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MEMOIRS

THE COURT OF ENGLAND

THE REIGN OF THE STUARTS,

INCLUDING

THE PROTECTORATE.

BY JOHN HENEAGE JESSE.

VOL. II.

LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
Publier in ©routarj) to fttr 0.a)tito.
1840.

PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Bangor House, Shoe Lane.

CONTENTS
OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

* CHARLES I.
CHAPTER I.
Public Character of Charles the First — his domestic Virtues.
— Political Features of the Period. — Infancy and Baptism of
Charles. — Pageant on his being created Duke of York —
his physical Infirmities — placed under the Tuition of Mur
ray  Anecdotes of Charles and Prince Henry. — Juvenile
Letters of Charles — created Prince of Wales — his Progress
in theological Knowledge — his general Accomplishments, and
Prowess in Tilting.— Projected Match between Charles and
Mary of Spain. — Intended Journey of Charles to Madrid —
his Father's Feelings on the subject, and Buckingham's haughty
Violence. — Interview between the King and Sir Francis Cot
tington. — Advice of the latter as to Charles's Journey to Spain.
— Buckingham's Anger. . . . Page 1
CHAPTER II.
Charles and Buckingham, in disguise, set out on the Journey
to Spain. — Arrival at Boulogne. — Court Ball at Paris. — The
Prince in danger of being arrested at Bayonne. — Arrival at
Madrid. — Reception of Charles by the King. — Rejoicings
a 2

iv CONTENTS.
at Madrid. — Magnificent Conduct of Philip the Fourth. —
Reception of Charles by the Queen. — Scene on the Prado,
when Charles first saw the Infanta. — Restricted Intercourse
between Charles and the Infanta. — Charles's romantic Affec
tion for her. — Magnificent Presents to the Spanish Ladies. —
Letters from King James to his Son, and Buckingham — their
Prodigality. — Hopes entertained by the Spaniards of the
Prince's Conversion to the Spanish Faith. — Letters from the
Pope to Charles. — Aversion of the People of England to the
Spanish Match. — The Spanish Treaty. — James's Meanness in
allowing the Spanish King to dictate to him. . Page 18
CHAPTER III.
King James the Dupe of Spanish Policy. — Duplicity of Philip
the Third  Arrival from Rome of the Dispensation respect
ing the Infanta's projected Marriage with Charles. — New
Difficulties. — Concessions on the part of James and the Prince.
— Charles's Departure from Spain, and narrow Escape at Sea.
— His Arrival at Portsmouth and enthusiastic Reception in
London. — The Infanta's Attachment to Charles, and her Feel
ings on his Departure. — The Match finally broken off. 44
CHAPTER IV.
Charles proclaimed King.— Base Accusations against Charles.
— Curious Omens. — Private Vows made by Charles.  The
Sortes Virgilianae  Treaty of Marriage between Charles and
Henrietta Maria of France  Deed of Dispensation.  Solem
nization of the Marriage. — Arrival of the Queen.  Influence
of Henrietta over her Husband. — The Queen subjected to
humiliating Penances. — Ecclesiastical Retinue of the Queen.
— Insulting Conduct of the Foreign Priests.  The French
Retinue ordered by Charles to quit the Kingdom.  Inter
view between the King and Marshal de Bassompierre 
Presumption of Madame St. George. — Henrietta's passionate

CONTENTS. V
Conduct on the Departure of her Favourites. — Contumacy
of the Foreigners — their Expulsion from Somerset House,
and Embarkation at Dover. . . . Page 57
CHAPTER V.
Charles's Liberality to the Queen's French Attendants — their
Attempt at Extortion. — Misunderstandings between Charles
and his Queen. — Accusations against the conjugal Faith of
Charles. — Letter from him to the Duke of Buckingham. —
The White King. — Strict Decorum of Charles's Court. —
Magnificent Entertainments. — Patrician Actors. — Charles's
Exaction of Court Etiquette — his unconciliating Manners
— his Learning and Accomplishments — his Respect for
Literature — his Love ofthe Arts. — Sale of his magnificent
Collection. . . . . . . .83
CHAPTER VI.
Charles at the Battle of Naseby — his Flight from Oxford —
his Arrival at Newark, and ungracious Reception by the Scot
tish Army — Treachery of the Scots. — Imprisonment of Charles
at Holmby — his Amusements there. — Charles and Major
Bosville. — The King is denied all Intercourse with the Mi
nisters of his own Church, and deprived of his Attendants
— his health and Diet  Insolence of Cornet Joyce. — Re
moval ofthe King from Holmby — his Reception at Childerley.
— Professions of Fidelity by Cromwell and Fairfax. — Charles's
Arrival at his Palace at Newmarket — freed from the annoying
Attentions of Joyce. — The King's Interview with his Children.
— The Bowling-green at Whitchurch. — Arrival of Charles at
Hampton Court — his Court there. — Secret Compact between
him and Cromwell. — Morrice's Story ofthe Letter in the Sad
dle. — Interview at Sion House between Charles and his Chil
dren — his Advice to them. .... 106

vi CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VII.
The King's Flight from Hampton Court. — Ashburnham's
¦ " Fatal Mistake." — Charles proceeds in custody to the Isle of
Wight  Colonel Whaley's Account of the Discovery of the
King's Escape from Hampton Court. — The King's Arrival at
Cowes. — Singular Omen. — Arrival at Carisbrook. — Dismissal
of the King's Chaplains and Servants. — Captain Burley's
rash Attempt — his barbarous Execution. — The King's Re
moval to Newport. — Anecdotes. — Melancholy Change in the
Appearance of Charles. — Projects for his Escape from Caris-
book. — Fruitless Attempts. . . • Page 131
CHAPTER VIII.
Charles's Observation on parting with the Commissioners. —
The King's Refusal to break his Parole — his departure from
Newport. — Hurst Castle and its grim Captain. — The King's
Confinement there. — Midnight Visit of Major Harrison. —
Removal of the King. — Loyalty of the People of Winchester.
— Lord Newburgh's Scheme for the King's Escape. — Treat
ment of Charles at Windsor. — Announcement to him of a
Public Trial — his departure from Windsor. — Military Caval
cade conducting the King to London — his Arrival at St.
James's — his Treatment there — Discontinuance of all State
Ceremony. — The King's Sufferings at this Period  Ashburn
ham's futile Project for the King's Escape  Proclamation of
his approaching Trial — he is conveyed to Cotton House, and
summoned to attend his Trial. — Appearance of Westminster
Hall on that Occasion. — Bradshaw, the President, in danger
of Assassination. — Demeanour of Charles when conducted to
the Bar. — Daring Conduct of Lady Fairfax  Charles's Denial
of the Authority of the Court. — Bradshaw's brutal Behaviour.
— Indignities heaped on Charles  An evil Omen. — Bradshaw
and his Wife on the Morning of the last Day of the King's

CONTENTS. Vll
Trial. — Sentence of Death pronounced — its Effect on
Charles. — Bradshaw prohibits the King from speaking. —
Insulting Conduct of the Soldiers. — Public Sympathy. — Re
moval of Charles to St. James's. . . . Page 154
CHAPTER IX.
Charles's Dignity and Fortitude in his Last Hours — his Pre
paration for Death. — Herbert's Mission to Lady Wheeler. —
The King's Farewell Interview with his Children. — The
Fatal Morning. — The King's Bequests — his Devotions —
his Progress from St. James's to the Scaffold — his Arrival
at Whitehall. — The Summons to Execution . . 176
CHAPTER X.
The exact Spot where Charles was beheaded. — Last Mo
ments of the Monarch. — The Execution. — Horror of the Spec
tators. — Cromwell gazing on the King's Corpse. — General
Sorrow on the Death of Charles. — Homage paid to his Memory
by his Enemies. — r Lines by the Marquis of Montrose. — The
King's Executioner. — The Body taken to Windsor. — The
royal Obsequies in St. George's Chapel. — Doubts formerly
existing respecting the real Burial-place of Charles. — Sir
Henry Halford's Account of the opening of King Charles's
Coffin, in 1813.— The King's Children. . .187

HENRIETTA MARIA.
Character of this Princess. — Lord Kensington's Mission to
Paris. — Henrietta's Prepossession in favour of Charles. —
Pretensions of Count Soissons to the Hand of the Princess
 he is challenged by the Earl of Holland. — - Description of
Henrietta by that Nobleman. — Splendid Marriage Ceremony

Vill CONTENTS.
of Henrietta and Charles (by Proxy). — Public Rejoicings at
Paris. — Departure of Henrietta — her Arrival at Dover. —
First Interview with her Husband at Dover. — The Royal
Couple at Canterbury. — Their enthusiastic Reception in
London. — Feelings of the Puritans on the Birth of the
Queen's first Child. — Reputed Loveliness of Henrietta. —
Anecdote. — Henrietta's Embarkation for Holland, and Ex
ertions in her Husband's Cause. — Return to England — her
dangerous Situation at Burlington — her Courage. — Im
putations against her Conjugal Fidelity — her Union, after
the Death of Charles, to Henry Jermyn — her extreme Dis
tress in Paris. — Manner in which she received the News of
Charles's Death — her Return to England, and Residence
in Somerset House — her Death and Burial. . . Page 202

HENRY, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER.
Character of this young Prince — Treatment of him by the
Parliament — his Tutor — he is permitted by Cromwell to
join his Family in France — his Mother's ineffectual At
tempts to convert him to the Romish Faith. — Remarkable
Letter to him from his Brother, Charles II  The Marquis
of Ormond despatched to remove Henry from Paris to Co
logne — his Mother's Indignation at the Interference of
Charles. — Henry accompanies his Brother, the Duke of
York, to the Spanish Campaign — his Valour at the Battle
of Dunkirk — his Arrival in England at the Restoration —
his Death. — Charles's Grief at this Event. — Respect paid
to his Memory — his Funeral. . . . 237

MARY, PRINCESS OF ORANGE.
Birth of this Princess— she is contracted in Marriage to Wil
liam, Prince of Orange — the Ceremony — her affectionate

CONTENTS. IX
Conduct to her Family in their Misfortunes — scandal re
specting her and the Duke of Buckingham — her Intimacy
with Henry Jermyn — scheme of Henrietta Maria to unite
the Princess to Louis XIV. — Mary's Return to England —
her Death at Whitehall — her Brother James's Tribute to
her Memory — her Burial. . . . Page 245

ELIZABETH,
DAUGHTER OF CHARLES THE FIRST.
Birth and Character of this Princess — her Interview with
her Father the Day before his Execution — her Relation of
this Solemn Scene — she is committed by the Parliament to
the Care of Mildmay — her rumoured Apprenticeship to a
Glover at Newport — her Sickness and Death during her
Captivity in the Isle of Wight — her Funeral. . 250

ANNE,
DAUGHTER OF CHARLES THE FIRST.
Birth of this Princess — affecting Anecdote connected with
her last Moments — her Death . . . 256

HENRIETTA MARIA,
DDCHESS OF ORLEANS.

Character of this Princess — she is consigned to the Care of
the Countess of Morton. — Escape ofthe Countess with her young
Charge to Paris. — Joy of the Queen in meeting her Daugh-

X CONTENTS.
ter. — Sir John Reresby's Account of the latter  The young
Princess at the French Court. — Deceptive Conduct of Louis.
— Henrietta's Lovers — her Return to England at the Resto
ration  Description of her by Pepys — her Marriage to the
Duke of Orleans. — her Success in confirming her Brother
James in the Romish Faith — her second Visit to England,
and Reception at Dover by Charles the Second. — Scandalous
Reports. — Suspicions connected with the Duchess's last Illness/
— her dying Interview with Montagu — her Death — its Effect
on Charles. — Inquiry into the Circumstances ofthe Duchess's
Decease — her Children by the Duke of Orleans. Page 257

GEORGE VILLIERS,
DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
CHAPTER I. "is

Summary of Buckingham's Character — his Parents  hi
Mother's Presage of his future Greatness — his first Appear
ance at Court. — James's Admiration. — Indignity offered to
Somerset's Picture. — Effect of the King's Partiality  The
Queen's Prediction  Buckingham insulted by one of Somer
set's Retainers. — Project to assassinate Buckingham. — Com
mencement of James's Favours to Buckingham  Archbishop
Abbot's Advice to him — Dazzling Rapidity of Buckingham's
Rise— his Magnificence. — The Entertainments of York House.
— Buckingham's Cabinet of Pictures — his Patronage of Lord
Herbert of Cherbury. — Origin of Buckingham's Sobriquet,
" Steenie " — his Person and Character, sketched by Bishop
Goodman and Sir Symonds D'Ewes  Buckingham's Mar
riage. — Scandal relating to him.— Letter from his Wife during
his Absence in Spain. — Mutual Affection. . 268

CONTENTS. Xl

CHAPTER II.

Buckingham's indomitable Pride. — Implacable Enmity be
tween him and Olivarez. — Story respecting Buckingham and
the Countess Olivarez. — Correspondence between King James,
Charles, and Buckingham. — Jewels lavished on the Spanish
Ladies by the two latter. — Buckingham's unpopular Conduct
in Spain. — Specimens of the style of Correspondence between
James and Buckingham. — Letters from the Duchess of Buck
ingham to her Husband. — Plot against Buckingham. — Change
in the King's Treatment of him. — Buckingham's Distress. —
Erroneous Opinion that the Duke was declining in the Royal
Favour. — Buckingham's Resentment towards Iniosa. Page 289
CHAPTER III.
Buckingham confirmed in his exalted Fortunes by the Acces
sion of Charles to the Throne. — Jealousy in early Life be
tween Charles and the Duke. — Steadiness of Charles's sub
sequent Affection for Buckingham. — Mission of the latter to
Paris — his splendid Appearance there — his Intrigue with the
Queen. — Anecdotes. — Curious Letter from the Earl of Hol
land. — Buckingham frustrated in his wish to return to Paris
— Enmity between him and Richelieu. — Anecdote. — Charges
brought against Buckingham — his Conduct in the Expedition
to Rochelle. — Lady Davies's Prophecy. — Pasquinade. — 'Buck
ingham insulted in the King's Presence. — Charles's unabated
Affection for the Duke.' — Anticipations of Buckingham's Fall. —
Trial of Lady Davies. — Anagrams. . . 307
CHAPTER IV.
Buckingham's Presentiment that his End was approaching —
his solemn Parting with Charles — his farewell Conversation
with Archbishop Laud.— Remarkable Ghost Story of Sir George

xii CONTENTS.
Villiers. — Incidents during the Duke's fatal Journey to Ports
mouth — his Assassination by Felton.— Apprehension of Felton.
— Charges against Alexander Gill. — Felton's Trial — his Con
demnation, Repentance, and Execution. — Charles's Grief on
the Death of Buckingham. — Intended Magnificence of the
Duke's Funeral — its actual Meanness and Obscurity. — Par
ticulars concerning his Widow  Page 325

