, and that there would be so great a victory 
 on one side, that the other would accept any condition from 
 the victor (which supposition and conclusion generally sank 
 into the minds of most men,* and prevented the looking 
 after many advantages that might have been laid hold of), 
 he resisted those indispositions, et in luctu, helium inter 
 remecUa, erat. But after the King's return from Brentford, 
 and the previous resolution of the two Houses not to admit 
 any treaty for peace, these indispositions which had before 
 touched him, grew into a perfect habit of uncheerfulness. 
 And he who had been so exactly easy and affable to all 
 men, that his face and countenance was always present and 
 vacant to his company, and held any cloudiness and less 
 pleasantness of the visage a kind of rudeness or incivility, 
 became on a sudden less communicable, and thence very 
 sad, pale, and exceedingly affected with the spleen. In his 
 clothes and habits, which he had minded before always 
 with more industry and neatness and expense, than is usual 
 to so great a soul, he was now not only incurious, but too 
 negligent.' 
 
 At the Battle of EdgehiU (October 23rd), he exposed 
 himself with a recklessness which showed how great a 
 burden he felt his life to be ; a similar rashness during the 
 siege of Gloucester brought down upon him a remonstrance 
 
 * ' We all thought,' says Richard Baxter, ' one battle would 
 decide.' 
 
256 The White Kivg. 
 
 from his friend Hyde. 'It was not the office of a Privy- 
 Councillor and a Secretary of State to visit the trenches, as 
 he usually did ;' and Hyde conjured him, ' out of the con- 
 science of his duty to the King, and to free his friends from 
 these continual uneasy apprehensions, not to engage his 
 person to those dangers which were not incumbent to him.' 
 Falkland replied that, as the siege was at an end, there5 
 would be no further danger from the trenches ; but added,. 
 ' that his case was different from other men's ; that he was 
 so much taken notice of for an impatient desire of peace, that 
 it was necessary that he should likewise make it appear 
 that it was not out of fear of the utmost hazard of war.' 
 
 When it appeared that the one battle was not tha 
 decisive trial of strength which he and others had antici- 
 pated, and that there was no chance of an immediate 
 termination of the war, this ' martyr of moderation,' as he 
 has happily been called, grew more than ever dejected. 
 ' When there was any overture or hope of peace, he would 
 be more erect and vigorous, and exceedingly solicitous to 
 press anything which he thought might promote it, and 
 sitting among his friends, often after a deep silence and 
 frequent sighs, would, with a shrill and sad accent, in- 
 geminate the word " Peace, peace " ; and would passionately 
 profess that the very agony of the war, and the view of the 
 calamities and desolation the kingdom did and must 
 endure, took his sleep from him, and would shortlj' break 
 his heart.' He was that most unhappy of men — a man 
 yearning for an ideal which he knew, only too well, could 
 never be realized. 
 
 At length the end came. It was on the 20th of September,, 
 1643, that the armies of King and Parliament faced each 
 other on the field of Newbury, in Oxfordshire. Before the 
 battle began, Falkland told one of his friends that ' he was, 
 weary of the times, and foresaw much misery to his country,, 
 and did believe he should be out of it before night.' The- 
 first peal of cannon awoke in him, however, the old martial 
 spirit, and recovering his cheerfulness, he put himself inta 
 
A Moderate Statesman. 257 
 
 the front rank of the Lord Byron's regiment, and advanced 
 upon the enemy through a heavy fire of musketr}^ But a 
 bullet struck him in the lower part of the stomach, and ho 
 fell from his horse, mortally wounded. Next morning, his 
 body was found among a heap of slain, and conveyed to 
 Great Tew for interment. 
 
 ' Thus fell that incomparable young man, in the four-and- 
 thirtieth year of his age, having so much dispatched the 
 business of life, that the oldest rarely attain to that un- 
 common knowledge, and the youngest enter not into the 
 Avorld with more innocence; whosoever leads sach a life, 
 needs not care upon how short a warning it be taken from 
 him.' 
 
 Falkland's dust lies in Great Tew churchyard, but the 
 grave is unmarked and unknown. The house in which he 
 held his convvvia philosophica has been replaced by a new 
 one ; though in the park some of the ancient oaks and limes 
 are still in existence. He left his estates and the charge of 
 his three sons to his wife, with whom he had lived on terms 
 of perfect confidence and affection ; but the lands of Tew 
 and Burford have long passed away from his family.* 
 
 ** The student of Falkland's life and character will 7'efer (apart 
 from the histories and memoirs of the time) to his ' Poems,' edited by 
 Dr. Grosart ; Lord Lytton's ' Miscell. Works,' art. ' Pym versus Falk- 
 land'; Principal Tulloch, 'Rational Theology'; Matthew Arnold, 
 ' Miscell. Essays,' art. ' Falkland.' 
 
 VOL. I. - 17 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AN*' ABSOLUTIST STATESMAN — THE EARL OF STRAFFORD. 
 
 To dissociate the life of Strafford from the history of his 
 time is not easy, and yet in these vohimes we desire not to 
 intrude upon the province of the historian. We could not 
 hope, however, ,that the reader would forgive us if we 
 wholly ignored in the England of Charles I. the statesman 
 who so powerfully influenced for good or ill her fortunes ; 
 and we purpose, therefore, to reprint, with annotations and 
 additions, the ' Life of Strafford,' drawn up by his friend and 
 confidential adviser, Sir George Radcliffe, Avhich, to tho 
 general reader, will, we believe, have the recommendation 
 of novelty.* 
 
 Radcliffe begins by setting forth 'the heads' under which 
 he proposes to arrange his notes. 
 
 1. His Ancestors; 2. His Education at School, University, 
 Travel ; 3. His Studies, Inclinations, Abilities, Devotions ; 
 4. His Diet, Recreations, Health, and Sickness; 5. His 
 Buildings, Purchases, Sales, Suits; 6. His Wives and 
 Children; 7. His Private Friends, Servants, domestical 
 Employments, Accomps ; 8. His Public Employments in 
 his Younger Times as justice of Peace, Parliament Man, 
 Sheriff; 9. His Honours; 10. His Presidency of York; 11. 
 As Privy Counsellor ; 12. Government in Ireland; 13. His 
 Troubles and Trial; 14. His Death; 15. Epitaphs and 
 Testimonies of him since his death ; 16. Miscellanea, such 
 things as shall come to mind not referable to these heads. 
 
 » From the folio edition (1730) of 'The Earl of Strafford's Letters 
 and Despatches,' ii. 429, et seqq. 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 259 
 
 'These particulars,' he says, 'mil require some time, and 
 when I have done something in each of them (as I have 
 done in some of them), yet I shall not satisfy myself that I 
 have done what I ought or would ; other particulars may 
 occur, fit to be added ; so as I must still crave your patience 
 to expect that which, when it comes, will, I fear, fall short 
 of your expectation. But in the meantime I shall here set 
 down a short chronology of the principal occurrences of his 
 life, together with a touch of those virtues which I conceive 
 most worthy of your lordship's endeavours to imitate and 
 attend unto.' 
 
 1593. April 13th, on Good Friday, he was born in 
 Chancery Lane, London, in the house of Mr. Robert Atkin- 
 son, his grandfather by the mother. 
 
 [He was the eldest son of Sir William Went worth, Bart., 
 of Wentworth Woodham, Yorkshire. Having been educated 
 at St. John's College, Cambridge, he afterwards travelled on 
 the Continent, attended by his tutor, Mr. Charles Green- 
 wood, whose character he admired, and in whom he always 
 placed the greatest confidence.] 
 
 1611. He married the Lady Margaret, eldest daughter of 
 Francis [Clifford], Earl of Cumberland : he Avas knighted : 
 he went into France (about November). . . 
 
 161f. February, he returned into England after the 
 death of Prince Henry, and before the marriage of the 
 Queen of Bohemia. He served in Parliament as a knight 
 of the shire for Yorkshire. 
 
 1614. August, Sir George Savile died, who had married 
 Anne, his eldest sister. . . . About Michaelmas, that year. 
 Sir William Wentworth, his father, died. 
 
 1621. In Michaelmas Term he removed his family from 
 Wentworth Woodham into London, at the Austin Friars'. 
 
 1622. He had a great fever. When he began to recover 
 he removed to Bow about July, where, shortly after, his 
 wife, the Lady Margaret died, and therefore he removed 
 his family again into Yorkshire. 
 
 1623. The next spring (as I take it) he had a double 
 
 17—2 
 
260 The White King. 
 
 tertian, and after his recovery a relapse into a single 
 tertian, and a while after a burning fever. 
 
 1624. February 24th, he married the Lady. Arabella 
 Holies, younger daughter of the Earl of Clare ; a lady ex- 
 ceeding comely and beautiful, and yet much more lovely in 
 the endowments of her mind. A Parliament. 
 
 [Wentworth, in his early political life, espoused the 
 principles of what may be called the Constitutional Party, and 
 opposed the Absolutist tendencies of the Court with a vigour 
 of intellect and a force of eloquence which placed him at 
 once in the front ranks of Parliamentary orators. Charles I., 
 therefore, endeavoured to shut him out of this first Parlia- 
 ment of his reign by appointing him (November, 1625), 
 Sheriff for Yorkshire ; for as a sheriff was bound to attend to 
 his duties in his own county, it was obvious that he could 
 not take his seat at Westminster. A similarly unwelcome 
 honour was conferred on other leaders of the Opposition ; 
 but with these the King was too shrewd to associate the 
 ambitious Wentworth, who, he perceived, was anxious to 
 serve under the Crown, and to exercise that faculty of 
 governing men with which Nature had so largely endowed 
 him. ' Wentworth,' he said, 'was an honest gentleman.' But 
 he knew that the time had not yet come for a rapprochement; 
 and that to his foreign policy he was unquestionably hostile, 
 whatever might be his views on his home administration]. 
 
 1626. June 1st, William, second Earl of Strafford, was born 
 at Wentworth Woodham between the hours of ten and eleven 
 at night. A Parliament (February, 162|, to June, 1626). 
 
 ['The reforming spirit,' says Gardiner,* 'was strong in 
 Wentworth. To him England was a stage on which there 
 was much to be done, many abuses to be overthrown, many 
 interested and ignorant voices to be silenced. Since the 
 days when Bacon had been a member of the House of 
 Commons no man's voice had been raised so frequently in 
 favour of new legislation. Legislation was the only mode 
 in which, as a member of the House of Commons, ho could 
 '■> ' History of England,' vi. 12G-128. 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 261 
 
 proceed to action. There could be little doubt, however, 
 that he would prefer a shorter course. Power in his own 
 hands would be very welcome to him, from whatever 
 quarter it came. ... A courtier in the ordinary sense of 
 the word, Wentworth never was — never by any possibility 
 could become. He could not learn, like the Conways and 
 the Cokes, to bear a patron's yoke. Whatever his heart 
 conceived his mouth would speak. In any position oc- 
 cupied by him he was certain to magnify his ■ office. If he 
 had been in Becket's place, he would have striven for the 
 King as Chancellor, and for the Church as Archbishop. 
 .... Wentworth, in short, was with the Opposition, but 
 not of it. Charles acknowledged the difference between his 
 resistance, and that of Philip's. Though he took care to 
 include him in the penal list of sheriffs, he spoke of him 
 with kindness, as one who might yet be won. Wentworth 
 justified the preference.' His opposition was directed not 
 against Charles's principles of government — which were 
 really his own — but against the policy which he and 
 Buckingham pursued. The arbitrary disability placed upon 
 him by the King he took no steps, therefore, to evade. 
 ' My rule,' he said, ' which I will never transgress, is never 
 to contend with the prerogative out of Parliament, nor yet 
 to contest with a King but when I am constrained thereunto 
 or else make shipwreck of my peace of conscience, which I 
 trust God will ever bless me with, and with courage too to 
 preserve it.' For the present, the stern, ambitious, self- 
 contained man was content to stand aside, and 'fold himself 
 up in a cold, silent forbearance, . . expecting that happy 
 night when the King shall cause his chronicles to be read, 
 wherein he shall find the faithfulness of Mardocheus, the 
 treason of his eunuchs, and then let Haman (the Duke of 
 Buckingham) look to himself.'* 
 
 The dissolution of Parliament in June, 1626, delivered 
 Buckingham for a time from the attacks of his adversaries. 
 
 * ' The Strafford Letters,' "Wentworth to Wanderford, Dec. 5 
 (1625), i. 32. 
 
262 The White King. 
 
 It was speedily followed, on July 8tli, by Wentworth's dis- 
 missal from his official position in his own county. The 
 letter conveying the intelligence of this dismissal was 
 handed to him while he sat as High Sheriff in his court. 
 He was too proud to betray the anger which the insult had 
 kindled in him. In a few weU-chosen words he declared his 
 loyalty to the King, and called upon his hearers to bear 
 witness that he had always loved justice. 'Therefore, 
 shame be from henceforth to them that deserve it. For I 
 am well assured now to enjoy within myself a lightsome 
 quiet as formerly. The world may well think I have a way 
 which would have kept my place. I confess, indeed, it had 
 been too dear a purchase, and so I leave it.' 
 
 The ' way' to which he refprs was, in all probability, that 
 he should give his support to Charles's financial expedient 
 of a 'free gift;' but this, with his views upon the folly of 
 Charles's foreign policy, was impossible. When a 'free gift' 
 was succeeded by a ' forced loan,' his resistance became still 
 more decided ; and along with John Hampden and Sir John 
 Eliot, he refused to pay his allotted contribution, and was 
 immediately placed in confinement.] 
 
 1627. May : He was committed a prisoner to the Marshal- 
 sea by the Lords of the Council for refusing the royal loan. 
 About six weeks after his imprisonment he was confined at 
 Dartford, and not to go above two miles from that town in 
 Kent. October, at Dartford, the Lady Anne was born: 
 about Christmas he was released from his confinement. 
 Shortly after, the Parliament began, when he served as 
 knight for Yorkshire. 
 
 [In the third Parliament of Charles I., which was opened 
 by the King in person on the I7th of March, the Opposition 
 mustered in formidable strength; its leaders included Sir 
 Edward Coke, the profoundest lawyer of his time, whose in- 
 tellectual vigour had not been paralysed nor his courage 
 shaken by his nine and seventy years ; by Wentworth, in 
 the prime of his manhood, strong, ambitious, eloquent, and 
 conscious of his powers; by Denzil Holies, eldest son of 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 263 
 
 Lord Clare, Wentworth's kinsman by marriage, a sincere 
 friend of freedom, and a patriot in all his sympathies ; by 
 John Pym, a man thoroughly versed in the law of the rights, 
 usages, and privileges of Parliament, of a calm, composed, 
 and yet courageous intellect, capable of marching at the 
 head of the passions of the people without losing his own 
 self-possession, always prepared for any emergency, a true 
 ruler of men; by the sagacious Hampden, and by Oliver 
 Cromwell, the measure of whose genius was as yet un- 
 suspected by his colleagues, and perhaps by himself. 
 Against this remarkable confederacy the Court could 
 oppose only the influence of its traditions, the capricious 
 temerity of Buckingham, and the political craft and tenacity 
 of the King. 
 
 There was at first a disposition on both sides to act as if 
 neither were aware of the impending struggle for which it 
 was silently preparing. An interchange of courtesies took 
 place. In spite of his arrogant menaces, Charles feared that 
 he would have to give way; and the Commons, while 
 resolute to maintain the rights of the people, desired to 
 express their loyalty to the Crown. All, however, were not 
 so pacifically disposed as Sir Benjamin Kudyerd, who be- 
 sought the Chamber carefully to avoid every subject of vain 
 dispute, for the hearts of kings, he said, were as high as 
 their fortunes ; they would yield only when their subjects 
 yielded to them. They should build for his Majesty a 
 golden bridge, and give him that means of coming off like 
 himself, which he verily believed he was longing for. It 
 was their interest to trust him, for they had reached the 
 crisis of Parliaments, and its issue would determine whether 
 Parliaments were to live or die. But others faced the future 
 with more manful hearts, and a clearer vision, and per- 
 ceiving the drift of Charles's obstinate policy, sympathised 
 with Wentworth when he exclaimed: 'By one and the 
 same thing both the King and people were hurt, and by the 
 same must they be cured. We must vindicate — what? 
 New things ? No ? Our ancient, lawful, and vital liberties ! 
 
264 The White King. 
 
 'We must reinforce the laws made by our ancestors. We 
 must set such a stamp upon them as no licentious spirit 
 shall dare hereafter to invade them. And shall we think 
 this a way to treat a Parliament ? No : our desires are 
 modest and just. I speak truly, both for the interest of 
 King and people. If we enjoy not these, it will be im- 
 possible to relieve him.' And with an eye to the carrying 
 on of the King's Government, he proceeded to make some 
 practical suggestions towards a settlement of the points at 
 issue : ' There must,' he said, ' be no more illegal imprison- 
 ment, no more compulsory employments abroad, no forced 
 loans, no billeting of soldiers without the householder's 
 assent.' 
 
 In the course of this powerful speech Wentworth laid 
 down the substance of the 'Petition of Eight,' to which 
 Coke afterwards gave the form. 
 
 On the 1st of April, the Commons, by a unanimous vote, 
 granted a considerable subsidy, but they delayed the process 
 of converting their vote into law. It was simply in the 
 form of a resolution, and was unaccompanied by any 
 mention of the time when the collection was to be made, or 
 the Bill introduced. The House had inflexibly determined 
 that both were to depend upon the King's good faith. 
 Continuing its deliberations, it voted, on the 3rd, four 
 resolutions for the protection of the liberties of the subject. 
 Desirous of carrying with it the Upper Chamber, it sub- 
 mitted these resolutions to its approval at a conference, 
 April 7th to 9th. ' A prolonged discussion ensued, not 
 without interruption from the King — sharp messages, each 
 sharper than its predecessors. The fourth of these provoked 
 the House to wrath. It expressed the regret with which 
 he had seen their resolve to protest not only against the 
 abuses of power, but against power itself; and it bade them 
 take heed lest, by their tedious or useless delays to relieve 
 his necessities, they forced him to make an unpleasing end 
 to such fine beginnings. 
 
 On the 23rd of April, the Lords sent down five proposi- 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 265 
 
 tions in -which they embodied their reading of the 
 Commons' resolutions. These were wholly unacceptable ; 
 and on the 28th, the Commons, ignoring the royal message, 
 entrusted to a committee of lawyers 'and others of the 
 House ' the task of framing a Bill, which should contain 
 the substance of Magna Charta, and of the various statutes 
 referring to the liberty of the subject. The result was that 
 Petition of Right which forms one of the landmarks of our 
 constitutional history. Approved of by the Commons, it 
 was presented to the Lords on the 8th of May. It began 
 with an enumeration of the ancient safeguards of the 
 subject against arbitrary taxation. It then declared that 
 these had recently been violated ; that divers commissions 
 had been issued, with instructions, 'by pretext whereor 
 the people had been required to lend to the King, and 
 ultimately had undergone imprisonment and restraint, 
 contrary to the laws and free customs of the realm. It 
 related the old securities for personal freedom, such as the 
 Great Charter and the statute of 28 Edward III., and 
 declared that these, too, had been set aside. It protested 
 against billeting of soldiers and sailors on the people, and 
 martial law in time of peace. And after claiming im- 
 mediate redress of all these grievances, it concluded with 
 the following prayer: 'All which your Majesty's subjects 
 most humbly pray of your most excellent Majesty, as their 
 rights and liberties, according to the laws and statutes of 
 this realm. And that your Majesty would also vouchsafe 
 to declare that the awards, doings, and proceedings, to the 
 prejudice of your people in any of the premises, shall not 
 be drawn hereafter into consequence or example. And 
 that your Majesty would be pleased graciously, for the 
 further comfort and safety of your people, to declare your 
 royal will and pleasure that in the things aforesaid, all 
 your officers and ministers shall serve you, according to 
 the laws and statutes of this realm, as they tender the 
 honour of your Majesty and the prosperity of the Kingdom.' 
 Against a Bill which reclaimed the ancient liberties of 
 
266 The White King. 
 
 the people, and repressed universally condemned abuses, 
 the Lords could offer no valid objection. But the Court 
 party, under the Lord Keeper Williams, endeavoured to 
 neutralize its effect by introducing an ambiguous clause 
 into the concluding sentence, which, as modified by them, 
 assumed the following shape : " We humbly present this 
 petition to your Majesty, not only with a care of preserving 
 our own liberties, but with due regard to leave entire that 
 sovereign power wherewith your Majesty is entrusted, for 
 the protection, safety, and happiness of your people.' The 
 insidious clause which I have italicized was promptly 
 rejected by the Commons. ' If we admit of this addition,' 
 said Wentworth, ' we shall leave the subject worse than we 
 found him, and we shall have little thanks for our labour 
 when we reach our homes. Let us leave all power to his 
 Majesty to punish malefactors. These laws are not ac- 
 quainted with sovereign power. We desire no new King. 
 We do not offer to tread on his Majesty's prerogative. 
 From this one position we may not move, either in part or 
 in whole.' Said Coke : ' Magna Charta is such a fellow 
 that he will bear no sovereign.' And the Commons were 
 resolved that this fellow should prevail. They would not 
 retire from the ground they had taken up, and the Lords 
 at last surrendered. On the 24th of May they joined in 
 the Petition of Eight. 
 
 When it was presented to the King, ho showed the 
 utmost distaste to it. Not that he objected to all its 
 clauses. He was not unwilling to promise that he would 
 extort no more fresh loans, that he would compel no more 
 householders to receive soldiers against their will, that he 
 would not again commission military officers to execute 
 martial law in time of peace. But he would fain have 
 retained the power of sending his subjects to prison with- 
 out explaining his reasons for doing so. Yet this was the 
 most important of all the provisions. In defiance of statute, 
 the King had been accustomed to throw men into prison at 
 his will and pleasure, sometimes leaving them there untried. 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 267 
 
 But the Petition of Right provided that, on cause being 
 shown, the prisoner might require the judges to fix a day 
 for his trial, so that it should appear whether he was 
 innocent or guilty. This seems to us now the corner-stone 
 of the freedom of the subject ; but Charles could not be 
 made to understand it without many a severe lesson. 
 
 On Monday, the 3rd of June, Charles summoned the 
 Commons to meet him in the Upper Chamber. "With a 
 lowering brow, and in a sullen voice, he addressed tliem : 
 'Gentlemen, I have come hither to perform my duty — I 
 think no man can think it long, since I have not taken so 
 many days in answering the Petition, as you spent weeks in 
 framing it ; and I am come hither to show you that, as well 
 in formal things, as essential, I desire to give you as much 
 content as in me lies." The Petition was then read, and 
 Charles placed in his Lord Keeper's hand a paper, which 
 the Commons found to run as follows : ' The King willeth 
 that right be done according to the laws and customs of 
 the realm ; that the statutes be put in due execution ; and 
 that his subjects may have no cause to complain of any 
 wrongs or oppressions contrary to their just rights and 
 liberties ; to the preservation of which he holds himself in 
 conscience as well obliged, as of his own prerogative.' 
 
 The events which followed are related by the historian- 
 Ultimately, Charles was compelled to yield, and to return a 
 complete and definite answer. On the 7th of June, he 
 went down to the Lords, and summoning the Commons to 
 his presence, he expressed his regret that his previous reply 
 had not been considered satisfactory, and added that to 
 avoid aE doubtful interpretations, and to prove that there 
 was no dupUcity in his meaning, he was willing to pleasure 
 them in words as well as substance. Already he had 
 ordered the Clerk of the Parliament to erase his first 
 answer from the journals, and had handed to him in writing 
 that which he desired to substitute. ' Read your petition,' 
 he said, ' and you will hear that which I am sure will please 
 you.' Upon these words the Commons raised ' a great and 
 
268 The White King. 
 
 joyful cry,' which swelled into a loud shout of acclamation 
 when the old Norman formula, Soit droit fait comme il est 
 de'sird (Let right be done as it is desired), gave the royal 
 assent to the Petition. As he turned to quit the House, 
 ' I have done my part,' said the King ; ' wherefore if this 
 Parliament hath not a happy conclusion, the sin is yours ; 
 I am free from it.' 
 
 On Saturday, August 23rd, the Duke of Buckingham 
 was assassinated at Portsmouth ; and on October 20 th, the 
 King suddenly prorogued Parliament. Both these events 
 exercised a powerful influence on the after career of Went- 
 worth. The removal of Buckingham left open to him the 
 chief place in the royal council ; ■ and the prorogation 
 afforded time and opportunity for the negotiations between 
 the King and himself, which made it possible for. him to 
 occupy it.] 
 
 ' 1628. July, he was made Baron Wentworth, Newmarsh, 
 and Oversley by patent; but the Lord Savile was made 
 Baron before him. In Michaelmas term he was made 
 Viscount Wentworth (solemnly created), President of York, 
 and Privy Councillor.^ 
 
 [Such were the rewards of what Pym and his friends not 
 unnaturally called "Wentworth's apostasy ; his retirement 
 from the Opposition, and his acceptance of office, honour and 
 power under the Crown. When a man makes a change so 
 sudden and complete, when he abandons his old colleagues 
 and faces them as an antagonist and an enemy, he must 
 expect to be branded as a traitor, and to pay the penalty of 
 his treason in the world's after-mistrust of all his actions 
 and misinterpretation of all his motives. But, indeed, 
 Wentworth had never really belonged to the Opposition, 
 and from the first any impartial observer might have pre- 
 dicted that, sooner or later, he would join the royal party. 
 It is certain that in withdrawing from the Opposition he 
 sacrificed no political principles, put no stress or strain 
 upon his conscience. Stimulated by a powerful ambition, 
 and conscious of his great abilities, his sole object was power. 
 
An Absolutist Statesvian. 2:9 
 
 To govern men was the need of his nature ; he could not 
 rest in a subordinate position ; the second place was to him 
 intolerable. He had become a patriot because he hated 
 Buckingham, and because at that time the constitutional 
 party seemed to offer the best and widest field for the dis- 
 play of his rare endowments. When Buckingham fell, and 
 the service of the Crown was thrown open to his energetic 
 temper, he felt no compunction in transferring himself to it. 
 A political soldier of fortune — but no, he was something 
 more and better than that, for his great aim in obtaining 
 power was to promote his country's welfare as he saw and 
 understood it. To the King he showed an almost passionate 
 loyalty, but he was never a courtier ; he was too proud and 
 too reserved to stoop to the arts of a palace, or meddle in 
 the intrigues of the backstairs. Few great statesmen have 
 made so many enemies. The Queen hated him ; so did his 
 fellow Ministers, who intrigued against him, and ' seized on 
 his hot speeches against the great lords, his quarrels with 
 the royal household, his transports of passion at the very 
 council-table, to ruin him in his master's favour,' though in 
 this they never succeeded. He devoted himself with a 
 strange earnestness to State affairs, bearing rivalries with 
 as proud a spirit as he shattered opposition, restlessly eager 
 to extend and strengthen the royal authority, without 
 which he was powerless ; but, in his keen longing for order, 
 repressing abuses with a relentless hand, sweeping away 
 those private interests which his strong judgment per- 
 ceived to be illegitimate, and warmly protecting those 
 general interests from which he had nothing to apprehend. 
 An aristocrat by birth and temperament, he had not, like 
 Pym and Eliot, any sympathy with the people. They were 
 mere pawns upon the chess-board, to be moved at the 
 pleasure of supremely skilful players like himself. But he 
 nourished in his soul a passionate love of England. It was 
 his sustained purpose that England should be powerful 
 abroad and prosperous at home; only he connected that 
 power and prosperity with the absolute prerogative of the 
 
270 'JTie White King. 
 
 Crown, or, at all events, with the rule of a single capable 
 man. A strong executive, governing without reference to 
 Parliament, of whose delays, vacillations, and conscientious- 
 ness he was impatient, — a strong, firm, and laborious 
 executive, contemptuously ignoring popular rights, but 
 heroically careful of the public welfare, superior to all con- 
 siderations of personal gain, bending beneath the iron yoke 
 the great as well as the little, the Court as well as the 
 nation ; such was Stafford's political ideal, and it was this 
 which with all the resistless force of his character he strove 
 to accomplish.] 
 
 1630. Thomas, his second son, was born ; he died about 
 July at York ; his lungs were perished. October, the Lady 
 Arabella was born. 
 
 1631. October, Tuesday morning, his dear wife, the Lady 
 Arabella, died : I took this Earl out of bed, and carried him 
 to receive his last blessing from her. 
 
 ['The year 1631 was a year of sorrow to Wentworth. . . 
 In October, his dearly-loved wife, "that departed saint 
 now in heaven " to whom his heart ti.irned in his hour of 
 trial long afterwards, was taken from him. His affections 
 were as strong as his passions, and the stern demeanour 
 which he bore in the presence of the many, melted into 
 the tenderest attachment in that of the few whom he really 
 loved and respected. His grief was the more abundant as 
 he was himself the innocent cause of his wife's death. One 
 day, when she was in an advanced state of pregnancy, he- 
 stepped from the garden into the room in which she was 
 sitting. A large fly, which had settled on his breast, spread 
 its wings and frightened the weakly, delicate lady. She was. 
 prematurely brought to bed of a daughter at the cost of 
 her own life. The widower had many companions in his 
 grief. "The whole city had a face of mourning, never any 
 woman so magnified and lamented even of those that never 
 saw her face."'* 
 
 In 1632 {January) Wentworth was called upon, as Lord 
 ° S. R. Gardiner, vii. 230, 231. 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 271 
 
 Deputy of Ireland, to encounter difficulties infinitely more 
 formidable than any -which he had met in the North of 
 England. He did not leave England, however, until the 
 middle of the following year. In October, 1632, he was 
 married, privately, to Elizabeth, a daughter of Sir Godfrey 
 Rhodes, of Great Houghton, Yorkshire. She was probably 
 much younger than himself, and from a passage in a letter 
 which he wrote to her, within four or five weeks of their 
 marriage, would seem to have looked up to her stately and 
 reserved husband with as much awe as affection. We 
 transcribe the letter, with its various allusions to the wives 
 he had lost : 
 
 'Dear Bess, 
 
 'Your first lines were welcome unto me, and I 
 will keep them, in regard I take them to be as full of 
 kindness, as of truth. It is no pyesuTuption for you to 
 lurite unto me : the fellowship of marriage ought to carry 
 with it more of love and equality than any other apprehen- 
 sion. So I desire it may ever be betwixt us ; nor shall it 
 ever break on my part. Virtue is the highest value we 
 can set upon ourselves in this world, and the chief Avhich 
 others are to esteem us by. That preserved, we become 
 capable of the noblest impressions which can be imparted 
 unto us. You succeed in this family two of the rarest 
 ladies of their time. Equal them in those excellent dis- 
 positions of your mind, and you become every ways equally 
 worthy of anything that they had, or that the rest of the 
 world can give. And be you ever assured to be by me 
 cherished and assisted the best I can through the whole 
 course of my life, wherein I shall be no other to you than 
 I was to them, to wit, 
 
 ' Your loving husband, 
 
 ' Wentworth.'] 
 
 1633. Jcmuary, her ladyship went with me into Ireland. 
 July, he arrived in Ireland, and there took the sword. 
 
272 The White King. 
 
 1634. A Parliament in Ireland ; six subsidies granted ; 
 the King's debts all discharged. Most of the English Laws 
 (except some Penal Statutes) were then enacted in Ireland, 
 and a sum taken for the King's revenue to defray the 
 public charge, without extraordinary taxes and impositions 
 upon the people. 
 
 1635. He went in progress into Connaught, and there 
 found by inquisition the King's title to the counties of 
 Eoscommon, Sligo, and Mayo — Galway opposed, but after- 
 wards the jury (principal gentlemen of that county) con- 
 fessed the King's right upon their oaths in the Exchequer. 
 
 1636. He came into England : at Hampton Court, before 
 the King in full council, he gave an account of his govern- 
 ment in Ireland, concerning the restitution of the rights of 
 the Church, the establishing of English laws, the reforma- 
 tion of the army, the King's revenue, and discharge of his 
 debts, the securing of the seas, and the advancement of 
 trade, etc., with some future designs for the King's service 
 in that Kingdom : in all which he was highly approved 
 and commended. In the month of November, after six 
 months' absence, he returned into Ireland. 
 
 1636. He made a passage into Munster, and found the 
 King's title to some territories in Tipperary and the county 
 of Clare. 
 
 1639. He was sent for by the King, and in September 
 he went into England : he passed from the bar of Dublin 
 to the bar of Chester in thirteen hours. About Christmas 
 he was made Earl of Strafford (which is the name of the 
 wapentake, or hundred, in which his house, Wentworth 
 Woodham, stands), and Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. He 
 then moved the King for a Parliament in Ireland, which 
 was instantly summoned ; and afterwards for a Parliament 
 in England, against the beginning of the next year. In 
 haste he returned into Ireland, where he stayed about a 
 fortnight; in which time he sat in Parliament, had four 
 subsidies given them; appointed a Council of War, and 
 gave orders to levy eight thousand foot in Ireland ; which. 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 273 
 
 together with two thousand foot and a thousand horse, 
 which was the standing army in Ireland, and five hundred 
 horse to he joined with them, were to be sent into Scotland 
 under his lordship's command. At the same time the 
 Earl of Northumberland was to be General over thirty- 
 thousand foot and three thousand horse, to be levied in 
 England for the Scotch expedition; and James, then 
 Marquis, afterwards Duke of Hamilton, was appointed to 
 command a fleet of ships for the same design. 
 
 1640. A-pnl 2rd, Good Friday, he embarked again for 
 England, being sick of a flux and the gout ; he had a 
 stormy passage by sea. He came to London after the 
 Parliament there was begun, and not long after it ended. 
 His sickness increased much, and brought him to such 
 weakness as he was not able to sit up out of his bed half 
 an hour in a day. Upon his recovery the Earl of Northum- 
 berland fell sick, whereupon the Earl of Strafford was stayed 
 from going into Ireland and made Lieutenant-General of the 
 English forces, and sent into the north, where the English 
 army was. Before he came they were defeated at Newburn 
 under the command of Viscount Conway. 
 
 November. A new [the famous Long] Parliament began in 
 England, where he was first generally, afterwards particu- 
 larly, impeached of (sundry facts in all charged to amount 
 to) treason. He came up from the Northern Army to the 
 Parliament, was committed by the Lords to the Black Rod, 
 then shortly after to the Tower. What his charge and 
 answers were appear best by the copies of both. He was 
 allowed witnesses ; and the warrant to summon them was 
 granted on the Friday next before his trial, which was on the 
 Monday next following, the witnesses being mosb of them in 
 Ireland, and for things alleged to be done in that kingdom. 
 He had counsel also allowed (not to assist him in disproving 
 any matter of fact alleged against him, but) for matter of law 
 to make good, if they could, that his charge did not contain 
 treason ; and to answer the arguments to be brought by the 
 House of Commons to prove that the offences wherewith he 
 
 VOL. I. 18 
 
274 The White King. 
 
 was charged was treason ; wherein his counsel was required 
 to speak first, and might not reply, because of an old rule, 
 the King must have the last words. There was an order 
 made by the Lords in Parliament, in the beginning of 
 the King's reign, in the Earl of Bristol's case, that Peers 
 accused of treason should have both counsel and witnesses 
 allowed them to defend themselves. But the Earl of Straf- 
 ford had not a copy of that order. The proceeding in 
 a judicial way against him was laid aside; the reasons 
 whereof Avas declared in a speech of Mr. St. John's, in print. 
 One reason was, that since the beginning of King Henry IV., 
 when a law was made against trials for treason in Parlia- 
 ment, there had been no precedent of any man that had 
 been condemned in Parliament. Mr. St. John in that speech 
 said, that unto wolves and beasts of prey no law was to 
 be given. Thereupon a Bill of attainder was provided. 
 When it came to the question in the Commons House, some 
 members gave negatives, and their names were presently set 
 upon posts through the City as Straffordians. One gentle- 
 man came to a friend of his Lordship, asking pardon for 
 giving his affirmative vote for the Bill, saying, he did it 
 against his opinion, for he thought him not guilty, but he 
 desired to preserve his credit in the House, being confident 
 that neither King nor Lords would pass the Bill, and so his 
 vote might do him no hurt. The Bill passed in the House 
 of Commons and came to the Lords. 
 
 1641. May \st, Saturday in Easter week, the King came 
 to the Houses, and declared that his conscience was not 
 satisfied to condemn him, nor give assent to the Bill. This 
 public declaration aforehand (however it was procured) his 
 Lordship judged to be fatal to him, and so it proved. 
 Tumults arose in the City, who came to Whitehall crying 
 for justice; insomuch as many thought the King's person 
 was not safe there ; and some of the Lords were publicly 
 affronted ; many of them forebore to come to the House. 
 Those Lords that came, about a fourth part of the House, 
 ■ voted the matters of fact upon two or three articles of the 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 27* 
 
 charge ; one was, that he had levied war against the King,, 
 and there was some proof endeavoured to be offered, that he 
 had quartered a serjeant and four soldiers upon a man 
 in Ireland, for refusing to obey an order which he made as 
 Deputy of Ireland; and the proof of this was a copy of 
 a warrant to the Serjeant-at-Arms, to lay those soldiers 
 on this man. But there being no proof that it was a true 
 copy, for no man examined it, it was rejected by the Lords 
 from being read ; yet the vote passed. That his Lordship 
 had given such an order, that the soldiers were quartered 
 accordingly, and that herein he had levied war against the 
 King. Herein, lest memory should fail, let the journal of 
 the Lords' House be seen. Another thing voted by the 
 Lords was, words testified by Sir Henry Vane, at a com- 
 mittee of the Lords, the King being present. The words are 
 supposed to be directed to the King. You have an army 
 in Ireland to reduce them. None of the committee could 
 testify these words. Sir Henry Vane, twice examined, 
 remembered them not; but the third time he did call them 
 to mind, which made the Lord Digby declare in the Com- 
 mons House, that he was not satisfied; his speech is printed. 
 How best the words were voted by the Lords to be proved, and 
 the word them (to reduce them) was interpreted to be meant 
 of the people of England (not of Scotland) ; whereas mention 
 was made before of war with Scotland, the supply from 
 England to maintain that war. What other matters of fact 
 were voted I remember not. [See the journal for this.] The 
 matters of fact thus voted were referred to the judges, who 
 were of opinion that the fact so voted was treason. Where- 
 upon the Lords passed the Bill, there being then present 
 thirty-eight Lords, 22 in the afiirmative for the Bill, and 16 
 in the negative against it [May 8th]. 
 
 The tumults still continue out of the City. On Sunday, 
 May the 9th, the King advised with five Bishops and all 
 the Judges what he should do. The judges were asked 
 upon what grounds they had delivered their opinion to the 
 
 Lords, to which they would give no answer, but that as 
 
 JO 2 
 
276 The White King. 
 
 the case was put to them, it was treason, and some said, 
 they were not judges of the fact, but of the law. One of 
 the Bishops was of opinion, that the King, seeing he knew 
 his lordship to be innocent, ought not to pass the Bill. 
 Three of them declared, that although the King in his 
 private breast thought him innocent, yet he might and 
 ought to submit his judgment to those that were learned in 
 the laws, in a case of this concernment. Thereupon the 
 King signed the commission to pass the Bill, saying with 
 tears, that my Lord of Strafford's condition was more happy 
 than his. 
 
 On the Friday before, my Lord writ to the King, re- 
 leasing all his former promises and engagements to save his 
 life, which his lordship thought would be the best discharge 
 of the King's conscience. 
 
 He prepared himself for death with singular piety. P. 
 Carr, his ancient chaplain, told me, that he was the most 
 severe judge of himself that ever he knew. He had great 
 humility and charity towards his enemies beyond expecta- 
 tion, which being much above his natural strength, gave 
 'him great comforts, as my Lord Primate of Armagh can 
 testify. 
 