THOMAS WENTWORTH,
EARL OF STRAFFORD.
Remarkable Party at the Council-table of Charles I. — Wretch
ed Fate of all who composed it. — Early Life of Thomas Went
worth — his Marriage — he is created a Baronet by James I. —
his second Marriage. — Death of his second Wife. — Went
worth's Love for his Children — his violent Opposition to the
Court — his sudden Leap from a Patriot to a Courtier - — his
Elevation to the Peerage. — Pym's Animosity. — Wentworth's
illustrious Ancestry — his further Advancement in Honours
and high Offices — his third Marriage — he is created Earl of
Strafford — he becomes unpopular — he is impeached of High
Treason — his Apprehension — his Trial in Westminster Hall.
— Memorable Letter to him from Charles — his Confidence in
the King's Promise. — Terrible Dilemma in which Charles was
placed. — The King's Agony in signing Strafford's Death-war
rant — his subsequent Remorse. — Strafford's Letter to Charles.
— Interview of the former with Secretary Carleton. — Detection
of Strafford's Plan of Escape from the Tower — his Preparation
for Death — his Secretary, Slingsby. — Strafford's Progress to
the Scaffold — his last Address — his Execution. . 348

CONTENTS. Xlll
WILLIAM LAUD,
ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.
Summary of Laud's Character — his Education and Prefer
ments in the Church — Scurrilous Attacks on his Birth and
Parentage — his personal Appearance. — Curious Parallel be
tween Wolsey and Laud. — Laud's Abhorrence of Puritanism :
Anecdote — his Belief in Prognostics — his Visions — his sup
posed Inclination to the Church of Rome : Anecdotes — his
private Virtues and munificent Benefactions — his Unpopula
rity. — Scurrilous Libels. — Attack on Lambeth Palace defeat
ed. — Impeachment of Laud — he is voted guilty of High
Treason and sent to the Tower — his Papers destroyed by
Bishop Warner. — The Original Magna Charta. — Seizure of
Laud's private Diary — Anecdotes of his Imprisonment. —
Last and affecting Interview between Laud and Strafford. —
Laud's Reception of the fatal Sentence against him — his Pas
sage to the Scaffold — his Execution — his Character by Judge
Whitelock. — Insight of James into Laud's Character. — Burial
of Laud's Remains. .... Page 377

HENRY RICH,
EARL OF HOLLAND.
Holland's Character and despicable Apostacy — his Lineage
— his Service in the Dutch Wars — his rapid Advance in Ho
nours — his Subserviency to Buckingham. — Carlisle's Friend
ship for Holland. — Marriage of the latter. — Holland House,
Kensington. — Holland's Wealth and Beauty — his Influence
with Women — his Conduct in the Expedition against the
Scots — his scandalous Defection. — The Queen's Anger against,
and Contempt for him — his time-serving Conduct to Charles
at the Siege of Gloucester — his Reception by the King at Ox
ford — his second Desertion to the Parliament. — He is dis-

xiv CONTENTS.
trusted and held in contempt by both Parties — his Flight into
Huntingdonshire, and Apprehension by the Parliamentary Horse
—his Trial and Condemnation — his last Moments — his Execu
tion, and that of the Duke of Hamilton and Lord Capel. 396

LUCIUS CARY,
VISCOUNT FALKLAND.
Summary of the Character of this Nobleman — his early Life
— Large Property bequeathed to him by his Grandmother —
his imprudent Marriage, and the implacable Resentment of his
Father — his Retirement to a Country Life, and Devotion to
Literature — his Hospitality at Burford to Men of Letters — his
reasoning Powers — Compliment paid him by Suckling. — Pa
negyrics by Cowley and Waller. — Falkland's Connexion with
the Popular Party — his Appointment as Secretary of State —
his personal Appearance — Anecdotes of his Wife — his Sons
— his mental Distress at the breaking out of the Civil War —
his Attachment to a Military Life — his Magnanimity at Edge
hill — Voluntary Sacrifice of his Life at Newbury  Aubrey's
Account of Falkland's Motives for his rash Act — Clarendon's
Explanation. — Manner of Falkland's Death. — Clarendon's
Eulogy. . . . . . 412

LUCY,
COUNTESS OF CARLISLE.
Summary of this Lady's Character — her Marriage to James
Hay, afterwards Earl of Carlisle — her Intimacy with Strafford.
— Death of her Husband. — Homage to her Charms by Waller,
Davenant, and Voiture  Character of her by Sir Toby Mat
thews. — Suckling's Poem " On the Lady Carlisle's walking in
Hampton Court Gardens " — her Desertion of the Court and
Betrayal of its Secrets to the Republicans — her second Change
of Politics at the Restoration — her sudden Death. . 428

CONTENTS. XV

SIR KENELM DIGBY.
1 nconsistencies in the Character of this Personage — his Fa
ther, Sir Everard Digby. — Sir Kenelm's Inheritance — he pro
ceeds on his Travels — is knighted by King James. — Sir Ke
nelm's courtly Qualities. — Venetia Stanley. — Scandal against
her. — Sir Kenelm's Autobiography — his singular Narrative of
his Love for, and Marriage to, Venetia — his Expedition against
the Algerines — his gallant Exploit at Scanderoon — his mar
vellous Stories — his Combat with Monsieur Mount le Ros —
his Jealousy of Venetia — Numerous Portraits of that Lady —
her Husband's strange Expedients to increase the Lustre of her
Charms — her Death. — Report that Digby had poisoned her.
— Destruction of her Tomb. — Ben Jonson's Poems on her
Death  Sir Kenelm's Grief at the Loss of his Wife — he is
imprisoned by the Long Parliament — his Release and Sojourn
in France — his Quarrel with the Pope — his Return to England
and Connexion with Cromwell. — Pursuits of his latter Years —
his Interview with Des Cartes — his Character by Lord Cla
rendon — his Death and Burial. . . . Page 436

SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
Summary of Sir John's Character — his Precocity — his Mi
litary Service under Gustavus Adolphus — his Wit and showy
Person. — Costliness of his Entertainments — his Conduct as
a Gambler — his Fondness for the Game of Bowls. — The God
dess of his Poetry. — Affray between Suckling and Sir John
Digby. — Suckling's Cowardice. — One of his Frolics in company
with D' Avenant and Jacob Young  Suckling's Merit as a Poet
— his Prose — his splendid Troopers — their dastardly Flight
from the Enemy. — Lampoons on the Occasion. — Suckling ac
cused of Treason — his Flight into France. — Singular Circum
stances attending his Death. .... 472

XVI CONTENTS.

SIR JEFFERY HUDSON.
Parentage of this Dwarf — he is presented by his Father to
the Duchess of Buckingham, who commends him to the Service
of Queen Henrietta — his absurd Pride — he is sent by the
Queen on an Errand to Paris — his Reception by the Ladies of
the French Court — he is seized by the Dunkirkers on his Re
turn to England. — Sir Jeffery's Irritability — his Challenge to
Mr. Crofts, and its fatal Results. — Sir Jeffery taken Prisoner,
and sold as a Slave. — he is implicated in the Popish Plot — his
Death in Prison. .... Page 491

MEMOIRS

CONCERNING

THE REIGN OF THE STUARTS.

CHARLES I.
CHAPTER I.
Public Character of Charles .the First — his domestic Virtues.
— Political Features of the Period. — Infancy and Baptism of
Charles. — Pageant on hrs being created Duke of York —
his physical Infirmities — placed under the Tuition of Mur
ray  Anecdotes of Charles and Prince Henry. — Juvenile
Letters of Charles — created Prince of Wales — his Pro
gress in theological Knowledge — his general Accomplish
ments, and Prowess in Tilting. — Projected Match between
Charles and Mary of Spain. — Intended Journey of Charles
to Madrid — his Father's Feelings on the subject, and Buck
ingham's haughty Violence. — Interview between the King
and Sir Francis Cottington. — Advice of the latter as to
Charles's Journey to Spain. — Buckingham's Anger.
No monarch could be more disqualified to stem
a great political torrent than was the unfortunate
Charles. Had he been born in a private station
he would have adorned it by the purity of his mo
rals, and the refinement of his taste. Had he in-
VOL. II. B

2 CHARLES I.
herited unlimited power, he might have converted
even despotism into a golden age ; or, indeed,
had he lived at any other period of our history, he
would at least have been regarded as an amiable
and accomplished, if not an illustrious Prince.
But it was his misfortune to live in troubled and
extraordinary times. A people had been roused
to a sense of their wrongs. The spirit of freedom
was abroad, and a watchword was merely wanting to
arm a nation in favour of those privileges, which,
in times of darkness and slavery, had been wrested
from it. Under such circumstances, the errors
or oppressions of a long line of Kings were easily
associated with their reigning representative; and
Charles became the sacrifice to a long established
system of misrule, rather than to individual offence.
The hero and the martyr of one faction, and the
reputed tyrant of another, few monarchs have been
more exalted by their friends, or execrated by their
enemies. Let us, however, in discussing the charac
ter of Charles, divest ourselves as much as possible
from the curse of party prejudice. Let us separate
the monarch from the man, the pious Christian
from the wavering politician ; ever bearing in mind
that the faults of the Prince were the dictates of
conscience ; that his failings were the result of edu
cation ; but that all his virtues were his own.
On the one hand, then, we discover a weak and
vacillating monarch, submitting to the narrow
counsels of inferior minds, neither compromising

CHARLES I.

with grace, nor refusing with dignity ; enforcing
religious intolerance; and contending with the
energies of a great people, and the genius of a
remarkable period, by unmeaning promises and
paltry intrigues. Unfortunately in the political,
and most contemptible school of his father, he had
early been initiated in kingcraft and insincerity ;
and the same Prince whose high sense of honour
was so remarkable in private life, proved himself
the most deficient in political integrity. It was
this great moral failing which rendered his war
with his subjects a war to the knife. Where
truth was made subservient to policy on the one
hand, submission was rendered impracticable on
the other ; for how could his subjects restore to
him a power, which they imagined, however solemn
in the compact, would be turned against them
selves ? Were any reliance to be placed in the
assurances of that arch-hypocrite Cromwell, it was
this trait in the political character of his victim,
which signed the death-warrant of Charles.
Notwithstanding the ingenious defence of Hume
and other writers, such, it is to be feared, is the
public character of Charles the First. It might
be argued in his favour, that political dishonesty
is not always inconsistent with private integrity ;
but would not such an apology be an insult to a
virtuous monarch ? Is it not more charitable, —
more compatible with his acts of private goodness,
and his high sense of religious duty, to suppose
B 2

4 CHARLES I.
that he acted according to the dictates of his
conscience; and that his errors were those of
judgment, rather than of the heart ! Surely
his domestic virtues were at least equal to his
public incapacity ! Brave, chaste, temperate, and
humane ; a pious Christian, an affectionate husband,
and an indulgent father ; how few men are there
whose secret thoughts and actions would bear the
same scrutiny as those of the unhappy Charles !
Let us follow him through his many misfortunes.
Let us regard him through the gratings of his
prison, or amidst the dark solemnity of the scaffold.
Let us recall his many griefs ; a King deprived
of his inheritance ; the husband torn from his wife,
and the father from his children ; reviled, and spit
upon by the meanest of his subjects ; dragged to a
public trial, and trusting only to a still more public
execution for release from his miseries ; he yet
endured all with a meekness and a dignity so beau
tiful, as to be unequalled, perhaps, in the history
of human suffering, or of human fortitude.
One word respecting the political features of the
period. The true philosopher will regard the great
contention between Charles and his subjects, as a
justifiable struggle for liberty on the one hand ;
and, on the part of the King, as a conscientious
defence of those prescriptive privileges which had
descended to him from his forefathers, and which
his education led him to regard as sacred. He
will admit that on each side were exhibited many

CHARLES I. 5
great and good qualities, on which the moralist
may reflect with satisfaction, and an Englishman
with pride. He will remember also, that in all
political convulsions the faults on both sides have
been generally equal ; and he will conclude, that
in the present instance such a deduction is not
only the most charitable, but probably not far re
moved from the truth.
Charles the First was born at Dumfermling, in
Scotland, the 19th of November, 1600. So weak was
he at his birth, that it was hardly expected he could
survive his infancy, and consequently, on the 23rd
of December following, he was hastily christened,
without any of those ceremonies which usually at
tend the baptism of royal infants.* When only
four years old he was created Duke of York, as
well as Knight of the Bath, with ridiculous solem
nity : a sword was girded on his side, a coronet of
gold placed on his head, and a golden verge in his
hand.f A pageant, which followed the ceremony, is de
scribed by Sir Dudley Carleton in a letter to Mr.
Winwood, dated January, 1604, and affords a very
curious picture of the manners of the time. " There
was a public dinner in the great chamber, where
there was one table for the Duke and his Earls as
sistants, another for his fellow Knights of the Bath.
At night we had the Queen's Mask in the Banquet-
it
* Spotswood, p. 461. Perinchief 's Life of Charles I, p. 2.
t Sanderson, p. 322.

6 CHARLES I.
ing House, or rather her pageant. There was a
great engine at the lower end of the room which
had motion, and in it were the images of sea
horses, with other terrible fishes, which were ridden
by Moors. The indecorum was, that there was all
fish and no water. At the further end was a great
shell, in the form of a skallop, wherein were four
seats. In the lowest sat the Queen with my Lady
Bedford; in the rest were placed my Ladies Suf
folk, Derby, Rich, Effingham, Ann Herbert, Susan
Herbert, Elizabeth Howard, Walsingham, and Be-
vil. Their appearance was rich, but too light and
courtezan-like for such great ones. Instead of vi
zards, their faces and arms, up to the elbows, were
painted black, which was disguise sufficient, for
they were hard to be known : but it became them
nothing so well 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 quar
rels so extremely, that he saith the whole court is
Spanish. But, by his favour, he should fall out
with none but himself, for they were all indiffer
ently invited to come as private men to a private
sport ; which he refusing, the Spanish ambassadors
willingly accepted, and being there, seeing no
cause to the contrary, he put off Don Taxis, and
took upon him El Senor Embaxadour, wherein he
outstripped our little Monsieur. He was privately

CHARLES I. 7
at the first Mask, and sat amongst his men disguised ;
at this he was taken out to dance, and footed it
like a lusty old gallant, with his country-woman.
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 the great chamber, which was so
furiously assaulted, that down went table and tres-
sels before one bit was touched. They say the
Duke of Hoist will come upon us with an after
reckoning, and that we shall see him on Candlemas
night in a mask, as he hath showed himself a lusty
reveller all this Christmas."*
Previous to the young Prince having been
brought from Scotland on the accession of his
father to the English throne, many of the court
ladies had been anxious suitors for the keeping of
the child. No sooner, however, were they made
acquainted with his sickly condition, and the ap
parent probability of bis dying in their charge,
than all this anxiety vanished.f Charles was even
tually intrusted to the lady of Sir Robert Cary,
afterwards Earl of Monmouth ; a man ever on the
watch for preferment, and who, as appears by his
own Memoirs, had eagerly solicited the honour
notwithstanding the risk.
The chief infirmity of Charles was a weakness
in his legs, by which, in his infancy, he was so
* Winwood's Memorials, vol. ii. p. 43.
f Memoirs of Robert Cary, Earl of Monmouth, p. 644.

8 CHARLES I.
much distressed, that till his seventh year he had
been compelled to crawl upon his hands and knees.
Cary himself informs us, that the Prince was so
weak in his ankles that he could not even stand
alone, and that it was much feared there was a
dislocation of the joints. The King was anxious
to make the experiment of iron boots, but Lady
Cary so strenuously protested against their being
adopted, that his Majesty eventually submitted to
her judgment.
Charles had also remained so long a period
before he acquired the faculty of speech, that it
was more than apprehended he had been born
dumb. James proposed that the string under his
tongue should be cut, but this remedy was also
successfully opposed by Lady Cary. Probably it
was these infantine infirmities that rendered Charles
the especial favourite of his mother, Anne of Den
mark. She used to say, observes Weldon, that she
loved him as dearly as her own soul.
In his sixth year, one Thomas Murray, a layman,
was appointed his tutor. Little more can be col
lected respecting this person than the brief notice
of Perinchief, who describes him as well qualified
for the office, though a favourer of presbyterianism.*
Under the tuition of Murray he made a creditable
progress in learning. Prince Henry often jested
with his young brother on the diligence with which
* See also Harris's Lives, vol. ii. p. 6. Murray was after
wards rewarded with the provostship of Eton by James I.

CHARLES I. 9
he applied himself to his studies. On one occasion,
when they were waiting with the rest of the court
for the King to make his appearance, Henry caught
up the cap of Archbishop Abbot and put it on his
brother's head. If he continued a good boy, he
said, and attended to his book, he would one
day make him Archbishop of Canterbury.* Henry
used to say at other times, that he would hereafter
make his brother a bishop in order that he might
wear a gown to hide his legs. This piece of plea
santry had of course allusion to Charles's weak
ness in those parts of his person, and is the least
amiable trait which has been related of Henry.
Osborne tells us that he would occasionally taunt
his brother Charles till he wept ; and yet,
throughout the several childish epistles which
passed between the duke and his elder brother,
there is not the remotest trace of any unkindly
feeling. The following juvenile letters are pleas
ing specimens of their good understanding, and
especially of the affectionate disposition of Charles.
They were severally addressed by Prince Charles
to his brother Henry.
" 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.f I will give anything
* Perinchief, p. 5.
f Probably Adam Newton, Prince Henry's tutor.

10 CHARLES I.
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 shall ever love and serve you.
" Your loving brother to be commanded, " York."
" 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,
" To my brother the Prince." YoRK."
" Sir, " Please your Highness ; I do keep your hares
in breath, and I have very good sport ; I do wish
the King and you might see it. So longing to see
you, I kiss your hands, and rest.
" Yours to be commanded, York."
" My maid's service to you."
" To His Highness." *
Among the letters, addressed to King James by
his family, which are preserved in the Advocates'
library in Edinburgh, are several juvenile com
positions, in Latin, French, and English, from
Prince Charles, then Duke of York. The follow
ing is a specimen. * Ellis's Orig. Letters, vol. iii. pp. 92. 94.

charles i. 11
" Sweete, " Sweet Father I learn to decline substantives
and adjectives, give me your blessing : I thank
you for my best man.
" Your loving son, York."
" To my Father the King."
In his eleventh year, Charles was made a Knight
of the Garter. At the death of his brother in 1612,
he succeeded to the Dukedom of Cornwall, and in
1616 was created Prince of Wales. His progress
in learning, and especially in theological know
ledge, afforded great pleasure to his father King
James. " Charles," said the King to his chap
lains, " shall manage a point in controversy with
the best studied divine of you all."* Still, how
ever, the Prince neither despised, nor lost sight
of, the amusements and elegances of life. He was
perfect, says Perinchief, "in vaulting, riding the
great horse, running at the ring, shooting in cross-
bows,f muskets, and sometimes great pieces of
4 Perinchief, p. 10.
f The cross-bow was made use of for purposes of sport to
a much later period than is generally supposed. About this
time, Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, when on a visit at
Bramshall, the seat of Edward Lord Zouch, had the misfortune
to shoot a keeper with this instrument, instead of striking the
deer at which he had aimed. It is a curious fact, that by this
mischance, it was rendered very doubtful whether the common
law of England did not necessarily suspend the Archbishop
from all ecclesiastical function, and render the see vacant. The
question was referred to sundry Bishops, (rather interested

12 CHARLES I.
ordnance." This account of his accomplishments
is borne out by the testimony of other writers.
He is mentioned by Sir Symonds D'Ewes as a
successful tilter ; and at a tournament which took
place in 1619, his prowess and activity are specially
mentioned. The Count de Brienne, also mentions his break
ing some lances with laudable dexterity, and
Howell writes from Madrid that the Prince was
fortunate enough to be successful at the ring,
before the eyes of his mistress the Infanta. His
taste for the fine arts was early displayed, and has
never been disputed.
The match, between Charles arid Mary, second
daughter of Philip the Third of Spain, was first
set on foot in 1617, and was protracted, with
various hopes of success, till 1622. The accomplish
ment of this matrimonial project was the darling
judges) and others, among whom there arose a great diversity
of opinion. The decision appears to have been principally in
fluenced by the question, — whether a Bishop or Archbishop
could lawfully hunt in his own or any other park ? This diffi
culty was cleared away by Sir Edward Coke, who produced
a law by which it was enacted that at the demise of a Bishop,
the King had the disposal of his hounds ; from, whence it was
inferred that the Bishop could lawfully make use ofthe animals
in his life-time. Heylin, Life of Laud, p. 80. — The method at
this time, in sporting, was for the keeper to wound the deer
with his cross-bow, when two or three well-disciplined dogs
were let loose, and pursued him till he fell. Life of Lord
Keeper Guildford, p. 29  On the 28th July 1620, Thomas
Norreys, Earl of Berkshire, put a period to his existence with
a cross-bow.

CHARLES I. 13
object of King James. The immense fortune which
it was expected would accompany the hand of the
Princess ; the King's ambition to unite his son with
a daughter of one of the great powers of France or
Spain ; and especially the restitution of the Pala
tinate to his son-in-law, which he hoped would at
tend a marriage with the Infanta, rendered the
scheme, however obnoxious to his subjects, irresis
tibly tempting to himself.
A delay of five years, if it was displeasing to an
old King, was no less so to a young and romantic
Prince ; and Charles, naturally fond of adventure,
and enamoured with charms which he had never
seen, was induced to enter eagerly into that chi
valrous project of visiting the Spanish capital,
which even in the annals of knight errantry has
hardly been overmatched.
The journey of Charles to Madrid is believed to
have been originally suggested by Buckingham.
This fact, indeed, is not only asserted by more than
one contemporary writer, but Buckingham him
self imparted to his confidant Gerbier, that he was
the author of the project. The wily favourite,
jealous lest the Earl of Bristol, the King's Am
bassador to Spain, should obtain all the credit of
conducting the match, and anxious to affect an
absorbing interest in the Prince's affections, by
associating himself with his most private feelings,
made use of every argument in his power in order
to engage the Prince in his designs. He was not

14 CHARLES I.
without supporters. Gondomar, the Spanish Am
bassador, endeavoured to soften all difficulties, and
Bristol himself wrote from Madrid, that the per
sonal accomplishments of Charles would be sure to
carry the day.
Everything having been duly concerted between
the Prince and Buckingham, the next step was to
obtain the consent of the King. This, however,
was no easy matter, for though a very wild enter
prise might appear extremely smooth to two chival
rous young men, the monarch who was anxious for
his heir, and answerable to his subjects for his
safety, was likely to think very differently on such a
question. A moment, however, was selected when
the King was in an excellent humour, and Charles
taking advantage of it, threw himself on his knees
before his father, and earnestly entreated him to
give his consent to the expedition. Buckingham
was the only bystander, and anxiously awaited the
reply. James, after listening with great calmness
to his son's proposition, turned imploringly towards
Buckingham, as if desirous to ascertain his opinion
in so grave a matter. The Duke, on his part,
naturally made use of every persuasion in his
power, and eventually enforced his arguments with
so much vigour and ingenuity, that, added to the
warmth of the Prince's entreaties, the King at
length reluctantly consented to the undertaking,
and promised to keep it a secret from the world.
James, however, was no sooner alone, than he

CHARLES I. 15
began to reflect more seriously on the wild folly
of the scheme. The many dangers which might
befall his son, and the responsibility which would
accrue to himself, presented themselves so forcibly
to his mind, that when the adventurers came to
him at the last moment for their despatches, he
told them, with tears in his eyes, how deeply he
had repented of his former consent, and added,
that if they renewed the subject it would go far
towards breaking his heart. Buckingham retorted
with the greatest insolence, that after having
broken a promise so solemnly pledged, nobody
hereafter would believe a word he said. He told
the old King, moreover, that he must already have
been guilty of an untruth, for unquestionably he
had communicated their project to some rascal,
whose pitiful arguments had induced him to re
tract his promise, adding, that he had little doubt
but that he should by some means discover who his
counsellor had been, and that such an interference
would neither be forgotten nor forgiven by the
Prince.* The haughty violence of Buckingham, and the
renewed entreaties of Charles, had once more their
desired effect. The weak monarch again yielded, —
the day was named for their departure, — their
two attendants were fixed upon, and Sir Francis
Cottington,f w^° was nominated as one of their
* Clarendon, vol. i. pp. 23 to 29.
f Created Lord Cottington of Hanworth, 10th July 1631, by

16 CHARLES I.
train, and who had heretofore been long a resident
in Spain, was even sent for before they parted.
As Cottington entered the apartment, the Duke
whispered in the Prince's ear, that the new comer
would show himself averse to the expedition :
Charles retorted in the same low tone that he
durst not.
The King commenced by informing Cottington,
that he believed him to be an honest man, and
would therefore entrust him with a secret which
he must disclose to no person living : " Cotting
ton," he added, " here is Baby Charles and Stenny,
who have a great mind to go by post into Spain,
and fetch home the Infanta, and will have but two
more in their company, and have chosen you for
one; — what think you of the journey ?" Cotting
ton afterwards repeatedly mentioned, that when
this important question was put to him, he trem
bled so violently, he could with difficulty give
utterance to his words. But the King peremp
torily demanding his reply, Cottington told him
fairly and openly, that he believed such a step
would be a death-blow to the completion of the
match. He was convinced, he said, that when
the Spaniards had the Prince once in their hands,
Charles the First. In 1617 he had accompanied the Ambas
sador to Spain, and in 1649 was again sent there as Ambas
sador by Charles the Second. He died at Valladolid in 1653,
when the Barony of Cottington became extinct. Arthur Wilson
says, that "he always looked like a merchant, and had the least
mien of a gentleman."

CHARLES I. 17
they would immediately make new overtures, and
greatly increase their demands ; and that, more
especially as regarded the advancement of the
Romish faith in England. On hearing this candid
opinion, in the agony of his grief, James actually
threw himself on his bed, and breaking out into
the most pitiable lamentations, exclaimed passion
ately that he was undone, and that he should lose
Baby Charles for ever.
The Prince and Buckingham were both extremely
disconcerted. The latter turned to Cottington,
and told him, in an angry tone, that the King had
merely asked his advice as to the best mode of
travelling in Spain, of which he was competent to
give some opinion, but that he had presumed to of
fer his advice on matters of state ; adding, that he
should repent the impertinence as long as he lived.
" Nay, by God, Stenny," 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." On
this occasion, however, notwithstanding Cottington's
opposition, the King kept his word, and the jour
ney was definitively settled.*
* Clarendon, vol. i. p. 32.

VOL. 11.

18

CHAPTER II.
Charles and Buckingham, in disguise, set out on the Journey to
Spain. — Arrival at Boulogne. — Court Ball at Paris. — The
Prince in danger of being arrested at Bayonne. — Arrival at
Madrid. — Reception of Charles by the King. — Rejoicings
at Madrid. — Magnificent Conduct of Philip the Fourth. —
Reception of Charles by the Queen. — Scene on the Prado,
when Charles first saw the Infanta. — Restricted Intercourse
between Charles and the Infanta. — Charles's romantic Affec
tion for her. — Magnificent Presents to the Spanish Ladies. —
Letters from King James to his Son, and Buckingham —
their Prodigality. — Hopes entertained by the Spaniards, of
the Prince's Conversion to the Spanish Faith. — Letters from
the Pope to Charles. — Aversion of the People of England to
the Spanish Match., — The Spanish Treaty. — James's Mean
ness in allowing the Spanish King to dictate to him.
On the 17th of February 1623, the Prince retired
privately from court, and came to Buckingham's
house, at Newhall, in Essex. From thence they set
out on the following day, (accompanied only by Sir
Richard Graham, Master of the Horse to the Duke,)
and arrived, though not without adventures, by way
of Gravesend, at Dover. They had previously dis
guised themselves with false beards and adopted fic
titious names ; the Prince passing as Mr. John Smith,
and the Duke as Mr. Thomas Smith.*
The first accident which happened to them, was
* Wilson, 225.

CHARLES I. 19
encountering with the French ambassador, (who
was, of course, well acquainted with their persons,)
on the brow of the hill, beyond Rochester. Their
horses, however, though merely hired at the last
post, were fortunately able to leap the hedge by the
road-side, and thus enabled them to escape observa
tion. This circumstance was the more fortunate, as
the ambassador, (as was then usual,) was travelling
in one of the King's coaches ; and their recognition
by some of the royal servants would certainly have
been the consequence of a personal encounter.
But a more important incident had nearly arrest
ed their progress. In crossing the river at Graves
end, for want of silver, they had given the ferry
man a gold piece. The man was equally asto
nished and grateful for such liberality, and suppos
ing that his benefactors were proceeding across the
Channel for the purpose of fighting a duel, he
thought it the kindest step he could take, to hint his
suspicions to the authorities of the nearest town.
Accordingly information was instantly despatched
to the Mayor of Canterbury ; and just as the Prince
and Buckingham were about to mount fresh horses,
they were summoned to the presence of that import
ant personage. The Duke, finding concealment im
practicable, divested himself of his beard, and pri
vately informed the Mayor who he really was :— he
was going, he said, in his capacity of Lord High
Admiral, to acquaint himself secretly with the con
dition and discipline of the fleet. His identity was
c 2

20 CHARLES I.
easily proved, and the adventurers were allowed to
depart. A boy, who rode post with their bag
gage, had also recognized their persons, but the
silence of this individual was not very difficult to
be bought.*
At Dover they were joined by Sir Francis Cot
tington and Endymion Porter, who had been des
patched beforehand, to provide a vessel for their
conveyance across the Channel. Both of these
persons, from their long residence in the coun
try, were well acquainted with the Spanish lan
guage and customs. The party, which was now in
creased to five, arrived safely at Boulogne, whence
they rode post to Paris.f On their way they fell
in with two German gentlemen, who had recently
seen the Prince at Newmarket, and who fancied
they remembered his person. The improbability,
however, of their being right in their conjectures,
and the apparent astonishment, and cool denial of
Sir Richard Graham, when they hinted to him
their suspicion, had the effect of convincing them
they were mistaken.
At Paris, where the travellers remained a whole
day, the Prince and Buckingham, in order to dis
guise their features still more, provided themselves
with periwigs. Trusting to this further disfigure
ment, they contrived, through French politeness,
and the fact of their being strangers, to obtain a
sight of the Queen-mother at dinner. The same
* Reliquiae Wottonianae, p. 212.
f Wilson, p. 226. Rei. Wot. p. 214.