 Tuesday, the 11th of May, in the evening before his 
 death, he sent my Lord Primate to the King, to present his 
 last suit to his Majesty, that he would be pleased to 
 remember two of his friends, the E. of 0. and G. R Of all 
 persons he was freest from fear, going to death without the 
 least perturbation that way. He caused his chaplain to say 
 prayers upon the scaffold, according to the Common Prayer 
 Book, and make use of the 25th Psalm in prose. His last 
 speech to the people is extant in print, wherein he foretold 
 part of the ensuing troubles which this kingdom hath since 
 felt. He died like a gentleman and a Christian ; a martyr 
 for the Church and King : Gvjus memoria in benedictione : 
 preciosa in conspectv^ Domini mors sanctorum ejus. 
 
 [The trial of Strafford began in Westminster Hall on the 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 277 
 
 22nd. of March, 1641. The charges against him were 
 supported by the Commons in a body, and with them, also 
 as accusers, sat the Scotch and Irish commissioners. 
 Twenty-five peers acted as judges. The daily proceedings 
 were closely watched by the King and Queen, who sat 
 behind a treUised partition, but on the first day the King 
 with his own hands tore down the lattice work in front. 
 The hall was crowded with spectators, mostly of the upper 
 classes; moved either by sympathy with the prisoner or 
 his adversaries, or attracted by the pomp of the spectacle, 
 or influenced by the gravity of the issues which were at 
 stake. Strafford had never borne himself with greater 
 dignity, even in the flush of his prosperity ; and the cold, 
 calm pride of his bearing awed into silence the multitude 
 that surged around the entrance, while it commanded the 
 respect of his bitterest enemies. With his tall and hand- 
 some form prematurely bent by disease, but with his glance 
 as brilliant and as arrogant as ever, he moved to his place, 
 the bystanders moving their hats as he passed, and he, in 
 his turn, saluting them with grave courtesy. He had not 
 yet lost his confidence of security. Imprudently con- 
 temptuous of his accusers, and, having closely studied the 
 articles framed against him, he felt assured that he would 
 vindicate himself from the charge of high treason. But on 
 the second day occurred an incident which opened his eyes 
 to the real danger of his situation. He had expressed a 
 hope that he should be able, without difficulty, to repel the 
 inventions of his malicious enemies. Pym, who had been 
 chosen to conduct the impeachment, immediately replied 
 that it was against the Commons he was levelling so in- 
 sulting an accusation, and that it was criminal to tax them 
 with malicious enmity. Strafford saw his mistake, apologised 
 on his knees, and. thenceforward, mastering his natural 
 warmth of temper, suffered no sign of indignation or im- 
 patience to escape him, nor uttered a word which could be 
 turned to his disadvantage. 
 For seventeen days the great trial lasted, and for seven- 
 
278 The White King. 
 
 teen days, with admirable intellectual force and promptitude, 
 Strafibrd maintained his defence against the thirty 
 managers of the Commons, who relieved one another 
 alternately. Article after article was 'proved against him, 
 however, with a cogency which all his subtlety was unable 
 to evade ; and no impartial hearer could doubt that he was 
 fully convicted of grave abuse" of power and transgressions 
 of the law. On the other hand, even when his illegal acts 
 were collected and presented as a whole, they did not seem 
 to amount to the crime of high treason, as defined by 
 statute. Strafford skilfully availed himself of this defect in 
 the case of his assailants. In tones of becoming modesty 
 he acknowledged his errors and imperfections, excusing 
 them, but not justifying them, on the plea of his devotion 
 to the Crown. The contrast between the calmness of his 
 tone and the passionate violence of some of his antagonists 
 swayed the feelings of the audience in his favour ; and, 
 alarmed by this obvious change, the Commons twice 
 demanded that the Lords should proceed more quickly with 
 a trial which, they said, was consuming time of inestimable 
 value to the country. The Lords remembered, however, 
 that they sat there to judge and not to prosecute. To 
 support the charge of high treason, young Sir Henry Vane 
 produced a note of a speech of Strafford's, which he 
 had discovered while burrowing among the private papers 
 of his father, the Secretary of State. In this speech, 
 delivered at the time of the dissolution of the Short Parlia- 
 ment, Strafford spoke of the King as absolved and loose 
 from all rule of government : — ' Your Majesty having tried 
 all ways and been refused, shall be acquitted before God 
 and man, and you have an army in Ireland that you may 
 employ to reduce this kingdom to obedience, for I am con- 
 fident the Scots cannot hold out three months.' ' This 
 kingdom !' There could be little doubt that England was 
 meant, but the Commons could not prove that the re- 
 ference was not intended for Scotland. And further, it 
 was necessary to show that the proposed action, which 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 279 
 
 was to have been taken with the King's consent, could be 
 construed into treason against the King. 
 
 When it became evident that on this point the Lords 
 were by no means satisfied, the Commons, at the suggestion 
 of Sir Arthur Haslerig, resolved on dropping the impeach- 
 ment, and proceeding by a Bill of attainder. This change 
 was not in accordance with the views of Pym or Hampden, 
 who both believed in the adequacy of the impeachment, and, 
 moreover, were not without a last lingering hope of con- 
 verting the King to the Constitutional cause. Proposals 
 were submitted to Charles in 1641, which, if they had been 
 frankly accepted, might have saved Strafford, the Church, 
 and the monarchy. A ministry was to be formed out of the 
 majority in Parliament, Pym becoming Chancellor of the 
 Exchequer; the Earl of Bedford, Lord Treasurer; Denzil 
 Holies, Secretary of State ; Lord Holland, Foreign Secretary, 
 and John Hampden, Governor to the Prince of Wales. 
 Charles seemed at first to regard the proposal with favour : 
 but the Queen was against it, and the overtures from the 
 Scottish nobles rekindled his sanguine hopes. The Enghsh 
 army were gravely discontented with the Parliament on 
 account of the favour it had shown to the Scottish soldiers ; 
 and its ofiicers were eager to take advantage of this ill- 
 humour, march it upon London, release Strafford, and 
 threaten the two Houses with its vengeance. Charles 
 thought he might bide his time. But early in May, the 
 ' army plot,' as it was called, became known to Pym, who at 
 once perceived that no trust could be placed in the King, 
 and that the removal of Strafford was a necessity, if con- 
 stitutional government were ever to be restored in England. 
 The Bill of attainder was, therefore, pushed forward rapidly, 
 and its third reading was carried in the House of Commons 
 by a majority of 204 to 59 (April 21st), and in the Lords by 
 26 to 19 (April 29th), after much angry debate. Strafford's 
 doom was sealed. The King had pledged himself that not 
 a hair of his head should suffer, but he was powerless to 
 keep his word. I do not think it was possible, after the Bill 
 
280 The White King. 
 
 of attainder was passed, for Charles to have saved him ; but 
 it was due to himself, to his honour, to his regal word, that 
 he should have refused his assent. The Commons would 
 almost certainly have devised some means of overruling 
 him, and Strafford's head would still have fallen. They 
 could not have suffered him to escape; he was too 
 formidable an antagonist; but the King should have 
 stood inflexible. The Queen, however, with whom Strafford 
 had never been a favourite, professed to be alarmed by 
 the demonstrations of the excited populace, and urged 
 her husband to submit. Angry and ashamed — sincerely 
 anxious for the life of his great Minister — Charles appealed 
 to the Privy Council, and afterwards to the Bishops, to 
 help him out of his dilemma. From neither could he 
 obtain any assistance. Even the majority of the Bishops 
 recommended him to sacrifice one individual to the throne, 
 his conscience as a man to his conscience as a King. He 
 was still torn by conflicting emotion when he received a 
 noble letter from Strafford, urging him to pass the Bill of 
 attainder as the only means by which he could secure the 
 affections of his people. ' Sir,' he concluded, ' my consent 
 shall more acquit you to God than all the world can do 
 besides. To a willing mind there is no injury done ; and 
 as, by God's grace, I forgive all the world, so I can give up 
 the life of this world with all cheerfulness imaginable, in 
 the just acknowledgment of your exceeding favour ; and 
 only by that, in your goodness, you would vouchsafe to 
 cast your gracious regard upon my poor son and his sisters, 
 less or more, and no otherwise than their unfortunate 
 father shall appear more or less worthy of his death.' 
 Such a letter would have made a man of chivalrous temper 
 more resolved than ever to save its writer ; but it furnished 
 Charles with an excuse for abandoning him. Yet after 
 this act of cowardice his conscience was never at rest, and 
 he was troubled by an unavailing remorse to the end of his 
 career. Even on the scaffold, he remembered it: 'God 
 forbid,' he said, ' that I should be so ill a Christian, as not 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 281 
 
 to say that God's judgments are just upon me. Many 
 times He doth pay justice by an unjust sentence ; that is 
 ordinary. I will only say this — that an unjust sentence 
 that I suffered to take effect, is punished by an unjust 
 sentence upon me.' 
 
 Next day, January 10th, Charles despatched Secretary 
 Carleton to the Tower to announce to the Earl that his last 
 hours were running out, and to excuse, as best he could, his 
 King's desertion of him. Though he had no hope that his 
 life would be saved, yet that he should thus easily have 
 been abandoned, shocked him deeply. With his hand upon 
 his heart, and his eyes raised to heaven, he exclaimed, ' Put 
 not your trust in princes, nor in the sons of men, for in them 
 there is no salvation.' Writing to his Secretary, Slingsby, 
 he said : ' Your going to the King is to no purpose. I am 
 lost ; my body is theirs, but my soul is God's. There is 
 little trust in man.'* And the fate which he saw to be 
 inevitable, he prepared to meet with composure. 
 
 On the 11th of May, the last day of his life on earth, he 
 inquired if he might be allowed to see his fellow prisoner 
 and friend. Archbishop Laud. He was told that he must 
 first have leave from Parliament. ' No,' he said, ' I have 
 gotten my despatch from them, and will trouble them no 
 more. I am now petitioning a higher Court, where neither 
 partiality can be expected nor error feared.' He prepared 
 to send a message by Archbishop Usher, who had come to 
 counsel and comfort him in his few remaining hours. 
 ' Desire the Archbishop,' he said, ' to lend me his prayers 
 this night, and to give me his blessing when I do go abroad 
 to-morrow, and to be in his window, that by his last farewell 
 I may give him thanks for this and all his former favours.' 
 
 The last morning dawned upon the fallen statesman, and 
 found him still serene and courageous. He was probably 
 conscious that his life had been a failure ; but no symptoms 
 of that consciousness were apparent in his demeanour. The 
 Constable of the Tower wished to convey him to the scaffold 
 » Eushworth's ' Trial of the Earl of Strafford,' pp. 274, 278. 
 
282 The White King. 
 
 in a carriage, that he might escape the insults of the rabble. 
 ' Sir/ he replied, ' I can look death in the face, and the 
 people also. It is your business to see that I do not escape; 
 as for me, whether I die by the hand of the executioner, or 
 by the fury of yonder people, if such should please them, is 
 equally indifferent.' He set forth on foot, preceding the 
 guards, and casting his glances on every side, as if he were 
 marching at the head of his soldiers. In passing the cell 
 where Laud was confined, he paused. 'My lord,' he ex- 
 claimed, raising his head to the window where stood the 
 aged prelate, 'give me your blessing and your prayers.' The 
 primate stretched his hands towards him, but, overcome by 
 the violence of his emotions, fell back in a swoon. Tare- 
 well, my lord,' said Strafford, as he moved on, ' may God 
 protect your innocence.' He mounted the scaffold with a 
 firm step, followed by his brother, some clergymen, and 
 several friends. After kneeling in prayer for a few moments 
 he rose, and addressed the people. ' He wished,' he said, 
 ' for the realm all the prosperity on earth; in life he had 
 always worked to this end; dying, it was his only prayer, 
 that he besought each man who listened to him to consider 
 seriously, with his hand on his heart, if the opening of the 
 reformation of a kingdom ought to be written in characters of 
 blood.' ' Think well of this,' he exclaimed, ' when you return 
 to your homes !' He prayed to God that not the least 
 drop of his blood might be on the head of any, but he feared 
 they had entered on an evil course. Kneeling again, he con- 
 tinued at his devotions for a quarter of an hour ; then, 
 turning towards his friends, he grasped each by the hand, 
 and said a few parting words. ' I have almost done,' he 
 added; ' a single blow is about to make my wife a widow, my 
 dear children orphans, and to deprive my poor servants 
 of their master ; may God be with them and you. Thanks 
 to Him,' he continued, as he began to undress, ' I can doff 
 my coat with as tranquil a heart as if I was going to sleep.' 
 The executioner drew forth a handkerchief to cover his eyes. 
 ' Thou shalt not bind my eyes,' said Strafford, ' for I will see 
 
An Absolutist Statesraan. 283 
 
 it done.' After a brief prayer or two, he placed his head 
 upon the block, and gave the signal. The axe flashed in 
 the air ; every man drew his breath ; and Strafford was 
 no more. That unquiet, passionate, and noble spirit had 
 ceased its heroic endeavours to compass a ruinous aim. 
 The executioner held up to the people the bleeding head, 
 crying, ' God save the King !' and from nearly two hundred 
 thousand voices rose a shout of exultation. 
 
 Thus perished Strafford ; not as a traitor to his King, but 
 an enemy to the Commonwealth ; and though one cannot 
 but regret that so much genius and devotion should have 
 met with so bloody an end, one feels it difficult to say that 
 his sentence was unjust. The very intellectual greatness 
 of the man rendered him the more formidable an enemy to 
 the constitutional interests of the kingdom. While Strafford 
 lived there could have been no security that the system of 
 government with which he had been identified would not 
 be revived. His death not only delivered the country 
 from himself, but made it certain that he would have no 
 successor. That his execution was, from our modern point 
 of view, an act of illegality, must needs be admitted ; but 
 on the other hand, we must remember that his whole 
 career had been an absolute and almost contemptuous 
 defiance of law, and that he had provoked the contest in 
 which he fell a victim.] 
 
 We conclude with some passages from Sir George 
 Kadcliffe's description of his master's character, tastes, and 
 habits : 
 
 ' He was exceeding temperate in meat, drink, and 
 recreations. He was no whit given to his appetite ; though 
 he loved to see good meat at his table, yet he ate very 
 little of it himself: beef or rabbits was his ordinary food, 
 or cold preserved meats, or cheese and apples, and in 
 moderate quantity. He was never drunk in his life, as I 
 have often heard him say ; and for so much as I had seen, 
 I had reason to believe him. Yet he was not so scrupulous 
 but he would drink healths when he liked his company, 
 
284 The White King. 
 
 and be as sociable as any of his society, and yet still within 
 the bounds of temperance. In Ireland, where drinking 
 was grown a disease epidemical, he was more strict publicly, 
 never suffering any health to be drunk at his public table, 
 but the King's, Queen's, and Prince's on solemn days. 
 Drunkenness in his servants was in his esteem one of the 
 greatest faults. 
 
 ' He loved hawking, and was a good falconer ; yet in his 
 later days he got little time to see his hawks fly, though he 
 always kept good ones. He played excellently well at 
 priviero and mayo, and for company sake, in Christmas, 
 and after supper, he would play sometimes ; yet he never 
 was much taken with it, nor used it excessively, but as a 
 recreation should be used. His chief recreation was after 
 supper, when, if he had company, which were suitable to 
 him, that is, honest cheerful men, he would retire into an 
 inner room, and sit two or three hours, taking tobacco and 
 telling stories with great pleasantness and freedom: and 
 this he used constantly, with all familiarity in private, 
 laying then aside all state, and that due respect which in 
 public he would expect. 
 
 'He loved justice for justice itself, taking great delight 
 to free a poor man from a powerful oppressor, or to punish 
 bold wickedness, whereof there are sundry instances to be 
 given, both at York and in Ireland. This lost him some 
 men's good will, which he thought to be better lost than 
 kept upon those terms. One person of quality, whom he 
 had severely punished at York, came to be one of his 
 judges in the Lords' House, and there did him all justice 
 and favour (as the case then stood) in his last troubles; 
 who therefore deserves to be honoured, especially by us 
 that had relation to him. 
 
 'He was excellently well studied in that part of the 
 English laws which concerns the office of a Justice of 
 Peace ; inasmuch as one of the judges of assize, a great 
 lawyer, was well pleased to learn his opinion, in a matter 
 about the poor, and the statutes made concerning them. 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 285 
 
 By constant attendance at the Star Chamber for seven 
 years together, he learned the course of that Court, and 
 many directions for his carriage towards the pubhc. This 
 in those days was a most pleasant and useful employment 
 for a young gentleman, who is like to have any part in the 
 government of his country. 
 
 'He bore a particular personal affection for his King;* 
 and he was always a lover of Monarchy, although some 
 that have observed him in former Parliaments thought not 
 so. But they little knew with what respect and kindness 
 King James had used him ; so as certainly that Prince 
 thought him no enemy to his power. It is true he was a 
 subject, and sensible enough of the people's liberties ; and 
 he always thought that royal power and popular privileges 
 might well stand together ; and then only they were best 
 procured, when they went hand in hand, and maintained 
 one another. He always disliked the abuse of regal 
 authority to the oppression of subjects for private ends 
 and interests. Yet it being most hard and difficult to keep 
 the interests of the King and People from overcrowding 
 one upon another, the longer he lived, his experience 
 taught him, that it was far safer that the King should 
 increase in power than that the people should gain advan- 
 tages on the King. That may turn to the prejudice of 
 some particular sufferers; this draAvs with it the ruin of 
 the whole. . . 
 
 ' He was naturally exceeding choleric, an infirmity with 
 which he had great wrestlings; and though he kept a 
 watchfulness over himself concerning it, yet it could not 
 •be so prevented, but sometimes upon sudden occasions it 
 would break. He had sundry friends that often admonished 
 him of it, and he had the great prudence to take in good 
 
 * This is strongly brought out in Mr. Robert Browning's tragedy 
 of ' Strafford,' as when he makes Lady Carlisle say : 
 
 'The King — ever the King ! 
 No thought of one beside, whose little word 
 Unveils the King to him.' 
 
286 The White King. 
 
 part such admonitions. Nay, I can say, that I, one of his 
 most intimate friends, never gained more upon his trust 
 and affection, than by this freedom with him in telling him 
 of his weaknesses. For he was a man and not an angel, 
 yet such a man as made a conscience of his ways, and did 
 endeavour to grow in virtue and victory over himself, and 
 made good progress accordingly. 
 
 ' He was defamed for incontinence, wherein I have 
 reason to believe that he was exceedingly much wronged. 
 I had occasion of some speech with him about the state of 
 his soul several times, but twice especially, when I verily 
 believe he did lay open unto me the very bottom of his 
 heart. Once was, when he was in a very great affliction 
 upon the death of his second wife, and then, for some days 
 and nights, I was very few minutes out of his company. 
 The other time was at Dublin, on a Good Friday (his 
 birthday), when he was preparing himself to receive the 
 Blessed Sacrament on Easter Day following. At both 
 these times I received such satisfaction, as left no scruple 
 with me at .all, but much assurance of his chastity. I 
 knew his ways long and intimatety, and though I cannot 
 clear him from all frailties (for who can justify the most 
 innocent man ?) yet I must give him the testimony of 
 conscientiousness in his ways, that he kept himself from 
 gross uses, and endeavoured to approve himself rather unto 
 God than unto men, to be religious inwardly, and in truth, 
 rather than outwardly and in show. . . 
 
 ' But amongst all his qualities, none was more eminent 
 than his friendship, wherein he did study and delight to 
 excel ; a subject wherein I can worst express myself, 
 though I have most to say, and greatest scope to enlarge 
 myself For I cannot think of it without remembering 
 what I lost in his death ; a treasure which no earthly thing 
 can countervail; such a friend, as never man within the 
 compass of my knowledge had ; so excellent a friend, and 
 so much mine. He never had anything in his possession 
 
An Absolutist Statesman. 287 
 
 or power, whicli he thought too dear for his friends, he was 
 never weary to take pains for them, or to employ the 
 utmost of his abiHties in their service. . . In fine, he did 
 not seek friendships with all men; but when he desired 
 intimacy, his kindness did appear much more in effect 
 than in Avords.' 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A PHILOSOPHER OF THE EEIGN OF CHARLES I. — EDWAED, 
 LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY. 
 
 One of the most remarkable men of the period we are con- 
 sidering was Edward, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, who was 
 the first in England to reduce Deism to a system, and be- 
 came the virtual founder of Natural Theology, and of the 
 Philosophy of Common Sense. To no ordinary character 
 could such praise have been addressed as Ben Jonson has 
 embodied in the following lines : 
 
 ' If men get name for some one virtue, then 
 What man art thou that art so many now, 
 All virtuous Herbert ? on whose every part 
 Truth might spend all her verse, fame all her art. 
 Whether thy learning they would take, or wit, 
 Or valour, or thy judgment seasoning it. 
 Thy standing upright to thyself, thy ends 
 Like straight, thy piety to Grod, and friends. ; 
 Their later praise would still the greatest be. 
 And yet thy all together, less than thee.' 
 
 The praise, on the whole, was not ill-deserved. 'Few 
 men,' says Horace Walpole, ' have figured so conspicuously 
 in lights so various; and his descendants, though they 
 cannot approve him in every walk of glory^ would perhaps 
 injure his memory, if they suffered the world to be ignorant 
 that he was formed to shine in any sphere into which his 
 impulsive temperament or predominant reason conducted 
 him. As a soldier, he won the esteem of those great cap- 
 tains, the Prince of Orange and the Constable de Montmo- 
 rency ; as a knight, his chivalry Avas drawn from the purest 
 font of the "Fairy Queen." Had he been ambitious, the 
 
A Phvlosophei' of the Rtign of Charles I. 28S) 
 
 beauty of his person would have carried him as far as any- 
 gentle knight can aspire to go. As a public minister, he 
 supported the dignity of his country, even when its prince 
 disgraced it ; and that he was qualified to write its annals 
 as well as to ennoble them, the History I have mentioned 
 proves, and must make us lament that he did not complete, 
 or that we have lost, the account he proposed to give of his 
 embassy. These busy scenes were blended with, and 
 terminated by, meditation and philosophic inquiries. Strip 
 each period of its excesses and errors, and it will not be 
 easy to trace out or dispose the life of a man of quality with 
 a succession of employments which would better become 
 him. Valour and military activity in youth; business of 
 State in the middle age ; contemplation and labours for the 
 information of posterity|in the calmer scenes of closing life.' 
 Such, then, was Lord Herbert of Cherbury: soldier and 
 statesman, theologian and man of letters, knight-errant and 
 philosopher, he stands before us as a figure of deep and 
 singular interest — a figure all the more interesting from the 
 reflection of his fine qualities afforded by his 'Auto- 
 biography.' 
 
 He came of an honourable family, and was born at Eyton, 
 in Shropshire, in 1581. One of his brothers was George 
 Herbert, the Church poet. His abilities were very con- 
 spicuous in his early years, and not less so was his martial 
 temper. ' I remember,' he says, ' I was corrected sometimes 
 for going to cuffs with two schoolfellows, both being older 
 than myself At twelve years of age he was well versed in 
 the Greek tongue and in Logic, and was sent to University 
 College, Oxford, where his studies were twice interrupted — 
 first by the death of his father, and second by his marriage 
 to Mary, the daughter and heiress of Sir William H,erbert, 
 of St. Gillian (February 1st, 1598). The bride was one- 
 and-twenty, the bridegroom only fifteen; but though the 
 alliance was concluded for family reasons, it proved a 
 reasonably happy one. Herbert returned to Oxford, ac- 
 companied by his wife and mother, and remained there 
 
 VOL. I. 11) 
 
290 The White King. 
 
 until he was eighteen. Then for three years the little 
 domestic party — gradually enlarged by sons and daughters 
 being born to the young couple — alternated between London 
 and Montgomery Castle. 
 
 At the age of twenty-one, Herbert was not only a good 
 classical scholar, but well acquainted with French, Italian, 
 and Spanish, which he had taught himself, as well as to 
 play on the lute, and to sing his part ' at first sight.' He 
 tells us that his intention in learning the modern languages 
 was to make himself, as far as" possible, a citizen of the 
 world ; and that he cultivated music in order that he might 
 entertain himself at home, and refresh his mind after his 
 studies — so that he might not need the company of young 
 men, in whom he observed, in those days, much ill-example 
 and debauchery. 
 
 In 1600 he first appeared at Court. 'And as it was the 
 manner of those times,' he says, ' for all men to kneel down 
 before the great Queen Elizabeth, who then reigned, I was 
 likewise upon my knees in the presence-chamber when she 
 passed by to the chapel at Whitehall. As soon as she saw 
 me she stopped, and swearing her usual oath demanded, 
 " Who is this ?" Everybody then present looked upon me, 
 but no man knew me; till Sir James Croft, a pensioner, 
 finding the Queen stayed, returned back and told who I was, 
 and that I had married Sir William Herbert of St. Gillian's 
 • daughter. The Queen, hercLipon, looked attentively upon 
 me, and swearing again her ordinary oath, said, " It is a pitj' 
 he wa? married so young," and thereupon gave her hand to 
 kiss twice, both times gently clapping me on the cheek.' 
 
 On the accession of James T. he was made Knight of the 
 Bath, with the usual ceremonies belonging to that ancietit 
 order, and with more than the usual compliments from the 
 lords and ladies present, who admired his handsome person, 
 and combined grace and dignity of manner. Soon after- 
 wards he was appointed High Sheriff of his county. His 
 time was now divided between his private studies, his public 
 duties, and occasional visits to Court ; but there was a 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 291 
 
 monotony in this manner of life of which his active spirit 
 soon began to weary. Married at too early an age, he had 
 enjoyed nothing of the freedom and independence of young 
 manhood, and the caged bird beat against its bars. One 
 day he told his wife that he intended to cross the sea, and 
 accomplish the Continental tour then regularly undertaken 
 by young men of good family, if she would agree to secure 
 to their -children a certain patrimony, the equivalent of 
 which he Avould also provide. This was a precaution in 
 case the death of one of them should leave the other free to 
 make a second marriage. His wife refusing, he thought 
 himself at liberty to quit his home. ' I was sorry,' he says, 
 ' to leave my wife, as having lived most honestly with her 
 all this time,' but ' I thought it no unjust ambition to attain 
 the knowledge of foreign countries, especially since I had in 
 great part already attained the languages, and that I in- 
 tended not to spend any long time out of my country.' 
 
 Accompanied by Mr. Aurelian Townsend, 'a gentleman 
 who spoke French, Italian, and Spanish in great perfection,' 
 and attended by a valet who spoke French, and by two 
 lackeys with their horses, he crossed to Calais, some time 
 in 1608 or early in 1609, and made his way to Paris. 
 There he was well received by the English ambassador, Sir 
 George Carew, who introduced him to some of the noble 
 families of France. At the Duchess of Ventadour's in-' 
 vitation, he spent a few days with her at her father's 
 chateau of Mello. It happened one evening that a 
 daughter of the Duchess, about ten or eleven years old, 
 went for a walk in the meadows, with Sir Edward Herbert, 
 and several French gentlemen and gentlewomen in her 
 company. She wore on her head a knot of ribbon, which 
 one of the French gentlemen suddenly seized, and fastened 
 in his hatband. The offended damsel sharply demanded 
 its return, which being refused, she turned to Sir Edward, 
 and said to him : ' Monsieur, I pray you get my ribbon from 
 that gentleman.' Whereupon Sir Edward advanced toAvards 
 " him, hat in hand, and courteously requested him to do 
 
 19—2 
 
292 The White King. 
 
 him, Sir Edward, the honour that he might deliver the 
 lady her ribbon or posy again. A rude answer greeted 
 him. ' Do you think I will give it to you when I refused it 
 to her ?' . ' Nay, then, sir,' replied Sir Edward, ' I will make 
 you restore it by force.' The conclusion of the incident he 
 shall himself narrate. ' Putting on my hat, and reaching at 
 his, he, to save himself, ran away, and after a long career in 
 the meadow, finding that I had almost overtook him, he 
 turned short, and coming to. the young lady, was about to 
 put the ribbon on her head, when I, seizing upon his arm, 
 said to the young lady, ' It was I that gave it.' ' Pardon 
 me,' quoth she, 'it is he that gives it me.' I then said, 
 ' Madam, I will not contradict you, but if he dare say that I 
 did not constrain him to give it, I will fight with him.' The 
 French gentleman answered nothing thereunto for the 
 present, and so conducted the young lady again to the 
 castle. The next day I desired Mr. Aurelian Townsend to 
 tell the French cavalier that either he must confess that I 
 constrained him to restore the ribbon, or fight with me ; but 
 the gentlemen, seeing him unwilling to accept of this 
 challenge, went out from the place, whereupon I, following 
 him, some of the gentlemen that belonged to the Constable 
 taking notice hereof, acquainted him therewith, who, 
 sending for the French cavalier, checked him well for his 
 sauciness in taking the ribbon away from his graadehild, 
 and afterwards bid him depart his house.' All this ex- 
 quisite fooling about a child's topknot, Lord Herbert 
 solemnly assures us, was forced upon him by the oath he 
 had taken when he was made Knight of the Bath. Again 
 and again, and yet again, during his sojourn abroad, he 
 found himself or thought himself obliged to challenge 
 malaperts who had given offence to ladies. He records full 
 details qf each of these episodes ; but it appears that on 
 neither occasion did he and his adversaries actually cross 
 swords. Either the authorities interfered ; or his friends 
 declined to believe that so literal and gratuitous a discharge 
 of his vow of chivalry was one of the absolute duties of the 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 293 
 
 point of honour. Our ' philosopher of the sword,' however, 
 tells us that he understood his engagement in the strictest 
 sense, though he adds that, by nature, he was the least 
 quarrelsome of men, and never drew his sword without 
 great provocation. 
 
 He paints a glowing picture of the splendid hospitality of 
 his host, the Constable of France, who, when he departed 
 for Ghantilly, another of his country seats, begged his 
 guest to remain at Mello as long as was agreeable to him, 
 and placed at his disposal his squires, his pages, and a 
 complete staff of attendants. Herbert spent the whole of 
 the summer at this beautiful residence, perfecting himself 
 in the acts of the manege, under the teaching of the master 
 of the pages, M. de Mennon, and the principal ecuyer, 
 M. de Disancourt, and joining in wolf-hunts, wild boar- 
 hunts, and similar pastimes.- He also paid visits, at in- 
 tervals, to the Constable at Ghantilly, and describes with 
 infinite appreciation that famous palace of the Bourbons, 
 which, in our own time, the Due d'Aumale has invested 
 with so many gracious associations of art and letters. 
 After a stay of eight months, Sir Edward took leave of the 
 Constable, and the old and the young knight parted from 
 each other with an exchange of those courtly compliments 
 of which the present age has lost the secret. 
 
 On his return to Paris he made the acquaintance of the 
 celebrated scholar, Isaac Casaubon, and profited much by 
 his learned conversation, while continuing to cultivate the 
 use of arms and the science of horsemanship — playing on 
 the lute — and singing, according to the rules of the French 
 masters. Sometimes he shone ' a bright particular star ' 
 in the court of Henry IV., or in that of the, gay and gallant 
 Queen Marguerite, who distinguished the handsome young 
 Englishman by her special favour, and at any ball or 
 masque publicly placed him next to her chair. On one 
 occasion he was standing by her side, awaiting the entrance 
 of the dancers, when they were surprised by a louder 
 knocking at the door than the laws of etiquette allowed. 
 
^94 The White King. 
 
 When the uncourtly visitor appeared, a loud murmur was 
 heard among the ladies. ' It is M. de Balagny,' and each 
 hastened to anticipate her neighbour in inviting him to 
 take a seat beside her. And when one of the gentlewomen 
 had had his company for awhile, another would start up : 
 ' You have enjoyed him long enough ; it is my turn to talk 
 to him now.' Sir Edward looked with much astonishment 
 at the personage distinguished by such flattering attentions, 
 for he was plainly and even poorly dressed, and by no 
 means attractive in form or figure ; and he wore his grizzled 
 hair cropped close to his head. In explanation he was told 
 that JVI. de Balagny was one of the bravest chevaliers in the 
 Avorld, having killed eight or nine men in single combat ; 
 and that it was for this reason the ladies lavished upon 
 him their compliments. It was the custom of French 
 gentlewomen to reward such gallantry, knowing that they 
 must look to it for the protection of their honour. 
 
 In the following February Sir Edward, accompanied by 
 Sir Thomas Lucy, returned to England, experiencing on 
 the voyage from Dieppe a terrible storm, during which he 
 displayed, as with his characteristic egotism he assures us, 
 his ' usual unshaken courage. Thereafter he repaired to 
 Montgomery Castle, where he spent a few quiet months 
 with his wife and family, recreating himself with his 
 studies, and with the chivalrous exercises to which' he was 
 so partial. 
 
 In 1634, Prince Maurice of Orange, one of. the best 
 captains of the age, in a quarrel which had arisen between 
 Germany and the Low Countries, laid siege to Juliers, with 
 a Dutch army, assisted by French and English auxiliaries. 
 Among the latter Sir Edward made his appearance as a 
 volunteer. Various attacks were directed against the 
 beleaguered town.; and one day, when Herbert and his 
 commander, Sir Edward Cecil, visited the point where the 
 French were assaulting one of the bastions, they came 
 across the redoubtable swordsman, Balagny, who was 
 serving in the French force with the rank of Colonel. 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 295 
 
 ' Sir,' said he, ' I am told you are one of the bravest of 
 your nation, and I — I am Balagny ! Let us see who will 
 outvie the other.' Sword in hand, he leaped into the 
 ditch, followed immediately by our English gallant, and, 
 amidst an incessant storm of shot, they advanced towards 
 the enemy's works. As the balls whistled more and more 
 furiously past him, 'Par dieu, it is very hot here,' ex- 
 claimed Balagny, and he began to hesitate, ' You shall go 
 first, sir, or I will not' go at all,' rejoined Sir Edward. 
 Whereupon the Frenchman calmly wheeled round and 
 bolted back to the trenches, followed by the English 
 cavalier, with slow and stately steps, and the air of one to 
 whom retreat was an unusual and unpleasant business. 
 
 This bravado was not at all to the taste of the Prince 
 of Orange ; but nothing could restrain the chivalry of our 
 (Quixotic hero. He next involved himself in a dispute with 
 Lord Howard of Walden, who, returning from a fete where, 
 according to Flemish custom, wine had flowed immoderately, 
 took offence at a merry speech of Sir Edward. A meeting 
 was agreed upon; and it was arranged that the two com- 
 batants should fight on horseback with swords. Herbert 
 accordingly betook himself to the appointed rendezvous. 
 He waited there until his patience was exhausted, and 
 waited in vain, for his opponent had been detained by the 
 officers of his regiment, who were disgusted at so frivolous 
 a quarrel in time of open war. At length our champion 
 rode off to the French- quarters, where, recalling the 
 challenge from Balagny, which had had so ludicrous a 
 termination, he went in search of him to propose one on 
 his own account. ' I hear,' said he, ' that you have a fair 
 mistress, and that the scarf you wear is her gift. I am 
 ready to maintain that mine is fairer, and that I will do for 
 her sake as much as you will do for yours.' Balagny, 
 unlike our English knight, had nothing of the Quixote in 
 him, and endeavoured to evade the test by an indecent 
 joke. ' Sir,' replied Herbert, ' you speak more like a 
 libertine than a cavalier,' and departed in search of ad- 
 
296 The White Kinr]. 
 
 venture elsewtelre. He had not to go far. In the English 
 quarters he came upon Sir Thomas Somerset, who was 
 manoeuvring with a dozen or more of troopers, and Sii* 
 Thomas letting fall some slighting speech in reference to 
 the affair with Lord Howard of Walden, Herbert broke 
 through his troop of horsemen, rushed at him full tilt, and 
 would have run him through, if a certain Lieutenant 
 Pritchard had not interfered. He was preparing for a 
 second charge, when his adversaries prudently retired to 
 their tents before so doughty a hero, leaving him to count 
 the thrusts in his doublet and breeches, and the notches 
 upon his sword and hilt. 
 
 There was nothing left for him to do but to regain the 
 trenches, and content himself with a soldier's ordinary 
 duties. Much to his chagrin the siege came to an end 
 without affording him an opportunity of punishing Lord 
 Howard ; but he must have been satisfied with the honours 
 paid to his person on his return to England. Illustrious 
 personages competed with one another for copies of his 
 portrait. Qiieen Anne showed him so marked a partiality 
 that rumours were circulated injurious to her fame; and 
 her mother, through the medium of her brother, Ulric, 
 Duke of Holstein, remonstrated with her oil her injudicious 
 conduct. ' In Court a great person sent for me divers 
 times to attend her,' says Herbert, ' which summons I 
 obeyed, yet God knoweth I declined coming to her as much 
 as conveniently I could without incurring her displeasure.' 
 It was in Queen Anne's apartments that he gave another 
 instance of his impetuosity of temper. A Scotch gentleman 
 had snatched a ribbon from Miss Middlemore, the Queen's 
 favourite maid of honour, who begged Sir Edward to obtain 
 its restoration. The pilferer being unwilling to part with it; 
 Herbert seized him by the throat, and would have thrown 
 him to the ground, but for the intervention of the by- 
 standers. Arrangements were made for a hostile meeting 
 in Hyde Park, but it was prevented by an injunction from 
 the Lords of the Council. One cannot help being amused 
 
A Philosoiiher of the Reign of Charles 1. 297 
 
 by the tendency whicli Sir Edward's affaires d'honneur had 
 to repeat themselves. The affront — the challenge — the 
 fiasco ! In every quarrel one finds these three stages repro- 
 duced ad nauseam. 
 
 The portrait of this handsome gentleman — with his fine 
 features and swarthy complexion — was the cause of an 
 adventure which, in all its details, is curiously illustrative 
 of the manners of the time. There was a certain Lady 
 Ayres, who had obtained a copy of it in miniature, and she 
 hung it from her neck in such a .manner that it might find 
 a balmy resting-place upon her bosom. When this came 
 to her husband's knowledge, he not unnaturally conceived 
 a strong suspicion of Sir Edward, though, if Sir Edward 
 may be credited, it was absolutely without cause. He him- 
 self was ignorant of the lady's feelings towards him, until, 
 one day, having entered her chamber, he saw her, through 
 the rich hangings of her bed, reclining upon it, with a 
 Hghted taper in one hand, and a portrait in the other, 
 which she contemplated with a long and passionate gaze* 
 At his approach she extinguished the taper, and concealed 
 the portrait; but his curiosity had been excited, and 
 drawing the miniature from her not unwilling hand, he 
 discovered, to his surprise, that it was a portrait of himself ! 
 If in this little incident Lady Ayres must be taken to have 
 played the part of Potiphar's wife, Sir Edward seems to have 
 imitated the example of Joseph ; and feeling that his self- 
 denial might seem incredible without some explanation, he 
 informs us that his indifference towards Lady Ayres and a 
 certain great personage arose from his devotion to — not his 
 wife, I regret to say — but a lady whom he describes as 
 the fairest of her time. 
 
 The complications in which he found himself involved 
 brought on an attack of fever. When, after an illness of 
 some weeks, he began to recover, his friends apprised him 
 that Sir John Ayres intended to murder him in his bed. 
 He immediately sent a message to Sir John, expressing his 
 astonishment that he should conceive so dishonourable a 
 
298 The White King. 
 
 design, and assuring him of his readiness to meet him 
 as soon as he could stand on his feet. The reply was 
 ambiguous; for Sir John, still believing himself dis- 
 honoured, was meditating upon various schemes of revenge. 
 Herbert, however, was too vigilant to be taken by surprise ; 
 and his enemy wrote to request an interview, promising to 
 adopt no unfair measures. Sir Edward refused to meet him, 
 except under the usual conditions of the duel. But, one 
 day, when he had gone to Whitehall with only a couple of 
 lackeys in attendance upon him. Sir John Ayres, with four 
 armed men, laid an ambush for him 'in a place called 
 Scotland Yard.' Waiting until Herbert had mounted his 
 horse at Whitehall Gate, he made a rush at him, with 
 sword and dagger, but fortunately, ia the blindness of his 
 fury, only wounded the horse in the chest. The startled 
 animal swerved quickly on one side, giving Sir Edward 
 time to draw his sword. In the combat which followed, 
 Sir Edward's sword was broken, and a passer-by, seeing 
 him disarmed, and his horse covered with blood, cried out 
 to him several times : ' Kide away ! Kide away !' But the 
 shame of flight was more than our hero could endure. He 
 attempted to dismount, and had already got one foot to the 
 ground, when the wounded animal, continually harassed by 
 the fighting men, pressed up against him, and threw him 
 down, with his other foot in the stirrup. Herbert gave 
 himself up as lost ; but as Ayres crept round the horse to 
 fall upon him with his sword, he suddenly seized his enemy 
 by both legs, and jerked him to the ground on his back. 
 
 The two combatants sprang to their feet together; and 
 Herbert found himself face to face with Sir John, who 
 was standing with two men on eiher side, his brother 
 behind, and at least twenty or thirty friends and atten- 
 dants grouped around. Sir Edward suddenly ran at him 
 with his broken sword, and dealt him a blow in the middle 
 of his chest which again felled him to the ground, his head 
 downwards and his feet in the air. His men immediately 
 threw themselves upon Sir Edward, and it must have gone 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 299 
 
 hard with him, had not a Welshman and a Scotch gentle- 
 man, who came upon the scene, hastened to his assistance, 
 and engaged a couple of his assailants. Against two others 
 Sir Edward held his ground, until Ayres, recovering his feet, 
 made another attack, and plunged his dagger into his side, 
 when Sir Henry Gary (afterwards Lord Falkland), arriving 
 opportunely, plucked it out. A third time Herbert felled 
 his enemy ; and, bestriding his prostrate body, struck at 
 him as hard as he could with his shattered sword, wounding 
 him in several places, and almost cutting off his left hand 
 — when his friends, thinking Sir John had had enough, 
 took him by the head and shoulders, dragged him out of 
 this Homeric fray, and conveyed him to Whitehall Stairs, 
 where they took boat. Herbert, remaining master of the 
 field of battle, picked up his defeated adversary's weapons, 
 and bore them off as spolia opima. As soon as his wounds 
 were healed — that is, in about ten days — he sent a letter to 
 Sir John Ayres, challenging him to mortal combat; but 
 the latter replied that the seducer of his wife he would 
 only shoot at with a musket out of an open window. 
 
 So desperate and prolonged a fight in one of the most 
 public places of the metropolis necessarily made a good 
 deal of noise ; and the Privy Council held an investigation 
 into the circumstances. After full inquiry, they were 
 satisfied that Herbert was innocent of the crime imputed 
 against him. 
 
 Three years later, the protracted war between Spain and 
 Holland recalled him to the Low Countries. The disputed 
 succession to Cleves and Juliers was still unsettled, and the 
 Prince of Orange and the Marquis Spinola were contending 
 for the fortified places on the banks of the Rhine. Herbert 
 received a courteous welcome from the Prince, and served 
 under him at the siege of Emmerich and Rus. Considera- 
 tions of space — and compassion for the reader — prevent us 
 from dwelling on the anecdotes with which our egotistical 
 cavalier has embroidered his brief narrative of the campaign 
 
300 The White King. 
 
 of 1614. They have no historical value, nor any other 
 interest than that which lies in their illustration of his 
 extravagant knight-errantry. When the two armies retired 
 into winter quarters, Herbert visited Germany, Switzerland, 
 and Italy. In the course of his tour he went to Venice, 
 Kome and Florence ; and has left us a curious itinerary, in 
 which he writes like a man who has bestowed his aifections 
 on one art only, that of music, and has no time or thought 
 for any other. At Rome he got into trouble with the 
 Inquisition, and was obliged to make a hurried departure. 
 At Turin he was commissioned by the Duke of Savoy to 
 levy in Languedoc four thousand Huguenots, and march 
 them into Piedmont. To Languedoc accordingly he took 
 his way, and paid a visit to Lyons ; but embroiled himself 
 with the Governor, to whom, of course, he did not fail to 
 send a challenge, though, equally of course, nothing came 
 of it, and so he journeyed on to the sea-coast, and returned 
 to England. 
 
 In 1616, on the recommendation of George Villiers, Duko 
 of Buckingham, he was appointed Ambassador to France, 
 for the purpose of renewing the good understanding 
 formerly existing between the two Crowns. A sum of 
 £600 to £700 was placed in his hands for the expenses of 
 his journey ; which sum, on the following night, he had to 
 defend — in his shirt, S.nd with sword drawn, against a band 
 of thieves who had gained admission to his house. While 
 preparing for his departure, he fell into a controversy with 
 Sir Robert Vaughan, and received a cartel from him. But 
 it was the old, old story : at the appointed place of meeting 
 no Sir Robert appeared ; and the duel was finally prevented 
 by the interposition of the Lord of the Privy Seal, who, at 
 the King's command, informed Sir Edward that, while 
 invested with a public character, he must refrain from 
 implicating himself in private quarrels. 
 
 On his arrival in Paris, he took up his residence in the 
 Rue de Tpumon, in the Faubourg St. Germain. As soon 
 as he had settled the details of his household, he repaired 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 301 
 
 to Tours, where he had his first audience of the King, 
 Louis XIII., and here I must quote his own words : 
 
 ' I did assure the King,' he says, ' of the great afiection 
 which the King my master bore him, not only out of the 
 ancient alliance betwixt the two Crowns, but because 
 Henry IV., and the King my master, had stipulated with 
 each other, that whensoever any one of them died, the 
 survivor should take care of the other's child. I assured 
 him further, that no charge was so much imposed 
 upon me by my' instructions, as that I should do good 
 offices betwixt both kingdoms ; and therefore that it were a 
 great fault in me, if I behaved myself otherwise than with 
 all respect to his Majesty. This being done, I presented 
 to the King a letter of credence from the King my master. 
 The King assured me of a. reciprocal affection to the King 
 my master, and of my particular welcome to his Court. 
 His words were never many; as being so extreme a 
 stutterer that he would sometimes hold his tongue out of 
 his mouth a good while before he could speak so much as 
 one word. He had besides a double row of teeth, and was 
 observed seldom or never to spit or blow his nose, or to 
 sweat much, though he was very laborious, and almost 
 indefatigable in his exercises of hawking and hunting, to 
 which he was much addicted, Neither did it hinder him, 
 though he was burst in his body, as men call it; or 
 herniosus [ruptured] ; for he was noted in those sports, 
 though oftentimes on foot, to tire not only his courtiers, 
 but even his lackeys, being equally insensible, as some 
 thought, either of heat or cold. His understanding and 
 natural parts were as good as could be expected in one 
 that was brought up in so much ignorance, which was on 
 purpose so done that he might be the longer governed ; 
 howbeit he acquired in time a great knowledge of affairs, 
 as conversing for the most part with wise and active 
 persons. He was noted to have two qualities incident to 
 all who are ignorantly brought up, suspicion and dis- 
 simulation; for as ignorant persons walk so much in the 
 
302 The White King: 
 
 dark, they cannot be exempt from fear of stumbling ; and 
 as they are Hkewise deprived of, or deficient in those true: 
 principles by which they should govern both public an(J 
 private actions in a wise, solid, and demonstrative way, 
 they strive commonly to supply their imperfections with 
 covert arts, which though it may be sometimes excusable 
 in necessitous persons, and be indeed frequent among thosa 
 who negociate in small matters, yet condemnable in princes,, 
 who, presiding upon foundations of reason and strength,, 
 ought not to submit themselves to such poor helps. How- 
 beit, I must observe, that neither his fears did take away 
 his courage when there was occasion to use it, nor his. 
 dissimulation extend itself to the doing of private mischiefs, 
 to his subjects, either of one or the other religion.' 
 
 This is admirable character-paintin_g : one could wish 
 that Herbert had given us more of it, and less of the 
 trivial details of the many quarrels into which his im-. 
 petuous temperament hurried him. 
 
 So far as I am aware, none of the French memoir- 
 writers have taken notice of Herbert's mission. In his 
 own autobiography, he has preserved Only a few personal 
 anecdotes, as he had formed the idea of writing a com-, 
 prehensive political narrative, and with this view preserved' 
 all his despatches. The general course of his embassy was 
 tranquil enough, and made no demand upon his diplomatic- 
 capacity, with which, I should suppose, our hot-tempered 
 knight was not very richly endowed. So that he has very 
 little to tell us, except of the order of his household and 
 the maintenance of his table — that he grew an inch in 
 stature on recovering from an attack of fever — and that. 
 his wife having refused to accompany him to France, he 
 did not preserve his fidelity quite as strictly as one would 
 have expected of the devout author of 'De Veritate.' 
 
 Thus it happens that in his ' Autobiography' he has not. 
 a word to say respecting the quarrels between the .King 
 and his mother, or concerning the Thirty Years' War, which 
 broke out in 1618 ; and one might imagine that he con-- 
 
A Fhilosopher of the Reign of dearies I. 303 
 
 sidered the most interesting episode of his embassy to have 
 been a certain promenade in the Tuileries garden, where he 
 had the honour of giving his arm to the Queen, Anne of 
 Austria : — ' Walking thus to a place in the garden where 
 some orange-trees grew, and here, discoursing with her 
 Majesty bare-headed, some small shot fell on both our 
 heads; the occasion whereof was this, the Kingf beinsr in 
 the garden, and shooting at a bird in the air, which he did 
 with much perfection, the descent of his shot fell just upon 
 us; the Queen was. much startled herewith; when I coming 
 nearer to her, demanded whether she had received any 
 hann, to which she answering us, and therewith taking two 
 or three small pellets from her hair, it was thought fit to 
 send a gardener to the King, to tell him that her Majesty 
 was there, and that he should shoot no more that way.' 
 Directly afterwards, the old Duke de Bellegarde, who 
 professed to be an adorer of the Queen, stole behind her, 
 and by gently dropping some comfits upon her blonde 
 tresses, threw her into a fresh alarm. Herbert justly re- 
 primanded the Duke for his foolish joke. ' I wonder,' said 
 he, ' that so old a courtier can find no other means to 
 entertain ladies than by making them afraid.' 
 
 The even tenour of Sir Edward's mission was interrupted 
 at length by a martial flourish. When the Jesuit faction 
 triumphed in the royal councils, and a campaign, against 
 the Huguenots was resolved upon, Sir Edward received 
 instructions to offer his master's mediation (1622). In due 
 course he presented himself before Louis XIIL, who had 
 laid siege to St. Jean d'Angdly ; but by him was referred 
 to his Minister and favourite, M. de Luynes. The latter 
 treated him with studied insolence. What was the 
 ambassador's business ? Sir Edward answered that King 
 James, his master, had commanded him to mediate a peace 
 between his Majesty and his Protestant subjects, and that 
 he desired to do so upon such fair and equal terms as 
 might comport with the honour of France and the cordial 
 understanding between the two kingdoms. De Luynes 
 
304 The White King. 
 
 rejoined haughtily : — ' What hath the King your master to 
 do with our actions ? Why doth he meddle with our aifairs ?' 
 ' The King my master,' replied Herbert; ' ought not to be 
 asked to account for the reason which indilced him here- 
 unto, and as for me, it is enough to obey him ; but if you 
 will inquire of me in gentle terms, I shall do the best I can 
 to give you satisfaction.' To which he answered no more 
 than the one word ' Bien.' Herbert continued, ' The King 
 my master, according to the mutual stipulation between 
 Henry IV. and himself, that the survivor of either of them 
 should procure the tranquillity and peace of the other's 
 estate, has sent this message ; and that he has not only 
 testified this his pious inclination heretofore, in the late 
 civil wars of France, but is desirous also on this occasion 
 to show how much he stands affected to the good of the 
 kingdom. Besides, he hopes that when peace is established 
 here, that your sovereign may be the more easily disposed 
 to assist the Palatine, v/ho is an ancient friend and ally of 
 the French Crown.' 
 
 De Luynes exclaimed angrily, 'We will have none of 
 your advice.' ' I take those words for answer,' retorted 
 Herbert, ' and am only sorry that you do not understand 
 sufficiently the affection and good will of the King, vay 
 master ; but since you reject it upon those terms, I have 
 in charge to tell you that we know very well what we have 
 to do.' No longer restraining himself, De Luynes cried : 
 ' Par Dieu, if you were not an ambassador, I would treat 
 you after another fashion.' Herbert laid his hand upon 
 his sword : ' If I am an ambassador, I am also a gentleman, 
 and I have that here which shall make you an answer.' 
 He then rose from his chair, and made towi^rds the door, 
 De Luynes, with a show of civility, offering to accompany 
 him; but Herbert tartly told him that after so rude an 
 entertainment there was' no occasion to use ceremony. 
 
 Louis XIII. despatched an embassy to the English; Court 
 to complain of Sir Edward ; and in the circumstances 
 James had no option but to recall him. He then sent 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I, ;305 
 
 Lord Doucaster witli special powers to plead the cause of 
 peace. He arrived just after the royal troops had been 
 compelled to raise the siege of Montauban ; and assurances 
 were therefore given to him that Louis was prepared to 
 show mercy to the rebels, and to give a pledge that no inter- 
 ference with their religious liberties should be attempted, 
 if they submitted to him as their sovereign. But this 
 apparently conciliatory coy*se was arrested by the sudden 
 death of De Luynes (December 14, 1621), which threw 
 King Louis into the hands of the party bent upon pro- 
 secuting the war; and Doncaster, finding his mission a 
 failure, returned to England. 
 
 Herbert, who by this time had completely justified him- 
 self in the opinion of his King and master, was then 
 ordered to return to his ambassadorial post. The brilliant 
 wit, courtier, and swordsman was a persona grata at the 
 French Court, and no one desired to take up the quarrel of 
 a favourite who had died unregretted. Amongst those 
 who had hated him most bitterly was Anne of Austria. 
 Herbert asked her one day how far she would have assisted 
 him with her good offices against the deceased Minister? 
 She replied that however strong her aversion, either by 
 reason or force she would have been compelled to side with 
 him. Said Herbert in Spanish : ' No ay fuerce per las a 
 Keynas ' — there is no force for Queens — epigrammatic 
 words which elicited from Anne a melancholy smile. 
 
 The stress and strain of French politics showed no sign 
 of relaxation. Piusieux, the Secretary of State, was not the 
 man to take up and carry on the work of Henry IV. ; and 
 the Battle of Prague, by securing the ascendency of the 
 Catholic League in Germany, rendered still more desperate 
 the cause of the French Huguenots. Meanwhile, a new 
 direction had been given to English policy by James's 
 dream of marrying his son, the Prince of Wales, to the 
 Spanish Infanta. In a sudden desire for romantic en- 
 terprise, Prince Charles, accompanied by the Duke of 
 
 vOL.i. 20 
 
306 The White King. 
 
 Btfckiiigliam, resolved on their secret journey to Madrid ;* 
 landed in France, halted, incognito, a couple of days at 
 Paris, and then started for Bayonne, -without apprising Sir 
 Edward of his movements. The first notice that came to 
 him, he says, was by one Andrews, a Scotchman, who, the 
 night before Charles's departure from Paris, asked him if he 
 had seen the Prince ? • What Prince ?' said Herbert, for he 
 •knew that the Prince of Cond^ was still in Italy ; and when 
 Andrews replied, ' The Prince of Wales,' he found it difficult 
 to believe him. However, with many oaths the man 
 affirmed that the Prince was in France, and that he had 
 charge to follow his Highness ; and he desired the 
 Ambassador, on the part of the King his master, to further 
 his passage through the country as best he could. Very 
 early next morning Sir Edward betook himself to the 
 secretary, Piusieux, whose first words were : ' I knowyour 
 business as well as you do ; your Prince has departed this 
 morning post for Spain.' And he added that Herbert 
 could demand nothing for the safety of the illustrious 
 traveller which would not immediately be accorded, con- 
 cluding emphatically, ' Vous serez servi au point nomme' 
 (You shall be served in any particular you can name). 
 
 Prince Charles, as we have already shown, arrived safely 
 at Madrid ; but his imitation of the love-adventures of the 
 knights of old proved, like most imitations, a failure. 
 Humiliated and disappointed, he returned by sea to 
 England early in October, 1623. The project of finding a 
 wife for him in the person of Louis XHI.'s beautiful sister, 
 Henrietta Maria — a project which had been advocated by 
 Herbert as far back as 1619 — was then revived ; the Prince 
 of Condd supported it warmly; and the young Princess 
 herself was far from regarding it with disfavour, observing, 
 when the religious difference was raised, that a wife ought 
 to have no other will than that of her husband — a maxim 
 which, in later life, she found it convenient to forget. 
 
 " King James styled them ' His sweet boys and dear venturous 
 kuights, worthy to be put in a new romance,' 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 307 
 
 While the negotiations were in progress, the Pere S^guerend, 
 the King's confessor, preaching before his Majesty on the 
 text, ' That we should forgive our enemies,' put a new gloss 
 upon it by declaring that we were, indeed, to forgive our 
 personal enemies, but not the enemies of God;, and that 
 his Majesty, as the Most Christian King, ought to extirpatp 
 those enemies, and especially those of the Huguenot 
 religion. Herbert immediately repaired to the Queen- 
 mother, and remonstrated against the use of such language 
 at a time when the Courts were discussing a treaty of 
 marriage between a Protestant Prince and a Roman CathoHc 
 Princess ; and requested that she would take care that some 
 discreet admonition should be given to P^re S^guerend, or 
 others might be disposed to preach the same pernicious 
 doctrine. The Queen, though she seemed to listen sym- 
 pathetically to the ambassador, so handled the matter that 
 Pere S^guerend learned from whom the complaint pro- 
 ceeded, and sent Sir Edward a message to the effect, that 
 he was well aware he had accused him to her Majesty, and 
 was fully sensible of his ill oflSces ; and that he wished him 
 to know that wheresoever he might be in the world, he, the 
 Pfere S^guerend, would hinder his fortune. To which 
 Herbert made reply. That nobody in all France, except a 
 friar or a woman, durst have sent him such a message. 
 Afterwards, in an interview with the Queen-mother, Herbert 
 repeated the confessor's malevolent words, and added, 
 laughingly, that he thought the Father's malice went 
 beyond the malice of women. Said the Queen, a little 
 startled : ' A moi femme et parler ainsi T (To me, a woman, 
 do you say so much ?) Herbert dexterously replied : ' Je 
 parle d voire MajesU comme reine et nan pas comme 
 femme ' (I speak to your Majesty as a Queen, and not as 
 a woman). 
 
 The English Court was desirous of concluding not only 
 a marriage between the Prince and the Princess, but a 
 political . alliance between the two Crowns, in order to 
 obtain the assistance of France in a war against the 
 
 20—2 
 
308 The White King. 
 
 Emperor. Lord Kensington, who had been sent over to 
 
 Paris on a special mission connected with the proposed 
 
 alliance, was sanguine that both objects would be secured, 
 
 ™ting home to this effect, and indulging in a fervent 
 
 panegyric upon the Princess — who was 'for beauty and 
 
 goodness an angel,' adding that, having borrowed a 
 
 miniature of Prince Charles, which he wore about his neck, 
 
 she 'opened it with such haste as showed a true picture 
 
 of her passion, blushing in an instant of her own guiltiness.' 
 
 Sir Edward, however, was not so easily deceived. He did 
 
 not doubt but that the marriage would be completed, but 
 
 he did not believe in the political rapprochement In his 
 
 opinion the French Government desired to play the part 
 
 of arbiter between England and the House of Austria : he 
 
 therefore advised his master to demand from them some 
 
 'real and infallible proofs of their intention to assist 
 
 England in the recovery of the PalatinatCj at the same time 
 
 or before the marriage treaty was discussed. Otherwise 
 
 they would want in excuse to keep themselves in peace of 
 
 neutrahty.' He so clearly revealed to the French Court 
 
 his knowledge of the intrigues set afoot, that means were 
 
 taken to induce King James to recall him; and, in fact, 
 
 the letter ordering his return home had already been 
 
 despatched before his last words of warning reached the 
 
 King and his Council* (1624). On his return he was 
 
 rewarded for his services by being raised to the peerage of 
 
 Ireland, under the title of Lord Herbert of Castle Island 
 
 (1625). Four years afterwards he was elevated to the 
 
 English peerage with the title of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, 
 
 in Shropshire (1629). 
 
 But before he quitted Paris and terminated his political 
 career, he had taken a great resolution. He had long 
 been engaged in the composition of a treatise on one of the 
 most solemn subjects which can engage the human mind. 
 When it was completed, he submitted it to the learned 
 Grotius and to Daniel Tilenus, a celebrated Arminian 
 » S. R. Gardiner's ' History of England,' v. 218. 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 309 
 
 theologian ; both of whom approved of it warmly, and 
 urged him to publish it. In spite of their cordial encourage^ 
 ment he hesitated. His book seemed. to him to differ from 
 all its predecessors. A new definition of truth— a new 
 method of discovering, or rather, of recognising it — was 
 expounded in its pages outside of all authority. The very 
 conception of the book was an act of audacity — of revolt 
 against the churches. It placed the natural right of the 
 human intelligence — of the reason — openly and plainly 
 above the written right of books, codes, and even religious 
 symbols. 
 
 Brave as he was in the field, Herbert shrank from the 
 ordeal of public opinion and scholastic criticism, and even 
 thought at one time of suppressing his work. But it 
 happened on a fine summer morning, while he anxiously 
 revolved the matter in his mind, his casement being opened 
 towards the south, the sun shining clear and no wind 
 stirring, that he took his book in his hand, and kneeling, 
 devoutly said these words : — 
 
 ' O Thou Eternal God, author of the light which even 
 shines upon me, and giver of all inward illuminations, I do 
 beseech Thee of Thy infinite goodness to pardon a greater 
 request than a sinner ought to make. I am not satisfied 
 enough whether I shall publish this book " De Veritate." 
 If it be for Thy glory, I beseech Thee give me some sign 
 from Heaven ; if not, I shall suppress it.' 
 
 ' I had no sooner spoken these words,' continues Herbert, 
 ' but a loud though gentle noise came from the heavens 
 (for it was like nothing on earth), which did so comfort and 
 cheer me, that I took nay petition as granted, and that I 
 had the sign demanded, whereupon also I resolved to print 
 my book. This (how strange soever it may seem), I protest 
 before the Eternal God is true, neither am I any way 
 superstitiously deceived herein, since I did not only clearly 
 hear the voice, but in the sunniest sky that ever I saw, 
 being without all cloud, did to my thinking see the place 
 from whence it came.' 
 
aiO The 'White King. 
 
 His book was printed in Paris, in 1624, under the title of 
 ' De Veritate, prout distinguitur a Eevelatione, a verisimili, 
 a possibili, et a false' It quickly passed through several 
 editions. 
 
 Herbert's autobiography comes to an end with the termina- 
 tion of his French embassy. He lived twenty-four years 
 longer, but has failed to furnish us with any materials which 
 can be of service to the biographer, so that several passages 
 of his later life are involved in a good deal of obscurity. 
 It might have been supposed that a man of his rank and 
 influence, of his versatile ability, of his experience of courts, 
 of his distinguished reputation, would have played a 
 brilHant part in the great political drama which filled the 
 stage during the reign of Charles I., and one would have 
 wished to know the reasons which induced that formerly so 
 restless and impetuous a spirit to withdraw from public affairs, 
 and expend his energies upon literary and philosophical 
 pursuits. This information he has not thought fit to give us ; 
 and we must put together as best we can the few particulars 
 that are on record of his closing years. That he retained a 
 lively sense of Buckingham's kindness, is evident from the 
 care with which he composed an apologetic history of the 
 Duke's unfortunate French expedition* (1630). As it was 
 written in Latin, it could have had no influence upon 
 public opinion ; but it was not printed until 1656, some 
 years after its author's death. 
 
 This was not his only experiment in historical com- 
 position. A work of infinitely greater merit is his narrative 
 of ' The Life and Keign of King Henry VIII.,' the publica- 
 tion of which was also posthumous. Locke, in his manual, 
 'Some Thoughts concerning Eeading and Study for a 
 Gentleman,' speaks of this production and of Bacon's ' Life 
 of Henry VII.,' as the two best existing fragments of the 
 History of England. Horace Walpole designates it a 
 
 " Expeditio in Ream insulam, authore Eduardo, Dom. Herbert, 
 Baron de Cherbury in Anglia et Eastri insula de Kerry in Hibernia, et 
 pare utriusque regni, in 1630. London, 1656. 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 311, 
 
 masterpiece of historical biography. Hallam praises it as 
 written in a manly and judicious style. And, certainly. 
 Lord Herbert's English is far superior to his Latin. It is a 
 simple and nervous diction, fluent and clear in narration. 
 From the point of view of an historian of his time, he is 
 eminently satisfactory in his exposition of European affairs 
 during Henry VIIL's reign. Occasionally wq meet with 
 felicitous passages of description and just reflections ; but 
 there is a want of life and animation in the recital, and 
 historical criticism was a science unknown in Herbert's 
 days. 
 
 As he wrote by order of James I., whom, in his dedication, 
 he thanks for the documents placed at his disposal, and for 
 the advice he had given, we must not be astonished to find 
 him wanting in the historian's first and most essential 
 qualification, independence. In his judgments he is neither 
 free enough nor severe enough, Whether from reverence 
 for loyalty, or for empty legal forms, or embarrassed by 
 the popularity which Henry VIII. has always enjoyed, he 
 presents us with a strange and bizarre t3Tant whose cruelties 
 are watered down into follies, and seeks excuses for him, 
 at one time his greatness, at another his passion, and yet 
 again his temperament. Not that he stoops to dissimulate 
 the crimes of Henry, But he hesitates to call things by 
 their right names, and he does not tell everything. It is true 
 that for the last years of the reign his work is greatly 
 abridged, and seems to have been put together hastily or 
 from insufficient material. Perhaps he shrank from minute 
 examination of a period which he himself designates 'a 
 bloody time.' The pretext of religion certainly did not 
 impose upon his conscience. Like a good Englishman, he is 
 favourable to the Eeformation, but he has no enthusiasm 
 for it, and is by no means pleased with the strokes of 
 tyranny delivered against Catholics and Nonconformists. 
 He regards with coldness the causes which were in his time 
 held to be most sacred. He seems a century in advance 
 of his contemporaries in his indifference to dogmatic con- 
 
312 The White King. 
 
 tentions, and does not even perceive all the importance of 
 the event which changed for ever the religious convictions 
 of England. In this respect, there are blanks in his book, 
 because there were blanks in his mind. 
 
 We may add that our historian writes as a royahst. This 
 he was in effect, and nothing more, at least in his youth ; 
 he had not then formed any- decided views- either for or 
 against monarchy, and his opinions were not unnaturally 
 those of a courtier and a servant of the Crown. His Auto- 
 biography, as well as his ' History of Henry VIII.,' is written 
 in this strain. But after he had taken his seat in Parlia^ 
 ment, in the Upper Chamber — what then? To which 
 party did he attach himself when the storm clouds of Civil 
 War arose upon the horizon ? For a period of twelve years 
 or more we lose sight of him altogether, as if this brilliant 
 wit, swordsman, diplomatist, and philosopher had contrived 
 to efface himselt Strafford was hunted down, and Laud ; 
 but he spoke no word either for them or against them. 
 Throughout the long and bitter contention he was silent, 
 until, on the 20th of May, 1642, a resolution having been 
 introduced to the effect that, whenever the King made war 
 against the Parliament, he betrayed his oath and the 
 people, he rose and said that he would vote for it if he 
 were fuUy assured that the King made war 'without cause.' 
 The Lords were offended by this speech ; he was suspended 
 for the remainder of the sitting, and intrusted to the 
 custody of the Usher of the Black Eod. It was late, and 
 further consideration of his contumacy was postponed until 
 the following day. He then presented to the Lords a 
 petition, in which he expressed his regret for his unwary 
 utterance, and begged of them to interpret it with 
 benevolence. With this act of submission they were 
 satisfied ; he was allowed to return to his home, or to retire 
 into the country for the sake of his health, or, if necessary, 
 to run over to the Continent with permission to reside in 
 France, or go to drink the waters at Spa. Apparently he 
 availed himself of the license thus accorded to repair with- 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles J. 31 B 
 
 out delay to York, where the King then -was, for a return 
 ordered by the House on' the 25th of May of the members 
 of Lords absent who had rejoined Charles T., specifies two- 
 and-thirty names, the last of which is that of Lord Herbert 
 of Cherbury. In the month of January, 1644, it is found 
 among the Peers absent on the service of his Majesty or by 
 his permission, on the list of members of Parliament, who, 
 in obedience to the royal summons, formed what was called 
 the Convention of Oxford. But Whitelock positively 
 asserts that he attended the sitting of Parliament on the 
 7th of September. But in this case, as in other instances, 
 it is possible that some confusion has arisen between Lord 
 Herbert of Cherbury and Lord Herbert of Ragland, to say 
 nothing of Herbert, Earl of Glamorgan, Herbert, Earl of 
 Pembroke, and Sir Edward Herbert, at one time Attorney- 
 General. 
 
 The truth would seem to be that about 1644 he visited 
 the Continent for the sake of his health. In the third 
 edition of his ' De Veritate,' published in 1645, he complains 
 of suffering from the fatigues of age and the unhappiness of 
 the times. In September, 1647, he was again in Paris, and 
 paid a visit to Gassendi. Finally, on the 20th of August, 
 1648, he died at his house in Queen Street, in the city of 
 London. 
 
 ■ Religion, — that is, according to Herbert's ideal of it — 
 occupied a just place in his life, and, in his later years at 
 least filled his heart with serenity and peace. In his child- 
 hood, as we know from two pieces of Latin verse which 
 have been handed down to us, he expressed, not without 
 felicity, a firm confidence in the other life. In his early 
 years he became an indignant witness of the violence of 
 religious passion ; and learned to mistrust the authenticity 
 of the dogmas in which it originated ; dogmas which he 
 declined to believe as in any way conducive to the reform 
 and happiness of humanity. ■ And he came to the con- 
 clusion that only those religious truths which had never 
 kindled the fires of hatred and bigotry could be regarded 
 
314 . The White King. . •. 
 
 as manifestly divine and beyond the react of doubt. This 
 natural religion he summed up id five propositions, which 
 he declared to be fundamental and universal, namely : — 1.. 
 The existence of one God, Supreme Father of all things,, 
 animate and inanimate; 2. The duty of honouring Him 
 with appropriate worship; 3. Piety and virtue were the. 
 worship worthiest of Him; 4. The necessity of expiating 
 faults by sincere repentance ; and 5. The certainty of 
 Celestial justice after this life. You may trace this creed 
 throughout all Herbert's writings; he has neglected no, 
 opportunity of publicly proclaiming his adhesion to it. In 
 his eyes the religion of the Church was but. the respectable; 
 form which the truths of Natural Religion had assumed by 
 the Divine Will ; and placing grace after natiire, as the 
 particular after the universal, he accepted Christianity, 
 without imposing it upon himself as an obligation, but 
 honouring it as a consolation and a support. In the last 
 twenty years of his life he regulated his conduct upon these 
 principles. He composed for his private use a prayer 
 which, without possessing any remarkable eloquence, warmly 
 expresses a grateful faith in a Divine Creator,^ who has over- 
 whelmed him with blessings, and by inspiring him with the 
 love of eternal beauty, has furnished his spirit with the 
 means of knowing Him, the desire of resembling Him, and 
 the hope of being united to Him. He read this prayer twice 
 a day, in the midst of his household, and on Sunday his 
 chaplain read one of Thomas Smith's sermons. When lying 
 on his death bed, he sent for Archbishop Usher, the primate 
 of Ireland, to administer the Sacrament, observing that if 
 there was good in anything it was in that, and that at all 
 events it could do no harm. This candid utterance dis- 
 pleased the archbishop, and he refused to administer it, a 
 refusal for which he has incurred severe censure. Lord 
 Herbert then inquired what hour it was, and on being told, 
 exclaimed : ' An hour hence and I shall depart.' Then, 
 turning his head to the other side, he shortly afterwards 
 expired in the utmost tranquillity. On the 5th of August 
 
A Philosopher, of the Reign of Charles I. 315 
 
 he was interred in the chancel of St. Giles's-in-the- 
 Fields. 
 
 Lord Herbert's character may be read in his career. Of 
 his merits as a writer and a philosopher we shall now 
 endeavour to speak. To some of his principal writings we 
 have already referred, and it must be owned that their 
 literary merit is not of the highest order. His poetry — for, 
 like most men of culture and capacity, he sometimes in- 
 dulged in verse — would never have preserved his name. 
 His Latin verses on the life human and the life celestial 
 are scholarly, but nothing more, A long moral epistle ad- 
 dressed to his nephews contains a series of precepts upon 
 conduct which are not unhappily expressed.* Side by side 
 with his religious opinions are to be found his ideas of the 
 world, and the counsels of an enlightened experience. His 
 English poems,t which belong to the metaphysical school 
 of Donne and Cowley, are of a less serious description. 
 Some are ingenious, and all are gracefully versified. Love 
 is the usual subject — a Platonic love, expressed, however, 
 with more ingenuity than grace— in the metrical form with 
 which Tennyson's 'In Memoriam' has made us familiar. 
 The best, I think, are the stanzas suggested by the oft-dis- 
 cussed question, 'WiU love continue for ever?':): In his 
 'Da Veritate' he has written: 'Totae facultates quae 
 amant, sperant, fidunt, sumunt, gaudent, totse hbertates, 
 supersunt;' and to the same efiect argue Melander and 
 Celinda, one sunny mom in spring, among the budding 
 
 ' I am most sure 
 
 Those virtuous habits we acquire, 
 As being with the soul entire, 
 Must with it evermore endure. 
 
 " Hcered. et Nepot. suis Prcecepta et Consilia — sometimes appended 
 to the treatise ' De Veritate.' 
 
 + ' Occasional Verses of Edward, Lord Herbert of Cherbury.' 
 London, 1665. 
 
 + ' An Ode upon a Question Moved, whether Love should continue 
 for Ever.' 
 
316 ■ The White King, 
 
 Else should onr souls in vain elect ; 
 
 And vainer yet were Heaven's laws, 
 
 Where to an everlasting cause 
 They give a perishing effect. 
 
 Not here on earth then, nor above, 
 
 Our good affection can impair ; 
 
 For, where God doth admit the fair, 
 Think you that He excludeth love ? 
 
 These eyes again thine eyes shall see, 
 These hands again thine hands infold ; 
 And all Christ's pleasures can be told. 
 
 Shall with us everlasting be : 
 
 For if no one of sense remain. 
 Where bodies once this life forsake, 
 Or they could no delight partake. 
 
 Why should they ever rise again ? 
 
 Let there no doubt, Celinda, touch. 
 Much less your fairest mind invade ; 
 Were not our souls immortal made. 
 
 Our equal lives can make them such.' 
 
 As for Herbert's Latinity, in his narrative of the Khd ex- 
 pedition, it is stilted and cumbrous; but it is purer and 
 more fluent in his treatise ' De Veritate.' It is said that 
 Thomas Master, the divine, who was well versed in the 
 classics, assisted him in his labours, and especially in his 
 Latin composition. The language of his philosophical 
 writings is neither elegant nor select; but it is not wanting 
 in exactness or propriety, when once we have accepted in 
 the sense which pleases him, certain words which he twists 
 from their ordinary 'signification to make them the sacra- 
 mental expressions of his teaching. But what that teaching 
 is we must now endeavour to convey to our readers — 
 allowing Lord Herbert, where possible, to speak for him- 
 self, though, of course, with considerable condensation. 
 
 Truth exists. This is a principle admitted by aU schools 
 and all churches. All pretend to know the truth, but all 
 do not establish the means of knowing it. A method for its 
 discovery is, however, the preliminary necessity of all 
 knowledge ; a new subject, for which we require a writer 
 who has no prejudice or partiality to consult, who philoso- 
 
A Philoscypher of the Reign of Charles I. 317 
 
 phizes freely, who seeks the truth without reward. ' Libere 
 philosophemur . . Veritatem sine dote quEeramus.' Au- 
 thority exercises so great an influence over us that no one 
 has the courage to strike out a method of his own. Every- 
 body is fettered by some aUen law. Hence the divisions, 
 the sects, the schisms, which disturb and confuse the 
 primitive goodness of things. Some of the ancients de- 
 clared that it was possible to know everything, others said 
 we could know nothing. In a later age came a class of 
 philosophers who approximated towards the latter, put 
 faith before reason, and thus decided the cause before they 
 had heard the evidence. But for them, too, as for all, there 
 are common opinions or received principles of demonstra- 
 tion; and we stand upon these principles, though our 
 faculties have not, by any previous judgment, established 
 their certainty. We take the unanimous to be the true. And, 
 in fact, that which makes itself acknowledged everywhere 
 cannot so make itself without a universal providence which 
 has thus disposed of everything. There is then, as it were, 
 a natural instinct which operates without reason in things, 
 as there is one in animals and in man, which ministers to 
 their safety. The universal consent supposes also a kind of 
 natural instinct. ' 
 
 Such is an abridgement of Lord Herbert's doctrine. 
 Long tossed between the solicitations and threats of 
 different sects and parties, he has sought after the truth, the 
 common attribute which all doctrines appropriate. But 
 weary of their discords, he has cast aside all their books 
 (clehinc aijectis libris). 
 
 We must understand by ' faculties ' the forces or powers 
 of the soul which, through them, are brought into relation 
 with objects. Each object supposes a faculty; that is to 
 say, a faculty (or, as Locke would term it, an ' idea ') fit to 
 perceive or conceive it. ' Facultas aoiimce ilia vis intemi 
 qvAX diversum sursum ad diversum ohjectum explicat' 
 Agreement, or conformity, is not established immediately 
 between the faculty and the object. The pre-eminent 
 
318 The White. King, 
 
 condition, of conformity between the faculties and the 
 objects, is truth. Thus, one faculty ioipels us towards 
 eternal happiness; between this faculty and its objects a 
 condition is necessary, the truth of rehgion. On this con- 
 dition alone is happiness possible. 
 
 That which identically affects the faculties is a constant 
 value ; a rose to-day is exactly what it was at Troy. By 
 consent of the human race, the faculties are everywhere the 
 same ; they are now what they have always been. What 
 humanity thinks of the faculties should be said of their 
 objects, and of a universal Providence prevailing all things 
 attested by this permanency and this identity. The search 
 after truth should be then the search after the number and 
 order of the faculties, and of the laws by which they are 
 brought into conformity with their proper or common 
 objects. Wherefore the general doctrine of truth may be 
 referred to a regular conformation of the faculties — ^roba 
 facultatum conformatio. 
 
 1. Truth is. If we admit this principle — and only 
 sceptics or fools would attempt to deny it — we must admit 
 six other propositions which Lord Herbert attaches to it as 
 fundamental. 
 