CHARLES I. 21
evening they were spectators of a masked ball at
court, where all the beauty or Paris was present,
and at which Charles first beheld the Princess
whom he afterwards married ; and Buckingham,
that young and light-hearted Queen whom at a
later period he dared to address as a lover.*
The famous Lord Herbert of Cherbury hap
pened to be Ambassador at the French Court,
during the short sojourn of Charles. The Prince,
however, fearing lest the visits or attention of the
Ambassador might draw upon him some suspicion
of his real rank, neither communicated to Lord
Herbert his arrival nor his intentions, at which the
latter in his Memoirs discovers some slight pique.
Lord Herbert tells us, that the only person in Paris
who recognized the features of Charles, was a
maid-servant, who had formerly sold linen in Lon
don, and who insisted to every one that she had
seen the Prince of Wales.
Nothing of importance occurred from this period,
till the travellers had almost set foot on Spanish
ground, when their progress was again on the
point of being arrested. Howell writes from Ma
drid, — " The Prince's journey was like to be spoiled
in France, for if he had stayed but a little longer
at Bayonne, the last town of that kingdom hither-
wards, he had been discovered; for Monsieur Gram
mont, the Governor, had notice of him not long
after he had taken post."f Charles was certainly
* Rei. Wot. p. 215 ; Wilson, p. 226.
t Howell's Letters, p. 133.

22 CHARLES I.
subjected to an examination before he quitted
Bayonne. Grammont, the Governor, told Lord
Herbert, that, till the adventurers had quitted
the place, he was ignorant of the Prince's rank.
Charles and his suite are described at this period
as wearing " fine riding-coats, all of one colour
and fashion, in a kind of noble simplicity."
Another escape was from the hospitality of the
Duke D'Epernon, who, as strangers, kindly invited
the party to his chateau. Cottington, however, in
formed him they were persons of such low degree
as to be unfit for such splendid society, and thus
eluded the invitation.*
The arrival of Charles and Buckingham at Ma
drid was altogether a surprise, even to the English
Ambassador, the Earl of Bristol, who, on the 10th
of March 1623, thus announces their 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 postilion, 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 Gresly by the 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
* Rei. Wot. p. 216.

CHARLES I. 23
was making this relation unto me, Sim. Digby went
to see who it was, and knew my Lord of Bucking
ham ; but dissembled it so well, that before I could
come to him, he had got him 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 undiscovered by any, till the
next morning, by the coming of Mr. Secretary
Cottington and Endymion Porter, the secret was
revealed."* ", The Prince," writes Howell, " 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 staid awhile on t'other side of
the street, in the dark." Having written to an
nounce his arrival to his father, the Prince re
tired to rest.
The next day Buckingham waited on the Spanish
King, and formally acquainted him with the arrival
of the Prince. The Duke was introduced through a
secret passage to his Majesty's private apartment.
Bristol was present, and describes the interview.
" I never," he says, " saw the Spanish gravity
laid aside before, nor any man more overtaken
* Dalrymple's Memorials, p. 151.

24 CHARLES I.
with joy than the King was, for he secretly un
derstood of the Prince's being here."* His Majesty
instantly despatched his prime minister Olivarez
to do honour to his illustrious visitor. Olivarez
threw himself on his knees to Charles, and in the
course of the day the King himself waited on the
Prince. Nothing could be more cordial than their
strange interview, and after niany " salutations
and divers embraces," it was not till a late hour
that they separated.
From this period Madrid was a constant scene of
magnificence and rejoicing. Nothing was omitted
that could make the Prince's stay agreeable to him
self, or that might banish from his mind any appre
hension of being detained as a captive ; a consum
mation,, however, of this wild adventure, which was
much dreaded at home, and which, to all appearance,
was not unlikely to happen. In order fully to ap
preciate the generous forbearance of the Spanish
Court, we must advert to an inhospitable prac
tice of former times ; that of treating as a captive
any Prince who might set his foot uninvited in the
dominions of another. Richard the First, of Eng
land, passing in disguise through the territories of
the Archduke of Austria, — Philip the First of
Spain, having been cast by a tempest on the coast
of England, — James the First of Scotland, whose
vessel was seized by the English ; — and lastly,
Mary Queen of Scots, trusting herself into the
hands of Elizabeth, — were alike detained as pri-
* Dalryraple's Memorials, p. 153.

CHARLES I. 25
soners. But this dishonourable practice, of which
so many examples had been set by the English
themselves, was so far from being followed by the
high-minded Spaniards, that they refrained even
from imposing a single fresh condition in the mar
riage treaty.
The people of Madrid were much struck with
the romance and gallantry of the visit. The
famous Lopez de Vega aroused his rapid muse
on the occasion, and his verses were everywhere
chanted in the streets.
Carlos Estuardo soy
Que, siendo Amor mi guia,
Al cielo d' Espana voy
Per ver mi estrella Maria.
Charles Stuart I am,
Love has guided me far ;
To the heaven of Spain
To Maria my star.
Only a short time before, the Spaniards are said
to have pictured the English as a nation little
removed from savages. This notion had been fos
tered by the priests, who even described Sir Francis
Drake to their congregations as a monster, half
dragon and half man.* These ridiculous preju
dices had been dissipated in a great degree by
the recent embassy of the Earl of Nottingham ;
on which occasion the Spaniards had been much
astonished at the splendour of his train, and
the beauty of the heretical English. ., But when
* Weldon, p. 39.

26 CHARLES I.
they beheld the heir to a great monarchy risking
liberty and life in furtherance of a romantic en
terprise ; — when they became eye-witnesses of an
act of gallantry, which, even in their own chi
valrous annals, had scarcely been surpassed ;^-and
when there arrived at Madrid that brilliant band
of courtiers, who had hastened from England as
soon as the Prince's departure was publicly known,
the astonishment and enthusiasm of the Spaniards
knew no bounds.
But the conduct of the Spanish King, Philip
the Fourth, is beyond all praise. He insisted on
Charles taking precedency of himself ; he set apart
a principal quarter of the royal palace for his
accommodation ; he appointed a guard of one hun
dred men to attend his person ; and he presented
him with a golden key, which, at any hour, would
give him access to the royal bed-chamber. The
prisons, moreover, were everywhere opened ; hun
dreds of captives were set at liberty, and a recent
proclamation against excessive costliness in dress
was suspended in honour of the occasion. A day
was appointed for the ceremony of a public en
trance into Madrid ; on which occasion the Prince
was attended by Gondomar and the Ministers of
State to St. Jerom's Monastery ; the place from
whence, on the days of their coronation, the Span
ish monarchs make their entry into the capital.
Here he was magnificently feasted, the officers
of state waiting on him bare-headed. As soon as

CHARLES I. 27
the banquet was over, the King came in person
to escort him into Madrid. Placing the Prince
on his right hand, they rode together under a rich
canopy, followed by a brilliant train ; the houses
hung with pictures and tapestry, and the people
shouting enthusiastically as they passed. The re
ception of Charles by the Queen was no less gra
tifying. She presented him with several rich pre
sents, among which were perfumes and fine linen.*
Charles, for the first time, beheld the Infanta on
the Sunday after his arrival. The occasion was on
the Prado at Madrid. " The King, (writes Howell
from the spot,) with the Queen, his two" brothers,
and the Infanta, were all in one coach, but the
Infanta sat in the boot with a blue ribbon about
her arm, on purpose that the Prince might distin
guish her ; there were above 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
oftentimes the true index of the heart. The people
here do mightily magnify the gallantry of the jour-
* Rushworth, vol. i. pp. 76 and 77. " These presents consisted
of a great basin of massy gold, which was borne by two men ; a
curiously embroidered night-gown was folded in it. Two trunks
bound with bands of pure gold, and studded with nails of gold,
with locks and keys of gold ; the coverings and linings of amber
leather, and filled with fine linen and perfumes. These were
accompanied by a rich writing-desk, every drawer of which
was full of varieties and curiosities." — D' Israeli's Commentaries
on Charles I. vol. i. p. 65.

28 CHARLES I.
ney, and cry out that the Prince deserved to have
the Infanta thrown into his arms the first night he
came."* According to a curious tract, published at the
period, the meeting on the Prado was a preconcert
ed measure. The Prince being extremely anxious
to obtain a sight of the mistressf for whom he had
adventured so much, and the strictness of Spanish
etiquette unfortunately precluding a formal intro
duction till a dispensation had been received from
the Pope, the King of Spain kindly hit upon the
expedient of the blue ribbon and the Prado. The
following passage is from the little work above
alluded to :— " In conformity to the Prince's desire,
his Majesty being that night acquainted with it by
the Conde, resolved to give his Highness all satis
faction. And so he went abroad next day, at the
hour appointed, which was about three o'clock in
the afternoon, and to the Prado, being the certain
place agreed upon between them, his Majesty con
ducting with him the Queen, his sister the Infanta,
* Howell's Letters, p. 133.
t The fact is corroborated by the Earl of Bristol in a letter to
King James. " My lord Marquis," he says, " having intimated
the great desire the Prince had, as soon as might be, to see his
mistress, they acquainted the King therewith, who was so for
ward therein, that, notwithstanding the next day was Sunday,
and in Lent, yet he dispensed with his gravity so far as to so
in a coach abroad, to a place called the Prado, — which is a hole
without the town, where men do take the air, — with his sister
with him, and all the court, where the Prince was to stand
disguised in a coach to see them." Dalrymple s Memorials, p. 154.

CHARLES I. 29
the Infantes Don Carlos and the Cardinal Don
Fernando, his brethren ; the Conde de Olivarez,
and the Conde de Gondomar, following him with
much of the nobility of that court, both of ladies
and lords. The Prince, on the other side, went
disguised in the Duke of Cea's coach, and was
attended in the same coach by the Lord Marquis,
[Buckingham,] the Earl of Bristol, and the Conde
de Gondomar, and Sir Walter Aston ; and both
the King and the Prince made diverse turns and
returns in their several coaches, and in several parts
of the town and Prado, (which is a place of recrea
tion where the nobility is often wont to take the
air,) and every one of them saw each other in a clear
light, not being able to sustain from saluting each
other with the hat as they passed by, though they
had agreed to take no kind of notice of one an
other ; and this was all they did for that time.
The King and all that royal company returned
by night by a world of torch-light, which made
a most glorious show."* Howell describes the
Infanta as a " very comely lady, rather of a Fle
mish complexion than Spanish, fair haired, and
carrieth a most pure mixture of red and white in
her face."f
* " A true relation and journal of the manner of the arrival
and magnificent entertainment given to the high and mighty
Prince Charles, Prince of Great Britain, by the King of Spain,
in his court at Madrid." London, 1623.
f Howell's Letters p. 125. Like a true courtier, Howell
afterwards changed his opinion as to the personal charms

30 CHARLES I.
The personal appearance of Charles at Madrid
produced, however, but little effect in hastening
the marriage. He was constantly refused a private
interview with the Infanta ; her family giving as
their reason the non-arrival of the dispensation.*
Still a certain cold intercourse was subsequently
allowed in public, on which occasions the Earl of
Bristol acted as interpreter ; the King, however,
always took care to be at hand, in order that he
might overhear the conversation.! Charles really
appears to have admired the Infanta's person.
Howell tells us that he has seen him in a thought
ful mood, with his eyes immoveably fixed on his
mistress for half an hour at a time ; and that he
has known him to remain an hour in a close coach,
in a particular street, watching for the Infanta to
come abroad. Olivarez, the Spanish minister, re
marked pointedly that the Prince watched the
Infanta as a cat does a mouse.
But Charles was far from being so languid a
lover as to content himself with the mere language
of the eyes ; while the Infanta, on her part, appears
to have been dazzled by his accomplishments and
gratified by so chivalrous a courtship. Sir Francis
Cottington writes to King James from Madrid, in a
letter dated the 8th of April 1623,—" I was interpre
ter for my Lord Marquis when he spoke with the
of the Infanta. The star of Henrietta Maria was then in the
ascendant. * Wilson, p. 230. | Howell's Letters, p. 136.

CHARLES I. 31
Infanta Donna Maria. She inquired for your
Majesty's health before she would hear anything
else. But when my lord came to speak of the
Prince, she blushed extremely ; and his Highness
hath since spoken with her himself (having often
seen her) and likes her so well, as, without all
doubt, she will be with child before she get into
England."* It was not his own fault that Charles did not
address his mistress with all the passion of na
ture and romance. The Princess was in the habit
of spending the summer mornings at a suburban
residence of her brother, the Casa de Campo.
Here she used to wander by the river side, gather
ing may-dew, and perhaps musing on the gal
lantry and accomplishments of her chivalrous lover.
Charles, hearing of these visits, rose purpose
ly one morning very early, and with only one
companion, found his way into the garden of the
Casa. The Infanta, however, was in the or
chard, and the door between them was double
locked. Charles, determined not to be baffled,
climbed the wall, and though the height was con
siderable, sprang to the ground. The Infanta
was the first to perceive him, and gave a loud
scream. An old Marquis, who was her guardian,
immediately approached the Prince, and falling
on his knees, conjured him to retire ; adding that
he should probably lose his head should he allow
* Dalrymple's Memorials) p. 160.

32 CHARLES I.
him to remain. The door consequently was un
locked and the Prince reluctantly departed.*
Jewels, the value of which is said to have amount
ed to one hundred thousand pounds, were forwarded
from London to Madrid, and lavished by Charles
and Buckingham on the Spanish ladies. " The
Prince," says Arthur Wilson, " presented his mis
tress with a necklace which all Spain could not
parallel ; pearls that had not been long plucked
from their watery bed and had left there but few
fellows." The Infanta, however, declined receiving
them for the present, and they were deposited in the
hands of the ministers of the Crown till her mar
riage day. It was much to the honour of the
Spanish Court, that when the match was broken off,
and a war threatened, these jewels were returned.
James was himself very desirous that the Prince
and Buckingham should appear with unusual splen
dour at the Spanish court. In a letter to Charles,
dated 17th March 1623, he writes ; — " I send you
the robes of the Order [of the Garter], which you
must not forget to wear upon St. George's Day,
and dine together in them, which I hope in Hea
ven 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." The King concludes, — " God bless
* Dalrymple's Memorials, p. 135.

CHARLES I. 33
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 Rex."
Another extract from one of King James's let
ters (in reply to the requisitions of the Prince
and Buckingham for fresh supplies of jewels)
will show how ready he was to grace his son and
favourite, and to gratify their exorbitant demands :
— " For my Baby's presenting his mistress, I send
him an old double cross of Lorrain, not so rich as
antient, 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 so to be enchanted by art magic, as when
ever 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 present her with
two pair of long diamonds set like an anchor, and a
fair pendant diamond hanging at them ; ye shall
give her a goodly rope of pearls ; ye shall give
her a carcanet or collar ; thirteen great ball ru
bies, and thirteen knots or conques of pearls ; and
ye shall give her three goodly peak pendants dia
monds, 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
fair table diamond, which I would once have given
thee before, if thou would have taken it, for wear
ing in thy hat, or where thou pleasest ; and if my
VOL. II. D

34 CHARLES I.
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 has of
thine own, thy good old jewel, thy three Pindars
diamonds, thy picture-case I gave Kate,* and the
great diamond chain I gave her, who would have
sent thee the last pin she had, if I had not staid
her."f The Lord Treasurer Middlesex made great com
plaints of the prodigality of Charles and Bucking
ham. The following is a MS. note of Sir William
Musgrave to one of the Tracts in the British
Museum respecting the Prince's journey: — " It
appears by the enrolment book in the office for
auditing the public accounts (vol. iii. fol. 175), that
the Prince's expenses for his journey into Spain,
during his abode there, and for his return from
thence, amounted unto £50,027, which was paid in
part out of the King's Exchequer, and in part out
of the Prince's Treasury." It is even asserted in
a letter from Mr. Meade to Sir Martin Stuteville,
that £600,000 worth of jewels had been sent from
the Tower into Spain, to be at the disposal of
Charles and Buckingham.
That the Spaniards entertained strong hopes of
the Prince's conversion to the Romish faith, and of
the consequent re-establishment ofthe Pope's ascen-
* The Duchess of Buckingham.
t Hardwicke's State Papers, vol. i. p. 406.