 2. Truth has existence for its subject. It is, therefore, 
 what the thing is — eternal in eternal things. 
 
 3. It is everywhere ; for everything which is, is true ; 
 everything has its truth, even non-existence. 
 
 4. It is manifest in itself. It does not exist in us or for 
 us conditionally ; for it must needs be that the truth of the 
 appearance responds to that of the thing. The latter is 
 absolute. But so long as it subsists in the object, the truth 
 of the appearance may be as it were detached, and preserved 
 in the memory as a form, an idea, a species. Thus the 
 image of a thing which is beautiful affects us in the same 
 manner as beautiful reality itself. 
 
 5. There are as many truths as there are differences in 
 things. Differences are either common or proper. Among 
 the former, some are general, others are less so, Thence 
 
A Philosopher of ike Reign of Charles I, 319 
 
 arises the scale of genera (generis) whicli terminates at the 
 ispecies, which is designated, characterised by the constitu- 
 tive difference (rei quidditas). From these differences or 
 characteristics of things results the possibility of comparing 
 and distinguishing them. They are the basis of the rela- 
 tions of things, of that science of relations which we may 
 call ' analogy.' 
 
 6. It is by means of our innate faculties that we know the 
 differences of things. Every difference supposes an indi- 
 vidual being in which it exists, and this being has in us 
 a certain indefinable analogue ; that is, the truth of the 
 thing and the appearance responds to the truth of the 
 concept. There is not always equation between the thing 
 and the thing so conceived of. The- latter may be affected 
 by the infirmity of the organ or by preconceived opinions. 
 What shaU determine whether our preliminary faculties — 
 facultates prodromce — ^have acted well or ill ? The truth 
 of the intellect. 
 
 7. The latter is the truth of the preceding truths. The 
 judgment which verifies them can be rendered only in 
 virtue of an innate intelligence or of its common notions, 
 and in cases where there is a possibility of agreement, a 
 possible conformity between the characteristics of the object 
 and the faculties which respond in us to it ; for many things 
 are strange to, and unknown by us, and it is folly to pretend 
 to be wiser than our faculties (qui ultra facultates sapit 
 desipit). 
 
 Thus the truth of the thing is an agreement of the thing 
 with itself; the truth of the appearance, a conditional con- 
 formity of the appearance with the thing ; the truth of the 
 concept, a conditional conformity between a faculty and the 
 thing according to its appearance ; finally, the truth of the 
 intelligence is a just conformity among all these conformi- 
 ties, a truth of all these truths. 
 
 All our truth, being conformity, is relative ; in the 
 language of the schoolmen, all truths are habits translated 
 into action, that is to say, felt, or, in modem technology, the 
 
320 The White King. 
 
 qualities of things in so far as they are perceived. Abstrac- 
 tion made of the truth of the thing which is in itself, there 
 are then two extreme terms, that which is conformed, con- 
 formatur, or the object ; that which conforms, conformat, 
 or the faculty.* Between these lie the conditions, the 
 means, the laws. The object is true or adequate, when, in 
 so far as it interests our correspondent faculties, it modifies 
 them to such an extent that there is nothing in it which 
 they cannot touch. But is this case the worst ? One may 
 reasonably doubt it. But, at all events, a harmony, a 
 certain amount of concord, prevails between the things and 
 ourselves. That is, so to speak, a community of extraction, 
 cognatio. It remains for us to ascertain the laws or condi- 
 tions of these relations. 
 
 The conditions are four in number : 1st, That the object 
 be within the grasp of our faculties, that there be a corre- 
 spondence, an analogy , between the object and ourselves. 
 It is a common knowledge that everything is not within 
 our precognition, as for example, certain heavenly bodies 
 which are lost to our sight in the firmament. 2nd, That 
 the object be of proper dimensions. It is a common notion 
 that in everything a minimum may be conceived which is 
 accessible only to the intelligence. Such is the above. 
 But the same holds true of the infinitely great. 3rd, That 
 the object has a characteristic distinction. The inde- 
 terminate is undiscernible, and cannot be known. Long 
 difference is the sign of a principle of individuality, its 
 matter, or rather its substance, to which responds a faculty 
 which is afferent to it. The microcosm is the analogue of 
 the macrocosm. 4th, That there be a homogeneity between 
 the object and a certain faculty. A general relation does 
 not suffice ; there must be a special relation, which we may 
 call cognation, or homogeneity. 
 
 The truth of the appearance impKes at first that the 
 
 : * The object responds to a form in the mind. There is a conformity 
 or agreement between the mind and the object. The object i? con- 
 formed, the mind conforms — that is to say, applies to it an analogous 
 form. _ , 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 321 
 
 phenomenon has a certain duration. Next, there must he 
 a medium, through which it operates, as, for example the 
 sense of sight. Finally, there must be a just distance and 
 a suitable position . . . conditions which require no ex- 
 planation. 
 
 It is easy to perceive that if the truth of the thing is the 
 prototype, the truth of the appearance is the ectype, or the 
 pure equivalent of the thing, forma vicaria rei. Conformed 
 by the concept, or, if one wishes it, reproduced in the con- 
 ception, it may be conserved in the memory. But this 
 truth of concept does not necessarily respond to the truth 
 of the appearance. The concept may be false, if its con- 
 ditions are not fulfilled — that is to say, if the organ be not 
 in perfect integrity, through the effect of some external 
 cause — if the faculty which ought to perceive, which per- 
 ceives itself to perceive— /acuZtas quce se sentit sentire — 
 hesitates or yields ; finally, if the appropriate faculty be not 
 applied : if, for example, we should seek to recognise odour 
 by the hearing, through the external sense that which 
 springs from the vision, through the vision that which 
 depends upon common knowledge. 
 
 From these conditions, which suffice for simple truths, 
 it results that the faculties will conform only with their 
 proper and homogeneous objects ; so that the infinite can 
 be comprehended only in a finite manner, eternity only 
 under the ratio of time. How is it that there are faculties 
 in the soul which respond to the infinite, to eternity ? 
 Because they are themselves eternal, and will survive us. 
 But our common notion tells us that the infinite in every 
 way exceeds our conceptions, and that we must have 
 patience in this world. 
 
 Nothing has been said as yet of the truth of the intellect. 
 Intelligence is a thing divine. It has no need of external 
 assistance to master the truths which are its own. These 
 truths are the common knowledge. They seem dumb, when 
 the presence of the objects does not provoke them ; at times, 
 indeed, do not respond even to their appeal. Yet they. 
 
 VOL. I. 21 
 
322 The White King. 
 
 cannot remain in absolute inertia. They exist in every 
 sane and sound man. His mind, which has received them 
 from heaven, judges through them of all the objects which 
 enter into the scene before it. ' Notitise quandam com- 
 munes in omni homini sano et integro existentes, quietus tan- 
 quam ccelitus imbuta mens nostra de objectis hoc in theatro 
 prodeuntibus decernit.' Whether we are concerned with 
 things known or not, the intelligence alone can distinguish 
 if the faculties which go before the object have touched the 
 truth. Then, combining the ideas of things under regular 
 conditions, it represents them in the inner tribunal (by 
 which name Lord Herbert designates the conscience), as 
 good and accordant, or bad and discordant. ' It is impera- 
 tive that they be deduced from experience, their elements or 
 sacred principles, since, without some, or at least one of 
 them, we can neither experiment nor observe.' If it had not 
 been written in us that we must seek the nature of things 
 (for it is not the objects which make this known to us), if 
 some general knowledge were not given us of the origin even 
 of that very nature, we should never have succeeded in dis- 
 tinguishing things from one another, and to proceed from the 
 pursuit of a common nature unknown, to the discovery of 
 the essence. Things the sight of which inspires us with 
 fear would be useless apparitions, if there existed in us a 
 natural disposition to augur good and ill. How distinguish 
 between that which proceeds from the object, and that 
 which we attribute to it, how separate good and evil, the 
 useful and the injurious, if nature do not guide us ? There 
 are even faculties more profoundly hidden, which awake 
 and are stirred into excitement by objects. Nothing 
 happens to us which does not obtain, does not find, in us a 
 conformity and even a faculty which we add to it from our 
 own resources. How, were it not so, could there be faculties 
 which apply themselves to the past, the future, the veri- 
 similar, the possible, the eternal verities, that is to say, 
 faculties without real and actual objects? When the 
 preliminary conditions are well fulfilled, the intelligence 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 323 
 
 never deceives itself. .... It has then for truths of its 
 own, those items of common knowledge which, derived 
 from the universal wisdom itself, are engraved in the inner 
 for under the dictation of nature. The general function of 
 these ideas, or of the universal knowledge which absorbs 
 them, may thus be expressed : To bring into just conformity 
 the faculties and their objects — 'facultates recte conformari 
 cum objectis suis.' 
 
 If now we pass from the truth simple to the truth com- 
 plex, that is to say, to the truth in universal matter, the 
 rule is this : the intellect deals truly with universals, whose 
 particular truths among themselves are in just conformity. 
 " Intellectus fit verus circa universalia, quando veritates par- 
 ticulares, inter se recte conformantur.' A complex truth 
 is the art of constituting a universal nature (an idea of 
 kind or species) in virtue of this simple proposition, That 
 the things which affect in the same manner our faculties 
 are the same for us. Without this proposition, the entire 
 edifice of the sciences crumbles to the ground. 
 
 The dismemberment of the faculties is impossible: for, 
 by the definition, the faculty in general being simply the 
 capacity of having a perception or conception correspondent 
 to an object, we may say that there are as many as there 
 are objects or differences of things, or the microcosm 
 responds to the macrocosm. Among the faculties some 
 are noetic, others corporeal ; in other words, some have 
 relation to the intelligible, some to the tangible. If there 
 were but one faculty, that would be the human soul. Any 
 new thing affects our senses in a new manner ; it is then 
 like a new faculty which springs up in us, and corresponds 
 to the thing through an analogy from the one to the other. 
 If several differences, apparently without mutual relation- 
 ship, were reduced to a certain unity, it is the soul, and not 
 any separate faculty, which effects this reduction. The 
 unity is in the soul, the divinity is in the faculties, the 
 faculties are the rays of the soul. It is not the same faculty 
 which connects itself with the existence of things, their 
 
 21—2 
 
324 The White King. 
 
 nature, their qualities, their quantity, time, cause, end. 
 Once the communication with the without is estabhshed 
 there is within one's self a faculty which judges of what is 
 hurtful or harmless, a faculty of willing or not willing. We 
 must not multiply the faculties beyond measure, nor accept 
 as new everything which appears to be so. The violet, which 
 hides itself, and Howers again when a year has passed,, 
 receives the same faculty. Here is the principle : ' Every 
 new individual subject throws out a new image, a new 
 emanation, to which responds in us a new faculty, pro- 
 ceeding from a new sensation or a new judgment.' (' Omne 
 novum individuationis principium novam aliquam diffundit 
 speciem, sive a'rrdikiav dixeris, cui nova idcirco aliqua in 
 nobis facultas respondeat novo sensu sive judicio novo 
 prodeuns.') These individual principles or distinct realities 
 have their distinctive characters, which are all differences. 
 Common differences indicate a common nature ; particular 
 differences a particular nature. That is to say, that the 
 former make known of what kind or what species is the 
 thing; the latter, that which is peculiar in its kind or 
 species. There exist faculties for all these differences ; but 
 the faculty which appraises the thing according to its 
 natural condition, i.e., its individual condition, is the faculty 
 pre-eminently analogous to the principle of individuality. 
 Through it we distinguish one man from another. 
 
 Not only do the faculties respond to the objects, but the 
 objects to the faculties, in such wise that from the existence 
 of a faculty we may infer the existence of an object, although 
 one has never known it ; for example, eternal beatitude. 
 
 If one hesitates thus to multiply the faculties, there are 
 but live senses, and, accordingly, five objects; the in- 
 numerable differences of things reduce themselves to five 
 accidents. Here we have the entire sum of human know- 
 ledge. It is true that we cannot give the nomenclature of the 
 faculties, but we can classify them, and though this cannot 
 be done without difficulty, we shall find that the faculties 
 belong to the natural instinct, or the inner sense, or the 
 
A Pkilosopfier of the Reign of Charles I. 325 
 
 outer sense, or the reason (discursus). Beyond that, there 
 is no truth. Nothing can be known or proved except by 
 one of these four ways, but on condition that we do not 
 ignore the laws of each kind of truth. Each class of faculties 
 has its special mode of conformity. Beyond these con- 
 ditions we meet only with the false, or at most the 
 probable. We must therefore take one of the faculties by 
 which we prove anything. The proof is not sufficient 
 unless we refer the thing to the competent faculty. The 
 intelligent faculties which have been qualified as divine 
 attain to all which is within the reach of the corporeal 
 faculties by a kind of transcendent sensibility, and they 
 traverse them, go beyond them, reach to things divine. 
 If we required as much of the corporeal faculties, we 
 should obtain nothing true, adequate, intelligible, universal, 
 necessary. The natural instinct, the name under which we 
 comprehend all these superior faculties, the principle to 
 which we attach them, is based upon that common know- 
 ledge which compels the adhesion of every man of sense ; 
 while the inner or outer man supports itself upon the 
 identity of the objects, the faculties, the conditions, and the 
 reasoning or discursive powers, upon a deduction from the 
 common knowledge. 
 
 Everything which obtains the confirmation of a universal 
 assent is necessarily true, and supposes .the existence of an 
 inner faculty whence results the conformity which is the 
 sign of truth. It is this faculty of conforming which Lord 
 Herbert calls, with some apology, natural instinct. ' Nothing 
 should be more precious,' he adds, ' than to disentangle our 
 bits of common knowledge, and range them in order, in a 
 time especially when the flesh neither counsels nor reasons, 
 when belief is extorted only by terror, when the threat of 
 eternal damnation is the weapon of all the churches.' All 
 law is but the methodical reduction of the common beliefs 
 of men. In religious, civil, or political law, you see the 
 points upon which they differ, others upon which they 
 unanimously agree. These constitute the doctrines of the 
 
326 The White King. 
 
 universal instinct, are the work and witness of a divine 
 universal Providence. We ought to know, then, how to 
 distinguish ; but men have become incapable of choice, and 
 accept or reject everything under the empire of passion. 
 Nothing popular or established is, however, true or false at 
 every point. There is no religion, no system of philosophy, 
 so barbarous but it will contain its admixture of truth. 
 Then what other means is there of purifying it from all 
 error than the method indicated ? The universal consent — 
 behold the first and supreme philosophy and theology! 
 Audit is not only in written monuments we must seek it, 
 but in those inner faculties which are, as it were, the 
 characters engraved in ourselves of harmonised truths. 
 While every school or every sect is, after all, but a particular 
 belief, God has not refused to any generation those common 
 ideas which are the necessary means of His providence. 
 Reasoning alone in its excess — luxuriant (or extravagant) 
 reasoning — has been able to complicate these simple beliefs, 
 to propagate doubt, and to sow error which is worse than 
 ignorance. God and virtue everywhere pervade these 
 common opinions. Who strays apart from them may not 
 hope for salvation unless by expiation of his fault. But do 
 not believe on the faith of any authority that God has ever 
 failed the men of any generation in the things necessary to 
 this life or the other ; for the divine universal Providence is 
 surer than any history: 'est enim providentia universalis 
 supra omnem fida historiam.' 
 
 There is, even in inanimate things, an equivalent of the 
 natural instinct which avails them in the work of self- 
 preservation. It is an inner disposition which has in it 
 nothing of the rational or the reflective. In like manner, 
 in men, the natural instinct dictates, commands, gives 
 belief, without the understanding knowing why. Reason 
 cannot rise beyond the sphere of common knowledge. To 
 dispute it is forbidden : it is that part of knowledge which 
 comes to us from nature, and, separated from all impure 
 admixture of human opinions, and disposed in methodical 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 327 
 
 order, shines like a specimen of the Divine Wisdom. The 
 ideas which compose it concern God, morahty, and nature. 
 Let us take religion, for example ; it is a common belief. 
 No people are without religion. CoUect all that is in 
 religion universally admitted, and the result is religious 
 truth. The means may be laborious, but there is no other. 
 Now, must we regard as doubtful aU that men have 
 preached in bygone ages ? No ; we must beheve so much 
 of it as is in harmony with the divine attributes, and accept 
 it with gratitude. But many things are possible which are 
 not real, and here again is a common opinion; do not 
 receive, then, except with caution, wjiatever reposes on 
 written authority. If our method do not affirm much, it 
 denies very httle, except that which is contrary to right 
 reason, or diametrically opposed to the divine attributes. 
 
 Natural instinct is the immediate instrument of Provi- 
 dence. As it stands sometimes for the faculty, sometimes 
 for the act of conformity, we designate by the term the acts 
 of those faculties by which conformity is established — 
 which refer directly and without deduction men's common 
 ideas to things, in virtue of an intimate analogy. Like a 
 faculty, the natural instinct is not the soul in itself, but an 
 immediate emanation of . the soul, and so necessary to it 
 that death itself apparently fails to destroy it. Those 
 faculties which precede the outer senses may survive, then, 
 and it depends on eternal justice that such shall be the 
 case ; so there exists no legislation, religion, or philosophy 
 which does not tell us that we shall not wholly die. Creeds 
 alone are corruptible; the faculties are not. It follows, 
 then, that the natural instinct does not perish with the 
 organs. 
 
 Considered as an act, the natural instinct resolves itself 
 into that common laiowledge which is the gift of nature^ 
 and like to a beatitude. To these kqIvm evvoiai, as the 
 Greeks called them, the reason may add something. Hence 
 the development of a certain art which is submitted only to 
 rules furnished by experience. But art no more than 
 
328 The White Kivg. 
 
 chance has originated the common opinions and beliefs of 
 men ; they are parts of the Divine Wisdom which we 
 receive from the Creator. All tend to good, but some 
 savour, I will dare to say, of the Creator Himself — 
 'quasdam ipsum Creatorem sapere ausim dicere;' these 
 among others . . ' There is a First Cause . . In all things 
 exists a certain order.' All are not, in effect, in the same 
 line, for all are not equally accepted . . . But whatever 
 they may be, their number is definite and even limited. It 
 would be a difficult but useful task to bring them down to 
 their real number, by separating those which are unduly 
 collocated in the same class, and reducing to their princi- 
 ples those which are derived from one another. Let no 
 one object to their authority that one does not know their 
 origin. Do we know anything more of the origin of the 
 senses? These are principles of action which we cannot 
 repel without stripping humanity. Authors, unable to 
 connect these to the senses, since they serve to judge of the 
 representations of the senses, have barbarously called them 
 insensatcB species. But they have not dared to restore 
 them to nature, and they have connected them with the 
 reason as well as they are able. Why had they not the 
 courage to recognise that these are principles implanted in 
 the mind ? Men's common convictions are like their faculties 
 of sight or hearing, of loving or hoping ; though born with 
 us, they lie mute and hidden unless called forth by ap- 
 propriate objects. They are not experiences, but necessary 
 to experience. Do not believe, then, that the understanding 
 is a tabula rasa; as if we derived from external objects the 
 faculty which renders us capable of appreciating them. 
 
 It is the province of what we may call the zetetic 
 philosophy to furnish the means of preserving or delivering 
 the common knowledge from all additional fictions, and to 
 assure the perfect accord of the objects, the conditions, and 
 the faculties. All error proceeds from a deficiency of 
 conformity, analogy, and homogeneity among all these 
 elements. The discursive intelligence may be useful in 
 
A Philoscypher of the Reign of Charles I. 329 
 
 this work of criticism. But the fundamental point is to 
 establish the existence of the common knowledge. It may 
 be asked what there is of novelty in this doctrine. What 
 has it new ? It introduces into things the certainty of 
 mathematics. 
 
 Natural instinct is, as it were, a particular or separate 
 Providence for every man, directing and preserving him. 
 Through its agency that universal Providence reaches us 
 which watches over the species and over the totality of 
 beings. From the universal Providence, or that of Nature, 
 and from the individual Providence, or that of Grace, issues 
 the Supreme Providence which governs and conciliates 
 them. It is an impiety, a blasphemy against the universal 
 Providence to represent nature as profoundly corrupt and 
 depraved. They pretend who do so to exalt grace. But 
 if grace be universal, it is but a part of the common 
 providence which they attack; and if it be individual or 
 particular, there are evils without remedy, and universal 
 Providence perishes for the greater glory of grace. There- 
 fore it is necessary to accompany the latter with so many 
 impenetrable counsels, secret judgments, arbitrary decrees — 
 in a word, so many kinds of predestinations — that nature 
 and grace give way to the fatum of the Stoics, It is 
 unjust on the part of the human race to complain of 
 nature. We must believe that all men possess in them- 
 selves, through the Divine mediation, the means of being 
 agreeable to God. 
 
 The common ideas of the natural instinct are proved or 
 conformed by themselves without deduction — discursus. 
 It is not because deduction cannot also conduct us to 
 common ideas or convictions. But this second class is as 
 distinct from the first as are the natural instinct and the 
 discursive reason, separated by all the inner and outer 
 sense. That which the schoolmen call right reason, or the 
 sood use of reason, is but the deduction of a common idea 
 even unto its lowest applications — 'in sciam infimam 
 latitudinem.' To these ideas join the conclusions of ex- 
 
330 The White King. 
 
 perience — inductions — wliich constitute the science of 
 things. The general rule is, that any conviction or idea on 
 which men are agreed is traceable to that which the lesson of 
 the natural instinct teaches. The discursive faculties ought 
 always throu^ regression to rest upon their principles. 
 It is the means of avoiding contradictions, that scourge of 
 false science. 
 
 The reader will ask how we can distinguish the first 
 class of common opinions from the second. By six 
 characteristics : 1. Priority ;* for the natural instinct is 
 anterior to every faculty. 2. Independence ; for a common 
 belief or opinion, properly so called, cannot be regularly 
 referred or traced back to any other. 3. Universality. 4. 
 Certainty : to throw doubt upon them would be to rob 
 humanity. 5. Necessity ; every common belief is essential 
 to the security of man. 6. The mode of conformation; 
 that is to say, the manner in which they make known their 
 truth. For while reason acts by a slow process, these 
 elicit immediate recognition. 
 
 It is strange and deplorable that that which is stated as 
 a common belief may also be propounded in virtue of a false 
 hypothesis. Thus one may make use of a false religion to 
 prescribe the true obligation of a divine culture. We have 
 here one of the artifices or tricks of the discursive reason. 
 But without contesting that a particular providence cannot, 
 and ought not to, add to the gifts of the universal 
 Providence, that grace cannot add to nature, we must 
 preserve in all the splendour of its own dignity this divine 
 present, this daily work, of the universal Providence. . . . 
 At bottom the proper object of the noetic divine faculty or 
 the natural instinct is eternal happiness, which is the end 
 of the individual and the species. Every existence in its 
 own way tends towards a state of well-being which is 
 without end. Man is not free to the extent of not desiring 
 to be happy. His freedom shows itself in his choice of the 
 means of happiness. He may not attach himself only to 
 * Just as we now speak of ideas as a priori. 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 331 
 
 the appearance of happiness, but it is happiness itself 
 which he pursues. The particular forms of happiness to 
 which he attaches himself are such only in their relation 
 to the supreme happiness. This then is the proper, the 
 adequate object of the natural instinct. It remains for us 
 to show that it does not differ from the eternal rectitude. 
 
 Next to the natural instinct comes the inner sense, of 
 which each affection sets in motion all the emissary spirits 
 — ' emissarii illi spiritus.' It is akin to the natural instinct; 
 it has the same roots ; and immediately after the universal 
 ideas come the particular ideas for which the inner sense 
 co-operates with the natural instinct. Love is a general 
 faculty, but can be known only by a particular act ; that is 
 to say, under the form of a determinate sentiment which 
 depends upon the inner sense. These particular affections 
 or beliefs are in conformity with the universal affection or 
 belief. Our faculties extend without breaking. If some 
 type of the Infinite were not in us, why should we be 
 created in the image of God ? There is a limit in things, 
 but there is none in us. . . . With every new object springs 
 into existence a new analogous or corresponding faculty. 
 It has its law in the universal beliefs; the inferior is 
 governed by the superior. Given up to themselves, free 
 from the contact of the universal faculties, the particular 
 faculties are the sources of empty opinions, the refuges of 
 errors — erroi'um asyla. An active supervision is therefore 
 indispensable. It needs all the care of the reason to 
 keep within the truth, that is to say, to maintain the 
 harmony between the objects and the faculties. Those act 
 upon us, and we act upon the objects, and aU with such 
 rapidity that the difference is imperceptible. The change 
 which operates in us is the act of the inner sense ; an act 
 in which the natural instinct, emerging from its unity, has, 
 so to speak, to particularize itself. . . 
 
 The picture which Herbert traces of the actions and 
 passions of human nature can neither be abridged nor 
 
332 The White King. 
 
 reproduced in full. His psychology, and especially his 
 physiology, appear to us singular and superannuated. The 
 human and the spiritual, the dense and the subtle, play a 
 part therein ; but all these details were not needed to show 
 that there may be peril and complication in the simul- 
 taneous play of the organs, the senses, the sentiment, the 
 reason, and the understanding. Let us note but this single 
 passage : ' The faculty is the eternal principle of conformity. 
 The sense* is the art itself of conformity. If there be 
 nothing which conforms, nothing which can be conformed, 
 there is no sensation. For the universal Providence has 
 not willed that any change should take place in us without 
 being felt, svae sensu. That which you perceive, then, is 
 neither the faculty or the internal force which applies 
 itself, nor the object, but a resultant of actions originating 
 in collision and unnatural concurrence.' 
 
 The inner sense has two sides — that of the soul and that 
 of the body. 
 
 1. The sentiments of the soul are those which, proceeding 
 from the faculties that tend to the universal well-being, 
 may flow in upon the sentiments which proceed from 
 objects or from our organs, to calm them, to denominate 
 them, and finally to bring them into relation with the 
 eternal objects, with the universal convictions, and to con- 
 tribute to promise the supreme beatitude. Of those senti- 
 ments, such as relate to God are in number equal to His 
 attributes; namely. Faith, Hope, Love, etc. The supreme 
 attribute of God is Infinity. It is the ultimate sphere of 
 things. Freedom of the will gives some idea of it. Our 
 will is infinite in itself and even in its fetters. These inner 
 sentiments concentrate themselves in a common sense 
 which we call conscience. Those faculties of the internal 
 sense which relate to God have their analogues relatively 
 
 * The sense, senszis, in Herbert, and generally in the philosophers 
 of that age, signifies the art of sensibility in general, as well external 
 as internal, or, if the reader prefer it, the sentiment, but not one of 
 the five senses. I am not sure but that we might best represent 
 Herbert's meaning by using the word ' perception.' 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 333 
 
 for this world. Fear, hope, joy, etc., have not God alone 
 for their object. Our faculties extend from divine things 
 to perishable things, and transform thus. the affections of 
 the flesh and the blood. But, though diverted from their 
 own object, they still remain divine faculties, and may be 
 maintained in order and measure. Conscience subsists in 
 the things of the world. Freedom of the will, that unique 
 miracle of nature — ' unicum illud naturae miraculum ' — 
 promotes all the faculties of the soul. It has its faculty of 
 conformation or its type in the infinity which it retains 
 in us. Infinity is, as it were, the reason of the divine 
 attributes. It envelops them in this sense that nothing is 
 possible outside the infinite. This is the most common of 
 human convictions. All is possible to God, we say, for His 
 power is absolute. Meanwhile, man being the image of 
 God, it is from the Divine wisdom and goodness that all 
 that is good in ourselves emanates. In the same way, 
 in giving us free will. He has given us something of His 
 infinity. So far as he is free, man is infinite ; for that 
 which is free is nowhere bounded or determined. But this 
 liberty exists as to the means, not as to the end. Do not 
 listen to those who would suppress even the freedom of the 
 means. It is the reason which speaks in this way, because 
 the reason knows neither fear nor hope. . . . He who feels 
 himself free will not put on himself a yoke, and if the 
 natural instinct be man's first faculty, freedom of the will 
 is his last. This freedom does not exist in things of the 
 vegetative life, but in things of the moral life. God, at the 
 same time that He has put before us eternal beatitude as 
 a necessary object, has abundantly endowed this life with 
 the means of attaining it. There is a certain grandeur in 
 desiring to enjoy eternal happiness with God; there is 
 more in daring to hope for it. As then, it is for our good 
 that free will has been given us, cease to speak of this 
 faculty as evil and profoundly perverted in its nature. If 
 one could not be wicked, how could one be good ? So that 
 if you, on your part, show that you have chosen the good. 
 
334 The White King. 
 
 you may demand, claim as your right, and obtain of the 
 Supreme Goodness, your reward. 
 
 2nd. On the side of the body, the sentiment or internal 
 sense is composed of those affections which proceed from 
 the movement of the humours. Lord Herbert, who con- 
 siders as absurd the reduction of sensibility to five senses, 
 falls into another extreme in making each impression or 
 nervous movement a separate sense. Here we are again 
 plunged deep into a mysterious physiology. Lord Herbert's 
 system is curious, and combines the prejudices of con- 
 temporary science with the ingenious observations of an 
 original mind. Thus, there are in the human body four 
 humours to respond to the four elements : the study of 
 vital anatomy reveals to us their spirits, or principles, or 
 atoms, or minute particles, the last asylum of the secrets of 
 nature. But, beside all these hypotheses, the power and 
 the duty of the soul to resist things foreign to its nature 
 are strongly established. The principle of the analogy of 
 the faculties, or of homogeneity between the elements, 
 ■which we combine in the art of knowledge and will, is 
 happily invoked. Is not everything decadent and perish- 
 able in the objects of the faculties which attach themselves 
 to the body ? . . . This difference, and other differences, do, 
 not they formulate for us a law never to allow the faculties 
 of one order to be invaded by the faculties of another, nor 
 the intelligence to be dominated by the body? In this 
 system the body is simply an inert mass. All action is in 
 the humours, or rather, in certain principles, certain virtues 
 which those humours contain. Thus is constituted the 
 corporeal nature. It is that which feels, it is the body 
 which comprehends. How are these two natures united ? 
 How does all this go together? That can be explained 
 only by the existence of a soul of the world which makes 
 its harmony, or by a plastic force.* The inner seens 
 attests for us the accord and combination of all these 
 
 '■' ' Plastic force ' is Cudworth's expression ; ' the harmony,' that of 
 Leibnitz. 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 335 
 
 principles in a certain unity. But this whole is animated 
 by the Divine spirit within us. The soul appropriates to 
 itself, regulates, ennobles, exalts our sentiments, and makes 
 them elements of the happiness to which she aspires. 
 Released from the body and from all the inclinations which 
 belong to it, she preserves, she carries with her the plastic 
 force, the motive force, all the intelHgence, all the will, all 
 the faculties of joy, hope, and love, finally all its liberties, 
 all which makes the true man ; and there is nothing to 
 prevent its assumption of a new matter — a matter more 
 obedient to it than the terrestrial body. 
 
 But the spirit, the divinity which is in us, cannot submit 
 to passion. Meanwhile, we have internal sentiments which 
 come from objects by an occult action, and are received in 
 us through the disposition or faculty connected with theni. 
 Of these sentiments some are in relation with the body, and 
 the body may experience their action. But for those which 
 have their analogies in the soul, as in the soul all is free, 
 we must admit that it includes corresponding forms, and 
 that it perceives those sentiments by itself, as a matter over 
 which it exercises its power. In the love of beauty, for ex- 
 ample, how much must we attribute to the external agent ? 
 how much to the internal faculties ? A difficult question. 
 There is a certain degree of accord, a certain proportion 
 between the without and the within, and, as it were, a com- 
 munity of forms — 'formarum communis.' We must even 
 admit mixed sentiments ; for man participates of different 
 natures. What he absorbs from that of the elements, from 
 that of the vegetable, from that of the animal, is the cause 
 that his reason and his wiU are not entirely upright, but 
 cannot render bad that which is good in itself. Maladies 
 and their remedies produce internal sentiments, passions, 
 and affections of all kinds, which bear witness to the rela- 
 tions between external nature and human nature ; the mind 
 intervenes, so to speak, automatically. But from the alter- 
 native concourse of so many elements result mixed and com- 
 posite sentiments, of which we avail ourselves to attack and 
 
336 The White King. 
 
 outrage nature; but it is to the brute nature, that original sin 
 — 'labes ista originahs' — that all this appeals. Human 
 nature, as a whole, is imperfect, but it is neither sullied nor 
 perverse. The universal divine Providence does not will 
 for those extremities. She does not go beyond the means, 
 but she goes as far as they go ; that is, she confines herself 
 to placing us in an intermediary state where we possess the 
 means of well-being. The principal is conscience, or rather 
 that common sense of aU the internal senses, that faculty 
 which, by virtue of the common beliefs, pronounces upon 
 good and evil. It is in accord with things, with ourselves,^ 
 and especially with the First Cause. Neglected by the 
 schoolmen of old, it received in the last century — that is, in 
 the sixteenth, the era of the Reformation — a great inspiration 
 of piety and devotion ; and was taught the true meaning of 
 penitence. The preachers put it forward as a new and 
 powerful assistance in announcing the just punishment of 
 the wicked. Terror drives the herd into that straight way, 
 whither of their own impulse they ought to have proceeded. 
 It is towards happiness that all the internal sentiments tend ;. 
 but all these felicities are but degrees of happiness, rising, 
 little by little, to the Supreme Happiness, the proper object 
 of the conscience. The sovereign happiness blends with the 
 eternal beatitude. The more perishable a happiness is, the 
 more does it recede, therefore, from the sovereign happiness. 
 Happiness offers the same degrees as truth. Whence it 
 follows that happiness, like the truth of the understanding, 
 resides in the region of common knowledge. All morality 
 is a matter of common knowledge, which cannot be said pf 
 any other science, except, perhaps, of the mathematics. So 
 it is in morality that the universal assent is specially, 
 manifested. The distinction between good and evil does not 
 proceed from the objects, but from ourselves. Being our 
 own, it is free, that is to say, it is not a passion implanted 
 in us by any external influence. Far from us here is the 
 tabula rasa of the old schoolmen. The inner sentiment 
 assures us that we bear written in ourselves the moral law. 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles 1. 337 
 
 The faculty of love has an elevating influence in general ; but 
 if the inner sentiments of the body can raise it, those of the 
 soul may lower it. Hence all varieties of love, as there are 
 all kinds of good. The love of good ought to be governed 
 by the same rules as the comprehension of the true. It 
 may transform itself into love of God, that is to say, into 
 hope in God, but hate having evil for its object ; the fear 
 which springs from hate cannot address itself to God. He 
 who says that God is to be feared blasphemes. We must 
 fear evil and its consequences — all that springs from our 
 own wrong-doing — but not the divine justice. In according 
 to us liberty, His Supreme Goodness has restored to us the 
 goodness of which we had been deprived, and has decreed 
 that this goodness should be imputable to us, according 
 thus to unfortunate man the hope of a reward. Rejoice 
 then in your freedom, that is to say, in the power of being 
 wicked, in order that you may take delight in being good, 
 and render thanks to God very good and very great, Deo 
 Optimo Maximo. 
 
 We have now to speak of the external sense, so designated 
 because it has need of external organs, and depends upon 
 certain dispositions which correspond to it in the objects 
 that are without. The sentiments or rather the sensations 
 of this kind, are like the acts of an analogy between the 
 things and our organization. The beginning of the sensa- 
 tion is a kind of leap at the object (' insaltus '). You feel 
 yourself struck (' incuti ') before colour, number, movement, 
 distance, exist as yet for you. This first change, this first 
 efiect, indicates a first conformity, or the existence of an 
 internal faculty on which depends all the external sensi- 
 bility. This is like a presentiment before the sentiment; 
 then the sentiment completes itself; the external sense 
 determines the external relation, perceives and limits the 
 object in all which it has of analogy to our faculties of 
 perception, and thus obtains the notion of all the deter- 
 minations. It is through a return to the common ideas, 
 
 VOL. I. 22 
 
338 The White King. 
 
 through the action of the inner sense and of reason, that 
 the integral idea of a thing is consummated. It is ridiculous 
 to admit only five senses. We may say that there are five 
 organs or sensorial apparatus, ' sensoria ; ' but there are as 
 many senses, that is to say, forms of sensation, as there are 
 differences in objects. It is just as if we described of an 
 edifice nothing but its windows and its doors. We will not 
 deny that there cannot exist anything in the intellect 
 which has not previously been perceived by the sense, but 
 on one condition, that is, that we admit a relation, a 
 universal analogy of external to internal differences. When 
 the schoolmen pretend that there is nothing in the intellect 
 but that which sensation puts there, and that it needs only 
 colour, sound, etc., whither do they reduce us ? And what 
 wiU they do with that internal and universal analogy, those 
 universal dogmas, those common ideas, to say nothing of 
 the universal nomenclature ? They go much further, they 
 assert that we perceive colour in itself, that the sub- 
 stance or real essence is perceived by accident. Thus 
 the perception of that which is recognised by a common 
 consent would fail of an internal faculty of conformity. On 
 the other hand we maintain that we grasp the substance in 
 itself, the colour accidentally. It is an accepted belief that 
 there exists in things a subject of inherence of all the 
 attributes whose presence is not necessary. Is it not a 
 distinction founded in reality, that of the external and 
 internal senses ? The external species, those images, those 
 phantoms which we receive from without, deposit there all 
 their crudeness; the fire perceived does not burn, the 
 images of wolves and lambs live in peace. The internal 
 species, on the contrary, the images of beauty, Tightness, 
 agreeableness, and the like, continue to affect us in some 
 manner internally, even when they are detached from the 
 objects. Not that they are thus perceived as exterior 
 objects, but in virtue of internal representations with which 
 they find themselves in conformity. To reduce everything 
 to the action of the interior object upon the senses, is to 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 339 
 
 deny the existence of every internal faculty of conformity — 
 ' facultas conformans.' 
 
 The fourth source of knowledge or of truth, that is to 
 say, the discursive reason (' discursus '), is, of all our faculties, 
 the most exposed to error. Its particular mission is to 
 operate, by means of ideas or species received or conceived 
 by the external or internal faculties, and to consider, to 
 determine successively and by degrees the analogy of things 
 between them. It is the slowest of our faculties. The 
 schoolmen, who have failed to see the occasional deceitful- 
 ness of this faculty, have erred in attempting to resolve 
 everything by it. They might as well have attempted to 
 make us eat by the ear. . . . 
 
 Reason (given the sentiment, the perceptions of con- 
 formity between the objects and the faculties of the same 
 man), is the search, by means of certain special faculties, 
 ' zeteticiB seu eureticae,' which are aided by the accepted 
 ideas — a search which has for its object either the essence, 
 or the different attributes of things, or their causes and 
 ends, or that which is common or proper in their natures — 
 a search, finally, which as much by composition as by 
 division explores the analogy of things among them. This 
 almost textual definition, although slightly abridged, is 
 almost identical with that of the dialectics of the schooL 
 Lord Herbert sees in it a faculty which often stumbles. The 
 discursive reason is, he says, a wonderful license — ' mira 
 licentia discursus.' It is the source of the greatest faults. It 
 is this which denies and again denies, which supposes and 
 which imposes; hence comes blasphemy and imposture. It 
 is this which confounds the limits of our faculties, which sub- 
 verts or destroys the common beliefs. It is through this that, 
 in despite of the internal consciousness, men have derived 
 their freedom ; it is this which has induced them to main- 
 tain that they cannot have won the thought of good. But 
 Lord Herbert, who claims for himself to have been the first 
 to define the limits of all our faculties — ' metas primi (quod 
 scimus)posuimus' — puts back the reason into its proper rank, 
 
 22—2 
 
340 The White King. 
 
 that is, into the last. It is, not the less, a notable attribute 
 of humanity. It has its measure of truth, but of a truth 
 feeble and fragile. It has a wide margin for error, as free 
 will has for evil. We must make use of it, therefore, with 
 many precautions, and remember that it owes all its force 
 and solidity to the common beliefs. Even when it goes 
 astray, it is because it abuses some one or other of these. 
 There is a truth enveloped even in the grossest error.* 
 
 Our author does not admit the correctness of the 
 teaching that the reason discursive is infinite, because the 
 number of things doubtful is without limit. He is of 
 opinion, on the contrary, that the number of questions to 
 which anything can give rise is limited, and that the 
 discursive reason, like the faculty of inquiry in general, 
 decomposes into as many of the zetetic faculties as there 
 are possible questions. There are ten in all. There is, 
 first, the question, whether the thing is, an; next, what 
 it is, quid ; and then, in succession, its quality, its quantity, 
 its relation, how, where, when, whence, and wherefore. 
 The reader will not fail to observe that these are veritable 
 categories, and nearly identical with those of Aristotle. 
 He is advised to study them thoroughly, and to cast away 
 the old traditional teaching on this point. For in all the 
 schools, says Lord Herbert, nothing is more erroneous, and 
 great names are invoked only that they may buttress up 
 the false and delusive. Authority is the sole asylum of 
 ignorance. 
 
 Without admitting that Aristotle has deserved this some- 
 what arrogant censure, we acknowledge that Lord Herbert 
 has brought a strong and original intellect to the analysis 
 of these questions, and that he has had, perhaps, this 
 advantage over the Stagyrite himself, of distinguishing or 
 investigating more closely how the mind acts in determining 
 the attributes of things. His description of the world of 
 the soul, or of the conscience, both assists and compels him 
 
 " A principle much insisted upon, and applied to theological ques- 
 tions, by Robertson, of Brighton. 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 341 
 
 to distinguish, with a subtle vigorousness which reminds 
 us of the criticism of Kant, the faculties which are called 
 into play in a somewhat complex operation, and to each he 
 assigns its part and its scope, in a manner which may seem, 
 perhaps, artificial, but which at least puts us in the way of 
 establishing a good classification descriptive of the principles, 
 laws, and forms of the human mind. 
 
 As might be expected, the question of the essence is that 
 which he treats with the most amplitude. ' Quid ' or 
 'quiddity' is the attribute through which a thing is 
 defined ; the difference which specifies it ; the form which 
 characterizes it and constitutes it to the point that it is 
 distinct in nature from everything else. These then are 
 brought face to face with the theory of the differences to 
 which respond in equal number the faculties of our soul. 
 The author's psychological system is placed before us in 
 all its completeness, and nowhere has he expounded it in 
 a more technical form, while promising that those who 
 understand and accept his method shall be wiser for it 
 than for all the teaching of the antiquated and exploded 
 schools — ' ex qua sapientiores evadent, ausim dicere, quam 
 ex protritis philosophorum scholis.' 
 
 He observes that, practically, questions are never wholly 
 separated ; it is but a hypothesis which divides them. For 
 there is nothing which has only an attribute. There is 
 nothing for example, which has not a certain manner. 
 Questions, therefore, overlap, and even superimpose on, 
 one another : thus, one does not examine only whether the 
 thing is, but if its essence or quality exists, and reciprocally. 
 These complications, or, as he calls them, syzygies, are 
 infinite, and might give rise to various questions of which 
 he has furnished a sketch in his zetetic. 
 
 That to which he gives this designation is a dialectic, 
 but the dialectic is his own. It is an art of resolving the 
 ten questions already adduced, and their complications 
 with one another, by keeping closely to the distinction 
 between the faculties and the truths, referring analogues 
 
342 
 
 The White King. 
 
 to analogues, classifying the different kinds of truths 
 according to their value, avoiding or dissolving all those 
 faulty and monstrous combinations which originate in 
 ignorance of the organization of the human mind and of 
 its relation to the universal constitution of things. It is 
 also a criticism by the light of which we must read the 
 schoolman and philosopher. In this balance we must weigh 
 all their doctrines. At every assertion or statement, a 
 primary question arises: by what faculty does it prove 
 itself ? Or, in other terms, how is it founded in the laws 
 and necessary ideas of the human mind? Sifted in this 
 fashion, logic and rhetoric and generally the study of 
 authors who have secured the public esteem will be a 
 useful exercise for the mind. 
 
 As an example of this act of demonstration first taught 
 by himself — 'ars apodeictica, lucusque ignota,' — ^he puts 
 before us a table in which the ten categorical questions are 
 put and answered in so far as concerns the truth. That is, 
 it is the answer to that unique question: how shall we 
 define truth ? 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 An — existence. 
 Quid — essence. 
 Quale — quality. 
 
 Quantum — quantity. 
 
 Adquid—v&laXian. 
 Quom odo — means. 
 
 DEFINITION OF TRUTH. 
 
 Truth is. 
 
 A. conditional conformity. 
 
 Fulfilling the conditions 
 which, always and neces- 
 sarily postulated, are, 
 nevertheless, not always 
 and necessarily present. 
 
 Able to expound to the 
 full measure of things, 
 if the conditions are ful- 
 filled. 
 
 Between a certain object, 
 the appearance, the con- 
 cept, and the intellect. 
 
 By means of the con- 
 ditions requisite for the 
 truth of the object, 
 whatever it be, of the 
 appearance, the concept, 
 and the intellect. 
 
 PROOFS. 
 
 It is a common be- 
 
 belief. 
 A belief common 
 
 and discursive. 
 A belief common 
 
 and discursive. 
 
 A belief common 
 and discursive. 
 
 A common belief 
 and an external or 
 internal sense. 
 
 A belief common 
 and discursive. 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 343 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 DEFINITION OP TRUTH. 
 
 Quando — time. 
 
 Ubi — place. 
 
 Unde — origin, cause. 
 
 OujuB gratia — end. 
 
 When, through those con- 
 ditions, the objects are 
 in conformity with the 
 homogeneous faculties. 
 
 [Conformity] situated in 
 the exact point of con- 
 formation. 
 
 Proceeding from a first 
 cause which has arranged 
 the analogy of things, 
 etc. 
 
 Effectively tending to the 
 perfection of man as its 
 final cause. — For its op- 
 posite privative, it has 
 ignorance, and its posi- 
 tive, error. 
 
 Sense (or percep- 
 tion) external or 
 internal. 
 
 Common belief and 
 external or internal 
 sense. 
 
 BeUef, common and 
 discursive. 
 
 Belief, common and 
 discursive. 
 
 Here Herbert might close his book, for the definition of 
 Truth is found, and, as appears, is the summation of the 
 whole, the product as well as the example of all its teaching. 
 By stoppiug here, he would not have mutilated his doctrine. 
 As a speculative science, it would be known, and with it its 
 consequences as far as they affected the beliefs of the 
 human race, for the author has frequently foreshadowed 
 them. But he thinks himself obliged to deduce them 
 expressly. The design of rectifying the metaphysics of the 
 preachers of his time breathes through every page of his 
 work. He particularly aims at overthrowing the Calvinistic 
 dogma of the depravity of human nature. Often he seems 
 to write for no other purpose than to refute Archbishop 
 Bradwardine. He has, moreover, in the very title of his 
 book, made profession of seeking the truth in itself, in- 
 dependently of Kevelation, It is, then, a natural con- 
 sequence that he should explain his religious views ; which 
 is again to explain his views of truth. AU religion, like all 
 philosophy, presupposes a theodicy. Lord Herbert's is so 
 much the more important because we can conjecture that it 
 was in his search after religious truth he found his philosophy. 
 
344 The White King. 
 
 The excellence of a religion is not to be admitted simply 
 because it alleges a revelation. Without the assistance of 
 common beliefs, that is to say, of universal truths, the 
 choice of a revelation or a religion is impossible. Implicit 
 faith, the substitution of faith for the authority of the 
 reason, the infallibility of a Church, the precept of mis- 
 trust of one's self, the prohibition of inquiry into the 
 testimony of the official interpreters of the Divine Word, 
 the assertion of secret motives beyond our understanding 
 in the dogmas taught, the power of God which none can 
 limit — aU these arguments may be adduced to support a 
 false religion as well as a true. In what ages, for what 
 impostures, in what designs have they not been employed ? 
 Consult, then, the universal wisdom before placing your 
 faith in the creeds which put forward these pretensions. 
 A religion is held in honour. Why ? The least examina- 
 tion will prove that this can only be the result of deception, 
 of fables accumulated in books during the credulous ages — 
 not of that multitude of rites and traditions which contend 
 with one another for the believer's credulity. You will 
 find that, under all these things, there is the worship of 
 God, there is piety, repentance, the penalties and rewards 
 of the other life. Therefore it is that men have learned 
 to honour and reverence religion — but these are the general 
 property of mankind. What prophet would find any 
 listeners, if he did not claim the authority of God for his 
 utterances, that is, if he did not appeal to a universal 
 idea? 
 
 We must seek out, then, the common beliefs concerning 
 religion. 
 
 The first is the Existence of a Supreme God. Men have 
 differed respecting plurality of Gods, but respecting God — 
 never. There is no religion which does not recognise a 
 very good and an all-powerful Deity, That God is happy 
 — that He is the act, the course, the means of all things — 
 that He is good, just and wise, is the universal belief. 
 Infinite, almighty, free — these are the attributes respecting 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 345 
 
 wMch men have disputed warmly; but Lord Herbert easily 
 connects them with the fundamental ideas, and has no 
 more diflSculty in establishing that by the common consent 
 acts of worship are due to God, that of those virtue and 
 piety are the essential, that crime must be expiated — at 
 all events by repentance, and that a justice which punishes 
 and rewards awaits us at the end of life. These are the 
 universal convictions which He at the bottom of theology ; 
 and, according to Lord Herbert, are the five truly Catholic 
 articles of faith. As for the unbeliever, the atheist, such 
 do not really exist ; but there are many so wounded by the 
 horrible and mendacious attributes which have been ascribed 
 to the Divinity that they would rather He did not exist. 
 But no religion, no Church has reared itself against 
 these common beliefs, against these articles of the universal 
 faith, against these received doctrines of the true Catholic 
 Church. 
 
 Engraved in our hearts, they come from God. It does 
 not follow that every religion is good, nor that all men will 
 be saved. But in every religion, and still more in everj' 
 conscience, nature or grace has planted the means of 
 rendering itself agreeable to God. May the revelation 
 which derogates in nothing from these dogmas preserve its 
 truth, and if it add thereto, let us profit by what it adds ! 
 Only let it rest upon these fundamental principles, and 
 upon each point reply to this question ; what faculty is 
 your proof ? As for ceremonies, they have their utility ; 
 but to maintain, like the bishops, that they are essential to 
 religion, is to practise an imposture. 
 
 The Church of the universal belief is the only one which 
 cannot err : she alone teaches the wisdom of nature, or the 
 divine universal providence. Out of it there is no salvation. 
 Whoever invents new dogmas separates from it that which 
 we learn through a revelation — and a revelation is a thing 
 possible in the vigil as in the dream, a thing we ought to 
 profit by. Many things may be the object of a pious belief, 
 and we must deny only that which is directly repugnant 
 
346 The White King. 
 
 to the divine attribute. All that preceding ages have 
 related of the Divine goodness and mercy, we believe not 
 only possible but real, with the great majority of mankind. 
 It is for the Church to regulate the externals of worship 
 and the hierarchy, and to record the events of past genera- 
 tions, especially those which witnessed to the true divine 
 attributes. For, when once the indubitable truths have been 
 received into the sanctuary of the soul, we may with piety 
 believe all the rest on the Church's authority, provided 
 that we set aside contradictions, and hold firmly to that 
 which inspires concord and saintliness. Do not let us 
 attempt to fathom the secret judgments of God ; but as to 
 salvation, let us know no more than this, — that at all times, 
 and in all places, the soul, inspired by the universal con- 
 victions, has been able, rejecting every superstition, to accept 
 firmly the five articles of faith ; or men, in truth, would 
 be more deplorably divided than the flocks which, scattered 
 over the pastures, turn aside from dangerous herbs to 
 browse upon wholesome plants. This fundamental rehgion 
 is a circle on which we cannot encroach without destroying 
 its form. Lord Herbert does not prohibit us from enlarging 
 it, provided the figure remains the same and preserves 
 the same centre. It is by this rule that all ecclesiastical 
 additions must be weighed. 
 
 Kevealed truth rests upon the authority of the Revealer. 
 It is subject to divers conditions, of which the principal 
 is, that it must be received direct ; for if it be a tradition or 
 a narrative, it cannot be accepted as more than probable. 
 The divine breath, so to speak, must be felt in it : and in the 
 dream as in waking, in the ecstasy as in sober reflection, 
 a revelation may be consummated which we are bound to 
 esteem divine. As for the revelations which priests have 
 received iu past times, the laity must require it to be put 
 beyond doubt that they were reaUy received, that they came 
 from God or one of His angels, that the facts or the words 
 have been faithfully recorded by the hands of those who 
 saw or heard them. Finally, that they must be addressed so 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles 1. 347 
 
 directly to later generations as necessarily to become an 
 article of faith, always in obedience to this supreme law, 
 that nothing be admitted contrary to the universal dogmas. 
 Those, too, were revealed ; and, to speak generally, all the 
 internal sentiments of faith, repentance, virtue, everything 
 which is divine in us — is a revelation. When, at an extra- 
 ordinary invocation, God manifests in an unaccustomed 
 manner a new attribute, it is an instance of grace or 
 particular providence ; nature is the universal providence. 
 Every speech or act of piety, even a miracle, if not invali- 
 dated by some contradiction, may be — ougM to be — accepted 
 with respect. Thus the Decalogue, like every religion, like 
 every law, derives its principal authority from the common 
 convictions of which it is the expression. But the develop- 
 ments which it gives them have such a character of 
 uniformity and utility, that Lord Herbert willingly believes 
 in its miraculously divine origin. 
 
 To apply these principles, we must clearly understand 
 what is probable and what is possible. Every relation is 
 but probable; for it depends on the authority of the 
 relator. Probability has its degrees according to the cir- 
 cumstances of which we are judges. Things conformable 
 to the accustomed order are more probable than those 
 astride of it, though we ought to recognise that God can 
 work miracles, if He wiU. That which a man can know, he 
 may believe. But faith, even the faith of ages, ought to go 
 back to the knowledge of the author. It follows that, every 
 man having in himself the faculties and conditions of 
 truth, the truth accepted by another cannot be an absolute 
 rule for us ; it is a truth which is not our own, it is only 
 a probability. We must not reject the history of the 
 Creation or the Redemption on this ground ; only, there is 
 a difference between believing and knowing. Assured 
 recognition or certain knowledge is distinct from hearsay 
 faith, ' fides per auditionem : ' in every religion, there is the 
 doctrine, and there is the history. Holy writ should always 
 be received, however, with profound respect. What book 
 
3:18 The White King. 
 
 inspires us with greater strength and consolation ? What 
 is there in its pages which one cannot without impiety 
 believe to be divinely inspired ? But if additions contrary 
 to the honour of the Divinity, to His well-known attributes, 
 have resulted from the uncritical temper (incuria) of the 
 times, we must, if we do not correct the Book, at least reject 
 its interpreters. Probability may touch truth very closely ; a 
 narrative may be so near to certainty that it would be 
 impertinent to throw doubt upon it. Miracles alleged in 
 support of a new, and perhaps an unjust law, are im- 
 positions; a good law or a good religion without miracle 
 should be honoured ; but miracles with a good purpose are 
 not only possible, but worthy of belief If the things 
 legitimately attested are not the truths themselves, they 
 have been sanctioned by truth, ' Veritatis civitate donatse ;' 
 but we must take into account the epochs of their utterance. 
 Dark ages or ignorant races cannot be held worthy of much 
 credence. We must leave to the authors the responsibility 
 of that which they relate. Historical facts should be 
 treated like real objects. If they are of a nature to agree 
 with your internal faculties, if they are in conformity with 
 and favourable to the world's common beliefs, all goes well. 
 If it be otherwise, suppose some secret judgment of God, 
 some gap, some omission in the recital. There are things 
 of which one can affirm neither the truth nor the falsehood ; 
 others which, for want of sufficient examination, of a com- 
 plete verification, are as yet only probable. Such we find 
 in astronomy, in philosophy, in medicine. 
 
 The old proposition — every statement is true or false — 
 cannot be adopted without reservation. Let an object be 
 put forward ; necessarily there is some truth in it ; although 
 since it has not been methodically considered, its essence is 
 not exactly known, but what one affirms of it and which 
 may be false is at least probable and possible. That which 
 implicates contradiction is not necessarily false. The false, 
 to speak correctly, is neither possible nor probable. That 
 which is possible and probable may not be true; but it 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 349 
 
 involves an imperfect trutli rather tlian a falsehood properly 
 so called. Probability applies to the past ; possibility to 
 the future. Prediction is but a simple conjecture, if it be 
 not the perception of an effect in its cause or a prophetic 
 inspiration. The latter can be admitted only when the 
 predictions are clear, precise, detailed, and not conceived in 
 a vague obscurity. What fiction is there, except the fiction 
 of the impossible, which is not realised sometimes and 
 somewhere ? This does not mean that we ought to reject 
 every divine faculty, which develops itself in certain cir- 
 cumstances, in certain conditions of the soul, and unveils 
 the things which relate to eternity. The soul, putting 
 aside all that is corporeal, may take flight towards divine 
 things, as happens in a mortal sickness. Our sight reaches 
 the sun; the soul sees beyond it. Eternal beatitude is 
 possible, and as it responds to a faculty of our nature, this 
 faculty does not deceive us. 
 
 The whole of Lord Herbert's system of doctrine is con- 
 tained in the treatise ' De Veritate.' His other philosophical 
 writings do but repeat and illustrate it. It had called forth 
 doubts and objections. The terminology had not been 
 universally approved. He himself informs us that the use 
 he had made of the words ' natural instinct ' and ' faculty ' 
 had appeared singular ; and in a work, of which he finished 
 only the first part, he undertook, in treating of the causes 
 of error, to justify both his ideas and his language.* 
 
 In his ' De Causis Errorum/ he expounds anew his theory 
 of the species and conditions of truth. This new exposition 
 is distinguished, perhaps, by a more scientific exactitude ; 
 for instance, in the part which treats of the verity of the 
 object, we light upon rules which might stiU be transported 
 without any considerable modification into a theory of 
 observation applied to the natural sciences. The art of 
 experimentation is not considered with so much analytic 
 detail as in Bacon, but with less minutiae, less subtlety ; we 
 
 <* ' De Cansis, una cum tractalu de Eeligione Laici, et appendice ad 
 Sacerdotes, necnon quibusdam poematibus.' — London, 1645. 
 
350 The White King. 
 
 observe, too, a constant anxiety to connect all the rules with 
 a theory of the human mind. Lord Herbert has over Bacon 
 the advantage that he does not attempt to teach a method 
 of which he has not sought out the principles. 
 
 The discussion of the errors of the senses is more pro- 
 foundly conducted, especially in so far as relates to the 
 sight, and the influence of the temperament and of ill 
 health upon the organs. Herbert was acquainted with the 
 medicine, and even to some extent with the chemistry, of 
 his age. He sows, in consequence, his researches upon 
 organic sensibility with observations and suggestions which 
 ■do not offer, perhaps, 'more than an interest of curiosity. 
 But this kind of knowledge added to his authority, especially 
 at a time when all science was still mixed up with erudition, 
 and the language of the physics of the schools was in- 
 corporated in philosophy. It is when he arrives at the 
 fourth condition of the truth of the concept, that having 
 to demonstrate the existence of a faculty analogous to the 
 object of conception, he goes back to the very heart of his 
 philosophic doctrine. All the affections of the organic 
 senses would be, as it were, null, if he did not refer them in 
 us to certain faculties which produced innumerable notions. 
 These faculties he divided into four classes : 
 
 The first are those which, excited by their objects, 
 develop in the soul the common beliefs relative to God or 
 to the world. The second are those internal faculties 
 which, bound to these beliefs by a singular necessity, 
 awaken the sentiment of good or evil in things. The third 
 are external, and tend to the knowledge of the sensible 
 qualities of objects. Finally come the faculties which, 
 traversing these convictions and ideas of all kinds, extend 
 the field of the knowledge of things; these are the dis- 
 cursive faculties. Some have wished to add to this list 
 those other faculties which would respond to grace or a 
 particular providence, and, shut up and silent in the heart, 
 would wake again under the hand of God, and rewaken 
 the preceding faculties. But they offer no characteristics 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 351 
 
 which enable us to class them with the internal sentiments, 
 and as to the supposition of a sense revealed or ecstatic, 
 such a supernatural revelation does not make faith in- 
 dubitable, we must proscribe it as a source of imposture 
 or hallucination. It is prudent to attach them to the 
 capital faculties perceptible in every sane and complete 
 man. 
 
 A new deduction from all the conditions of the regular 
 action of these faculties brings into light the principle that 
 every man is but a confusion. The reader wiU understand 
 us now when we say that the supreme rule of truth is, in 
 the system of Herbert, conformation according to analogy. 
 Thus when we oppose faith to reason, and subordinate the 
 former to the latter, we commit generalty the mistake of 
 putting the internal senses above or in the place of the 
 common convictions. Faith is an assent given to relation 
 or to prediction. Now the authenticity of the narrative is 
 determined by reason; and as for predictions, error in- 
 sinuates itself so frequently even into conjectures founded 
 on the chain of causes and effects, that we must employ 
 much more precaution and discernment when dealing with 
 matters outside the natural order. The everlasting fate of 
 the soul in the future Ufa is so conformable to our ideas of 
 Providence, and, in general, to the beliefs of universal 
 wisdom, that the assent of faith is here confirmed by reason. 
 But this is not the case with all that is said of celestial 
 things. Whatever departs from this collective wisdom of 
 humanity is rank heresy. The authority of humanity is 
 itself the result of reason ; and, consequently, reason must 
 exercise control over the illusions and the frauds which 
 degrade or annul that authority — fortunate, indeed, if in- 
 sensate outbreaks do not make its name an excuse for war 
 and devastation. Transmuted truth may be modified, 
 simplified, misunderstood. In the area of the probable and 
 the possible, reason alone should be the arbiter of faith. 
 For all faith we must be able to adduce reason. But by 
 reason we do not mean pure reasoning and argument, the 
 
So2 The White King. 
 
 pure discursive process. Faith combined with reasoning 
 only, without the common beliefs, that is, without reason, 
 begets absurd argumentations and the wildest controversies. 
 By the wisdom of the collective opinions of humanity peace 
 can alone be restored. 
 
 We regret that space will not allow us to analyse 
 Herbert's elaborate discussion of that which the schoolmen 
 call the common objects of the external senses, that is to 
 say, the general phenomena of the natural bodies, such as 
 movement, figure, number — all the physical properties. 
 The errors to which observation is subject in this direction 
 are carefully studied. And Herbert concludes by an in- 
 quiry into the analogy which exists between faculties and 
 objects, and the author explains the' whole order of human 
 knowledge by this principle which he derives from it as a 
 consequence and establishes as a principle, that there are as 
 many faculties in us as there are dififerences in things. 
 
 A second part of the treatise 'De Causis Errorum' was 
 promised, but the author was prevented from fulfilling his 
 promise by the troubles of the times, and the weariness of 
 declining years. 
 
 Philosophy cannot be an everyday science, and yet 
 religion is for the whole world. The ministers of worship 
 are the philosophers of the people. If philosophy interpose 
 between the priest and the faithful, what ought the faithful 
 to do ? Disdain philosophy or follow it ? In other words, 
 what is to be the ordinary religion of the layman ? This 
 question — so natural, but so difficult in the ages of fierce 
 ecclesiastical controversy, when controversy expanded into 
 war, Lord Herbert has not succeeded in escaping in his 
 'History of the Reign of Henry VIII.' In relating the 
 changes of liturgy and creed which that sovereign brought 
 about, oppressing alternately those who wished to abide 
 within, and those who wished to advance beyond, his 
 capricious reforms, Lord Herbert is moved with pity for the 
 mental tortures of sincere men who had been subjected to 
 such experiences, and he pauses in the full current of his 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 353 
 
 narrative to offer the reader the philosophical refuge of 
 faith in the universal wisdom the expression of the 
 universal providence. This is the theme which he resumes 
 and develops in a little book entitled ' Religio Laici.' 
 
 Various religions exist ; some which once existed are no 
 more. All have had or still have their interpreters ; their 
 priests, who assert that they alone possess the divine 
 tradition. How make a choice among their threatening 
 predictions ? What would become of the voyager who 
 traversed the universe ? inquires Lord Herbert, putting 
 himself in the place of this voyager. If he decide to sub- 
 mit himself unreservedly to his religious superiors, will he 
 pursue the path of faith or of reason ? But he will hear it 
 said that original sin has vitiated the faculties of the soul : 
 how then can the faculty of belief be exempt from this 
 original corruption? And if redemption has restored in- 
 tegrity to the faculties, why should not reason have 
 recovered hers ? The simple layman will resort therefore 
 to an eclectic process, and consulting alternately reason and 
 faith, sometimes he will implore the Divine assistance in his 
 quest of truth, sometimes will commit himself to the Divinei 
 Goodness. But these prayers and this trustfulness pre- 
 suppose the idea of a Common Father, of a God whose 
 existence all religions recognise. The reader will under- 
 stand, without further development, how the author points 
 out the road to the traveller who surveys the religious 
 world, furnishing him with a criterion, or test, of the 
 established religions in absolute faith in the dogmas of the 
 universal religion. 
 
 Immense— perhaps impracticable — is the examination of 
 the creeds of the world ; and in all cases such an examina- 
 tion can be possible only to a very limited number of men ; 
 and the necessary consequence is, that we must take as 
 indubitable nothing but the universal, and must firmly 
 adhere to the five articles of common belief. 
 
 It is objected, says Lord Herbert, that by this reduction 
 of its creed religion will lose something. It may be so ; 
 
 VOL. I. 23 
 
o 
 
 354 The White King. 
 
 but not, assuredly, saintliness of life. A great prejudice, it 
 is added, against the episcopacy and the priesthood, -will be 
 the result. Why ? The hierarchy and their endowments 
 ('stipendium') will be maintained. Will there not be 
 more temples, more people to initiate in sacred things ? 
 All the duties of the ministry remain unaltered on con- 
 dition that ministers do not disfigure the divine attributes ; 
 do not place salvation in controversial matters; do not 
 pretend, in a word, to be wiser than their natural facul- 
 ties — ' ne ultra facultates sapiunt.' The traveller to whom^ 
 Lord Herbert offers himself as a guide, strong in the 
 support of the fundamental beliefs, will accept with 
 gratitude all that in revealed rehgion increases their 
 evidence and enlarges their influence. He will reject 
 everything which obscures or shakes them, anything which 
 engenders pernicious views or passions. This doctrine is 
 formally presented by the author, not only as indubitable 
 in principle, but as adapted to re-establish peace — invest 
 religion, the hierarchy, and the State with substantial 
 dignity and authority — augment the influence and the 
 severity of the moral laws — and harmonize the true thought 
 and meaning of the sacred books with faith and worship. 
 
 His office is not to discuss particular dogmas nor the 
 conditions of salvation. He justifies himself, therefore, for 
 not dwelling upon a particular form of religion, because 
 such was not his subject. The laity have nothing to do 
 with the solution of controversial questions. No one, he 
 says, has a higher opLaion of the Scriptures than he him- 
 self has. But we must clearly recognise that other religions 
 have taught what he calls the five Catholic truths, and that 
 nothing is more hazardous than to alter them by im- 
 prudent additions. The most innocent dogmas of separate 
 sects must not be incorporated with them ; each creed must 
 keep its bases separate. Otherwise the truths engraved in 
 the heart of man would depend upon a tradition, and lose 
 their universality. He is not explicit as to what will suffice 
 for salvation; but he counsels the clergy to imitate his 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 355 
 
 reserve in speaking of the pains and penalties of the future 
 life. As for himself, he submits all that he has -written to 
 the judgment of the true Catholic Church. 
 
 In an 'Appendix ad Sacerdotes,' he addresses to the 
 priesthood some pressing questions. Is it better, he asks 
 its members, yes or no, that the orthodox religion should be 
 founded upon the thesis of the faith than on the dogma of a 
 universal providence ? That it should rest upon contested 
 principles than upon those which all men have accepted ? 
 Would it not be better to incur the accusation of atheism 
 than to reject a universal providence, and to refuse a 
 paternal God, a Providence, that is, the means of salvation, 
 to a part of the human race ? Is it possible to find in the 
 ■whole earth any other vestiges of God than the five articles, 
 and to add anything in regard to piety and moral purity 
 which is not already their legitimate consequence ? If it 
 be an axiom beyond doubt that God is the Supreme Truth, 
 and can neither deceive nor be deceived, how are we to 
 explain the errors, the schisms, the variations begotten by 
 the interpretation of the Scriptures, if we do not refer them 
 to their interpreters and copyists, and to alterations 
 made in the different manuscripts? In the bosom of 
 particular Churches, have not controversies been originated 
 by sects, each alleging that miracles had been wrought in 
 its behalf ? And in this way have there not been produced 
 new dogmas, such as predestination, and justification by 
 faith, which, on the one hand, narrow the supremacy of the 
 universal providence, and, on the other, take away some- 
 thing from the severity of virtue and the chastity of 
 religion? Are not pious actions and reflections pre- 
 ferable to the eternal disputes which make one despair of 
 peace among men ? Finally, who has ever seriously denied 
 either of the five articles ? Even atheism cannot justify 
 itself by alleging. ignorance of them. 
 
 There is one objection, or, at least, a doubt, which Lord 
 Herbert has here passed over unnoticed. He maintains 
 that the five articles are at once principles of the human 
 
 23—2 
 
356 The White King. 
 
 mind and dogmas invested with the authority of universal 
 assent. The latter point is a fact that needs to be 
 established, and in his philosophical work he affirms it 
 rather than establishes it. At the epoch when he wrote, 
 an attempt to trace a complete picture of the religions of 
 the world would have been fruitless. Even to-day all the 
 clouds are far from dissipated. But at a time when erudi- 
 tion was confined within the limits of the Greek and Roman 
 world, it was possible to learn nearly all that we would 
 care to know of the religious beliefs of the human race in 
 describing the Paganism of antiquity. This subject had 
 already exercised the criticism and scholarship of the age. 
 
 It was, in fact, Vossius whom Lord Herbert had con- 
 sulted on a work which is less read even than those whose 
 contents we have endeavoured to analyse. To give an 
 historical basis to the five articles, we must seek for them 
 under the veil of the religion of the Gentiles, and at the 
 same time explain the reasons which led antiquity to 
 envelop them in so many fables, superstitions, and false 
 dogmas. This was Lord Herbert's aim in a treatise, entitled 
 — ' De Religione Gentilium Errorumque apud eos Causis ' — 
 (On the Religion of the Gentiles and the Causes of Their 
 Errors). In this work, which is written in a purer Latinity 
 than his other books, and in which he shows more scholar- 
 ship than critical power, he has endeavoured to discover 
 whether the Gentiles had in their possession the general 
 means of obtaining eternal life. 
 
 On this delicate point he had encountered three opinions. 
 1. Some theologians, whom he designates 'atrocious,' 
 maintain that since the fall of Adam all men have been 
 condemned; that thanks to the death of Christ some are 
 ' elected ' by the good pleasure of God, but that the great 
 majority of men, even those who have never heard the 
 name of Christ, are destined to everlasting destruction. 
 These theologians are not sufficiently in God's secrets to 
 have a claim upon our belief, and Herbert tells us that he 
 has rejected them — ' sacerdotes illos tandem rejeci.' 2. Other 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of CJcarles I. 357 
 
 theologians think that in the moment of death Christ is 
 revealed to those of the heathen who have lived saintly 
 lives. These priests are more compassionately disposed 
 towards the human race; but their improbable opinion is 
 unsupported by history, tradition, or solid conjecture. 3. 
 The scholastics, who leap with marvellous agility from 
 faith to reason and from reason to faith, advance nothing 
 at all calculated to dissipate a scrupulous doubt. However, 
 it is one of their maxims that saving grace is not withheld 
 from him who does his duty. And finally, other writers, 
 among whom he names Franciscus Cellius of Milan, 'De 
 Animabus Paganorum ' (On the Souls of the Heathen), main- 
 tain, with citations from the Fathers, that virtuous Pagans 
 have been admitted to salvation through the mercy of God. 
 This is the opinion adopted by Lord Herbert, when, after 
 having been at first repelled by the crowd of their odious and 
 absurd superstitions, he discovered that the Gentiles had 
 known the same God as ourselves. But what God ? Here 
 naturally comes in the natural theology of which he has 
 so often laid the foundations. He finds that the Gentiles 
 had not been ignorant of its principles, and that they could 
 impute only to their own folly and presumption the errors 
 they had mingled with them. 
 
 The origin of the religious cult, the idea of God — 
 present in the primitive worship, present also in the star- 
 worship, and especially in the sun worship, in that of the 
 forces of nature or the spirits of heroes — ^has been disguised 
 under a multiplicity of different names, and disfigured by 
 additional credulities and superstitious fictions. But a 
 Supreme God — creator of the world — a God very good and 
 very great — has ever been the object of faith and worship. 
 The God of the Gentiles is the same as ours ; their God is 
 identical with the God. Whatever of truth the heathen creeds 
 contained was the five articles ; nothing was true but these. 
 We may sin by a false worship of the true God, as by the 
 tiFue worship of a false God. But there is always some- 
 thing true in a religion ; and in that of the Gentiles it is 
 
358 The White King. 
 
 possible to trace, under many disguises, a belief in a Supreme 
 Being, in the sacredness of virtue, in the necessity of a 
 priesthood and an expiation or a lustration, and, finally, in 
 the certainty of future reward and punishments. All these 
 facts have been so often demonstrated that it would be idle 
 to repeat the proofs which Lord Herbert claims for himself 
 the credit of having discovered. Although this teaching of 
 his was not entirely new, even in his own time, he thought 
 it new; and esteemed himself happier than was Archimedes 
 in the solution of his famous hydrostatic problem, when he 
 had discovered deep down at the roots of the religion of 
 the Gentiles the five dogmas of natural religion. When 
 Christianity came, it disengaged those dogmas from all 
 admixture of impiety, and what it left to Paganism was of 
 such trivial import that Paganism ceased to exist. 
 
 A word or two must be added in reference to the critical 
 opinions which have obtained upon Lord Herbert's philoso- 
 phical and religious system. 
 
 First, we shall allude to those of Gassendi, who attempted 
 to refute Herbert, starting from the view-point of a com- 
 bined empiricism and Christianity. 
 
 Gassendi belonged to the Peripatetic school, who in- 
 terpreted Aristotle on the side of the philosophy of sen- 
 sations, completed their physics by adopting the system of 
 Epicurus, and absolved themselves by a profession of 
 Christian orthodoxy. He is, as Coleridge puts it, one of the 
 evangelising Epicureans — ' inter Epicures evangelisantes.' 
 No one could be found less caipable of treating our 
 philosopher fairly. In opposition to his definition of truth, 
 he defended one which comes from the schoolmen, namely : 
 ' It is the agreement of the intellect knowing with the thing 
 known' — 'intellectus cognoscentis cum re cognita con- 
 gruentia;' and the very object of Herbert's work he mis- 
 represents as a chimera. He failed wholly to perceive the 
 originality or the grandeur of his doctrine. He could see 
 nothing but a new attempt to penetrate the nature of 
 things; and he objects, with all his school, that it is 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 359 
 
 sufficient for our needs to know their qualities, and that 
 human science has never passed that limit. God has not 
 willed that we should know eternal beatitude itself other 
 than by revelation. After a defence of the categories of 
 peripateticism against Lord Herbert's ten questions, 
 Gassendi, who, in his ' natural instinct,' could see nothing 
 but what the schoolmen already called the intelligence of 
 principles (' intellectus principiorum '), defies him to dis- 
 tinguish with definite precision the common ideas of 
 humanity from other ideas, and refuses to include among 
 them those of God and of the immortality of the soul. 
 Are not these in effect the points which reason disputes, 
 when abandoned to itself ? Is there in physics a principle, 
 or in ethics a maxim, which cannot be contested ? Are the 
 laws of morality invariable ? Had not Lord Herbert been 
 brought up under Christian influences, a very different 
 spirit would have pervaded his system. 
 
 Gassendi's objections need not detain us ; they involve 
 a doctrine too often discussed; and may be united with 
 those which, forty years later, John Locke addressed to the 
 same adversary. In his war against innate ideas, Locke 
 necessarily met Lord Herbert upon his path, and having 
 been informed that ' a man of so great parts ' had, in his 
 book ' De Veritate,' formulated a list of innate practical 
 principles, found there, in reality, the five articles of faith 
 with the six characteristics which are supposed to attest 
 their universality. Lightly discussing the latter, of which 
 he thinks the value more than problematical, Locke main- 
 tains that there are, perhaps, a hundred other propositions 
 which deserve as much as the five dogmas the distinction 
 of common ideas, and that it is, for example, impossible to 
 recognise the features which mark the latter, such as purity, 
 independence, universality, immediate manifestation,— with 
 the ideas of virtue considered as the essential of worship, of 
 expiation by repentance, and of retribution after death. 
 There is no authorised definition of virtues and vices, still 
 less is it engraved by nature in our souls. Primordial prin- 
 
360 The White King. 
 
 ciples such as Herbert supposes, could neither be altered 
 nor effaced ; the disagreement which we see in the world 
 upon this very subject of the five dogmas proves that 
 they are very far from being incontestable and invariable. 
 Finally, men show a facility in accepting as principles old 
 women's stories which does not permit us to attribute to 
 their reason an infallible instinct. 
 
 The plausibility of these criticisms applies more par- 
 ticularly to Lord Herbert's exaggerated view of the known 
 evidence and enduring authority of his five articles, which 
 he wished to make the ' credo ' of philosophy. 
 
 ' I have taken time,' writes the illustrious Descartes to 
 Father Mersenne, ' to read the book which you have been 
 so good as to send me. And since you have asked my 
 opinion of it, and it treats of a subject at which I have 
 laboured all my life, I think I owe it to you to write it 
 down here. I find in it many very excellent things, sed 
 non publici safaris, for there are few persons capable of 
 understanding metaphysics.' Descartes then proceeds t» 
 an examination of the work — a very extended one for a 
 man generally so neglectful of the books of others — and 
 though he says that, generally speaking, the author pursues 
 a road very different from that with which he is familiar, 
 his observations are not objections, and attest a general 
 agreement and a frank approval which goes almost as far 
 as the portion devoted to religion. Descartes finds in it 
 many maxims which seem to him so pious and so con- 
 formable to common sense that he wishes they might be 
 approved by the orthodox theology ; finally, he concludes 
 by saying that he esteems the author far above ordinary 
 minds. 
 
 For those acquainted with Descartes, this letter will be 
 remarkable as breaking away from his accustomed reserve 
 to praise another writer, and to disclose his individual 
 feelings. 
 
 We see, clearly enough, that he did not look upon 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 361 
 
 Herbert's doctrine as tending in any way towards scepticism ; 
 indeed, we may learn from it not a little of that which 
 Descartes himself endeavoured to teach the human race. 
 
 The application which Herbert made of his philosophy 
 to the question of the authority of revelation we have not 
 to consider further ; but it is desirable to glance hastily at 
 the influence which he exercised in England over the 
 method of investigating the relations of natural religion to 
 Christianity. The clearness and the freedom with which 
 he has maintained the exclusive right of the former to 
 absolute certainty have not always been imitated ; but 
 they have encouraged, however, that school of British Deism 
 which a century afterwards won the admiration of Yoltaire. 
 