CHARLES I. 35
dancy in England, there can be little doubt; in
deed, it was / generally believed by the Spanish
Court, that the Prince had made up his mind to
become a Catholic before he left his own country,
a fact acknowledged by Bristol himself.* The
Pope wrote to the Bishop of Couchen, conjuring
him not to let slip so glorious an opportunity of
advancing the interests of their Church. He ad
dressed letters of expostulation also to Charles and
Buckingham. To the latter he writes on the
19th of May 1623, — exhorting him not only to
become a Roman Catholic himself, but to use his
utmost endeavour to bring over the Court and
kingdom of England to that persuasion.f His
Holiness's letter to Charles is dated the day follow
ing : — " We have commanded," he writes, " to
make continually most humble prayers to the Fa
ther of Lights, that he would be pleased to put
you as a fair flower of Christendom, and the only
hope of Great Britain, in possession of that most
noble heritage, that your ancestors have purchased
for you, to defend the authority of the Sovereign
High Priest, and to fight against the monsters of
Heresy." He speaks also of the projected mar
riage, as " having elevated him to the hope of an
extraordinary advantage." Charles returned an
answer which he should never have written, and in
which, if he does not actually profess himself a
* Wilson, p. 230 ; Rushworth, vol. i. p. 78.
t Cabala, p. 345.
d 2

36 CHARLES I.
Papist, he at least intimates that he is well in
clined to the Pope's authority, and that he may
eventually become a proselyte to the Romish
faith.* Hume, alluding to this correspondence,
merely observes, that the Prince having received
a very civil letter from the Pope, was induced to
return a very civil answer.
The Court of Madrid was far from discover
ing any backwardness in supporting the views of
the Holy Father. Olivarez, and others about the
Prince's person, were entrusted with arguments by
the heads of the Church, which they constantly
and. ingeniously enforced. It was intimated to
Charles, how much his conversion would smooth
the path to his marriage ; and when this induce
ment appeared insufficient, Archbishop Spotswood
says, that it was even hinted to him, that unless
he embraced their religion, he could scarcely think
of winning the Infanta. It was objected by the
Prince, among other arguments, that his apostacy
would, in all probability, produce a rebellion in
England. To this it was coolly replied by the
Spanish Court, that they would gladly assist him
with an army against such a rebellious people.j-
Among other incentives to conversion, all the
splendours of religious pageantry were brought into
action. The architectural magnificence of their
churches, — the inspiration of their music, — and
* Wilson, p. 235.
f Wilson, p. 233 ; Rushworth, vol. i. p. 83.

CHARLES I. 37
the solemn sacrifice of the Mass, would instil, it
was hoped, into the heart of Charles an exalted
notion of the Catholic mode of worship, and an
equal contempt of his own. The most pompous
processions were exhibited before him; he was
carried to such persons as were famous for pre
tended miracles ; Popish books were dedicated,
and Popish pictures presented to him ; nor was
anything omitted that could either fire the imagi
nation, or awe the heart into reverence. No
thing, however, could allure Charles from the reli
gion of his country and his conscience. Indeed,
his visit was very far from infecting him with a
more favourable opinion of the Romish tenets.
On the 5th of April 1623, the Earl of Carlisle
writes to King James, from Madrid : — " I dare
boldly assure your Majesty, that his Highness's
well-grounded piety, and knowledge of the religion
wherein he was bred, is infinitely confirmed and
corroborated by the spectacles which he hath seen
of their devotions here."*
After the decease of Archbishop Usher, the follow
ing memorandum was discovered in the hand-writ
ing of that prelate : — " The King [Charles I.] once
at Whitehall, in the presence of George Duke of
Buckingham, of his own accord, said to me, that
he never loved Popery in all his life, but that he
never detested it before his going into Spain. "f
* Dalrymple's Memorials, p. 158.
f Harris, vol. ii. p. 238.

38 CHARLES I.
The wishes of King James, and the prejudices
of the people of England, were greatly at variance
as regarded the Spanish match. The latter had
been long murmuring at the increase of the Roman
Catholics and the encouragement they received ;
but when the heir to the throne was actually
engaged to a Catholic Princess ; when articles
were being drawn up, which permitted the children
of the Prince of Wales to be educated among
Papists, and by which compact their being mem
bers of that faith would be no bar to their suc
cession to the crown, we cannot wonder that the
Protestants were greatly incensed at the conduct
of James. But the King was alike deaf to the
murmurs of his people and the strong remon
strances of the House of Commons. His only feel
ing was anger at their interference ; and while
the latter were drawing up their protest, he with
drew himself discontentedly to Newmarket, nomi
nally on the plea of impaired health, though in real
ity to escape from their unwelcome importunities.
It would be impertinent to detail the many ob
jections which preclude a union between the heir
to the throne of England and a daughter of the
Romish persuasion. The general fact of inex
pediency is sufficiently proved by the misfortunes
which the union of Charles and Henrietta Maria
eventually entailed upon their posterity, and the
people of England at large. Strange indeed as it
may appear, no one better understood than James

CHARLES I. 39
himself, the miseries which would probably result
from such a step. In his Basilicon Doron, written
expressly for the benefit of his son, Prince Henry,
he had published, but a few years previously, the
following sensible remarks on the subject, — " I
would rather have you marry one that was fully
of your own religion, her rank and other qualities
being agreeable to your estate ; for although to
my great regret, the number of any Princes of
power and accounts, professing our religion, be but
very small, and that therefore this advice seems
to be the more strait and difficult ; yet ye have
deeply to weigh, and consider upon these doubts,
how ye and your wife can be of one flesh, and
keep unity betwixt you, being members of two
opposite churches : disagreement in religion bring-
eth ever with it disagreement in manners ; and the
dissension betwixt your preachers and hers will
breed and foster dissension among your subjects,
taking their example from your family ; besides
the peril of the evil education of your children." *
But the prospect of a splendid alliance, and a
no less splendid marriage portion, was too tempting
to be resisted. The articles of the Spanish Treaty
are still extant, and exhibit singular proofs of the
indifference of James to the interests of the Pro
testant religion. Indeed, when we discover the
degrading terms which are there insisted upon ;
when we find the King of England, and the head
* King James's Works, p. 172.

40 CHARLES I.
of the Reformed Church, affixing his name and
approval to a document, in which a sect so hostile
to the interests of his people is styled officially the
Holy Roman Church;* when it is approved that
the Infanta shall not only have a private chapel
for the exercise of the Romish faith, but also a
public church in the metropolis ; when the King
of England is content to be dictated to by the
King of Spain, as to the manner in which he
shall govern his own subjects ; when a foreign
Prince is allowed to alter the laws of his country ;
and finally, when a Protestant King consents that
every separate stipulation shall be allowed and
approved by the Pope, we cannot view the con
duct of James in any other light than that of
wonder and disgust. As the Treaty itself is a
curious document, and as it may be interesting to
compare it hereafter with the no less disgraceful
compact between Charles and Henrietta Maria,
we will transcribe the most important of the
articles. " 3rd. — That the gracious Infanta shall take
with her such servants and family as are convenient
* Sully tells us that James once reproved him for giving the
Pope the title of Holiness, telling him that it was an offence
against God, to whom alone this title could justly belong.
There is also a letter extant from James to Pope Gregory the
Fifteenth, dated 30th September 1622, relative to the most
expedient method of settling the differences, which commences
formally, Most Holy Father. — See Cabala, p. 412.

CHARLES I. 41
for her service ; which family, and all her servants
to her belonging, shall be chosen and nominated
by the Catholic King, so as he nominate no servant
which is vassal to the King of England without
his will and consent."
" 5th. — That she shall have an oratory and
decent chapel at her palace, where, at the plea
sure of the most gracious Infanta, masses may
be celebrated ; which oratory or chapel shall be
adorned with such decency as shall seem conve
nient for the most gracious Infanta, with a pub
lic church in London," &c.
" 6th. — That the men-servants and maid-servants
of the most gracious Infanta, and their servants,
children and descendants, and all their families, of
what sort soever, serving her Highness, may be
freely Catholics."
" 9th. — That the chapel, church, and oratory,
may be beautified with decent ornaments, of altar
and other things necessary for divine service, which
is to be celebrated in them according to the custom
of the Holy Roman Church ; and that it shall be
lawful for the said servants, and others, to go to
the said chapel and church at all hours, as to them
shall seem expedient."
" 11th. — That to the administration of the Sacra
ments, and to serve in chapel and church aforesaid,
there shall be so many priests, and assistants, as
to the Infanta shall seem fit, and the election of
them shall belong to the Lady Infanta, and the Ca-

42 CHARLES I.
tholic King her brother ; provided that they be
none of the vassals of the King of Great Britain ;
and if they be, his will and consent is to be first
obtained." " 15th. — That the servants of the family of the
Lady Infanta, who shall come into England, shall
take the oath of allegiance to the King of Great
Britain, provided that there be no clause therein
which shall be contrary to their consciences and
the Roman Catholic religion, and if they happen
to be vassals to the King of Great Britain, they
shall take the same oath that the Spaniard doth."
" 17th. — That the laws made against Catholics
in England, or in any other kingdom of the King
of Great Britain, shall not extend to the children
of this marriage, and though they be Catholics,
they shall not lose the right of succession to the
kingdom and dominions of Great Britain."
" 18th. — That the nurses which shall give suck
to the children of the Lady Infanta (whether they
be of the kingdon of Great Britain or of any other
nation whatsoever), shall be chosen by the Lady
Infanta as she pleaseth, and shall be accounted of
her family, and enjoy the privileges thereof."
" 19th. — That the bishop, ecclesiastical persons,
&c. of the family of the Lady Infanta, shall wear
the vestment and habit of his dignity, profession,
and religion, after the custom of Rome."
" 21st. — That the sons and daughters which shall
be born of this marriage, shall be brought up in

CHARLES I. 43
the company of the most excellent Infanta, at the
least until the age of ten years, and shall freely
enjoy the right of succession as aforesaid."
" 24th. — That conformably to this treaty, all these
things proposed are to be allowed and approved of
by the Pope, that he may give an apostolical bene
diction, and a dispensation necessary to effect the
marriage."

44

CHAPTER III.
King James the Dupe of Spanish Policy. — Duplicity of Philip
the Third. — Arrival from Rome of the Dispensation respect
ing the Infanta's projected Marriage with Charles. — New
Difficulties. — Concessions on the part of James and the Prince.
— Charles's Departure from Spain, and narrow Escape at Sea.
— His Arrival at Portsmouth and enthusiastic Reception in
London. — The Infanta's Attachment to Charles, and her Feel
ings on his Departure. — The Match finally broken off.
It has been doubted whether the Spanish match
could ever have been accomplished, even if Charles
had become a convert to the Church of Rome ; or
indeed whether the Spanish Court ever sincerely
intended its fulfilment. Certainly, in the early
stages of its discussion, James was the mere dupe
of Spanish policy.* But the negotiation was pro
tracted during the reigns of two successive mon
archs, whose opinions on the subject appear to
have been widely different. Philip the Third, the
* Gondomar, the Spanish Ambassador, perfectly succeeded
in convincing James of the sincerity of his Court. In a letter
to the Duke of Lerma, he boasts that he has lulled King James
so fast asleep, that he flatters himself that neither the cries of
his daughter, the Queen of Bohemia, nor of her children, nor the
repeated solicitations of his parliament and his subjects in their
behalf, will have the effect of arousing him from his lethargy. 
Acta Regia, p. 549.

CHARLES I. 45
father of the Infanta, who died during the pro
gress of the discussion, had certainly not the re
motest intention that the treaty should ever ter
minate in marriage. This fact is sufficiently ap
parent from the following letter addressed by his
son, Philip the Fourth, to his minister Olivarez :
it is dated 5th November 1622.
" The King, my father, declared at his death
that his intent never was to marry my sister, the
Infanta Donna Maria, with the Prince of Wales,
which your uncle Don Balthazer understood, and
so treated this match, ever with intention to delay
it, notwithstanding it is now so far advanced, that
(considering all the averseness of the Infanta to
it),* it is time to seek some means to divert the
Treaty, which I would have you find out, and I
will make it good, whatsoever it be. But in all
other things, procure the satisfaction of the King
of Great Britain (who hath deserved much), and
it shall content me, so it be not in the match."-]-
It appears by this curious document, that Philip
the Fourth was originally as much averse to the
fulfilment of the treaty as had been his father,
Philip the Third. The hope, however, of con
verting Charles from heresy ; the latter's great
popularity in Spain, and the personal interest
which he had acquired in the heart of the Infanta,
probably turned the scale in his favour. Cer-
* She had not then seen the Prince.
f Cabala, p. 341 ; Wilson, p. 225.

46 CHARLES I.
tainly, Bristol, the English Ambassador, was fully
satisfied with the sincerity of the Court of Madrid.
He writes to the Bishop of Lincoln, — " It may be,
your lordship will hear many complaints, that the
match never was, nor yet is intended : I beseech
your lordship to give little belief in that kind, and
the effects will now speedily declare the truth, if
the fault be not on our side."* Lord Herbert of
Cherbury, a man of strong sense, and who, from
his situation as Ambassador at Paris, had much
intercourse with the elder sister of the Infanta, the
Queen of France, was fully satisfied with the sin
cerity of the Spanish Court at this period ; the
Queen, moreover, candidly confessed to him that her
sister was very well inclined towards the Prince.f
At last, about six months after the arrival of
Charles at Madrid, the dispensation was received
from Rome. The affair, to all appearance, was now
concluded, and all anxiety at an end. But whe
ther this important document was accompanied by
secret instructions from the Pope, or whether the
Court of Spain was willing to take advantage of
the Prince's undisguised anxiety to make the In
fanta his bride, new difficulties unexpectedly arose.
The Spaniards insisted on some fresh articles, as
regarded religion, being inserted in the marriage
treaty, and the correspondence between the Courts
of London and Madrid was again renewed.
* Cabala, p. 99.
t Lord Herbert of Cherbury, Life of Himself, p. 167.

CHARLES I. 47
Among other articles to be imposed, it was re
quired, and eventually agreed to on the part of
Charles, that he should be open at all times to
the arguments and exhortations of such of the
adversaries of his faith as might be inclined to
enlighten him on the subject ; while, on the other
hand, no one should presume to tamper, either di
rectly or indirectly, with the religious principles of
his bride.* An oath was also privately taken by
James, that the Papists should have free exercise of
their religion throughout his dominions. These
additional articles having been at length duly sub
scribed to, so satisfied was James once more of the
successful termination of the treaty, that he was
heard to exclaim in the fulness of his satisfaction, —
" Now all the devils in hell cannot hinder it." A
bystander wittily observed, that there were no de
vils left in hell, for they had all gone to Spain to
assist in the match.
But again new difficulties arose. When appa
rently on the eve of fulfilment, the demise of
Pope Gregory the Fifteenth proved the final hin
drance to the marriage. The Spaniards insisted
that a fresh dispensation was necessary from the
new Pope ; Charles naturally became annoyed by
the frequent delays, and Buckingham, having quar
relled with Olivarez, was no less disgusted with the
Spanish Court, and made use of every argument to
persuade the Prince to return to his own country.
* Wilson, p. 247.

48 CHARLES I.
Even James himself, sanguine as he had so lately
been, began to entertain doubts of the sincerity of
the Spaniards. He wrote to Buckingham, that the
Court of Madrid could hardly entertain any cordial
intention to complete the treaty, and conjured him
. to bring back the Prince with all speed ; or, if the
latter should be still unwise enough to remain, he
charges his beloved favourite, on his allegiance, to
come away, and to leave the Prince to the prosecu
tion of his own affairs.*
On the 12th of September 1623, after a magnifi
cent audience with the Queen and the Infanta,
Charles, leaving the marriage to be performed
by proxy, at length turned his back upon
Madrid. Some suspicions there certainly were,
that the Spanish Court intended to detain him,
and it was even whispered that his departure
would be a secret one. When Olivarez mentioned
the latter suspicion to Buckingham, the reply of
the Duke did him great credit : he retorted haugh
tily, " That if love had induced the Prince to
steal out of his own country, fear should never
make him run out of Spain ; and that he would
depart with an equipage such as became the
Prince of Wales." The Earl of Rutland was at
the time cruising along the Spanish coast, ready
to support the vaunt of Buckingham, with a pow
erful fleet.f The Prince's attendants were over
joyed at their expected departure. They had long
* Wilson, p. 249. + Howell, p. 147.

CHARLES I. 49
complained that they had nothing to do but to play
at cards.
The King of Spain and his two brothers accom
panied Charles as far as the Escurial, about twenty
miles from Madrid, and would even have attend
ed him to the place of embarkation, had not the
Queen been fast approaching the period of her
confinement. At the spot where they parted,
writes Howell, " there passed wonderful great en
dearments and embraces in divers postures between
them a long time ; and in that place there is a
pillar to be erected as a monument to posterity.
There are some grandees, and Count Gondomar,
with a great train besides, gone with him to the
Marine, to the sea-side, which will be many days'
journey, and must needs put the King of Spain to
a great expense, besides his seven months' enter
tainment here. We hear that when he passed
through Valladolid, the Duke of Lerma was retired
thence for a time by special command from the
King, lest he might have discourse with the Prince,
whom he extremely desired to see : this sunk
deep into the old Duke, insomuch that he said,
that of all the acts of malice which Olivarez had
ever done him, he resented this more than any.
He bears up yet under the Cardinal's habit, which
hath kept him from many a foul storm, that might
have fallen upon him else from the temporal
power."* The name of this personage carries back
* Howell, p. 147.
VOL. II. E

50 CHARLES I.
our recollection to the part assigned to him in Gil
Bias ; and the narrative of the Prince's visit to
Valladolid is not rendered less interesting, from its
having taken place during the period when Le
Sage sketched the manners of the Spanish gran
dees. This same Duke of Lerma was in fact the
patron of Gil Bias. It was for Philip the Fourth,
the brother of the Infanta, that Gil Bias is repre
sented as procuring the frail Catalina, and as
suffering his memorable imprisonment in the Tower
of Segovia.
At St. Andero, where the English fleet awaited
him, Charles narrowly escaped being drowned. He
had been entertaining the Spanish grandees on
board his own ship, and was courteously conduct
ing them to the shore in his barge, when the wind
suddenly arose. The darkness of the night, and
the fury of the storm, prevented them alike from
reaching the land, or regaining the ship. The
rowers becoming faint from exertion, nothing ap
peared left but to trust themselves to the mercy
of the ocean, when fortunately they observed a
light from one of the vessels of the fleet. It was,
however, with extreme difficulty and hazard that
they fetched the ship, and were safely assisted on
board, not without encountering some risk of being
dashed to pieces in the attempt.* Waller cele
brated the Prince's escape in a juvenile poem, re
markable, to the curious in poetical anecdote, as
* Rushworth, vol. i. p. 104.

CHARLES I. 51
having been written only twenty-five years after
the death of Spenser.*
Now had his Highness bid farewell to Spain,
And reached the sphere of his own power, the main ;
With British bounty in his ship he feasts
The Hesperian princes, his amazed guests,
To find that watery wilderness exceed
The entertainments of their great Madrid.
Charles was no sooner in safety on the bosom
of that element upon which an Englishman seldom
knows fear, than his first remark was on the " great
weakness and folly of the Spaniards," in having al
lowed him to depart out of their dominions/}- It
was the highest compliment he could have paid to
their generosity. Charles arrived at Portsmouth
on the 5th of October, 1623. The event is recorded
by a bust of the Prince, which, with a suitable
inscription, is affixed to the walls of that town,
where it may still be seen. How this interesting
memorial escaped the fury of the civil wars does
not appear.
The return of Charles was hailed by the popu
lace of London with a warmth of enthusiasm which
has seldom been exceeded on similar occasions.
Tables were spread in the streets, and wine and
sack flowed everywhere abundantly : bonfires and
the joyous peal of bells enlivened the night. In
relation to his future destinies it might be likened
to a scene in a ballet introduced into a tragedy :
* Fenton's Waller, Notes, p. 4. f Rushworth, vol. i. p. 104.
E 2

52 CHARLES I.
how different an appearance was presented by the
streets of the capital, when Charles for the last
time beheld them from the fatal scaffold ! Having
passed directly through London, Charles and Buck
ingham hastened to Royston to pay their respects
to the King. Apprized of their arrival, James met
them on the staircase, and throwing his arms round
their necks, wept like a child.
The Infanta is the person most to be pitied
throughout the whole of this memorable affair, and
we cannot but regret that she should have been
rendered the victim of mere political expediency.
She appears to have become really attached to
Charles, and is said to have feelingly observed,
that had he really loved her, he would never
have quitted her.* At his departure she caused
mass to be sung daily for his prosperous voyage ;
she had applied herself to learn the English lan
guage ; and even went down on her knees to the
King to persuade him to the restitution of the
Palatinate.f Bristol, the English ambassador,
dwells almost with enthusiasm on the Infanta's
feelings and her constancy. In a letter from
Madrid, dated 21st of September 1623, after allud
ing to the prevalence of a report that Charles
had no intention to fulfil his engagement, he thus
writes to the Prince : " I dare assure your High
ness, it hath not been possible for any to raise in
her the least shadow of mistrust or doubt of want
* Wilson, p. 251. | Cabala, p. 216.

CHARLES I. 53
of your Highness's affection, but she hath with shew
of displeasure reproved those that have presumed
to speak that kind of language ; and herself never
speaketh of your Highness, but with that respect
and shew of affection, that all about her tell me of
it with a little wonder. There was of late in some
a desire here, that, before your Highness's embark
ing, the Princess ought to have sent unto your
Highness some token, whereunto I assure your
Highness that the Countess of Olivarez was not
backward, nor, as I am assured, the Princess her
self; but this was not to be done without the allow
ance of the Junta ; and they, for a main reason,
alleged that, in case your Highness should fail
in what had been agreed, she would by these fur
ther engagements be made unfit for any other
match ; which coming to her knowledge, I hear
she was infinitely much offended, and said, that
those of the Junta were maxaderos, to think her
a woman for a second wooing, or to receive the
parabien twice for several husbands. The truth
is, that now, in your Highness's absence, she much
more avowedly declareth her affection to your
Highness, than ever she did at your being here ;
and your Highness cannot believe how much the
King, and she, and all the Court, are taken with
your Highness's daily letters to the King and
her."* * Clarendon State Papers, Appendix, p. 19. Archbishop
Spotswood writes, that the Prince left Madrid because he saw

54 CHARLES I. ,
In the mean time, it was believed, both at Lon
don and Madrid, that the match was progressing
in the most prosperous manner, and that the se
cond dispensation was only wanting to render it
definitive. At St. James's a Catholic chapel was
in the progress of being built, of which the Spanish
ambassador had laid the foundation-stone. The In
fanta's portrait was to be seen in every street in
London, and her arrival was almost daily expect
ed. At Madrid also, she was already styled the
Princess of England ; her suite had not only been
selected, but had even provided themselves with
their liveries ; and the English Ambassadors, the
Earl of Bristol and Sir Walter Ashton, refused, as
Princess of England, to stand covered before her.
" The Infanta," writes Howell, " is providing divers
suits of rich cloaths for his Highness of perfumed
amber leather ; some embroidered with pearl, some
with gold, some with silver. Her family is a set
tling apace, and most of her officers and ladies are
known already : we want nothing now but one des
patch more from Rome, and then the marriage will
nothing was really intended. He adds, that it was intimated to
Charles, that " if the match should be further pressed, the In
fanta, to eschew the same, should presently into the house
of los Discalceatos, a monastery of bare-footed nuns." The
Archbishop was certainly in a situation to acquire the best
information, and his book is even dedicated to Charles, but his
account is so different from that of other writers (some of whom
were as likely to be as well informed as himself) that it isim-
possible to regard his version as correct  Spotswood, p. 545.

CHARLES I. 55
be solemnised, and all things consummated."* The
admiration which the Prince's gallantry had excited
in Madrid, by no means subsided after his depar
ture, and even to this period is not quite forgotten.
" Never," they said, " was Princess so bravely
wooed." In the collection of royal letters in the
British Museum there is an interesting one in
Spanish from the Infanta to James. The neglect
ed Infanta afterwards formed a splendid alliance
with the Emperor Ferdinand the Third. She died
in 1646.
At last, the second dispensation actually arrived
from Rome. A day was fixed by the Spanish Court
for the performance of the marriage by proxy ;
cannons were fired off as soon as the tidings became
publicly known ; a church was covered with tapes
try for the occasion ; and bonfires were lighted
throughout the whole of Spain. But whether the
sincerity of the Spaniards was still doubted, or
whether, as is generally supposed, the arguments
and personal prejudices of Buckingham induced
Charles to secede from his engagement, it is now
impossible to ascertain : certain it is, however, that
from the Court of England emanated the final inter
ruption ofthe match. A message was despatched by
James to Madrid, insisting that, unless the restitu
tion of the Palatinate was positively conceded, the
treaty must be considered as at an end. It was
replied by the Spanish monarch, that the conces-
* Howell's Letters, p. 148.

56 CHARLES I.
sion did not rest in himself, but that he was ready
to assist England with an army. His word was
either really doubted, or was affected to be disbe
lieved, and Philip, observing the English Court
to be determined on a breach, refused to admit
the Earl of Bristol to any further audience. He
insisted, also, that all correspondence with the In
fanta should instantly cease, and that she should
no longer be regarded or addressed as Princess
of England.* Such was the termination of the
famous Spanish match, in which the duplicity
manifested by the Court of Madrid at the com
mencement of the negotiations, was met, it would
appear, by a similar line of conduct on the part of
the Court of England at their close.
* Wilson, p. 257.

57

CHAPTER IV.
Charles proclaimed King. — Base Accusations against Charles.
— Curious Omens. — Private Vows made by Charles. — The
Sortes Virgilianae. — Treaty of Marriage between Charles and
Henrietta Maria of France. — Deed of Dispensation  Solem
nization of the Marriage. — Arrival of the Queen. — Influence
of Henrietta over her Husband  The Queen subjected to
humiliating Penances. — Ecclesiastical Retinue of the Queen.
— Insulting Conduct of the Foreign Priests. — The French
Retinue ordered by Charles to quit the Kingdom. — Inter
view between the King and Marshal de Bassompierre. —
Presumption of Madame St. George. — Henrietta's passionate
Conduct on the Departure of her Favourites. — Contumacy
of the Foreigners — their Expulsion from Somerset House,
and Embarkation at Dover.
On the 27th of March, 1625, died King James.
Within a quarter of an hour Charles was solemnly
proclaimed at the Court-gate of Theobalds, where
his father had breathed his last. It was considered
as rather ominous that Sir Edward Zouch, the
Knight Marshal, instead of styling the new King
the " rightful and indubitable heir," proclaimed
him as the rightful and dubitable one : he was cor
rected in his error by the secretary.*
Such is the malignity of human nature, that
Charles was actually accused of having been a par-
* Howell, p. 174.

58 ' CHARLES I.
ticipator in the murder of his father. Peyton, in
his Divine Catastrophe, and Lilly, in his Life of
Charles, speak openly of the charge ; but Mil
ton goes farther, and is base enough to lend the
credit of his name to an infamous and otherwise
contemptible slander, which he could not but
have known to be false. Addressing Salmasius,
he writes : — " I will let you see how like Charles
was to Nero ; Nero, you say, put to death his own
mother ; but Charles murdered both his Prince and
his father, by poison. For to omit other evidences,
he that would not suffer a Duke that was accused
of it, to come to his trial, must needs have been
guilty of it himself." Whatever the other evidences,
alluded to by Milton, may have been, they have
certainly not descended to posterity : doubtless
they owed their fanciful birth to the acrimonious
republicanism of the great poet. The insinuations
of Peyton and Lilly are scarcely worth recur
ring to, and appear solely to have originated in
Charles having dissolved the Parliament which
accused Buckingham of having poisoned his father.
Charles undoubtedly believed his favourite to be
innocent, and though the line of conduct which he
pursued on this occasion may be considered blame
able, or at least unwise, yet the whole tenor of
Charles's life must defend him from so iniquitous
a charge. It must not be omitted, that, on the
24th of February, 1648, the absurd and wicked
charge was revived, in the most impudent and
cowardly manner, by the republican party in the

CHARLES I. 59
House of Commons.* As the attack was idle, it
fell harmless, and alone reflected discredit on the
paltry maligners.
Notwithstanding that it was altogether in oppo
sition to the practice of his predecessors, Charles
affectionately insisted on presiding as chief mourner
at the funeral of his father. Young as he was,
it was the third time that he had performed the
same melancholy office, having previously attended
his mother, and his brother Prince Henry, to their
last home. The superstitious argued from the cir
cumstance, that a career of sorrow was in store for
the survivor.f
Many, indeed, were the circumstances on which,
even when in the very height of his prosperity,
his contemporaries founded a similar belief; and
when we remember the subsequent misfortunes
which befel the unhappy Charles, we cannot
but regard them as curious ; at the same time
they are instructive as showing the temper of the
times. Senhouse, Bishop of Carlisle, who had been
his chaplain when Prince of Wales, was selected
* Walker's Hist, of Independence, part i. p. 74.
f Heylin's Life of Laud, p. 128. The fact that the plague
was raging at the time of his accession, was considered to be a
prognostic of future evil : the same disease, however, was com
mitting its havoc when his father commenced his prosperous
reign. It is said that these two plagues were both generated
in one parish, Whitechapel ; that they broke out in the same
house, and on the same day of the month. Kennet, vol. iii. p.
4. — The story of the blood of a wounded falcon falling on the
neck of the famous bust of Charles, by Bernini, when on its
way to Whitehall, is a singular and well-known coincidence.