 As the successor or disciple of Herbert, Charles Blunt 
 (1684-1698) is frequently named. He was a publicist who, 
 after composing, at the epoch of the revolution of 1688, a 
 work in favour of the liberty of the Press which was greatly 
 esteemed, had the boldness to say, in another publication, 
 burned by order of the House of Commons, that William 
 and Mary had ascended the throne by right of conquest. 
 He had previously taken up the weapons of theological 
 controversy without being more fortunate. Condemned 
 sometimes by the Bishop of London, sometimes by the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, who fulminated against a 
 pamphlet in which he had advocated the right of a husband 
 to marry his deceased wife's sister, he kiUed himself in a 
 fit of despair. He has left to posterity a treatise on ' The 
 Soul of the World ' (Anima Mundi, 1678), in which may 
 be found all the principal ideas of the ' De Keligione Gen- 
 tilium ' — a ' Reh'gio Laici,' which is simply a translation of 
 Lord Herbert's, — and, lastly, a critical treatise, ' The Great 
 Diana of the Ephesians,' in which, tracing back idolatry to 
 its origin, he seems to have in view every religion which is 
 not purely abstract. After him came a dramatist, Charles 
 Gildon, who compiled from his manuscripts a book entitled 
 ' The Oracles of Reason.' In all these Deistical writings 
 the existence of God and the soul is admitted. But it is 
 
362 The White King. 
 
 said that Gildon retracted this admission in a later work, 
 printed in 1706, ' The Devil's Manual.' Gildon was born 
 in 1665, and died in 1724. 
 
 Here we may take the occasion to remark a singularity 
 which is almost a contradiction, and yet it is not uncommon. 
 ' Herbert is of the same school as Plato and Descartes. His 
 general principles are more favourable, therefore, to religious 
 spiritualism than those of any doctrine exclusively founded 
 upon an experimental knowledge, and deriving everything 
 from sensation. Yet Gassendi and Locke show a greater 
 reserve, a greater deference towards revelation than Lord 
 Herbert; and their doctrines have, perhaps, been less the 
 object of the attacks of theologians than his, since critics 
 have gone so far as to assert that it was Herbert whom 
 Locke confuted in his 'Kational Christianity.' Who 
 knows not, moreover, how Descartes met Avith bitter enemies 
 in a section of the Church ; and the resistance, or rather 
 persecution, which the Jesuits opposed to his disciples in 
 the name of a peripateticism (equivocal enough) touching 
 the distinction of mind and body? In our own days a 
 similar hatred has often led to a similar kindness. But 
 though Herbert's free dealings with ■ the Church may be 
 held to have authorised some reprisals, it is impossible not 
 to be astonished at the vehemency of the onslaughts made 
 upon him. The most intolerant of his adversaries is, per- 
 haps, a Protestant controversialist who taught theology at 
 Kiel. Christian Kortholt, not long after Herbert's death, 
 launched at him an invective, significantly entitled 'De 
 Tribus Impostoribus ' (1680) — in which he is gibbeted along 
 with Thomas Hobbes and Benedict Spinoza. Such a 
 classification is a sufficient measure of Kortholt's fatuity. 
 The fei-vent defender of the Divine providence and of 
 human liberty has nothing in common with Spinozism, and 
 the enthusiastic adorer of the divinity of the cardinal 
 truths stands in direct antagonism to the blind and powerful 
 enemy of every disinterested conviction and absolute idea 
 in religion and morals. It is a calumny upon Lord 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 363 
 
 Herbert's doctrine to confound it with those which deny 
 everything that he affirms. Herbert was, perhaps, the first 
 to invent the celebrated comparison of nature to a watch, 
 which cannot have made itself. When Kortholt accuses 
 him of principles which undermine revelation or eviscerate 
 its meaning, and affirms that his critical doubts respecting 
 Holy Writ tend to mutilate its doctrine and destroy its 
 authority, — that by his preferences for that which is 
 universal and of ancient origin, he renews the attacks of 
 Celsus against the Christianity which was in his time 'a 
 new doctrine ' (kuivj] SiSaxv), — we are not able to advance 
 any substantial reply to these objections of a rigid orthodoxy. 
 But it is to pass from orthodoxy to fanaticism to call Lord 
 Herbert's religion a pure naturalism, or, in effect, a real 
 atheism, because St. Paul has said that those who are 
 separated from Christ are without God in this world. The 
 unmeasured bitterness of Kortholt disgraces and decries his 
 polemics. 
 
 Of a different order were the criticisms which Culverwell, 
 Kichard Baxter, Whitby, and Haliburton directed against 
 Lord Herbert's doctrine. The first two, who followed him 
 very closely, were rather his rivals than his censors, though 
 separated from him by serious differences; and their 
 writings are of sufficient importance to repay a special ex- 
 amination. The last of the four belongs to the early part 
 of the eighteenth century. Later still comes the well- 
 known Deistical writer, John Leland. This Presbyterian 
 minister, who contended with so much force and yet with 
 moderation against the polished incredulity of the 
 eighteenth century, has carefully analysed the teachings 
 of the English Deists.* To the sincerity and to the 
 abilities of Lord Herbert he does full justice, while making 
 some judicious remarks upon his system. First he ob- 
 serves that the creed of the five articles has not been 
 
 * ' A View of the Princip?,! Deistical Writers that have appeared 
 in England in the last and present Century,' by John Leland (1691- 
 1766), London, 1798. 
 
364 The White King. 
 
 adopted by any people, which prevents it from claiming the 
 authority of universal assent, and to some extent impugns 
 its certainty. Next he insists on the entire inadequacy of 
 philosophy to fill the place of all civil or sacerdotal 
 religion. 
 
 This argument, though more political, perhaps, than 
 theological, has always exercised — particularly in England 
 — a powerful influence ;— and Leland succeeded better in 
 developing it than in demonstrating the perfect compati- 
 bility of the existence of separate religions with the 
 universality of the Divine goodness. This is the third 
 point which he most strenuously labours to establish 
 against Lord Herbert by the ordinary arguments of 
 theology. Finally, he good-humouredly but effectively 
 ridicules the simple enthusiasm of the Deist philosopher 
 who believes himself distinguished by a supernatural com- 
 mission, and, guided by a sign which he does not dare even 
 to define, undertakes to depreciate the authority of the 
 miraculous incident which terrified and converted Paul on 
 the road from Jerusalem to Damascus. 
 
 All who have written or spoken of Lord Herbert have 
 done so with esteem; some have overwhelmed him with 
 eulogies. Ben Jonson attributed to him all the virtues ; 
 Howell promised him immortality, in three stanzas in which 
 he speaks of ' this metaphysical lord ;' even Horace Walpole 
 acknowledges his courage and his profound intelligence. 
 Yet it does not appear that he has exercised any great 
 authority in philosophy, and many of those who have 
 followed in his steps do not confess that he has been their 
 guide. He has imitators rather than disciples. We believe, 
 however, his influence was considerable over Cudworth, 
 who, while diverging less than his master from the straight 
 path of orthodoxy, seems to repeat him in his judgment 
 on the creeds of antiquity and in his doctrine of the immuta- 
 bility of morals. Imitation or similarity is more conspicuous 
 still in Lord Shaftesbury, who, with greater refinement of 
 style and elegance of form, has reproduced his independence. 
 
A Philosopher of the Reign of Charles I. 365 
 
 and his faith in common sense, in the intellectual goodness 
 of humanity, in the assured^ though tardy supremacy of 
 honesty and reason. 
 
 Through Lord Shaftesbury, Herbert seems to touch 
 Hutchinson, and through Hutchinson the metaphysicians 
 of Scotland. His position in our philosophical literature 
 is, therefore, as important as it is interesting ; and I think 
 the reader will not be displeased with the space I have 
 given to the incidents of his career, and the characteristics 
 of his writings. In one sense he was the true product of 
 his time. Far removed as he was in thought and sentiment 
 from the Puritans, yet was he deeply moved by that re- 
 markable religious development which we call Puritanism, 
 and his metaphysical doctrines are those of a man in whom 
 the religious spirit was strongly active. If, following the 
 example of the mass of critics, we regard all philosophy 
 in Great Britain as originating with Bacon, we must suppose 
 that the method of observation has produced two schools : 
 the one which in the human soul subordinates everything 
 to experience — of which Hobbes is the most violent repre- 
 sentative and Locke the noblest master ; the other which, 
 by researches more or less analogous to those of Descartes, 
 has known how to find in reason principles superior to obser- 
 vation and to experience itself. If he carries on the teaching 
 of Bacon, he corrects it, by raising psychology, and through 
 psychology metaphysics, from undeserved neglect. From this 
 point of view, Hallam is justified in describing Lord Herbert 
 as the first metaphysician whom England has produced; 
 just as, from the point of view of religious controversies, 
 Leland has affirmed that he is the most eminent of the 
 Deist writers. Coleridge, severe in general against every 
 philosophy which appeared to him related to the Cambridge 
 school of Rational Theology, reproaches that school with 
 failing to produce a metaphysical doctrine which was, as it 
 were, 'a pre-inquisition of the human soul;' but he recognises 
 that Lord Herbert reached the mouth and descended even 
 some feet into the shaft of that mine, though he retraced his 
 
366 The White King. 
 
 steps abruptly, and left the task of establishing this jpro- 
 pedentia to all philosophy to Kant, from -whom more than 
 two centuries separate him.* ' Upon questions purely philo- 
 sophical,' says Mr. Morell,i- 'few men who have been 
 independent thinkers and deprived of assistance, have 
 approached so near the truth on some most important 
 points as the philosopher of Cherbury.' We conclude, 
 therefore, by saying, with the most illustrious of the later 
 Scotch metaphysicians,! that it is, in truth, surprising that 
 the speculations of a thinker so able and so original, and 
 of a man in all respects so remarkable, should have escaped 
 the observation of those of his countrymen who, after him, 
 have pursued their philosophical investigations in the same 
 spirit. 
 
 [In the foregoing analysis of Lord Herbert's doctrines we 
 have adopted, though not literally, and with constant re- 
 ference to the original, M. de K^musat's able and elaborate 
 criticism in his 'Lord Herbert de Cherbury, Sa Vie et 
 Ses CEuvres : ou Les Origines de la Philosophic du Sens 
 Commune et de la Theologie Naturelle en Angleterre' 
 (Paris, 1874). We have also referred to S. K. Lee's edition 
 of Lord Herbert's ' Autobiography.'] 
 
 ® 'Literary Remains of Samuel Taylor Coleridge,' iii., 415. 
 
 t 'Historical and Critical View of Philosophy,' i., 197. 
 
 j Sir W. Hamilton, Professor Eeid's Works, note a, p. 781 . 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 GLIMPSES OP LIFE AND MANNERS — THE STRAFFORD LETTERS. 
 
 'Mr. Garrard .... 
 
 My neiv man.' 
 Robert Browning : ' Strafford.' 
 
 The two ponderous folios which, under the title of 'The 
 Strafford Letters/ contain the collection of letters and 
 despatches to and from the great Earl of Strafford, made 
 by the Rev. William Knowles, and published in 1738-9, are 
 not only of value from the historical events which they 
 illustrate, but from the side lights which they reflect on the 
 manners and customs of the time, and on the career and 
 character of the great Minister. Some of these side-lights, 
 with such annotations and explanations as may be 
 necessary, we propose to bring together in the present 
 chapter. 
 
 Wentworth, writes to Sir Henry Savile, the scholar, in 
 November, 1620: 'If your health serve you, I shall wish 
 your company at York, and that yourself and friends would 
 eat a Christmas pie with me there.' 
 
 [That is, a mince, or, as it was then called, a mutton-pie, 
 
 neat's tongue not having been substituted for mutton until 
 
 a later date. The other ingredients were chiefly identical 
 
 with those which are still in use. It was frequently termed, 
 
 as we see, a Christmas pie. So run the old rhymes : 
 
 ' Without the door let sorrow lie, 
 And if from cold it hap to die, 
 We'll bring it in a Christmas pie, 
 And evermore be merry !' 
 
368 The White King. 
 
 Herrick alludes to the domestic custom of setting a watch, 
 over the toothsome dainty on the night before Christmas : 
 
 ' Come guard the Christmas-pie, 
 That the thief, though ne'er so sly, 
 With his fish-hooks don't come nigh, 
 To catch it.'] 
 
 Wentworth, at the close of 1620, was desirous of being 
 elected member for Yorkshire. Of the nature of the ex- 
 ertions he made to secure this result, the following letter to 
 his cousin will enable the reader to judge : 
 
 ' Good Cousin,' he writes, ' being as you know engaged to 
 stand with Mr. Secretary Calvert to be knights for this 
 Parliament, and Sir John Savile our only opponent, I must 
 miake use of my friends, and entreat them to deal thoroughly 
 for us, in regard the loss of it would much prejudice our 
 estimations above : in which number I esteem yourself one 
 of my best and fastest friends. The course my Lord Darcy 
 and I hold is, to intreat the" High Constables to desire the 
 Petty Constables to set down the names of all Freeholders 
 within their townships, and which of them have promised 
 to be at York, and bestow their voices with us, so that we, 
 may keep the note as a testimony of their good affections 
 and know whom we are beholden unto, desiring them 
 further to go along with us to York on Sunday, being 
 Christmas Eve, or else meet us about two of the clock at 
 Tadcaster. I desire you would please to deal effectually 
 with your High Constables, and hold the same course, that 
 so we may be able to judge what number we may expect 
 out of your wapentake. As I no ways doubt of your utter- 
 most endeavours and pains in a matter of this nature, 
 deeply touching my credit, so will I value it as a special 
 testimony of your love towards me. I hope you will take 
 the pains to go along with us, together with your friends, to 
 York, that so we may come all in together, and take part of 
 an ill dinner with me the next day; when yourself and 
 friends shall be right heartily welcome. Thus, sir, desiring 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. 369 
 
 to hear from you how the country stands affected, and what 
 number we may expect out of your parts, 
 ' I remain, 
 
 ' Your most assured cousin and friend, 
 
 'Th. Wentworth.' 
 
 A very striking and interesting letter from Wentworth, 
 ' to Sir George Calvert, Principal Secretary of State,' is 
 dated April 28th, 1620 : 
 
 'Mr. Taylor telling me he would see you before the 
 end of the week, I might not omit to present my service 
 unto you in these few lines. Matter worthy your trouble 
 these parts afford none, where our objects and thoughts are 
 limited in looking upon a tulip, hearing a bird sing, a 
 rivulet murmuring, or some such petty yet innocent 
 pastime, which for my part I begin to feel myself in, having^ 
 I praise God, recovered more in a day by an open country 
 air, than in a fortnight's time in that smothering one of 
 London. By my troth I wish you, divested of the impor- 
 tunity of business, here for half a dozen hours ; you should 
 taste how free and fresh we breathe, and how procul metti 
 fruvmur modestis opibus, a-wanting sometimes to persons 
 of greater eminencyin the administration of commonwealths. 
 But seeing this is denied to you in your career, and to me as 
 part of my misfortune, I shall pray you may ever receive as 
 full contentment in those more weighty, as we do in these 
 lighter entertainments.' 
 
 His brother-in-law, Denzil Holies, in August, 1627, 
 sketched the condition of affairs in Western England : 
 
 ' I shall desire to. learn where your rendezvous is, that 
 I may now and then afflict you with some Western intelli- 
 gence, for, as you know, we have the active spirit of the 
 time, and accordingly we were the first that cried out upon 
 the dull sleepy time of peace, and desired action, in which 
 virtue does exist. But we now, to our cost, find the old 
 logic rule true. There is no action without passion; for we 
 suffer sufficiently for it, and now we can cry out as fast 
 
 VOL. I. 24 
 
S70 The White King. 
 
 on the other side. That since these wars all trading is 
 dead, our wools lie upon our hands, our men are not set on 
 work, our ships lie in our ports unoccupied, to be sold as 
 cheap as fire-wood; nothing wiU yield money, not to speak of 
 other petty inconveniences we have found by the soldiers 
 ravishing men's wives and daughters, killing and carrying 
 away hogs and sheep off the ground (stealing of poultry was 
 not worth the speaking of), killing and robbing men upon 
 the highway, nay, in fairs and towns (for to meet a poor 
 man coming from the market with a pair of new shoes, or a 
 basket of eggsorapples,and take themfrom him was but sport 
 and merriment), and a thousand such other petty pranks. 
 Come a dozen of them to a Justice of Peace and Deputy- 
 Lieutenant's house, and make any lady give them five or 
 six pieces to be gone.' 
 
 The scholarly mind will rest with pleasure on the follow- 
 ing letter from learned Sir Henry Wotton, Provost of Eton, 
 dated April 8th, 1628 : 
 
 ' Promises are to be kept even to adversaries, then much 
 more to friends, and most to such a friend as I am now 
 saluting; nay, it will abide yet another gradation, that 
 they are to be performed though at an unseasonable time. I 
 did promise you, when we were last merry together at 
 Medleys, a piece of rural philosophy, Dubravius* his book 
 De Piscinis, which I now send you, having borrowed it 
 of Mr. Hales [" the ever memorable" John], one of our bursars. 
 And therefore when you have perused it at full pleasure 
 I shall desire it again. One thing will appear perchance 
 stranger unto you, that a Bohemian gentleman therein 
 named should in one year gather duodenis sestertidm out of 
 his ponds, which no doubt, with our money, I take to be 
 
 * This -was John Dnbrav (or Skale), the Bohemian historian, a 
 native of Pilsen, who died in 1553. He held for some years the 
 Bishopric of Olmutz, and was almost equally distinguished as eccle- 
 siastic, diplomatist, and historian. He wrote a ' History of Bohemia,' 
 in twenty-three books, ' Commentarium in Psalmum Quintum 
 Davidis,' ' De Piscinis,' etc. 
 
Glimpses of Life and Mamiers. 371 
 
 almost £6,000 sterling, and that, for aught I conceive, only 
 by carp and pike, for so I understand his cyprinos and his 
 lucios. True it is, that Bohemia and Moravia are the most 
 Mediterranean countries of Christendom, and their farness 
 from sea hath taught them the skill of nurturing land-fish 
 to an incredible increase ; insomuch that they will tell you 
 that an acre of pool there is more worth than an acre 
 of saffron in Austria, who yet say they have the best of 
 the world. But enough of this subject. 
 
 ■' Sorry I am not to be at London when my noblest friends 
 are there. And yet what should I, that am of so small 
 influence, do at those great conjunctions ? We poor 
 cloistered men are best in our own cells, qucEclam plantce, 
 saith Pliny, gaudent umbrd. Yet there do stiU hang, I 
 know not how, upon me some relics of an hearkening 
 humour ; and if I could in a line or two be favoured 
 with your judgment of the event of this Parliament, I should 
 think myself better resolved than if I had gone to ask that 
 question at Delphos ; though I could rather wish this turned 
 into a greater favour, and that my ever-honoured Lord 
 Clifford, yourself, and Sir Gervase Clifton, that is, the 
 Medley Triplicity, would at some of your playing and 
 breathing days, take in some of this fresh air. A little 
 interposing of philosophical diet may perchance somewhat 
 lighten the spirits of men overcharged with public thoughts, 
 and prevent a surfeit of State . . . Sir, I have usurped upon 
 too great a part of your time. Pardon me this light diver- 
 sion, continue to love .me, and God's love be with us all.' 
 
 During Wentworth's tenure of office, as Lord-Deputy of 
 Ireland, one of his most frequent correspondents was his 
 Chaplain, the Kev. George Garrard, who seems to have been 
 commissioned to collect all the news he could — good, bad, 
 and indifferent — and present it for the amusement, if not 
 the edification of the great Minister. His letters, therefore, 
 are fuU of interesting and curious passages. 
 
 Under the date of December 6th, 1633, he writes : 
 
 24—2 
 
372 The White King. 
 
 ' Poor Ignatius Jordan is sent for up with a pursuivant 
 from Exeter. The King's decision lately sent out to give 
 liberty to servants after evening prayer to use lawful exercises 
 for refreshment's sake, coming into Jordan's hands, he writes 
 to the Bishop here to desire the King to recall it. The 
 Bishop of Exeter shows the Archbishop the letter, and he 
 shows it to his Majesty : so Ignatius must be chidden. 
 Here begins to be much difference in opinion about the 
 hook [' The Declaration of Sports '] ; for though it be the 
 same verbatim that was published in King James's time, 
 yet it is commanded to be read in all the churches here and 
 in the country. In some churches of London it hath been 
 read; one Dr. Denison read it,* and presently after read the 
 Ten Commandments, then said : " Dearly beloved, you have 
 heard now the commandments of God and Men, — obey which 
 you please." 
 
 ' One Father Arthur, an Irish priest, who came over at 
 the' end of summer from Lisbon, in Portugal, was arraigned 
 at the end of the term for treasonable words against our 
 King, at the King's Bench Bar, which words were directly 
 upon oath proved against him, though he denied them. So 
 he was adjudged to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. At 
 his death he denied them also, but who doth believe him? 
 
 ' All the Inns of Court were at a common charge to set 
 out a Masque or Barrier this Christmas, which shall be 
 presented at Court on Twelfth Night. It will cost £4,000 
 or £5,000. 
 
 ' I hear of two books of Sir Henry Wotton's in the press ; 
 the one came forth this week, a panegyric of our King 
 written in Latin, which, no doubt, he, being your old 
 acquaintance, will send you : The other is, the Life and 
 Death of the Earl of Essex .and the Duke of Buckingham 
 paralleled in the manner that Plutarch doth.' 
 
 In January, 1633, he writes : 
 
 " This was Dr. Denison, Curate of St. Catherine Cree, who some- 
 times in his sermons complimented his parishioners by likening them 
 to ' frogs, hogs, dogs, and devils.' 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. 373 
 
 ' We have very plausible things done of late. The book 
 called the Declaration of the King's for rectifying of 
 Taverns, Ordinaries, Bakers' Osteries, is newly come forth. 
 I'll say no more of it, your Agent here wUl send it to your 
 Lordship. All back-doors to taverns on the Thames are 
 commanded to be shut up, only the Bear at the Bridge-foot 
 is exempted, by reason of the passage to Greenwich. To 
 encourage gentlemen to live more willingly in the country, 
 all game fowl, as pheasants, partridges, ducks, as also hares, 
 are by proclamation forbidden to be dressed or eaten in 
 any inns, and butchers are forbidden to be graziers. . . 
 
 ' I never knew a duller Christmas than we had at Court 
 this year, but we play all the time at Whitehall, and no 
 dancing at all. The Queen had some little infirmity, a bile, 
 or some such thing — which made her keep in; only on 
 Twelfth Night she feasted the King at Somerset House, 
 and presented him with a play, newly studied, long since 
 printed, The Faithful Shepherdess, which the King's 
 Players acted in the robes she and her ladies acted their 
 Pastoral in the last year. . . I had almost forgot to teU 
 your Lordship that the Dicing Night the King carried 
 away in James Palmer's hat £1,850. The Queen was his 
 half, and brought him that good luck ; she shared presently 
 £900.' 
 
 On February 27th, 1633, he tells us of a brave Masque 
 set before their Majesties by the Gentlemen of the Inns of 
 Court: 
 
 'They were sixteen in number, who rode through the 
 streets in four chariots, and two others to carry their pages 
 and musicians, attended by one hundred gentlemen on 
 great horses, as well clad as ever I saw any: they far 
 exceeded in bravery any Masque that had formerly been 
 presented by those Societies, and performed the dancing 
 part with much applause. In their company was one 
 Mr. Read, of Gray's Inn, whom all the women and some 
 men cried up for as handsome a man as the Duke of 
 
374 ' The White Kiiig. 
 
 Buckingham. . . . This Riding Show took so well, that 
 both King and Queen desired to see it again ; so that they 
 invited themselves to supper at my Lord Mayor's within a 
 week after, and the Masquers came in a more glorious show 
 with all the riders, which were increased twenty, to 
 Merchant Tailors' Hall, and there performed it again. 
 The Mayor of London, though a sick man, gave them an 
 entertainment beyond any in Scotland, or on the way 
 thither ; and the grave aldermen would have presented a 
 purse with £2,000 in gold to the Queen, but my Lord 
 Chamberlain with a little sharpness decried the gift as not 
 a fitting present from such a body : so it was not given, but 
 within two days they sent to the Queen a diamond which 
 cost them £4,000, which was well accepted. 
 
 ' On Shrove Tuesday, at night, the King and the Lords 
 performed their masque. The Templars were all invited 
 and well-placed. They have found a new way of letting 
 them in by a Turning Chair : besides they let in none but 
 such as have tickets sent them beforehand ; so that now 
 the keeping of the door is no trouble.' 
 
 The introduction of the Hackney Coach {coche-a- 
 Tiaquende) into London is recorded by Garrard on the 1st 
 of April, 1634 : 
 
 ' I cannot omit to mention any new thing that comes up 
 amongst us, though never so trivial : here is one Captain 
 Bailey, he hath been a sea-captain, but now lives on the 
 land, about this City, where he tries experiments. He 
 hath erected according to his ability some four hackney 
 coaches, put his men in a livery, and appointed them to 
 stand at the Maypole in the Strand, giving them instruc- 
 tions at what rates to carry men into several parts of the 
 Town, where all day they may be had. Other Hackney 
 men, seeing this way, they flocked to the same place, and 
 perform their journeys at the same rate. So that some- 
 times there is twenty of them together, which disperse up 
 and down, that they and others are to be had everywhere 
 
[Glittipses of Life and Manners. 375 
 
 as watermen are to be had by the waterside. Everybody is 
 much pleased with it. For, whereas before Coaches could 
 not be had but at great rates, now a man may have one 
 much cheaper.' 
 
 [Every reform provokes the hostility of the 'vested 
 interests ' which have battened on the conservatism of the 
 public temper. The London tradesmen complained that 
 they suffered in their business ; for when ladies and gentle- 
 men, they said, were compelled to walk in the streets, they 
 could not escape the solicitations of their 'prentices, and 
 were frequently induced to inspect and purchase their 
 wares ; but under the new condition of things, they were 
 carried past with a rapidity that defied interruption. The 
 watermen were not unnaturally incensed against a mode 
 of conveyance which threatened to interfere very seriously 
 with the river trafiic, and they found a spokesman in 
 Taylor, the water-poet, who in his ballad of ' The Coach's 
 Overthrow,' in the pamphlet of 'The World runs upon 
 Wheels,' and the doggrel poem of ' The Thief,' indulged in 
 the bitterest complaints. Thus, he exclaims : 
 
 ' Carroohes, coaclies, jades, and Flander wares, 
 Do rob us of our shares, our wares, our fares : 
 Against the ground we stand and knock our heels, 
 Whilst all our profit runs away on wheels ; 
 And, whosoever but observes and notes, 
 The great increase of coaches and of boats. 
 Shall find their number more than e'er they were, 
 By half and more within this thirty year. 
 The watermen at sea had service still, 
 And those that staid at home had work at wiU : 
 Then upstart hill-cart coaches were to seek, 
 A man could scarce see twenty in a week ; 
 But now, I think, a man may daily see 
 More than the wherrys on the Thames can be.' 
 
 One would think he was laughing in his sleeve at his own 
 vehemence of exaggeration when he wrote: 'A coach, like 
 a heathen, a Pagan, an infidel or an atheist, observes 
 neither Sabbath nor holiday, time nor season, robustiously 
 breaking through the toil or net of divine and human law, 
 order, and authority, and, as it were, condemning all Christian 
 
376 The White King. 
 
 conformity, like a dog that lies on a heap of hay, who will 
 eat none of it himself, nor suffer any other beast to eat any. 
 Even so, the coach is not capable of hearing what a preacher 
 saith, nor will it suffer man or women to have that would 
 hear, for it makes such a hideous rumbling in the streets by 
 many church doors, that people's ears are stopped with the 
 noise, whereby they are debarred of their edifying, which 
 makes faith so fruitless, good works so barren, and charity 
 as cold at invidiousness as if it were a great frost, and by 
 this means souls are robbed and starved of their heavenly 
 manna, and the kingdom of darkness replenished. To 
 avoid which they have set up a cross post in Cheapside on 
 Sundays, near Wood Street, and which makes the coaches 
 rattle and jumble on the other side of the way, further from 
 the Church and from hindering of their hearing. 
 
 The hackney coach, however, soon became a recognised 
 public institution, because it amply supplied a felt public 
 want. The four coaches of Captain Bailey had risen in 1637 
 to 50, in 1650 to 200, in 1662 to 400, and in 1771 to 1,000. 
 
 That there was much more 'colour' in the English 
 society of Charles I's. reign than in that of Victoria — a 
 greater picturesqueness of feature, and more love of pomp 
 and ' bravery ' — we know from many sources. And here is 
 Gossip Garrard with a narrative suggestive of brightness 
 and brilliancy (May 1st, 1634) : 
 
 ' Our two elected Knights of the Garter, the Earls Danby 
 and Morton, rode in great state through London to Windsor; 
 the King, Queen, and Prince dining that day at my Lord 
 Wimbledon's, and taking up their standing in his balcony. 
 There was a secret vie (rivalry) who should go best attended, 
 as formerly there was betwixt Banbury and Kelly, who 
 best accompanied. But my Lord Danby carried it sheer : 
 for he clothed fifty men in tissue doublets, and scarlet hose, 
 thick laced, twelve footmen, two coaches set out bravely, and 
 all the ancient nobility of England that were out of the 
 Garter, rode with him, and many other Lords and Barons, but 
 the Earl of Shrewsbury, who was sick. There rode with him 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. 377 
 
 the Marquis of Winchester, the Earls of Northumberland, 
 Kent, Worcester, Rutland, Essex, Leicester, Northampton, 
 Norwich, Newport, St. Albans, his son, my Lord Weston 
 rode, also, Wilmot, Goring, with most of the pensioners, Mr. 
 Henry Pucy, Sir Thomas Edmonds, etc. With my Lord 
 Morton rode the Earls of Warwick and DcYonshire, the 
 Earls Denbigh, Grandison, and Craven, Sir William Howard, 
 Sir William Bruncker, young William Crofts, some of the 
 equerries, all the rest Scottish lords and gentlemen. That 
 which added much to his show, all the Scotch Colonels that 
 came with Oxenstiem (the son of the great Swedish Minister) 
 rode along too, and most of his company were furnished with 
 the King's horses. At Windsor they were installed, and 
 returned the next day to attend his Majesty on St. George's 
 Eve. The feast here was kept with great solemnity, and 
 fifteen were present.'] 
 
 On June I7th, 1634, Garrard writes : 
 
 ' No mercy showed to Prynne ; he stood in the pillory, 
 and lost his first ear in the pillory in the Palace at West- 
 minster in full term, his other in Cheapside ; where while he 
 stood, his volumes were burnt under his nose, which had 
 almost suffocated.' 
 
 [I think I know some authors who would not escape so 
 well as Prynne if the stench of their burning works entered 
 their nostrils ! 
 
 Garrard's cold reference is to one of the most shame- 
 ful acts of injustice committed in Charles's reign. William 
 Prynne was a barrister and antiquary, of considerable ability 
 and a good deal of learning. He had graduated at Oxford, 
 and entering the profession of the law, became bencher and 
 reader of the Society of Lincoln's Inn. But having adopted 
 the religious principles of Puritanism, he devoted himself to 
 fierce attacks on the abuses of the time, on political and 
 religious superstitions, and especially on the sacerdotal 
 theories of Archbishop Laud and the High Church Party. 
 But in language of equal vehemence he denounced the 
 
378 The White King. 
 
 doctrines of Arminianism, the love-locks which the gay- 
 gentlemen of the Court cultivated so assiduously, and the 
 custom of drinking healths. At last he turned his attention 
 to the stage, which undoubtedly presented a wide field to an 
 active reformer ; but then Prynne was a reformer of the type 
 which always contrives to make" reforms unpopular. In 
 his ' Histrio-Mastix or Scourge of Stage Players,' he assailed 
 with truculent invective noc only what was corrupt and 
 degrading, but the drama generally, with all its beauty and 
 its power ; — the ' King Lear' of Shakespeare, — the poetical 
 masques of Ben Jonson, — these were involved in one indis- 
 criminate censure with stories of incest and adultery. He 
 attacked also the players, and the audiences who patronised 
 them, and the Government which did not prohibit their ap- 
 pearance. He denounced dancing as scandalous and of ill- 
 repute, and asserted that simply to look on at a play was to 
 participate in degrading wickedness. But his fiercest thunders 
 were levelled at women who made a profession of the stage, 
 his anger having been excited in 1629 by the appearance of 
 a company of French players, among whom the female parts 
 were filled by women — who, we mayadd,had been hooted from 
 the theatre by the suspicious virtue of a British audience. 
 
 Now it happened that just before the publication of his 
 book. Queen Henrietta Maria had taken part in a slight dra- 
 matic composition of Walter Montague's, ' The Shepherd's 
 Pastoral ;' and when the ' Histrio-Mastix ' appeared, the 
 passage inveighing against actresses was immediately seized 
 upon as an insult to the Queen. Prynne declared that his 
 proof-sheets had finally been corrected ten weeks before her 
 Majesty took part in Montague's play ; but it would seem 
 that the Queen's intention of acting was certainly known 
 about the time that Prynne was completing their revision, 
 and the invective occurs on the last page of the book. Further, 
 the Queen was notoriously fond of dancing, and both she 
 and Charles were lovers of the drama. Prynne was therefore 
 arrested and sent to the Tower, and his prosecution was 
 ordered both before the High Commissioners and in the 
 State Chamber. 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. 379 
 
 Prynne appeared before the latter Court on the 7th of 
 February. On the I7th sentence was pronounced against 
 him — a brutal sentence, which equally violated law and 
 justice. He was condemned to stand twice in the pillory 
 and lose his ears, to pay a fine of £5,000, to have his book 
 burned by the common hangman, to be expelled from 
 Lincoln's Inn and Oxford, and to be imprisoned at the 
 King's pleasure.] 
 
 Mr. Garrard helps us to another glimpse of this in- 
 domitable man (June 20th) : 
 
 'Mr. Prynne, prisoner in the Tower, who hath got his 
 ears sewed on, that they grew again as before to his head, 
 is relapsed into new errors. He writ a very scandalous 
 letter to my Lord of Canterbury, abusing him very much, 
 and others of the Lords his Judges. The Archbishop sent 
 it to Mr. [Attorney] Noy, who sent for him, taking a true 
 copy of his letter, witnessed; then showed him his own 
 copy, which, after he had read, he tore into many pieces. 
 He was for this brought to the Lords, whence Order is 
 given to make him close prisoner, and to bar him of pen 
 and ink.' 
 
 Two more innovations are recorded on November 10th : 
 'Dr. Chamberlayne, the Man Midwife, endeavoured to 
 erect a Lecture of Midwifery, which he would have read in 
 his house to the licensed Midwives of London, for which he 
 was to have one shilling for every child born in the city 
 and suburbs of London : other conditions for his advantage 
 he subjoined to this, as bargaining beforehand for his fee 
 in a case of necessity, when he was called. But it would 
 receive no passage from the Bishop of London, who licenses 
 all the midwives of London, nor yet from the College of 
 Physicians. Here is also another project for carrying 
 people up and down in close chairs, for the sole doing 
 whereof, Sir Sander Buncombe, a traveller, now a pensioner, 
 hath obtained a patent from the King, and hath forty or 
 fifty making ready for use.' 
 
380 The White King. 
 
 [The Sedan Chair and the Hackney Coach were thus 
 almost contemporaneous in their introduction into England. 
 According to Evelyn, Sir Sanders Duncombe imported the 
 idea from Venice ; but it is usually asserted that the Duke 
 of Buckingham had had a Sedain in use some years before, 
 and that it had greatly incensed the mind of the populace, 
 who exclaimed that he was employing his fellow-creatures 
 to do the work of beasts. The new mode rapidly became 
 fashionable. It was in a Sedan Chair that Charles I. was 
 conveyed to Whitehall the day before his execution.] 
 
 Here is a curious bit of gossip (January 11th, 1634) : 
 ' Young Desmond, who married one of the co-heirs of 
 Sir Miles Stanhope, came one morning to York House, 
 where his wife had lived with the Duchess during his two 
 years' absence beyond the seas, and hurried her away half 
 undressed, much against her will, into a coach, and so 
 carried her away into Leicestershire. At Brickhall he 
 lodged, when she in the night put herself into milk-maid's 
 clothes, and had likely to have made her escape, but was 
 discovered. Maud Christian, whom your lordship knows, 
 said. That my Lord of Desmond was the first that ever 
 she heard of, that ran away with his own wife. Long were 
 they not away, but up they come again, agreed, and jointly 
 petition the King. In the first place, he, that his Majesty 
 would please to mediate for him to the Duchess of 
 Buckingham for her pardon, having uncivilly and in a 
 barbarous fashion taken his wife out of her house. Then 
 both humbly entreated his Majesty that they might have 
 their fortune to live on, which is her lands' fifteen 
 hundred pounds a year, which my Lord Denbigh and his 
 Lady kept from them, and would allow them scarce five 
 hundred pounds a year to live on : This I hear the King 
 hath yielded unto, for she was the King's Ward.' 
 
 A bit of diplomatic fooling : 
 
 ' There are two noble gentlemen designed to go Ambas- 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. 381 
 
 sadors; the Viscount Sligo into France, and the Lord 
 Ashton into Spain. Mr. Porter is newly returned from 
 Brussels ; he carried a letter from the King to the Infant 
 Cardinal, but brought none back. Mr. Secretary Coke 
 drew the letter in French (your friend and mine, my Lord 
 Cottington, thinking it fitter to have been written in 
 English or Latin) and gave the Cardinal no style but Vous, 
 which the Spaniards abhor, a kind of Thouing of one, 
 whereas he expected Altesse Royal, or at least Altesse. 
 This omission was taken so ill there, that they would have 
 returned a letter without the style of Majesty, which Mr. 
 Porter absolutely refused. A week almost was spent there, 
 after he had taken his leave, to accommodate this business, 
 but it would not be done ; so he came away without it.' 
 
 How the course of true love does not always run smooth : 
 ' At the end of Christmas was married by the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury my Lord Chamberlain's eldest son to the 
 Lady Mary Villiers, daughter to the Duke of Buckingham, 
 in the closet at Whitehall. It was done privately, and few 
 invited, and sooner than was intended, by reason the young 
 lady began to affect the younger brother, Philip Herbert, 
 and of herself had moved the Chamberlain that she might 
 marry him, saying, he did apply himself to her more than 
 my Lord Herbert did. But the Duchess chid her out of 
 that humour, and now she is married, that affection will 
 vanish.' 
 
 [The Lady Mary Villiers, at the time of her marriage to 
 Lord Charles Herbert, was only eleven years old. Their 
 marriage took place on the 8th of January, 1634, and was 
 celebrated by Davenant in verses of little merit. The 
 youthful husband died at Florence in the following year; 
 and the twelve years' old widow was brought up along 
 with the King's children, until, in 1641, she was married 
 by Charles's desire to his kinsman, James Stuart, Duke of 
 Richmond and Lennox. Left a second time a widow in 
 
382 The White King. 
 
 1655, she found a third husband in brave Thomas Howard, 
 ■who died in 1678. She herself survived until 1685. While 
 she was a child-widow she became the heroine of a pretty 
 little episode which is pleasantly described by Madame 
 Dunois : 
 
 ' One day she had climbed a tree in the Royal Gardens 
 to gather some fruit. As nobody was permitted to enter 
 its precincts, this circumstance, together with her black 
 garb and long veil, which spread over the boughs of the 
 tree, made the King, who perceived her at a distance, 
 imagine that some strange bird was perched .among the 
 foliage. Mr. Porter, a young courtier, and much in favour 
 with the King, on account of his handsome person, and 
 entertaining manners, was in attendance. Knowing him 
 to be an excellent shot, the King pointed to the supposed 
 bird, and desired him to kill it. Mr. Porter, looking for 
 some time towards the place, and finding the bird out of 
 range, told the King he would take his fusee, and in a 
 moment bring him the prize. But he was ready to die 
 with laughter when, on approaching the tree, he dis- 
 covered Lady Mary. She smiled at him with an innocent 
 air, and pelted him with the fruit she had gathered ; whilst 
 he took more particular notice than he had ever done 
 before of her beauty, the clearness of her complexion, and 
 the brightness of her eyes. "What have you got there. 
 Porter ?" she inquired : " what, can't you speak ? are you 
 bewitched ?" " Oh, madam," he replied, " did you know 
 what brought me here, you would be sensible I have 
 sufficient reason to be surprised. The King happening to 
 catch sight of you in the garden, and mistaking you for a 
 bird, you may guess on what errand I was sent here." 
 "What!" cried she, "to kill me?" "Yes, to kill you. 
 Madam," answered he; "and I promised to take to the 
 King some of your feathers." "Ha, ha, ha," she cried, 
 laughing, "you must be as good as your word. We will 
 play a merry game with him, I will put myself into a 
 large hamper, and be carried into his apartment." She 
 
Glim/pses of Life and Manners. 383 
 
 sent him immediately for a hamper; and one of her 
 gentlemen taking hold of it, and Mr. Porter of the other 
 end, they carried her along, while Mr. Porter made her a 
 thousand pretty speeches, to which she replied with great 
 vivacity. In this manner she passed her time pleasantly 
 enough in the hamper, until Mr. Porter, presenting it to 
 the King, told him he had had the good fortune to catch 
 the big bird alive ; and that it was so beautiful he should 
 never have forgiven himself if he had killed it. His 
 Majesty, eager to see it, opened the hamper, and the young 
 beauty, suddenly clasping her arms round his neck, gave 
 him a most agreeable surprise.'] 
 
 On July 30th, 1635, our gossip writes : 
 
 " We have had a very dry summer here in England, 
 insomuch that hay is sold at £5 to £6 a load ; the upper 
 grounds bear scarce any grass, but for this last fortnight 
 we have had good store of rain. Wheat was at eight 
 shillings the bushel, but now the prices both of hay and 
 corn fall again. The people also about London this dry- 
 season have been apt to hang themselves ; two or three 
 fearful examples of men of mean quality we have had this 
 month. My Lord Keeper found one in the act. Going to 
 his house one evening to Canbury, he caused him to be cut 
 down, put him in his coach, and brought him to his house, 
 when he came to himself again. The next day my Lord 
 set his chaplain to examine the cause, and to comfort him ; 
 but he. would not acknowledge any such fact of his, though 
 they showed him the ring about his neck caused by the 
 rope.' 
 
 Here is a note relative to the water supply of London 
 (September, 1635) : 
 
 ' There is a lottery going up at London ; Sir Henry Mild- 
 may and Alderman Hammersley have, by his Majesty's 
 command, the oversight of it. It is to raise £4,000 or £5,000 
 for the bringing of water in a covered arched vault from 
 
384 The White King. 
 
 above Hodsdon [Hoddesdon], seventeen miles from London, 
 to the city and to Whitehall, A project of Mr. Gage's, 
 which he had in contemplation these seven years. It is he 
 that hath obtained this lottery to advance that public 
 work, although he and his partners will go away with the 
 profit.' 
 
 In the following month we read of the success of the 
 Lottery : 
 
 ' I told your lordship of a lottery set up in Smithfield 
 for the advancement of a water- works, undertaken by Mr. 
 Gage. In twelve days it was drawn dry, every prize gotten 
 by some one or other. The people were so mad of it, no 
 Lotteries having been in London for these many years past, 
 that they flocked from all parts of the city. A broker in 
 Long Lane had in those twelve days it stood there 360 
 clocks pawned to him, all which money was thrown into 
 that lottery. They have gained £4,000 clear by it, and now 
 having provided new prizes, they have set it up in the 
 borough of South wark.' 
 
 •o'- 
 
 In his monthly letter for December, 1635, Garrard en- 
 closes what he calls ' a rare piece,' a letter of the Viscount 
 Wimbledon, written to the Mayor of Portsmouth : 
 
 'Mr. Mayor and the best of your Brethren, 
 
 ' Whereas at my last being at Portsmouth, I did 
 recommend the beautifying of your streets by setting in the 
 signs of your Inns to the houses, as they are in all civil 
 towns, so now I must recommend it to you more earnestly 
 in regard of his Majesty's figure or statue, that it hath 
 pleased his Majesty to honour your town more than any 
 other, so that these signs of your inns do not only obscure 
 his Majesty's figure, but outface it, as you yourselves may 
 well perceive. Therefore I desire you all, that you will see 
 that such an inconveniency be not suffered ; but that you 
 will cause against the next spring, that it be redressed, for 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. 385 
 
 any disgrace offered his Majesty's figure is as much as to 
 
 himself. To which end, I -will and command all the officers 
 
 and soldiers not to pass by it without putting off their hats. 
 
 I hope I shall need to use no other authority to make you 
 
 do it, for that it concerneth your obedience to have it done, 
 
 especially now you are told of it by myself. Therefore I 
 
 will say no more, but wish health to you all, and so rest, 
 
 ' Your assured loving friend, 
 
 ' Wimbledon.' 
 ' Oct. 22, 1635.' 
 
 That the medical practice of the day was sufficiently 
 rough — not to say barbarous — and, one would suppose, 
 much more likely to kill than cure, we infer from the 
 following experiences of Lord Cottington (January, 1635) : 
 
 ' Your friend and mine, my Lord Cottington, hath not 
 been well. He took, a fortnight before Christmas, a great 
 cold, with his going abroad, and, keeping on ill diet, eating 
 cheese and salt meats, he increased it. After Christmas 
 day was over, he would needs go to Hanworth, was over- 
 thrown in a coach in Brainford town, where he sprained his 
 leg about the ankle, yet went on it. The next day he 
 would out a hawking in raw cold weather, staying out long 
 and late. Sitting by the fire, his leg began to ache, yet 
 complained not much ; at bedtime he retired, but before 
 morning he and all with him concurred it was the gout. 
 A hot piece of sheep's skin they applied ; then other 
 medicines. I know not what tobacco leaves they applied 
 to it ; it raged so that it made him sick and feverish. Dr. 
 Baskerville is sent for ; he lets him bleed ; and within two 
 days brings him to London. I then saw him much worse 
 than when he went from home. Mayence, BaskerviUe, 
 Moore, and Winston fall to consultation. They agree, by 
 glysters, purges, and a plaister on his breast to free him for 
 the present of this phlegm and viscous matter that he con- 
 tinually spits up, and for the future to make an issue in his 
 arm, to carry those defluxions that they fall not on his 
 
 VOL. I. 25 
 
386 The White King. 
 
 lungs. This they have done, and God hath blessed their 
 endeavours; so that, I thank God, he is pretty -well 
 
 The same letter furnishes an illustration of the extent to 
 which our ancestors carried their Christmas mummeries 
 and revels in an age which was much less serious than our 
 own, an age better provided with leisure for holiday-making, 
 and a riper temper for enjoying it : 
 
 ' The Middle House Temple have set up a Prince, who 
 carries himself in great state, one Mr. Vivian, a Cornish 
 gentleman, whose father, Sir Francis Vivian, was fined in 
 the Star-Chamber about a castle he held in Cornwall, 
 about three years since. He hath all his great officers 
 attending him. Lord Keeper, Lord Treasurer, eight white 
 Staves at the least, Captain of his Pensioners, Captain of 
 his Guard, two Chaplains who on Sunday last preached 
 before him, and in the pulpit made there bow legs to his 
 excellency before they began, which is 'much laughed at. 
 My Lord Chamberlain lent him two fine Cloths of State, 
 one hung up in the Hall under which he dines, the other 
 in his Privy Chamber ; he is served on the knee, and all 
 that come to see him kiss his hand on their knees. My 
 Lord of Salisbury hath sent him pole-axes for his pensioners. 
 He sent to My Lord of Holland, his justice in Eyre, for 
 venison, which he willingly sends him ; to the Lord Mayor 
 and Sheriff of London for wine : all obey. Twelfth day was 
 a great day. Going to the Chapel many petitions were 
 delivered him, which he gave to his Masters of the 
 Bequests. He hath a favourite, whom, with some others, 
 gentlemen of great quality, he knighted at his return from 
 Church, and dined in great state. At the going out of the 
 chambers into the garden, when he drank the King's health, 
 the glass being at his mouth, he let it fall, which much 
 .defaced his purple satin suit — for so he was clothed that 
 day, having a cloak of the same down to his foot, for he 
 mourns for his father who lately died. It costs this Prince 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. 387 
 
 £2,000 out of his own purse ; I know of no other design, 
 but that all this is done to make them fit to give the Prince 
 Elector a loyal entertainment, with masks, dancings, and 
 some other exercises of wit, in orations or arraignments, 
 that day that they invite him.' 
 
 Of the end of this gorgeous mummery we hear in 
 Garrard's next letter : — 
 
 ' The Wednesday before (Shrove Tuesday) the Prince of 
 the Temple invited the Prince Elector and his brother to 
 a masque at the Temple, which was very completely fitted 
 for the variety of the scenes, and excellently well per- 
 formed. Thither came the Queen with three of her ladies 
 disguised, all clad in the attire of citizens ; Mrs. Basset, the 
 great lace-woman of Cheapside, went foremost, and led the 
 Queen by the hand. My Lords of Holland and Goring, 
 with Henry Percey and Mr. Henry Jermyn, waited on 
 them somewhat disguised also. This done, the Prince was 
 deposed, but since, the King knighted him at Whitehall.' 
 
 Writing in March, 1686, he tells us something concerning 
 Archbishop Laud and the poor Players : 
 
 ' Upon a little abatement of the Plague, even in the first 
 week of Lent, the Players set up their Bills and began to 
 play in the Blackfriars and other Houses. But my Lord of 
 Canterbury quickly reduced them to a better order ; for, at 
 the next meeting at Council his Grace complained of it to 
 the King, declared the solemnity of Lent, the unfitness 
 of that liberty to be given, both in respect of the time and 
 the sickness, which was not extinguished in the city, con- 
 cluding that if his Majesty did not command him to the 
 contrary, he would lay them by the heels if they played again. 
 My Lord Chamberlain stood up and said, that my Lord's 
 Grace and he served one God and one King ; that he hoped 
 his Grace would not meddle in his place no more than he 
 did in his; that Players were under his command. My 
 Lord's Grace replied, that what he had spoken no ways 
 touched upon his place, etc., still concluding as he had done 
 
 25—2 
 
388 The White King. 
 
 before, which he did with some vehemency reiterate once 
 or twice. The King put an end to the business by com- 
 manding my Lord Chamberlain that they should play no 
 more.' 
 
 References to the Plague are of frequent occurrence. 
 "Writing on March 22nd, Garrard says : 
 
 ' In the beginning of March, there died one hundred of 
 the Plague ; then nothing but talking of removing from 
 London, besides much in the country near the King's 
 houses, at Hampton, Chelsea, Brentford, everywhere west- 
 ward more or less. But, God be thanked, these two last 
 weeks it abates ; this present week there died in the total 
 222, whereof of the Plague 65. And there is great hopes 
 conceived, that this dry cold weather will, by the mercy of 
 God, extinguish it.' 
 
 The want of newspapers of the modern type led the 
 correspondents of that age to gather up in their lengthy 
 sheets of gossip — once or twice a month — those ' moving 
 accidents,' and ' sad occurrences,' and ' frightful catas- 
 trophes ' which now fall to the province of the indefatigible 
 penny-a-liner. Yet it is not easy to understand what 
 pleasure the Lord. Deputy, with the rule of a kingdom on 
 his shoulder, could find in such a paragraph as the follow- 
 ing (from Garrard's letter, April 28, 1637) : 
 
 ' We had one strange week presently after I writ last ; in 
 this place divers killed and hanged themselves, all in one 
 week, which made it more remarkable. A vintner in Grace 
 Church Street, a rich man near to, because his wife angered 
 him with scolding, cut his throat and died, his name 
 Burton, a Yorkshire man. Another, a young man who was 
 heir to a very good fortune, because his uncle would not 
 allow him for his expenses what he desired, hanged himself 
 in his chamber. A maid of Mr. Basset, the great lace man 
 in Cheapside, being troubled in conscience for deceiving 
 her master when she was his apprentice, cut her throat, or 
 
GliTripses of Life and Manners. 389 
 
 endeavoured it, but she escaped death. A young gentle- 
 man in the Inner Temple shot himself with a pistol, but 
 escaped ; the bullet mounted, and went out at his shoulder ; 
 he did it because he had spent his means, and did not 
 know how to live. . The last was one Mr. Shirley, a 
 Bachelor of Divinity of Trinity College in Cambridge, who 
 had been tutor at least to an hundred pupils. At this 
 time he had thirty and odd Fellows and Scholars of that 
 College to whom he had been tutor. He dined in Cheap- 
 side with two of his scholars in some friend's house, ate 
 well, took tobacco after dinner, went down to take horse 
 to go that night to Ware, but went back to his chamber, 
 saying he had left something behind him, where, with his 
 canonical girdle upon a tack, where he used to hang his 
 cloak, he hanged himself; was very warm when he was cut 
 down, his flesh quivered, but neither the art of physicians 
 nor surgeons could get life in him.' 
 
 On the 24th of July, Garrard writes of an event of 
 greater public importance : 
 
 'Some few days after the end of June, in the Palace- 
 yard, two pillories were erected, and then the sentence of 
 Star-Chamber against Burton, Bastwicke, and Prynne was 
 executed. They stood three hours in the pillory ; Burton 
 by himself, being degraded in the High Commission Court 
 three days before. The place was full of people, who cried 
 and howled terribly, especially when Burton was cropped. 
 Dr. Bastwick was very merry ; his wife. Dr. Poe's daughter, 
 got a stool, kissed him ; his ears being cut off', she called 
 for them, and put them in a clean handkerchief, and- 
 carried them away with her. Bastwick told the people, 
 the Lords had Collar-days at Court, but this was his Collar- 
 day, rejoicing even much in it. Since, warrants are sent 
 from the Lords to the Sheriffs of the several counties where 
 they are to be imprisoned, to receive them and see them 
 placed.' 
 
390 The White King. 
 
 [Few incidents revealed more clearly the growth of a strong 
 popular feeling against the arbitrary policy of Charles and 
 his advisers than this barbarous scene in Palace-yard. 
 
 Prynne, untamed by suffering, published a violent 
 attack upon Laud's system of Church Government; and 
 very similar pamphlets were almost simultaneously issued 
 by Burton, a clergyman, and Dr. Bastwick, a physician. 
 The three agitators were summoned before the Star 
 Chamber, at first on a charge of high treason, and when 
 the judges advised that this could not be maintained, on a 
 charge of felony. They were ordered to put in their 
 defence immediately, on pain of being considered to have 
 acknowledged their guilt. They replied that they had 
 been deprived of pen, ink, and paper. The materials were 
 furnished; but they were warned that their declarations 
 must be signed by counsel, while for several days the 
 advocates they had chosen were not allowed access to 
 them. They asked permission to attach their own sig- 
 natures, but the harsh condition was insisted upon. ' My 
 lords,' exclaimed Prynne, 'you ask what is impossible.' 
 Eventually, they were sentenced to stand in the pillory, to 
 lose their ears, to pay a fine of £500, and to be imprisoned 
 for life. 
 
 When Prynne lost his ears in 1634, the public made no 
 sign; but in 1637 a vast and excited crowd gathered 
 round the place of punishment, and strewed herbs and 
 flowers before the martyrs of the pillory, as if they were 
 conquerors fresh from the honours of some well-fought 
 field. One might have thought it a great popular holiday. 
 The prisoners bore themselves bravely, and held free 
 converse with the people. Bastwick, as we have seen, was 
 ' pleasant and witty ' all the time. Prynne protested his 
 innocence of the crimes laid to his charge. Mr. Burton 
 declared that the pillory was the happiest pulpit he had 
 ever preached from. A couple of hours having passed, the 
 hangman began to cut off his ears. 'There were very 
 many people,' says a contemporary. 'They wept and 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. 391 
 
 grieved much for Mr. Burton, and, at the cutting off of 
 each ear, there was such a roaring as if every one of them 
 had at the same instant lost an ear.' A young man, as he 
 gazed on the brutal scene, -was like to faint. 'My son," 
 said Burton, ' why are you pale ? My heart is not weak ; 
 and if I needed more strength, God would not let me want 
 it.' A kindly hand gave Bastwick a posy, on which a bee 
 alighted. ' See,' he cried, ' this poor bee ; on the very 
 pillory it comes to suck the honey of the flowers ; and I, 
 shall I not taste the honey of Jesus Christ ?' He lent to 
 the hangman his knife; and, calling into requisition his 
 medical knoTjrledge, taught him how to cut off his ears 
 quickly, and to lop them so close to the head that 'he 
 might come there no more.' The hangman next hacked 
 away at Prynne's ears, which had been roughly cropped 
 three years before, inflicting terrible pain; but the stout 
 Puritan endured it without a groan. And when the three 
 sufferers returned to their prisons, they went attended by 
 the applause and sympathy of the multitude. So profound 
 and so extensive was the feeling of compassion, so mingled 
 was it with a sentiment of admiration, that it was deemed 
 prudent to remove them to the most inaccessible places of 
 captivity ; and Prynne was despatched to Jersey, Burton to 
 Guernsey, and Bastwick to the Scilly Isles.] 
 
 The manners of the young nobility showed a good deal 
 of licence, and their hot blood frequently broke bounds : 
 
 'The Lord Lumley,' says Garrard, 'had a strange mis- 
 chance befal him, the Lord Savage being with him in a 
 coach : in a strait (narrow) lane, his coachman unadvisedly 
 pressed upon some gentlemen afoot, so that he gave them 
 much offence, young Mohun and one Burrows the herald's 
 son." Young Mohun struck at the coachman with his cane, 
 the coachman lashed at him with his whip : he instantly 
 drew his sword, ran the coachman often through, hurt the 
 Lord Lumley through the arm ; which made a great com- 
 bustion in the place. Though it was early in the morning, 
 
392 The White King. 
 
 yet it was conceived those young men were in drink. 
 Both of them are by the Lord Lumley brought into the 
 Star Chamber; yet the Lord Mohun's wife makes great 
 means to have the business taken (hushed) up.' 
 
 I have confined myself in my quotations almost entirely 
 to social subjects ; but here are two passages from the Lord 
 Deputy's letters of a very suggestive character, if there be 
 truth in the adage that history repeats itself. The question 
 of a Eoyal Residence in Ireland is often discussed. It was 
 anticipated by Wentworth : 
 
 ' His Majesty will justify me,' he writes (Dublin, Sep- 
 tember 27, 1637), 'that at my last being in England, I 
 acquainted him with a purpose I had to build him a house 
 at the Naas, it being unseemly his Majesty should not 
 have one here of his own, capable to lodge him with 
 moderate conveniency (which in truth as yet he has not) 
 in case he might be pleased sometimes hereafter to look 
 upon this kingdom. . . His Majesty seemed to be pleased 
 with all, whereupon I procured and have in a manner 
 finished it.' 
 
 The 'original sin' theory of the Irish character may 
 seem to find some coiifirmation in Wentworth's stronff 
 expressions (Dublin, May 15, 1637): 
 
 ' There is a nation of the Irish the whilst, that wander 
 abroad, most of them criminous, all loudly affected people, 
 that forth of an unjust yet habitual hatred to the English 
 Government, delight to have it believed, and themselves 
 pitied, as persecuted forth of their country, and ravished of 
 their means for their religion only ; stirring and inciting all 
 they can to Blood and Rebellion, and keeping themselves 
 in countenance, by taking upon them to be Grand Signiors, 
 and boasting and entitling themselves to great territories, 
 whose very names were scarcely heard of by their indigent 
 parents.' 
 
 We return to Gossip Garrard, who, in his letter of 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. 393 
 
 October 9th, 1637, records many particulars of exceptional 
 interest. For instance, how much is recalled by its very 
 first paragraph, with its jumble of news ! 
 
 ' Looking on my diary, I find a son of my Lord Warwick's, 
 Henry Rich, drowned in the Low Countries; Breda besieged; 
 a Whelp, whereof Mr. Popham was Captain, sunk in the 
 sea, being one of my Lord of Northumberland's fleet ; Sir 
 Henry Calthorp, Attorney of the Court of Wards, dead; 
 the Duke of Sussex married, great gifts, £5,000 in a white 
 satin purse, a great necklace of pearl, with a pearl chain, 
 and other jewels, given to them by the Duchess of Rich- 
 mond; the Duchess of Sussex dead in Scotland; Ben 
 Jonson dead in England ; a ballad made of the events sung 
 to the King when he was in the New Forest, . . . horrible 
 ado against the Bishops in Scotland for seeking to bring 
 in amongst them our Church Service ; strange flocking of 
 the people after Burton, when he removed from the Fleet 
 toward Lancaster Castle. Mr. Ingram, sub-warden of the 
 Fleet, told the King that there were not less than one 
 hundred thousand people gathered together to see him 
 pass by, betwixt Smithfield and Baron's Well, which is two 
 miles beyond Highgate. His wife went along in a coach, 
 having much money thrown to her as she passed along.' 
 
 ' The great ship of the King's, built in the great dock at 
 Woolwich, which is 1,637 tons, built in the same year of 
 our Lord, not by design, but yet it is so fallen out, is 
 named The Sovereign. Both King and Queen at the last 
 Full of the Moon went to see her launched, but it could 
 not then, be done, the tides not falling so great as they 
 expected; but the next spring-tides they hope to do it. 
 She is the goodliest ship that was ever built in England. 
 The length of her keel is 128 feet, her main breadth and 
 wideness from side to side 48 feet, her length from the fore- 
 and of the beak-head unto the after-end of the stern, a 
 prora ad puppim, 232 feet. She is in height, from the 
 bottom of the keel to the top of her lanthom, 76 feet. She 
 beareth five lanthoms, hath three flush-decks, a forecastle, 
 
394 The White King. 
 
 one half-deck, a quarter-deck, and a round-house. She 
 carries 144 great guns of several sorts, cannon, deck cannon, 
 culverin, murdering pieces, besides a great many loop-holes 
 out of cabins for musket-shot and chase- ordnance. She 
 carrieth eleven anchors, one weighing 4,400 pounds, and 
 according to those are her cables, masts, sails, and cordage. 
 My Lord Northumberland had the happiness to light on 
 the name which most pleased the King, The Sovereign.' 
 
 This ship, designed and built by Phineas Pett, was 
 christened at first ' The Sovereign of the Seas,' afterwards 
 changed to ' The Koyal Sovereign.' Some of her ports were 
 never mounted ; and she carried, therefore, in reahty, not 
 more than 106 guns. 
 
 ' I mentioned before an attempt to bring in our English 
 Church-Service into Scotland, which made a great hubbub 
 there, and- was repelled with much violence by the common 
 people, though women appeareth most in the action, 
 flinging their stools at the Bishop, and rending his 
 episcopal garments off him, as he went forth of the Church, 
 others flinging stones at him in the streets, so that if the 
 Earl of Koxburgh had not sought to quiet them, and 
 receive him into his coach, they had stoned him to death. 
 A second attempt hath been made, of which fresh news is 
 come thence to the Court, wherein they have sped worse. 
 Besides, some of the nobles, and many of the gentry and 
 better sort appear in it, who withstand it with greater 
 violence than before, so that there is no hope that it wiU 
 be effected.' 
 
 [While England had adhered to Episcopacy, because the 
 Anglican Eeformation had been effected with the sanction 
 and assistance of the bishops, in Scotland the Episcopal 
 form of Church Government had lost the confidence of the 
 people, because the Scotch prelates had strenuously opposed 
 the great Protestant movement. Early in the I7th century, 
 however, James replaced the bishops on the sacerdotal 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. 395 
 
 thrones from which they had been summarily deposed, 
 because he needed their aid in ruhng the clergy ; but the 
 people and the clergy remained Presbyterian, having 
 embraced the New Doctrine, as taught by Calvin, with all 
 the force and tenacity of the Scotch character. The 
 ceremonies still dear to the majority of Englishmen they 
 rejected as the rags and tatters of Papistry; and it was 
 with difficulty James had persuaded the clergy to observe 
 Easter and Christmas, and to retain the kneeling attitude 
 at prayer. He had prudently refrained from attempting 
 more. But in their passion for uniformity, Charles and 
 Laud could not rest until they had imposed a liturgy upon 
 the Scottish Church. They took into their counsels some 
 of the Scottish BisTiops, who proceeded to draw up a 
 Prayer-Book on the model of the Anglican, but more dis- 
 tinctly adverse to the Calvinistic teaching. It was revised 
 by Laud, approved by the King, and ordered to be in- 
 troduced into all the churches of Scotland. On the 23rd 
 of July, 1637, the Dean of Edinburgh attempted to read 
 the new service-book for the first time in St. Giles's 
 Cathedral. He had scarcely began, when the women 
 present broke out into a storm of wrath. It is said that 
 stools were hurled at the head of the officiating priest. At 
 the end of one of the prayers a man said, ' Amen.' ' Dost 
 thou say mass in my lug (ear) V exclaimed a virago, and 
 dashed her Bible in his face. In a few weeks the whole 
 country was ablaze with religious strife. Sixty-eight 
 petitions were presented to the King by the Duke of 
 Lennox. The outbreak was encouraged by the nobles, who 
 feared that Charles would compel them to restore the lands 
 which they had confiscated from the ancient Church, and 
 by patriots who objected not so much to a liturgical form 
 of prayers as to a form sent from England.] 
 
 Amongst Strafford's gossiping correspondents was Lord 
 Conway. Writing to him in October, 1637, he tells a 
 story of Sir Toby Matthew — son of the Archbishop of York 
 
396 The White King 
 
 and a pervert to Rome — knighted by James I. — and author 
 of a ' Life of St. Teresa,' and a translation of St. Augustine's 
 ' Confessions ' : 
 
 ' My Lord of Newport was so fierce in complaining for 
 his wife being made a Papist, £hat the matter was debated 
 at the Council-Table, when the King did use such words 
 of Wat Montague and Sir Toby Matthew, that the fright 
 made Wat keep his chamber longer than his sickness 
 would have detained him, and Don Tobiah was in such 
 perplexity that I find he will make a very ill man to be a 
 martyr, but now the dog doth again wag his tail. 
 
 'The other day, he having infinitely praised chocolate, 
 my Lady of Carlisle desired that she might see some with 
 an intent to taste it. He brought it, and in her chamber 
 made ready a cup full, poured out one half and drank it, 
 and liked that so well that he drank up the rest — my 
 Lady expecting when she should have had a part, had no 
 share but the laughter.' 
 
 Mr. Garrard again (November 9th, 1637) : 
 
 ' There is newly presented to the King a book written 
 by one Chillingworth, of the University of Oxford, and 
 born in Oxford — a book long promised and expected ; the 
 title. The Religion of Protestants a Safe Way to Salvation. 
 I should be very sorry if it were not so. It hath endured 
 many trials, and now comes out licensed by the Vice- 
 Chancellor of Oxford, by Dr. Prideaux and Dr. Fell, the 
 two professors of Divinity. I have read some part of it, 
 and like it well. 
 
 'There are to be two Masques this winter, one at 
 
 Christmas, which the King with the young Noblesse do 
 
 make ; the other at Shrovetide, which the Queen and her 
 
 ladies do present to the King. A great room is now in 
 
 building, only for this use, betwixt the Guard-Chamber 
 
 and Banqueting-House, of fir, only weather-boarded, and 
 
 slightly covered.'* 
 
 * It cost £2,500, and was built because the King would not have 
 his pictures in the Banqueting-house hurt with lights. 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. 397 
 
 With reference to Chillingworth's great work we after- 
 wards read (December 16tli, 1637) : 
 
 ' Mr. Chillingworth, for writing his book, to be Lady Mar- 
 garet Lecturer in Oxford, to which is annexed a Prebendary 
 in Worcester, with six-score pound a year.' 
 
 Here is a romantic story : 
 
 ' A grandchild of Vanlooe's, rich Peter Vanlooe, was to 
 be married to a son of Sir Thomas Eead's — he who lay 
 seven years in the Fleet, and spent but 18d. a week ; he 
 lives now at Brocket Hall, near Hatfield.* Bead hath 
 estated upon this second son of his £1,500 a year, and a 
 match was intended with Mrs. Vanlooe, who had a portion 
 of £4,000 and £400 a year, after the death of her father, 
 young Peter. Monday, the 11th of this month (December), 
 they were to be married. The day before, in the afternoon, 
 she sends to speak with one Mr. Alexander, a third son of 
 the Earl of Stirling, Secretary of Scotland here. He comes, 
 finds her at cards, Mr. Bead sitting by her ; she whispers 
 him in his ear, asking him if he had a coach (he was of 
 her acquaintance before). He said, yes. She desired Mr. 
 Bead to play her game, and went to her chamber, Mr. 
 Alexander going with her. Being there, she told him that 
 to satisfy her friends, she had given way to marry the 
 gentleman he saw, but her affection was more (inclined) 
 to him ; if his were so to her, she would instantly go away 
 with him in his coach and be married. So he carried 
 her to Greenwich, where they were married by six that 
 
 And now for a pathetic story : 
 
 ' My worst news comes last — the death of the Lady of 
 Northumberland, who died the 6th of this month of the 
 small-pox. She was about seven weeks gone with child, 
 whereof she miscarried two days after the pox appeared in 
 
 * In recent times famous as the residence of Lord Melbourne and 
 Lord Palmerston. 
 
398 The White King. 
 
 her face, so that they never came out kindly after. She 
 was a Yirtuous and reHgious young lady, so apt and well 
 fitted for him * which by his wisdom he had wrought her 
 to, that hardly he will find the like. All the time of her 
 sickness I was an eye-witness of his love and care of her ; 
 never out of her chamber, seldom from her bedside, not 
 parting from her till all the visible signs of death were on 
 her, about one hour and an half before she expired. He 
 took her death most heavily : Passion hath the least out- 
 ward power of him of any man I know, yet in this it had 
 got on him a great mastery. My Lord Conway and I never 
 left him : bad comforters both, for he held his peace, and 
 I could not tell what to say; in these things time doth 
 all. . . He intended a solemn funeral and a costly one, 
 which would have been a fortnight in preparing, but my 
 Lord of Salisbury made it his earnest suit to him to do it 
 with all speed and privacy, especially since she died of that 
 disease, and that two of his daughters were sick of the 
 same disease in the house; which was yielded unto. So 
 she was embalmed, sent in a barge to Sion, from whence 
 his servants attended to Petworth, where she is interred.' 
 
 A literary and a dramatic item : 
 
 'Sir Toby Matthew hath written two Characters, one 
 formerly on the Lady Carlisle, another lately on our Queen, 
 of which he is so enamoured, that he will have it translated 
 into all languages, and sent abroad. I find none to put 
 that value upon it that he doth himself; it is held a 
 ridiculous piece. 
 
 ' Two of the .King's Servants, Privy Chamber both, have 
 writ each of them a play. Sir John Suckling and Will 
 Barclay, which have been acted in Court, and at the Black- 
 friars, with much applause. Suckling's play cost £300 or 
 £400 setting out ; eight or ten suits of new clothes be gave 
 the players ; an unheard of prodigality.' 
 
 * This was Algernon Percy, tenth Earl of Northnmberland, who, 
 both as Admiral and General, did good service to the State. His 
 sympathies, politically, were with the Constitutional Party. 
 
Glimpses of Life and Manners. o99 
 
 Suckling's play was his 'Aglaura:' of Barclay's I can 
 find no trace. 
 
 Writing on tlie 20th of March, Garrard says : 
 ' Archy is fallen into a great misfortune : a fool he would 
 be, but a foul-mouthed knave he hath proved himself. 
 Being in a tavern in Westminster, drunk, he saith him- 
 self, he was speaking of the Scottish business, he fell a 
 railing on my Lord of Canterbury, said he was a monk, a 
 rogue, and a traitor. Of this his Grace complained to the 
 Council, the King being present : it was ordered he should 
 be carried to the Porter's lodge, his coat pulled over his 
 ears, and (he) kicked out of the Court, never to enter 
 within the gates, and to be called into the Star-Chamber. 
 The first part is done, but my Lord of Canterbury hath 
 interceded to the King, that there it should end. There 
 is a new Fool in his place, Muckle John, but he will ne'er 
 be so rich, for he cannot abide money.' 
 
 [Archie, or Archibald Armstrong, had held the position 
 of Court Fool or Jester for several years. He came to 
 England some time in the reign of James I., who took 
 infinite delight in the jester's shrewd and epigrammatic 
 utterances. There was a good deal of the pawky humour 
 of the Scotch about the man, and his courage was not 
 inferior to his sagacity. When James told him that he 
 had granted permission to Prince Charles to undertake 
 the celebrated Spanish expedition, he boldly answered, 
 ' I must change caps with your Majesty ?' ' Why ?' asked 
 the King. ' Why, who sent the Prince into Spain ?' ' But 
 supposing,' continued the King, ' that the Prince should 
 come safely back again ?' ' Why, in that case,' replied 
 Archie, ' I will take my cap from my head, and send it to 
 the King of Spain.' 
 
 Archie, in due time, followed the Prince to Madrid, and 
 enjoyed the pleasures of the Spanish capital as fully as any 
 of the young English nobles whom the Prince's presence 
 
400 The White King. 
 
 had attracted thither. He found favour in the eyes of the 
 Infanta and her ladies, and jested merrily with them ; but 
 their women's tongues were frequently silenced by his 
 caustic wit. One day they were extolling the gallantry 
 of the Duke of Bavaria, who, with an inferior force, had 
 defeated the army of King James's son-in-law, the Elector 
 Palatine. ' I will tell you a strange thing,' said he ; 'is it 
 not more singular that one hundred and forty ships should 
 have sailed from Spain to attack England, and that not 
 ten of them should have returned to tell what became of 
 the rest ?' 
 
 Archie had all the dislike of a North countryman and a 
 Presbyterian for Archbishop Laud, and never missed an 
 opportunity of discharging his barbed arrows at that 
 powerful prelate. On one occasion, he asked permission 
 to say grace at a dinner where Laud was among the fore- 
 most ; ' Great praise,' he said, ' be to God ; and little Laud 
 to the Devil.' The stool thrown at the Dean of Edinburgh's 
 head when he attempted to read Laud's Service-Book in 
 the Church of St. Giles, he called ' the stool of repentance.' 
 Meeting the Archbishop, soon afterwards, on his way to the 
 council-chamber, ' Ah,' said he, ' who's the fool now ? 
 When brought before the Council to atone for the last 
 insolence he had offered the Archbishop, he pleaded ' the 
 privilege of his cloth.' The order for his dismissal, to 
 which Garrard refers, is dated March 11th, 1637, and runs 
 as follows : ' It is this day ordered by his Majesty, with the 
 advice of the Board, that Archibald Armstrong, the King's 
 fool, for certain scandalous words of a high nature, spoken 
 by him against the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, his 
 Grace, and proved to be uttered by him by two witnesses, 
 shall have his coat pulled over his head, and be discharged 
 of the King's service, and banished the Court ; for which 
 the Lord Chamberlain of the King's household is prayed 
 and required to give order to be executed. And im- 
 mediately the same was put into execution.' 
 
 After his disgrace, Archie retired to his reputed place of 
 
Olimpses of Life and Manners. 401 
 
 birtt, Arshurst, iu Cumberland, where he died in 1772 at 
 a ripe old age. The volume known as ' Archie's Jests ' has 
 no more to do with the Court Fool than Tom Miller's had 
 with the old comedian. But his portrait faces the title- 
 page, and under it is a rhyming inscription which bears 
 testimony to his success in his vocation : 
 
 ' Archie, by Kings and Princes famed of late, 
 Jested himself into a fair estate ; 
 And, in this book, doth to his friends commend, 
 His jeers, taunts, tales, which no man can ofEend.' 
 
 Archie was, indeed, one of the most fortunate of jesters. 
 James I. granted him a monopoly of the manufacture of 
 tobacco-pipes. The city of Aberdeen bestowed upon him 
 the honour of its freedom. 
 
 Of the pr'etensions put forward by the servants of the 
 great nobles, and their audacious violations of law and 
 order, the chronicles of the time afford numerous examples. 
 Here is an illustration from the pages of our friend Garrard, 
 who, though appointed Master of the Charterhouse in 1637, 
 had continued to furnish Strafford with a monthly budget 
 of news: 
 
 ' One Carr, a servant of Marquis Hamilton's, was arrested 
 before Wallingford House, which bred a mighty tumult. 
 The sergeant carried him into a house near Charing Cross, 
 whither flocked many of the Marquis's servants and others, 
 burst open the house, setting ladders to it to unglaze and 
 untile it, got in, beat the sergeants, so that one of them 
 died since, threatened to blow up the house with gun- 
 powder, took the prisoner, brought him forth, and, with 
 swords drawn, conducted him to Whitehall, and there put 
 him in. The King resented this very ill, and hath caused 
 his proclamation since to be published for apprehending 
 the principals, who were the murtherers and chief causers 
 and fomenters of this unlawful assembly, who in their mad- 
 ness neither regarded the justices, constables, nor any other 
 whatsoever.' 
 
 VOL. I. 26 
 
402 The White King. 
 
 Garrard continued his letters, but they seem not to have 
 been preserved by the Lord Deputy, who, involved in affairs 
 of State which tasked even his boldness of resolution and 
 activity of intellect, probably gave scant attention to the 
 items of personal news so much affected by his gossiping 
 correspondent. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 NOTES AND COREECTIONS. 
 
 Page 1. Lord Howard of Effingham was created Earl of 
 Nottingham ia 1596. 
 
 Page 2. Sir Dudley Carleton was raised to the peerage in 1621, 
 as Viscount Dorchester. 
 
 Page 6, line 8, far ' fuller' read 'future.' 
 Page 12, line ^, fm 'Charles I.' read 'Prince Charles.' 
 Page 21 (note). Middleton's play was tremendously popular. 
 ' I doubt not,' writes a contemporary scribe, ' but you have heard 
 of our famous play of " Gondomar," which hath been followed with 
 extraordinary curiosity, and frequented by all sorts of people, old 
 and young, rich and poor, masters and servants, papists, wise 
 men, Churchmen, and Scotsmen.' And he adds, ' but to obtain 
 a place, it was necessary to be at the theatre as early as one 
 o'clock,' or about two hours before the usual time of beginning. 
 Its nine representations (it is said, perhaps with exaggeration) 
 brought in the large amount of £1,500. When the play was 
 suppressed, author and actors were summoned before the Privy 
 Council. Middleton thought it advisable to go into hiding ; the 
 players received ' a round and sharp reproof,' and were bound ia 
 ^£300 to be on their good behaviour. According to one authority, 
 Middleton was imprisoned ; but this is improbable, as the play 
 had been duly licensed, and both he and the players seem to have 
 escaped actual punishment. 
 
 Page 24, line 26, /or 'gentlemen' read 'gentleman.' 
 Page 31, line 4, /or 'Burham' read 'Barham.' 
 Page 43, last line but one, read ' where ' forr ' when.' 
 Page 40. The reference is to Francis Peck's 'Desiderata 
 Curiosa; or, a Collection of Scarce Pieces relating to English 
 History,' edit. 1779 (2 vols, in 1, 4to.). 
 
 Page 47. See Eichard Baxter's 'EeliquiseBaxterianse; a Narra- 
 tive of his Life and Times, written by himself ' (ed. Sylvester), 
 1696. 
 