60 CHARLES I.
to deliver his coronation sermon. The Bishop took
for his text : Rev. ii. 10, " Be thou faithful unto
death, and I will give thee a crown of Life," &c. ; a
passage which was considered by the superstitious
as far more suitable for his funeral sermon, than as
adapted to the brilliant occasion on which it was
delivered : moreover, during the ceremony it was
discovered that the wing of the gold dove had been
completely broken off.
Charles himself, contrary to the custom of his
ancestors, probably to denote the purity of his in
tentions, had selected a robe of white, instead of
purple, as his coronation dress. Purple having
been ever considered the badge of sovereignty, as
white was the emblem of innocence, it was inferred
that hereafter he would have to rely upon his own
virtues and integrity, rather than upon the great
ness of regal power. His neglecting to ride through
the city, attended with that state which had graced
his forefathers on the days of their coronation, was
also deemed equally portentous and ill-advised.*
Even the melancholy expression of his coun
tenance was held to be ominous of future ill. When
his picture was conveyed to Rome, to afford the
design of a bust, the artist turned to the gentleman
who brought it : — he hoped, he said, it was not
the face of a near relation, for it was one of the
most unfortunate he had ever seen, and, " accord
ing to all the rules of art, the person whose it was
must die a violent death. "f
* Heylin, p. 148 ; Weldon, p. 177. f Welwood, p. 80.

CHARLES I. 61
Charles himself was singularly superstitious even
for the age in which he lived. It was a strange
infirmity in an otherwise strong mind and religious
disposition. We are assured by Lilly the Astro
loger, that he sent, on more than one occasion, to
consult him during his misfortunes, and the fact of
his having done so is supported by other authority.
Charles himself mentioned to the Bishop of Lon
don a remarkable shock which he experienced at
his trial. As he was leaning on his staff, the gold
head broke off and fell to the ground, which he
considered, as it certainly was, a singular omen.*
Another weakness of Charles was to bind himself
to a particular line of conduct by secret obliga
tions. On one occasion, when on a visit at Lati-
mas, a seat of the Earl of Devonshire, he drew
Dr. Sheldon aside, and placed in his hands a paper,
which he desired him to copy, and having done
so, to return it to him. This document detailed
the measures which he proposed to adopt for the
glory of God, and for the advancement of the
church ; and intimated that he had privately bound
himself by the most awful vow, for the purpose of
ensuring their accomplishment. A particular obli
gation was to perform public penance for the
injustice he had been guilty of to Lord Straf
ford in consenting to his death. In delivering this
paper to Sheldon, Charles solemnly conjured him,
(as if he feared the penalty would> fall on his own
soul,) to remind him of his contract, should he
* Sir P. Warwick's Memoirs, p. 339.

62 CHARLES I.
hereafter ever find him in a condition to perform
any one of the articles which it contained.*
A similar instance of moral infirmity is recorded
in the King's own language, and bears the follow
ing attestation of Sheldon.
" This is a true copy of the King's vow, which
was preserved thirteen years underground, by me,
" Gilb. Sheldon."
The document itself is dated Oxford 13th April
1646, and runs as follows : —
" I do hereby promise and solemnly vow, in the
presence and for the service of Almighty God, that
if it shall please the Divine Majesty, of his infinite
goodness, to restore me to my just kingly rights, and
to re-establish me in my throne, I will wholly give
back to his church all those impropriations which
are now held by the Crown ; and what lands soever
I do now, or should now, or do enjoy, which have
been taken either away from any episcopal see,
or any cathedral or collegiate church, from any
abbey, or other religous house. I likewise promise
for hereafter to hold them for the church, under
such reasonable fines and rents as shall be set down
by some conscientious persons whom I propose to
choose, with all uprightness of heart, to direct me
in this particular. And I most humbly beseech
God to accept of this my vow, and to bless me in
the design I have now in hand, through Jesus
Christ our Lord, Amen. Charles Rex."|
* Perinchief, p. 233.
f Lives ofthe Archbishops, from Harris, vol. ii. p. 63.

CHARLES I. 63
Charles was once sauntering with Lord Falk
land in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, when a
splendid copy of Virgil was brought, among other
books, for his inspection. Lord Falkland proposed
to his Majesty to try his fortune by the Sortes
Virgilianae ; — that is, to open the volume, and from
the passage on which the eye first falls, to glean
a fanciful prognostication of future events. Charles
accordingly dipped into the book, and hit, omi-
niously enough, on the following passage : — it forms
part of the imprecation which Dido pours forth
against IEneas, and is thus translated by Dryden,
Yet let a race untamed, and haughty foes,
His peaceful entrance with dire arms oppose ;
Oppressed with numbers in the unequal field,
His men discouraged, and himself expelled ;
Let him for succour sue from place to place,
Torn from his subjects, and his sons' embrace !
First let him see his friends in battle slain,
And their untimely fate lament in vain ;
And when at length the cruel war shall cease,
On hard conditions may he buy his peace,
Nor let him then enjoy supreme command,
But fall untimely by some hostile hand,
And be unburied on the barren sand.*
Lord Falkland, observing by the King's counte
nance that he was concerned at the circumstance,
* ^neid, lib. iv. v. 615.
At bello audacis populi vexatus et armis,
Finibus extorris, complexu avulsus Iiili,
Auxilium imploret, videatque indigna suorum
Funera : nee, cum se sub leges pacis iniquae
Tradiderit, regno aut optata luce fruatur ;
Sed cadat ante diem, mediaque inhumatus arena.

64 CHARLES I.
and imagining that, should he himself open the
book, he might fall upon some indifferent passage,
which would naturally rob the preceding incident
of its importance, instantly proposed to try his own
fortune. The lines which he chanced to select
were still more applicable to his future fate. It
was the beautiful lament of Evander at the un
timely death of his son Pallas : —
O Pallas ! thou hast failed thy plighted word ;
To fight with caution, not to tempt the sword :
I warned thee, but in vain ; for well I knew
What perils youthful ardour will pursue :
That boiling blood would carry thee too far ;
Young as thou wert to dangers, raw to war !
O curst assay of arms, disastrous doom,
Preludes of bloody fields, and fights to come.*
In 1624, during the life-time of King James, the
Earl of Holland had been sent into France, to
sound the feelings of the French Court regarding
a match between Charles and Henrietta Maria.
* iEneid, lib. xi. v. 152.
Non hasc, O Palla, dederas promissa parenti :
Cautius ut seevo velles te credere Marti.
Haud ignarus eram, quantum nova gloria in armis,
Et praedulce decus primo certamine posset.
Primitiae juvenis miseras, bellique propinqui
Dura rudimenta.
The story of Charles and Lord Falkland dipping into the
Sortes Virgilianse has been often related : the author, however,
has been able to trace it no further than to Dr. Welwood's Me
moirs of the last hundred years which preceded the Revolution
of 1 688, p. 90. — Welwood, unfortunately, omits to mention
his authority for the narration.

CHARLES I. 65
This Princess was the third daughter of the de
ceased Henry the Great, and sister of Louis the
Thirteenth, the reigning King of France. After a
complicated and rather lengthy negociation, a treaty
of marriage was definitively signed at Paris, on
the 10th of November 1624 : It consists of articles
scarcely less disgraceful to the English Court, or
disadvantageous to the English nation, than those
of the celebrated Spanish treaty which had preced
ed it. Indeed so similar are the two instruments,
as well in terms as in spirit, that the one would
appear almost to be a transcript of the other.
The only really important alteration is in the nine
teenth article of the French treaty, in which it is
provided that the children born of the marriage
shall be brought up by their mother, not merely
to the age of ten years, as had been agreed upon
in the Spanish compact, but till they should attain
their thirteenth year ; a dangerous concession, con
sidering the unwearying vigilance of the Romish
priests, and that it comprehended a period of life
when the heart is most open to impressions whe
ther good or evil. Some secret articles were also
sworn to by James and Louis. By these it was
provided that, throughout England, all Catholic
prisoners should be set at liberty ; that they
should no longer be liable to be searched, or
otherwise molested on account of their religion,
and that the goods of which they had been de
spoiled should be restored.
VOL. II. F

66 CHARLES I.
The deed of dispensation, in which Louis the
Thirteenth guaranteed to the See of Rome that
the King of England should faithfully fulfil the
articles of the treaty, is another curious document.
D'Israeli, in his ingenious work, the " Curiosities
of Literature," speaks of a "remarkable and un
noticed document," namely, " A most solemn ob
ligation contracted with the Pope and the Queen's
brother, the King of France, to educate her chil
dren as Catholics, and only to choose Catholics to
attend them." " Had this been known," he adds,
" either to Charles, or to the English nation,
Henrietta could never have been permitted to as
cend the English throne."* It is a pity to dis
turb this justification of Charles, but unfortu
nately for that Monarch, there can be little doubt
but that he was perfectly well acquainted with
all the circumstances of the affair ; indeed, the
articles mentioned by Mr. D'Israeli as most ob
jectionable in the deed of dispensation, are in
serted, at least in spirit, in the treaty itself; a
document which, as a matter of course, had not
only been seen, but had been solemnly sworn to,
by Charles. The subject is rendered of consider
able importance, when we remember that the two
children of Henrietta Maria, — Charles the Second
and his brother James, — who afterwards succes
sively inherited the crown, lived and died Roman
Catholics ; and that it was owing to a defect in
* Cur. of Lit. vol. v. p. 243.

CHARLES I. 67
his education that the latter died an exile, and
that England became the scene of revolution in
1688. With this view of the importance of the
subject, it may not be uninteresting to transcribe
the particular passages in the deed of dispen
sation, which have been referred to by D'Israeli,
in order that we may compare them with the
parallel ones in the actual treaty.
EXTRACT FROM THE DEED OF DISPENSATION.
" Art. 3. — Conveniunt, ut serenissima Madama
Henrietta Maria, omnesque ejus domestici, fami-
liares, servi, necnon domi forisque ministri, et fa-
milia universa familiarium eidem pro tempore ser-
vientium, eorumque filii et descendentes, libere pro-
fiteri et exercere possint religionem apostolicam
Catholicam Romanam ; ac propterea non solum
Londini, sed etiam in omnibus locis et regnis ipsi
Regi Magna? Britannia? subjectis, in cunctis regis
ipsius palatiis, et ubicunque praedicta Madama ha-
bitaverit aut extiterit, habeat unam ecclesiam," &c.
" Art. 7. — Conveniunt, ut liberorum qui, ex regio
hoc matrimonio nascentur, cura et educatio, omni
modo, ex eorum ortu usque ad annum aatatis de
cimum tertium completum, ad Madamam illorum
matrem pertineant ; ac omnes persona? proli ministe-
rium quodcumque prestiturae usque ad annum
tertium decimum completum, ut supra, a prsedicta,
Madama libere eligantur, atque ejusdem familia?
annumerentur, juribusque et privilegiis aliorum fa
miliarium gaudeant et potiantur." F 2

68 CHARLES I.
EXTRACTS FROM THE MARRIAGE TREATY.
" Art. 7. — The free exercise ofthe Roman Catho
lic Apostolic religion shall be granted to Madame,
as likewise to all the children that shall be born of
this marriage."
" Art. 14. — All the domestics Madame shall bring
into England shall be French Catholics, chosen by
the Most Christian King ; and in the room of those
that shall die, she shall take other French Catho
lics, with the consent, however, of the King of
Great Britain."
" Art. 19. — The children which shall be born of
this marriage shall be brought up by Madame,
their mother, till the age of thirteen years."
The marriage of Charles and Henrietta was so
lemnized at Paris with great splendour ; the Duke
de Chevreuse performing the office of proxy for
Charles. The ceremony took place on a Theatre,
erected for the purpose before the Cathedral of
Notre Dame. On the 12th of June 1625 Henrietta
arrived at Dover, and on the following night the
marriage was consummated at Canterbury. The
private account of these events I have deferred to
the Memoir of the Queen.
Considerable pains have been taken to prove
that Henrietta exercised an undue influence, both
domestic and political, over her husband. One
writer, without even hinting at his authority,

CHARLES I. 69
speaks of her peremptorily insisting upon having
charge of the Prince of Wales* Another writer,
Horace Walpole, solely I believe, on the suspi
cious authority of Peyton, informs us that when
Charles, on some jealousy, restrained the Earl of
Holland to his house, Henrietta refused to cohabit
with the King till the restraint was taken off.f
Such and similar instances are frequently brought
forward as proofs of the uxoriousness of Charles,
and many passages have been quoted, from his
letters to his Queen, as proofs of his spiritless
submission. Certainly these memorials evince a
very great respect both for her opinion and ad
vice ; but, after all, the utmost that can really
be adduced is, — a too favourable opinion of
her capacity, a strong attachment to a beautiful
woman, and a proper gratitude for the many
sufferings which she had undergone for his sake.
It was Charles's great misfortune, that he was
too easily wrought upon to follow the advice of
others, and frequently of persons less gifted than
himself. Milton says of him, in his panegyric
on Cromwell, — " Whether with his enemies or
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 worser counsels,
* Harris, vol. iv. p. 25.
t Life of Essex, in Royal and Noble Authors.

70 CHARLES I.
and, almost always, of the worser men." There
is as much justice as acrimony in this remark.
But the private history of the dismissal of the
Queen's French servants is alone sufficient to re
deem the character of Charles from all suspicion
of connubial subserviency. The insufferable in
solence of these people is scarcely to be conceiv
ed. Nothing could be more degrading, than
that the Queen of England should have been
compelled, by a foreign priesthood, to walk bare
footed to Tyburn ; and that, not merely in the
common exercise of her faith, but to glorify the
memory of the detestable contrivers of the Gunpow
der conspiracy. But it appears by a letter of the
period, that the indignity did not stop here. " Had
they not also," says a writer of the time, " made
her dabble in the dirt in a foul morning from
Somerset House to St. James's, her Luciferian con
fessor riding along by her in his coach ! Yea, they
have made her to go bare-foot, to spin, to eat her
meat out of tryne (wooden) dishes, to wait at the
table and serve her servants, with many other ridi
culous and absurd penances."*
The priests, French as well as English, had flock
ed in such numbers to the Queen's private apart
ments, as to cause great disquietude to Charles.
He told them, on one occasion, that he had already
granted them so much liberty in public, that he had
at least a right to expect exemption from domestic
* Ellis's Original Letters, vol. iii. p. 238.

CHARLES I. 71
intrusion. But the following is the most remark
able instance of priestly interference. The King and
Queen were banqueting in public, and, as usual, the
chaplain was proceeding to say grace, when the
Queen's confessor actually struck up with a Latin
benediction. The King's chaplain, (of course a Pro
testant,) naturally provoked at the interruption, gave
the confessor a zealous push, and then continued
the grace. On this the latter went over to the
Queen's side, and commenced with renewed en
ergy his benediction. The King, however, very
sensibly cut the matter short by drawing one of
the dishes towards him, when the carvers instant
ly began their office. As soon as dinner was
over, the confessor proceeded, in like manner, to
return thanks ; the chaplain, however, had ob
tained the start, when each endeavoured to drown
the other by the loudness of his voice. Charles
very properly took the Queen by the hand, and
hastily withdrew her from the disgraceful scene.*
The Queen's ecclesiastical retinue consisted of
a young bishop, whose age was actually under thir
ty, and twenty-nine priests. Fifteen of these were
scholars, and the remainder Theatines, — an order
of Friars whose principal occupation was singing of
psalms.f Besides this promising party, there were
a number of male and female attendants, who,
* Letter from Meade to Sir M. Stuteville, Cur. of Lit. vol. v.
p. 249.
T Ellis's Original Letters, vol. iii. p. 201.