 Page 48. See Sir Thomas Herbert's ' Memoirs of the Two 
 Last Years of Charles I.' (edit. 1702, including Colonel Cooke's- 
 and Firebrace's ' Narratives '). 
 
 26—2 
 
404 Appendix. 
 
 Page 50. See Neal's ' History of the Puritans ' (ed. by Dr. 
 Toulmin, 1822). 
 
 Page 52. See Sir John Berkeley's 'Memoirs; containing an 
 Account of his Negotiation for Eestoring Charles I.,' in the Har- 
 leian Miscellany, vol. ix. Also published separately, in 1699. 
 See also Ludlow's ' Memoirs.' 
 
 Page 55. Dr. Henry Hammond, Vicar of Penshurst, was a 
 theologian of great repute. His ' Thirty-one Sermons on Several 
 Occasions ' were reprinted in the Anglican Library, in 1849. His 
 works are comprised in 4 vols., folio, ed. 1684. 
 
 Page 56. See John Ashburnham's 'Narrative of his Attendance 
 on Charles L,' edit. 1830. 
 
 Page 65, line 3, for ' restriction ' read ' restrictions.' 
 Page 67, line 11. George Sandys (1577-1644) published his 
 paraphrases of the Psalms and the Song of Solomon in 1636 and 
 1642; Edward Fairfax (d. 1632) his 'Godfrey of BuUogne ' in 
 1600 ; and Sir John Harrington (1534-1582) his translation of the 
 ' Orlando Furioso ' in 1591 . Eobert Sanderson, Bishop of Lincoln, 
 wrote his 'De furamenti Obligatione' in 1647. 
 
 Page 67, line 8 from bottom, /w ' despair' read 'despise.' 
 Page 74 (note), for 'See ante, Chapter I.,' read 'See pp. 
 21, 22." 
 
 Page 78, line 6, for 'pickshank ' read ' pickthank.' 
 Page 88. The reference is to the 'Indictment, Arraignment, 
 Tryal, and Judgement at large of 29 Regicides of Charles I., 
 begun 9th October, 1660.' See also Howell's 'State Trials,' and 
 ' England's Black Tribunal ; containing, The Trial of King 
 Charles L, the Loyal Martyrology, the Loyal Confessors, etc., 
 with Historical Preface, by a True Churchman,' 1737. 
 Page 91 (note), /«• ' Burghill ' read ' Broghill.' 
 Page 100, line 6 from bottom, for ' Coltin ' read ' Cotton.' 
 Page 117 (note t), for 'Falieri,' read ' Faliero.' 
 Page 123, line 4, for ' Brandon ' read ' Brandon.' 
 Page 126. The following are the titles of some of the most 
 curious brochures on the subject of the execution of Charles L : 
 
 The Imprisonment and Death of King Charles I., related 
 by one of his judges, being extracts from the Memoirs 
 of E. Ludlow. (Aungervyle Society Publications.) 
 England's Black Tribunall ; set forth in the Triall of King 
 Charles I. at the pretended Court of Justice .... 
 together with his majestie's Speech immediately before 
 he was murdered on a scaffold. (London: 1660.) 
 The Execution of the late King justified, and the Parlia- 
 ment and the Army therein vindicated ; published for 
 satisfaction to the Kingdome. (London : 1649.) 
 The full proceedings of the High Court of Justice against 
 King Charles in Westminster Hall, on Saturday the 20 
 
Appendix. 405 
 
 of January, 1648. Translated out of the Latine by I. C. 
 (London : 1655.) 
 A Handkirchife for loyall Mourners, or a cordiall for 
 drooping spirits, groaning for the bloody murther, and 
 heavy losse of our gracious King. (London : 1649.) 
 The Tragical Actors, or the Martyrdom of the late King 
 Charles, wherein Oliver's late falsehood, with the rest of 
 his gang, are described in their several actions and 
 stations. (London : 1660.) 
 A faithful subject's sigh on the universally lamented 
 death . . . of that nation's . . . prince . . . Charles I. 
 . . . most barbarously butchered by his rebellious 
 subjects. (Inverse.) (London: 1649.) 
 Page 128, line 15, for 'acolossis' read 'molossis.' 
 Page 136, line 22, for 'February 1st' read 'February 18th.' 
 Page 157, line 16, for ' wily ' read ' witty.' 
 Page 158. An edition of Sir John Eeresby's 'Travals and 
 Memoirs ' appeared in 1831. 
 
 Page 159. See B. H. E. Capefigue's 'Philippe d'0rl6ans, 
 E6gent de France,' 2 vols., 1840. 
 
 Page 163. The. reference is to Sir Anthony Weldon's 'Court 
 and Character of King James L,' included (No. 9) in Morgan's 
 ' Phoenix Britannious ; a Miscellaneous Collection of scarce and 
 curious Tracts, Historical, Political, Biographical, Satirical, 
 Critical,' etc. ; a quarto volume, published in 1732. It was also 
 reprinted (and edited by Sir Walter Scott) in ' Secret History of 
 the Court of James L,' along with the narratives of Osborne, 
 Heylin, and Peyton, in two volumes, 1804, 
 
 Page 164, line 24, for ' Ward' read ' Wood.' The reference is 
 to Anthony a Wood's ' Athense et Fasti Oxonienses,' edited by 
 Dr. P. Bliss, in 4 vols., 4to., about 1820. The first edition of 
 Wood's ' Athense ' appeared in 1691-2 ; a second edition, corrected 
 and enlarged, in 1721. 
 
 Page 168, line 15 from bott.om,/o7- 'Matthews ' read ' Matthew.' 
 The same misprint occurs in the first line of the next page. 
 
 Page 172. See 'Private Memoirs of Sir Kenelm Digby,' edited 
 by Sir Harris Nicolas, ed. 1827. The reader who cares not for 
 'high philosophy' and vague speculation may skip the next 
 twelve pages. Sir Kenelm was born in 1603, and died in 1665. 
 He is best known, perhaps, as ' the husband of a fair wife,' and as 
 a believer in the virtues of the ' sympathetic,' or vulnerary 
 powder, and other nostrums of the age. 
 
 Page 189. The Latin comedy of 'Ignoramus,' written by George 
 Euggle (1575-1622), was printed in 1662, and has been twice or 
 thrice reprinted. Its principal feature is its bitter satire of the 
 legal jsrofession. 
 
 Page 190. The poems of Bishop Corbet were published, with 
 notes and a memoir, by Gilchrist, in 1807. 
 
406 Appendix. 
 
 Page 192. The 'Memoirs of the Embassy of the Marshal de 
 Bassompierre to the Court of England in 1626 ' were translated 
 by Wilson Croker, and published, with notes, in 1819. The 
 French original will be found (vols, xix., xx., xxi.) in the second 
 series of the ' Collection de M^moires sur I'Histoire de France,' 
 by Messieurs 0. B. Petitot and J. N. Mommerqu6, published in 
 1820-1829. 
 
 Page 193. The reference is to Bishop Goodman's ' History of 
 his own Times,' edit, by Brewer, 1839. 
 
 Page 200. Madame de Motteville's ' Memoirs ' are included in 
 Petitot's Collection (vols. 36-40)-aIready referred to. 
 
 Page 201, line 9. Eeference is so often made to Sir Balthasar 
 Oerbier d'Ouvilly that it seems desirable to note that he was born 
 at Antwerp about 1591, and settled in England as a member of 
 the Duke of Buckingham's household about 1613. He was more 
 of a courtier and diplomatist than an artist; but he painted 
 several miniatures and other pictures, and was the author of 
 some curious works (for notices of which see Walpole). His 
 'Counsel and Advice to All Builders' (1613) is a curiosity, as 
 containing no fewer than forty dedications. He was employed 
 both by James I. and Charles I. on confidential missions. To 
 the latter king he acted as Master of the Ceremonies, and was 
 knighted by him in 1628, in which year he entertained Charles I. 
 and his Queen at a supper which cost him about £1,000. He 
 died in 1667 at Hempsted-Marshal, the seat of Lord Craven, the 
 building of which he was at the time directing. See Walpole's 
 ' Anecdotes of Painting,' etc. 
 
 Page 203. Voiture's Poems are included in the fifth volume of 
 the 'Eecueil des plus belles Pieces des Pontes Frangois,' ed. 1752. 
 The impromptu is quoted by Jesse in his ' Memoirs of the Court 
 of England.' Line 12 from bottom, /or 'the orderly' read 'the 
 Duke himself.' 
 
 Page 207. The ' Poems on the Duke of Buckingham and his 
 Assassination' were reprinted by the Percy Society in 1850. These 
 illustrate in a very striking manner the hatred he had inspired. 
 
 Page 214. Assassination of tlie Duke of Buckingham. — Amerigo 
 Salvetti (his right name was Alessandro Antelminelli) held the 
 post of Tuscan Eesident at the Court of Charles I. His de- 
 spatches for the years 1625-28 were translated by the late Mr. 
 Heath Wilson, and in 1887 the translation was issued by the 
 Historical MSS. Commission as a special appendix to their 
 eleventh report. Though it cannot be said that they furnish any 
 very novel information, or reveal any political secrets, they are 
 full of interesting details. Here is Salvetti's account of the Duke 
 of Buckingham's death. Writing on the 5th of September, 1628, 
 he says : , 
 
 ' Immediately after my arrival at this place the news reached 
 me of the tragical end of the Duke of Buckingham at Portsmouth. 
 
A;pfend{x. 407 
 
 The author of it is in the position of a gentleman, and it is said 
 that the cause of his act was that the Duke refused to give him 
 the company of infantry which he maintained was his by right 
 when his captain died. He avenged himself by a stab with a 
 knife which killed the Duke before he had time to say a word. 
 The news of this fatal blow has spread rapidly over the whole 
 kingdom ; and, if I may express myself frankly, the appearances 
 of satisfaction are almost universal. His Majesty more than any- 
 one is touched to the quick by this assassination : he feels it so 
 much that they say that he is both profoundly afflicted and 
 incensed. The Duke's relatives and dependents are those who 
 will be most affected by this loss. As to others, they rejoice in 
 the prospect of dividing the spoils and the offices which he held 
 in the Government. All the principal members of the Privy 
 Council went immediately to his Majesty to offer their services ; 
 and as all the active management of the G-overnment was in the 
 hands of the Duke, it will require some time to make the arrange- 
 ments which may be rendered necessary by a possible change of 
 policy in home and foreign affairs. It is only too evident that 
 the people are gratified by the death of the Duke, and they seem 
 to think that they have gained by the act of his slayer that deli- 
 verance which Parliament never could obtain. The murderer is 
 named Felton. He is a prisoner, and will be strictly examined 
 to discover if he has accomplices, after which, in conformity with 
 the laws, he must die.' 
 
 A few days later he adds some particulars of the affair : 
 'The blow was given so suddenly that it was not actually seen 
 by anyone. The Duke was heard to exclaim, " Vile animal ! you 
 have killed me !" and with his own hand he drew the knife from 
 the wound ; then, stepping back as if to draw his sword, he fell 
 to the ground, and blood flowed from his mouth and nostrils. In 
 seven or eight minutes he expired without uttering a word. On 
 the fall of the Duke many of those present drew their swords and 
 turned towards Monsieur de Soubise, who was in the ante-room, 
 and who ran a special risk of being killed from the circumstance 
 that several took it into their heads that he had struck the blow, 
 inasmuch as about an hour previously some warm words had 
 passed between him and the Duke in public. The actual murderer, 
 seeing that the crowd threw itself upon Soubise, called out, " The 
 Duke is dead, and it was I who killed him." One of those 
 standing by with his sword drawn made a lunge at him. This 
 Felton parried, and, throwing down his sword, said, "Do what 
 you like with me." He was made prisoner, and, being questioned, 
 lie said that he had struck the blow, and that he had intended to 
 do so for some days. Being asked if he was sorry for what he 
 had done, he said " No," and that if it were still to do he would 
 do it, having no fear except of the displeasure of God.' 
 
 Page 216. As illustrating the different points of view from 
 
408 Appendix. 
 
 which the assassination of Buckingham was regarded, the follow- 
 ing contemporary verses may be cited : 
 
 'A Chaeitable Censure on the Death of the D. of B. 
 
 ' What ! shall I say now George is dead, 
 
 That hee's in hell? Charitie forbidJ, 
 , What though hee's damn'd by common fame. 
 
 Yet God's eyes may behold noe staine. 
 
 What though he was infect with sinne, 
 
 What man on earth Hues not therein ? 
 
 Shall wee therefore limitt God's power 1 
 
 His mercie's seen at the last houre. 
 
 If to the kingdome hee did harme, 
 
 Yet thy tongue still thou ought'st to charme ; 
 
 Great Charles in him beheld not it, 
 
 For thee to taxe him 'tis not fitt. 
 
 En vie cease, and give him his due; 
 
 Speak of him what thou know'st is true ; 
 
 And for one good deed let him meritt 
 
 To have his bodd, silence inherit. 
 
 Call but to mind that deed in Spaine, 
 
 For which thou once didst loue his name.* 
 
 If all were badd, yet that alone 
 
 Should make thee now his death bemoane. 
 Then, Felton, sure thou art to blame, 
 By whose strong hand our George was slaine.' 
 
 'Felton Commended, etc. 
 
 ' Immortall man of glorie ! whose brave hand 
 Hath once begun to disenchaunt our land 
 From magique thraldome ! One proud man did mate 
 The nobles, gentles, commons of our State ; 
 Struck peace and warr at pleasure, hurl'd downe all 
 That to his idoll greatness would not fall 
 With grovelling adoration ; sacred rent 
 Of Brittaine, Saxon, Norman princes ; spent 
 Hee on his pandors, minions, pimps, and whores, 
 Whilst their great royall offspring wanted dores 
 To shutt out hunger, had not the kinde whelpe 
 Of good Eliza's lyon gave them helpe ; 
 The seats of justice forc'd to say, they lye; 
 Unto our auntient English libertie 
 The staine of honour, which to deedes of praise 
 And high atchievements should brave spiritts raise ; 
 
 * The breaking off of the match between Prince Charles and 
 the Infanta. 
 
Appendix. 409 
 
 The shippes, the men, the money cast away, 
 Under his onely all-confounding sway ; 
 Iliads of griefe, on toppe of which hee bore 
 Himselfe triumphant, neither trayned in lore 
 
 Of artes nor armes 
 
 Naught but illusion were wee, 'till this pride 
 Was by thy hand cut off, stout Machabee ! 
 Nor they, nor Eome, nor did Greece ever see 
 A greater glorie. To the neighbour flood 
 Then sinke all fables of old Brute and Ludd, 
 And give thy statues place ! In spite of charme 
 Of witch or wizard, thy most mightie arme, 
 "With zeale and justice arm'd, hath in truth wonne 
 The prize of patriott to a Brittish sonne.' 
 
 {From Sloane MS. No. 603.) 
 
 Page 219. Salvetti, the Tuscan Eesident, furnishes a descrip 
 tion of the Duke's splendid ways. ' The Duke,' he says, ' feasted 
 their Majesties on Sunday in the most splendid manner, when 
 they were waited upon and served by the Duke and ten other 
 nobles. They were entertained before the supper with various 
 musical performances, after it with dances and comedies ; but the 
 principal spectacle was a marine view representing the sea which 
 divides England from France, and above it the Queen-Mother of 
 France, sitting on a regal throne amongst the gods, beckoning 
 with her hand to the King and Queen of Spain, the Prince and 
 Princess Palatine, and the Prince and Princess of Piedmont, to 
 come and unite themselves with her there amongst the gods, to 
 put an end to all the discords of Christianity — a fanciful and 
 mystic conceit, which indicates a desire that such a peaceful 
 result might be attained by the instrumentality pointed out in 
 this fiction. The greater part of the night was consumed with 
 dances and other pastimes, the whole being concluded with a 
 splendid refection of sweetmeats; after which, the hour being 
 late, their Majesties remained at the Duke's residence to sleep. 
 Next day the entertainments were renewed with royal mag- 
 nificence. The expenses have amounted to some thousands of 
 pounds sterling.' 
 
 Page 221. Add to the list of authorities J. H. Jesse's 'Memoirs 
 of the Court of England.' 
 
 Page 243. Lord Falkland's poems have been edited by Dr. 
 Grosart in 'Miscellanies' (vol. iii.), in the 'Fuller's Worthies' 
 Library,' 1870,1873. 
 
 Page 247 (note), for ' National' read ' Eational. 
 
 Page 271, line 1 1, for ' various ' read ' curious.' 
 
 Page 287. Authorities : S. E. Gardiner, ' History of England ;' 
 Clarendon, and other contemporary writers; Comte de Lally 
 Tolendal, 'Essai sur la Vie de Strafford,' 1795; Miss E. Cooper, 
 
110 Appendix. 
 
 'Life of Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford,' 1872; the 
 Strafford Letters ; J. Eushworth, 'Historical Collections,' 8 vols. 
 1'olio, 1659-1701; Forster, 'Lives of Eminent British States- 
 men,' etc. 
 
 Page 310. Gregorio Panzani, a priest of the Oratory, arrived 
 in England in 1636 on a special mission from Eome to compose 
 some differences among the Catholics. He says that Lord Herbert 
 talked to him about his contemplated ' History of Henry VIII.,' 
 assuring him that if he told the truth he would have little good 
 to sa3' of that sovereign, and that he would treat his subject as 
 iavourably as possible to the Roman Church. And he expressed 
 liis willingness to submit his book, ' De Veritate,' to the judgment 
 of the Pope (Gardiner, viii. 137, 138). 
 
 Page 361. Charles Blount (not Blunt) was born in 1654, and 
 committed suicide in 1698. His 'Miscellaneous Works' bear 
 date 1685. His 'Eeligio Laici ' is a translation of Herbert's 'De 
 Eeligione Laici' (1645), though in his dedication of it to Dryden he 
 says : ' I have endeavoured that my discourse shall be only a 
 continuance of yours' (Dryden's poem ' Eeligio Laici '), ' and that, 
 as you taught men how to believe, so I might instruct them how 
 to live.' There is a memoir of Blount in the Biographia 
 Britannica. 
 
 Page 365. John Hutchinson's ' Works, Philosophical and 
 Theological,' were published in 1749, in 12 vols. See vols, viij^ 
 and ix., ' Eeligion of Satan, or Natural Eeligion.' 
 
 Page 370. John Taylor (1580-1654) was called ' The Water- 
 Poet ' because he at one time plied as a waterman on the river 
 Thames. A list of his numerous productions will be found in 
 Sir Egerton Brydges' ' Censura Literaria.' 
 
INDEX TO VOL. I. 
 
 AiKiN, Miss, quoted, 208 
 
 Anne of Austria, Queen of France, 
 
 Buckingham's passion for, 199- 
 
 201 ; anecdote of, 303 
 Anne, Princess, daughter of 
 
 Charles I., 161 
 Armstrong, Archibald, or Archie, 
 
 King's jester, anecdotes of, 399- 
 
 402 
 Arnold, Matthew, quoted, 235 
 Ashburnham, John, Charles I.'s 
 
 attendant, 43, 44, 65, 90 
 Aubrey, quoted, 232 
 Ayres, Sir John, his attack upon 
 
 Lord Herbert of Cherbury, 
 
 297-299 
 
 B. 
 
 Bassompierre, the French ambas- 
 sador, quoted, 192, 406 
 
 Bastwick, Dr., in the pillory, 389- 
 391 
 
 Baxter, Richard, quoted, 47 
 
 Berkeley, Sir John, quoted, 53 ; 
 attends the King, 55 ; quoted, 
 56, 65 
 
 'Biographia Britannica' quoted, 
 222-226 
 
 Blount, Charles, philosophical 
 works of, 361, 362, 410 
 
 Bradshaw, the regicide, 91 ; 
 presides at the King's trial, 92 
 et seq. 
 
 Bristol, Earl of, at Madrid, 12, 13, 
 14 
 
 Brocket Hall, 39f 
 
 Browning, Eobert, quoted, 1, 168, 
 285 
 
 Buckingham, Duchess of, her 
 marriage, 197 ; her letter to 
 her husband, 197 ; her grief at 
 his death, 215 
 
 Buckingham, George Villiers, 
 Duke of, favours a Spanish 
 marriage, 7, 8 ; influences James 
 I., 9, 10 ; accompanies Prince 
 Charles to Madrid, 11-19 ; 
 memoir of, 185-221 ; his hand- 
 some person, 193; his assassin- 
 ation, 214, 215, 406-409 
 
 Barley, Captain, executed for 
 high treason, 65 
 
 Burton in the pillory, 389-391, 
 393 
 
 Butler, Samuel, quoted, 167 
 
 C. 
 
 Cabala, the, quoted, 28, 33, 203 
 
 Carey, Lady, 3 
 
 Carisbrooke Castle, Charles I. 
 imprisoned at, 60-85 ; Princess 
 Elizabeth and Duke of Glouces- 
 ter, 149-151 
 
 Carleton, Sir Dudley, quoted, 163 
 
 Carlisle, Countess of, her intrigue 
 withPym, 39 ; memoir of, 168- 
 172 ; anecdote of, 396 . 
 
 Cartwright, William, quoted, 169 
 
 Chamberlayne, Dr., 379 
 
 Charles I., his birth, 1 ; created 
 Duke of York, 1-3 j his educa- 
 tion, 3-5 ; his character, 5-6 ; 
 
412 
 
 Index. 
 
 his visit to Madrid, 6-19 ; his 
 return to EDgland, 20 ; his ac- 
 cession, 21 ; his popularity, 22, 
 23 ; his marriage to Henrietta 
 Maria, 27-32 ; his troubles with 
 the Queen's household, 34, 35 ; 
 he dismisses the French atten- 
 dants, 36 ; his quarrels with 
 the Parliament, 36, 37 ; at- 
 tempts the arrest of the five 
 members, 38-43 ; his flight 
 from Oxford, 43, 44; seeks the 
 Scottish camp, 44, 45 ; is 
 transferred to the Parliament's 
 Commissioners, 46 ; detained 
 at Holmby House, 48 ; con- 
 veyed to Hampton Court, 52, 
 53 ; escapes, 54-57 ; his im- 
 prisonment at Carisbrooke 
 Castle, 60-85 j failures of his 
 attempts to escape, 63,^70, 72 ; 
 attends Conference at Newport 
 and signs Treaty, 76-81 ; at 
 Hurst Castle, 85, 86 ; removed 
 to Windsor, 87-89 ; thence to 
 "Whitehall, 91 ; his trial, 91- 
 113; his last hours, 114-117; 
 his interview with his children, 
 115, 116; his execution, 118- 
 124; his interment at Wind- 
 sor, 125, 126 ; his character, 
 126-128 ; public opinion on his 
 execution, 128; 'The Eoyal 
 Martyr,' 129, 130 ; ' The None- 
 Such Charles,' 130-133; his 
 love of art, and patronage of 
 artists, 134-139 ; encourages 
 tapestry manufacture, 139, 
 140 ; his Court conspicuous 
 for its morality, 140, 141 
 
 Chillingworth, his great work, 
 306, 397 
 
 Christmas mummeries, 386, 387 
 
 Christmas pie, a, 367 
 
 Chair, the Sedan, introduced, 380 
 
 Clarendon, Earl of, quoted, 20, 3rf, 
 45,68,140,186,193,231,232- 
 
 235, 236, 238, 239, 241, 249, 
 255-257 
 
 Coach, the hackney, introduction 
 of, 374-376 
 
 Coke, Sir Edward, 262, 264, 266 
 
 Coleridge quoted, 365 
 
 Cooke, Colonel, conveys Charles I. 
 from Carisbrooke to Hurst 
 Castle, 82-85 
 
 Corbet, Bishop, quoted, 190 
 
 Cottington,SirFrancis(afterwards 
 Lord), opposes the Spanish mar- 
 riage, 9, 10 ; his medical experi- 
 ences, 385, 386 
 
 Cowley, quoted, 249 
 
 Cromwell, Oliver, 52, 53, 54, 55, 
 59 
 
 Cudworth, Ealph, 364 
 
 D. 
 Dalrymple quoted, 15 
 Davenant, Sir William, quoted, 
 
 33, 227 
 Denham, Sir John, quoted, 155 
 Derby House Committee, the, 
 
 65, 70 
 Descartes, quoted, 360 
 Digby, SirKenelm, notice of, 172 
 Disraeli, B., quoted, 13, 186 
 Dunois, Madame, quoted, 382, 383 
 
 E. 
 
 Elizabeth, Princess, daughter of 
 Charles I., memoir of, 142-152 
 
 Elizabeth, Queen, anecdote of, 
 24 ; her reign, 24 
 
 Ellis, Sir H., ' Original Letters,' 
 quoted, 3, 30, 31, 34, 215 
 
 Evelyn, John, quoted, 117 
 
 Ewes, Sir Symonds,D', quoted, 33 
 
 F. 
 
 Falkland, Lucius Cary, Lord, his 
 character, 230-236 ; his early 
 life, 236-239; his house at 
 Great Tew, 239, 248; his 
 public career, 248, 256 ; his 
 death, 256, 257 
 
Index. 
 
 413 
 
 Felton, John, assassinates Duke 
 of Buckingham, 212-215; his 
 execution, 217 ; poems ou, 408 
 
 Firebrace, Henry, his account of 
 the King's attempt to escape, 
 69, 70 
 
 Five members, arrest of the, 
 37-43 
 
 Forster, John, quoted, 23, 37, 
 39, 40, 42 
 
 Fuller, Thomas, quoted, 151, 226 
 G. 
 
 Gamache, the P6re, quoted, 150, 
 
 151 
 Gardiner, S. R, quoted, 5, 14, 
 
 21, 27, 28, 33, 40, 41, 127, 
 
 128, 171, 187, 188, 260, 261 
 Garrard, Eev. George, his letters 
 
 to the Earl of Strafford, 372 
 
 et seq. 
 Garter, Knights of the, 376, 377 
 Gassendi, philosophical views of, 
 
 358, 359 
 Gerbier, Sir Balthazar, 130, 406 
 Ghost story, a, 222-225 
 Gibson, Richard, the dwarf, 
 
 notice of, 228, 229 
 Gloucester, Henry, Duke of, 
 
 memoir of, 152-155 
 Godolphin, Sidney, 241 
 Gondomar, Spanish ambassador, 
 
 6-8 
 Goodman, Bishop, quoted, 12, 
 
 193, 196, 197 
 Grand Eemonstrance, the, 3J 
 
 H. 
 
 Hackney coach, the, 374-376 
 Hallam quoted, 311 
 Hammond, Colonel, in command 
 
 at Carisbrooke, 55, 56, 60-62, 
 
 65, 66, 70, 74, 75, 81, 82 
 Hamilton, Sir William, quoted, 
 
 366 
 Hampden, John, 253 
 Hampton Court, Charles I. at, 51 
 
 65 
 
 Hard wick quoted, 16 
 
 Harrison, Major-General, conveys 
 Charles I. from Windsor to 
 Whitehall, 89, 90 
 
 Heath quoted, 151 
 
 Henrietta Maria, anecdotes of, 
 28, 29 ; married by proxy, 29 ; 
 arrives at Dover, 30 ; first in- 
 terview with Charles I., 30; 
 journey to London, 32 ; her 
 personal charms, 33 ; her in- 
 fluence over Charles, 34; her 
 household, 35, 36, 154 
 
 Henrietta, Princess, Duchess of 
 Orleans, memoir of, 157-161 
 
 Henry, Prince, practical jokes of, 
 3 ; his death, 4 
 
 Herbert of Cherbury, Lord, 
 ambassador at Paris, 12 
 
 Herbert, Sir Thomas, Charles L's 
 attendant, 48, 50 ; quoted, 
 62, 67, 85, 86, 90, 115-119 
 
 Herbert, Lord Edward, of Cher- 
 bury, memoir of, 288-313; 
 his religious views, 313, 314; 
 his character, 315 ; his poetry, 
 316; his treatise, 'De Veritate,' 
 analysis of, 323-366, 410 
 
 Herrick quoted, 367 
 
 Hillier, G., quoted, 69 
 
 Hinchinbrook House, Charles L 
 at, 51 
 
 ' Histrio-Mastix,' Prynne's, 378 
 
 Holies, Denzil, letter from, 369, 
 370 
 
 Holmby House, Charles L at, 
 46-51 
 
 Honthorst, Gerard, the painter, 
 220 
 
 Howell, James, quoted, 13, 14, 
 21, 31, 33, 215 
 
 Hudson, Sir Geoffery, the dwarf, 
 story of, 226-228 
 
 Hurst Castle, Charles L at, 85, 
 86 
 
 Hutchinson, Mrs., quoted, 126, 
 140 
 
414 
 
 Index. 
 
 I. 
 
 'Ignoramus,' play of, 189 
 IrelanJ, a Royal residence in, 
 
 proposed, 392 
 Irish, the, Garrard's opinion of, 
 
 392 
 
 J. 
 
 James I., his share in the pro- 
 posed Spanish marriage, 7 ; in- 
 fluenced by Buckingham, 8 ; 
 withdraws his assent to Prince 
 Charles's expedition to Madrid, 
 9, 10 ; privately agrees to it, 
 10; his letters to his son, 16^ 
 his death, 21 
 
 Jones, Inigo, builds Greenwich 
 Palace, 135 
 
 Jonson, Ben, Falkland's eulogy 
 upon, 243, 288 
 
 Joyce, Corne, conveys Charles I. 
 to Hampton, 51-53 
 
 Juxon, Bishop of London, 114, 
 118, 119, 122, 123 
 
 K. 
 
 Kensington, Lord (Earl of Hol- 
 land), his account of Henrietta 
 Maria, 28, 29 
 
 King's Evil, the, Charles I. 
 touches for, 77 
 
 Kortholt, Christian, his attack 
 on Lord Herbert of Cherbury, 
 362, 363 
 
 L. 
 
 Lambe, Dr. John, the astrologer, 
 
 murder of, 208, 209 
 Laud, Archbishop, 387 ; insulted 
 
 by Armstrong, 400 
 Leland, John, criticises Lord 
 
 Herbert of Cherbury, 363, 364 
 Lilly, William, quoted, 21 
 Locke, John, his criticism of 
 
 Lord Herbert of Cherbury, 
 
 359 
 Lotteries, 383, 384 
 
 Louis XIIL, Lord Herbert's de- 
 scription of, 301, 302 
 Ludlow, John, quoted, 126 
 Luynes, De, his quarrel with 
 Lord Herbert, 303-305 
 
 M. 
 
 Manners in England in the reign 
 of Charles I., glimpses of, 
 367-40-! 
 
 Marriage, the projected Spanish, 
 6-19, 305, 306 
 
 Mary, Princess, daughter of 
 Charles I., 155, 157 
 
 Masque, the Queen's (Anne of 
 Denmark), 2 ; performed before 
 Charles L, 136, 137; by the 
 Gentlemen of the Inns of 
 Court, 373,374; at the Temple, 
 387; at Whitehall, 396 
 
 Matthew, Sir Toby, 396, 398 
 
 May, Thomas, anecdote of, 165, 
 166 
 
 Mead, quoted, 31, 32, 34, 35, 208 
 
 ' Mercurius Bellicus ' quoted, 74, 
 75 
 
 ' Mercurius Psittacus ' quoted, 74 
 
 Middleton, Thomas, his 'Game 
 of Chess,' 21 
 
 Milton quoted, 22 
 
 Mohun, his attack on Lord 
 Liimley, 391, 392 
 
 Morel], quoted, 366 
 
 Motteville, Madame de, quoted, 
 200 
 
 Murray, Thomas, Prince Charles's 
 tutor, 3 
 
 K 
 
 Neal quoted, 50 
 
 Newport, riot at, 65 ; Conference 
 
 at, between Charles I. and 
 
 Parliamentary Commissioners, 
 
 76-80 ; Treaty of, 81 
 'None-Such Charles,' the, quoted, 
 
 130-133 
 Northumberland, Lady, death 
 
 of, 397, 398 
 
Index. 
 
 415 
 
 Peck quoted, 45, 77 
 Pembroke, Philip, Earl of, me- 
 moir of, 162-168 
 Penshurst Place, 148, 149 
 Pepys quoted, 159 
 Perenchief quoted, 1, 3, 5 
 Pillory, the, Prynne in, 377-379; 
 
 Pryune, Burton, and Bast- 
 
 wickein, 389-391 
 Plague, the, 388 
 Players, the, and Archbishop 
 
 Laud, S87, 388 
 Porter, Endymion, 7, 8, 11, 13. 
 
 382, 383 
 Protestation, the, 27 
 Prynne, William, in the pillory, 
 
 377-379, 389-391 
 Puritanism, growing influence of, 
 
 26 
 Pym, John, 36, 38, 39, 171, 172, 
 
 263, 268, 269, 279 
 
 E. 
 
 Radcliffe, Sir George, his memoir 
 
 of Earl of Strafford, 258-282 
 Richelieu, Cardinal, 201 
 Right, Petition of, 265, 266 
 Rolfe, Major, Deputy-Governor 
 
 at Oarisbrooke, 71, 73, 75 
 ' Royal Martyr, The,' quoted, 129 
 Royston, his ' Collection of the 
 
 Works of Charles I.' quoted, 
 
 78-81, 92-114 
 Rubens, Charles I.'s patronage 
 
 of, 134, 135; and Duke of 
 
 Buckingham, 219 
 Rushworth quoted, 42, 66, 281 
 
 S. 
 
 Salmasius quoted, 128 
 Salvetti, quoted, 406, 407, 409 
 Scotland, attempt to introduce a 
 
 new Liturgy in, 394, 395 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 226 
 Shaftesbury, Earl of, 364 
 
 ' Shepherdess, The Faithful,' by 
 
 John Fletcher, 373 
 Sovereign, the, man-of-war, launch 
 
 of, 393, 394 
 Sports, the Declaration of, 372 
 State Papers, the, quoted, 195 
 Strafford, Earl of, his friendship 
 
 with the Countess of Carlislt;, 
 
 170, 171; memoir of, 258, 
 
 283 ; his character, 283-287 
 ' Strafford Letters,' the, quoted, 
 
 166, 258-287, 366-402 
 Suckling, Sir John, quoted, 169, 
 
 240 ; his play of ' Aglaura,' 
 
 398, 399 
 
 Tapestry manufactured at Mort- 
 
 lake, 139, 140 
 Taylor, John, 'the Water-Poet,' 
 
 quoted, 63, 77, 375, 376 
 Titchfield, Charles L at, 55 
 Tulloch, ]?rincipal, quoted, 247, 
 
 248 
 
 V. 
 
 Vandyck, Charles I.'s patronage 
 
 of, 134 
 Vane, Sir Henry, 275, 278 
 'Veritate, De,' Lord Herbert's 
 
 treatise, analysis of, 313-366 
 Villiers, Lady Mary, her marriage, 
 
 381-383 
 Voiture, impromptu by, 203 
 
 W. 
 
 Walker quoted, 22 
 
 Waller, Edmund, quoted, 3?>, 
 158, 169, 228, 229 
 
 Walpole, Horace, quoted, 221, 
 288, 289, 310 
 
 Warrant for Charles I.'s execu- 
 tion, 112 
 
 Warwick, Sir Philip, quoted, 07 
 
 Water supply of London, 38-;>, 
 384 
 
 Weldon, quoted, 163, 189 
 
416 
 
 Index. 
 
 Wenman, Sir Francis, 241 
 
 Wh alley, Colonel, his letter to 
 
 the Speaker, 57, 58 
 Whitehall, Charles I. at, 123, 124 
 Wilson, Arthur, quoted, 11, 194 
 Windsor, Charles I. at, 87 ; 
 
 buried at, 125, 126 
 Winwood, Sir R, quoted, 2 
 
 Wotton, Sir Henry, quoted, 186, 
 187, 209, 225, 370, 371 ; his 
 new books, 372 
 
 Yorkshire, Parliamentary election 
 for, 368 
 
 END OF VOL. 1. 
 
 BILLING A BUNB. PRINTERS, QL'tLOPJnO. 
 
M 
 
 h^ 
 
68 The White King. 
 
 have been exaggerated or misunderstood, as Sir Thomas 
 Herbert continued in close attendance on the King through- 
 out his captivity. From the time that he was deprived of 
 his usual retinue ' he would never suffer his hair to be cut, 
 nor cared he to have any new clothes ; so that his aspect 
 and appearance was very different from what it had used to 
 be ; otherwise, his health was good, and he was much more 
 cheerful in his discourses towards aU. men, than could have 
 been imagined after such a mortification of all kinds. He 
 was not at all dejected in his spirits, but carried himself 
 with the same majesty he had used to do. His hair was 
 all gray, which, making all others very sad, made it thought 
 that he had sorrow in his countenance, which appeared 
 only by that shadow.'* 
 
 As the political complications of the kingdom increased 
 in difficulty, and involved every day more serious conse- 
 quences to the King, his friends devoted all their energies 
 to the perfection of a plan of escape. 
 
 Amongst the household was a gallant and ingenious man 
 named Henry Firebrace. He was known to the King, and 
 privately summoned to join him at Carisbrooke, for which 
 purpose he applied to the Commissioners for permission to 
 wait upon the King as page of the bedchamber, and 
 obtained their consent. His first step was to open up com- 
 munications with the King's friends in the island, among 
 whom was one of the conservators or wardens of the island, 
 named Captain Titus, and through his means he obtained 
 entire freedom of access to his Majesty. When he had any 
 letters to deliver, he concealed them in a certain flaw in the 
 royal bedchamber, where in due time the King also 
 deposited his answer. And in the wainscot, which was 
 covered by thick hangings, was made an aperture, through 
 which the King could secretly communicate with his 
 attendants, instantly letting fall the tapestry on the approach 
 of any suspicious person. 
 
 These preliminaries having been effected, Firebrace and 
 « Clarendon, vi. 190-108. 
 
Personal History of Charles I. 69 
 
 Titus proceeded to elaborate their plans ; taking into their 
 confidence Mr. Edward Worsley of Gatcombe, Mr. John 
 Newland of Newport, and a Mr. Richard Osburn, or 
 Osborne, 'a gentleman of an ancient family and singular 
 good parts,' who had been placed about the King's person 
 by the Parliament, but had been converted by Charles's 
 gracious manner and conversation into a zealous Royalist. 
 They decided, after long discussion, on the following 
 project of escape. 
 
 The King, at a certain signal made by Firebrace, a stone 
 thrown against his bedroom window, was to force himself 
 through the casement, and lower himself therefrom by a 
 stout rope. Firebrace had some misgivings as to the 
 narrowness of the opening ; but Charles felt certain that 
 where his head could pass, his body would follow. On his 
 safely gaining his feet, Firebrace would conduct him across 
 the court, where no sentinel was stationed, to the great 
 wall, which he was to descend by means of a thick rope, 
 with a stick attached to it for a seat. Then, climbing 
 the low counterscarp, he would find a horse ready saddled 
 (with boots and pistols), and Osborne and Worsley, well 
 mounted, waiting to escort him across the island to the 
 seashore, where Mr. Newland would be in readiness with a 
 well-appointed sailing-boat. 
 
 The night came. Charles dismissed his attendants, as 
 if he were retiring t§ rest. Worsley and Osborne, mean- 
 while, had gained their appointed posts ; and on the other 
 side of the island was Newland, with his well-found craft. 
 Firebrace took up his station beneath the King's window, 
 and gave the signal.* ' Then his majesty,' says Firebrace, 
 ' put himself forward, but, too late, found himself mistaken, 
 he sticking fast between his breast and shoulders, and not 
 able to get backward or forward ; but that, at the instant 
 before he endeavoured to come out, he mistrusted, and tied 
 a piece of his cord to a bar of the window within, by 
 means whereof he freed himself back. Whilst he stuck, I 
 ** See G. Hillier, ' Narrative of the Detention of Charles I.,' passim.