72 CHARLES I.
it is asserted, swelled the French train from the
original number of sixty, to as many as four hun
dred and forty persons.* These people lost no op
portunity of fomenting a quarrel between Charles
and his Queen ; while the priests on their part,
naturally enough, used every exertion to restore
the Pope's authority in England. Seminaries were
formed for educating children in the Romish faith ;
the houses of the French attendants became a ren
dezvous for the discontented Papists ; the Catho
lic members of Parliament were secretly tamper
ed with ; and no opportunity was neglected of
obtaining proselytes to the ancient faith. Fortu
nately, however, these persons overreached them
selves, for they were totally mistaken in the cha
racter of Charles.
The perpetual discords and captious discontent
of this foreign establishment, are alluded to in most
of the letters of the period. Not satisfied with the
numberless immunities which had been provided
for by the marriage contract, and with putting
the King of England to the charge of 240/. a day
for their subsistence, they persisted in the most
frivolous and harassing complaints of ill-usage and
discomfort. The French, observes a letter of the
period, — " Seem to be discontented, because they
have not allowance to keep themselves, their wives
* Ellis's Original Letters, vol. iii. p. 201.
t Letter from Sir John North to the Earl of Leicester.
Collins's Memorials, vol. iii. p. 364.

CHARLES I. 73
and children ; though they have more by 7000/. a-
year, than ever Queen Anne had." Charles was
not by nature inclined to be petulant, but his
temper was at length entirely overcome by the
continual broils of his wife's domestics, and the
manner in which they insulted the prejudices of
his people. When the priests sent to complain
to him that the Chapel at St. James's, which
had been provided for their use by the marriage
treaty, was progressing but slowly towards com
pletion, he answered, " That if the Queen's clo
set, where they then said mass, were not large
enough, they might use the great chamber ; and
if the great chamber were not wide enough, they
might make use of the garden ; and if the garden
would not suit their purpose, they might go to the
park, which was the fittest place of all."* This last
remark, it would seem, did not so much apply to
the number of the French Catholics in general, as
to the concourse of English priests, who seized
every opportunity of attending the celebration of
mass in the Queen's apartments. This assemblage,
illegal as far as the English ecclesiastics were con
cerned, became eventually so numerous, that even
the Queen herself, on one occasion, rose from her
seat, and rebuking the latter for their indelicate
zeal, commanded them peremptorily to retire.f
Their numbers, however, still increasing, the pro-
* Ellis's Original Letters, vol. iii. p. 202.
+ Ibid. p. 204.

74 CHARLES I.
per officers of the court were at length stationed
at the entrance of the Queen's chapel, in order
forcibly to prevent their ingress. Some indecent
scenes were the consequence, the French Catholics
drawing their swords in defence of their English
brethren, and resisting the interference of the
guard. On one occasion, in the Royal Chapel, a Popish
nobleman is described as " prating on purpose
louder when the chaplain prayed." Charles sent
him a message to be silent :; — "Either," he said, " let
him come and do as we do, or else I will make him
prate further off." One of these squabbles nearly
cost James the Second, then a baby, his life. His
nurse, being a Roman Catholic, refused to take the
oath of allegiance. The Court endeavoured to con
vert her, but in their zeal they frightened the poor
woman, and spoiled her milk, so that the health of
the infant suffered. It was proposed to send her
away, but the Queen took her dismissal so much
to heart, that the oath was dispensed with, and
her milk probably recovered its virtue.*
The anger of Charles and his subjects had been
roused to its highest pitch by a long succession of
insults, and the dismissal of the whole party, whe
ther by pacific or forcible means, became at length
the resolute determination of the King. Naturally
willing, however, to obtain their departure, if possi
ble, without resorting to violent measures, and anxi-
* Strafford's Letters, vol. i. 141.

CHARLES I. 75
ous also to avert an unnecessary rupture with the
Court of France, he wrote to the Duke of Bucking
ham, who was then in Paris, desiring him to com
municate with the Queen-mother on the subject.
" You must advertize my mother-in-law," writes
Charles, " that I must remove all those instru
ments that are causes of unkindness between her
daughter and me, few or none of her servants being
free of this fault in one kind or other ; therefore, I
would be glad that she might find a means to make
themselves suitors to be gone. If this be not, I
hope there can be no exceptions taken at me to
follow the example of Spain and Savoy in this
particular.* So requiring of thee a speedy an
swer of this business, (for the longer it is delayed
the worse it will grow,) I rest,
" Your loving, faithful, constant friend,
" Hampton Court, " CHARLES Rex."
the 20th of November, 1625." t
In consequence of this and other remonstrances,
as well as the domestic infelicity which continued
to increase between Charles and his Queen, and the
distinct orders which had been issued by the King,
that the French retinue should forthwith quit his
dominions, the Marshal de Bassompierre (perhaps
the fittest person in Europe to conduct so delicate
* The servants of a Spanish Princess, who had misbehaved
themselves under similar circumstances, had been expelled from
France some years before. See Howell's Letters, 15th March,
1626. t Had. MSS. 6988,

76 CHARLES I.
a negotiation) was despatched to England by the
Court of France, with the object of effecting a com
promise. It was not without difficulty that Charles
could be persuaded to receive the Ambassador, and
consequently when the subject came actually to be
discussed, the meeting, as might have been expected,
proved a stormy one. The King, in the heat of ar
gument, inquired of Bassompierre why he did not
at once execute his commission, and declare war ?
" I am not a herald," replied the other, " to declare
war, but a marshal of France to make it when
declared." Bassompierre has himself described the
meeting : " The King," he says, " put himself 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." He adds ; " I witnessed there an instance
of great boldness, not to say impudence, of the
Duke of Buckingham, which was, that when he
saw us the most warmed, he ran up suddenly, and
threw himself between the King and me, saying,
I am come to keep the peace between you two."*
However, not all the art of the accomplished Bas
sompierre ; not even the fear of incurring a war
with France, nor the tears and entreaties of Hen
rietta, could induce Charles to grant any important
concession, and the negociation concluded by the
foreigners receiving renewed orders to depart.
Not till the very last moment, however, when
* Embassy to England, p. 51.

CHARLES I. 77
the carriages and vessels were in actual readiness
for their removal, had the French been acquaint
ed with the final determination of Charles. Hav
ing fully made up his mind, he unexpectedly en
tered the Queen's apartments for the purpose
of announcing it. There, to his great indig
nation, he beheld a number of the Queen's do
mestics irreverently dancing and curvetting in her
presence. Taking Henrietta by the hand, he led
her to a private chamber, and locked himself up
with her alone. In the mean time Lord Conway
had invited the French Bishop, and others of the
ecclesiactics, to accompany him into St. James's
Park. Here, in a straightforward manner, he laid
before them the King's unquestionable causes for
complaint, and told them plainly that every one of
the party, priests as well as laymen, young and
old, male and female, must instantly depart the
kingdom. The Bishop replied that, as regarded
himself, he stood in the light of an ambassador,
and therefore could not possibly think of quitting
the English Court, unless by the express directions
of the King his master. However, Lord Conway
informed him openly, that if he did not make up
his mind to depart peacefully, there would not be
the least scruple in getting rid of him by force.
Having thus communicated with the priests,
Lord Conway, attended by the Treasurer and
Comptroller of the Household, suddenly made his
appearance among the rest of the establishment.

78 CHARLES I.
Acquainting them in like manner with the King's
resolution, he told them it was his Majesty's plea
sure that they should instantly depart for Somerset-
house, and there await his Majesty's further instruc
tions. The women, we are informed, commenced
howling and lamenting as if they were going to
execution ; and, evincing the most dogged determi
nation to remain where they were, were eventually
thrust out by the yeomen of the guard, and the doors
of their apartments locked behind them.*
The same evening, when. they were all assembled
at Somerset-house, the King appeared in person
among them. He hoped, he said, that what he had
done would not be taken amiss by his brother, the
King of France ; — that particular persons among
them, for he would not mention names, had foster
ed discontent between the Queen and himself, and
had so embittered his domestic happiness that
further endurance would be impossible. He asked
their pardon, he said, if, by thus seeking his own
safety and peace of mind, he interfered with their
views; and concluded by adding, that his Trea
surer had received orders to remunerate every
one of them for their year's service.-]- Madame
* Ellis's Orig. Letters, vol. iii. p. 238.
t In a little work, published at this time, entitled " The Life
and Death of that matchless mirror of magnanimity, Henrietta
Maria de Bourbon," the King's speech is given as follows : —
" Gentlemen and ladies,
" I am driven to that necessity as that I am personally come
to acquaint you, that I very earnestly desire your departure

CHARLES I. 79
St. George, a handsome and flippant French-
lady, was spokeswoman on the occasion, and en
deavoured to expostulate with Charles, but his
reply was even more peremptory than at first.
This lady was personally obnoxious to Charles,
having bred more mischief between himself and
the Queen than all the rest of the colony put
together. She had even had the impudence to
intrude herself into the coach with the King and
Queen, at a period, too, when that honour was
never on any occasion allowed to a subject.*
But the bitterest task for Charles to perform
was to encounter the sobs and remonstrances of
Henrietta. That she might not behold the de
parture of her favourites from Whitehall, Charles,
when he parted from her, had locked the door
of her apartment. Her furious conduct on this
occasion exceeded all bounds ; she actually tore
the hair from her head, and cut her hands severely
by dashing them through the glass windows in
the violence of her rage.f
These events took place in the early part of
July 1626; and yet, notwithstanding the King's
firmness and extreme anxiety on the subject, we

into France. True it is, the deportment of some amongst you
hath been very offensive to me, but others again have so dal
lied with my patience, and so highly affronted me, as I cannot,
I will not, longer endure it." p. 14.
* Life of Henrietta Maria, pp. 14 and 17.
t Howell ; Peyton ; Ellis's Orig. Letters.

80 CHARLES I.
find the French still domiciled at Somerset-house
after more than a month had elapsed. The patience
of Charles being now entirely worn out, he dictated
the following note, — evidently in hearty anger, —
to the Duke of Buckingham : —
" Steenie, " I have received your letter by Die Graeme ;
this is my answer : — I command you to send all
the French away to-morrow out of the town, if you
can by fair means (but stick not long in disput
ing), otherwise force them away, driving them away
like so many wild beasts until you have shipped
them, and so the devil go with them. Let me
have no answer, but of the performance of my com
mand. So I rest,
" Your faithful, constant, loving friend,
" Oaking, the 7th of August 1626." " CHARLES Rex."
(Superscribed) "The Duke of Buckingham."
Four days afterwards, appears the following pas
sage in a letter of the period, dated 11th August
1626. " On Monday last was the peremptory day
for the departure of the French ; what time the
King's officers attending with coaches, carts, and
barges, they contumaciously refused to go, saying
they would not depart till they had order from
their King ; and above all, the Bishop stood upon
his punctilios. This news being sent in post to
the King, on Tuesday morning his Majesty de-

CHARLES I. 81
spatched away to London the captain of the guard,
attended with a competent number of his yeomen,
as likewise with heralds, messengers, and trum
peters, first, to proclaim his Majesty's pleasure at
Somerset House gate ; which, if it were not speedily
obeyed, the yeomen of the guard were to put it
in execution, by turning all the French out of
Somerset House by head and shoulders, and shut
ting the gate after them. Which news, as soon
as the French heard, their courage came downr
and they yielded to be gone next tide."*
The appointed hour having arrived, Lord Con
way, together with the Treasurer and Comptroller,
proceeded to Somerset House, to witness the de
parture of the malcontents. Lord Conway, with
his colleagues, first attended the Bishop to the
door of his coach, where this captious gentleman
again made a stand, praying, as a last favour, that
he might be allowed to wait for the midnight tide,
and thus escape the observation and ridicule of the
crowd. The" request was a natural one, and was
civilly granted.
It required four days, and nearly forty carriages,
to transport the expelled Catholics to Dover. At
first they appeared extremely dogged and sullen,
but the good fare, and kind entertainment, which
everywhere awaited them on the road, and the
natural vivacity of their country, gradually dis
pelled their feelings of disgust: still, the derision
* Ellis's Orig. Letters, vol. iii. p. 245.
VOL. II. G

82 CHARLES I.
of the mob must have been anything but agreeable.
As Madame St. George was stepping into the boat
at Dover, a bystander took an aim at her strange
head-dress with a stone. An English gentleman,
who was escorting her, instantly quitted her side,
and running his sword through the offender's body,
killed him on the spot.*
* Cur. of Lit. vol. v. p. 256; Ellis's Orig. Letters, vol. iii.
p. 248.

83

CHAPTER V.
Charles's Liberality to the Queen's French Attendants — their
Attempt at Extortion. — Misunderstandings between Charles
and his Queen. — Accusations against the conjugal Faith of
Charles. — Letter from him to the Duke of Buckingham. — ¦
The White King. — Strict Decorum of Charles's Court. —
Magnificent Entertainments.- — Patrician Actors. — Charles's
Exaction of Court Etiquette — his unconciliating Manners
— his Learning and Accomplishments — his Respect for
Literature — his Love ofthe Arts. — Sale of his magnificent
Collection. The liberality of Charles, when he found it
imperative on him to dismiss the Queen's French
attendants, had been kingly and munificent in the
extreme. The list of donations is preserved among
the Harleian MSS., and amounts to 22,672/. Not
content, however, with this profuse generosity, the
women commenced such a disgraceful and sweep
ing attack on the Queen's wardrobe, that they ac
tually left but one gown and " two smocks to her
back." Probably jewels and other articles of value
were likewise purloined, for even the Lords of the
Council interfered, and it was attempted to enforce
a restitution : we are informed, however, that an
old satin gown was all they could be prevailed on
to return.* The same roguery was also attempted
* Ellis's Orig. Letters, vol. iii. p. 238.
g2

84 CHARLES I.
in the Queen's stables, her Master of the Horse,
the Count de Scipieres, laying claim to all the
horses and furniture under his charge.
But the most ingenious attempt was one of ex
tortion, in which the Queen herself, from a weak
regard for her favourites, consented to be a party
concerned. They drew up a long list of various
sums, for which they asserted Henrietta to be their
debtor, amounting in all to 19,000/. The Queen
at first took the debt upon her, but on being
earnestly questioned by Charles, eventually ac
knowledged the imposture.*
Surely there is no part of the foregoing narra
tive, which does not tend to exonerate Charles from
the sweeping accusation of matrimonial tameness,
which has been so often and so sedulously brought
against him. He has himself left us an account of
what he endured at this period. Naturally anxious
to justify his conduct to his brother-in-law, the
French King, he despatched Lord Carlton as his
Ambassador to Paris, and, in his instructions to
that nobleman, enters into a full detail of the
Queen's behaviour, and of his own feelings. This
curious document was originally published by
order of the Parliament in the " King's Cabinet
Opened," in which interesting collection it may be
consulted by the curious.
That Charles, at this period, had frequent mis
understandings with his Queen there can be no
question ; the fault, however, was most decidedly
* Ellis's Orig. Letters, vol. iii. p. 245.

CHARLES I. 85
on tlie part of Henrietta ; indeed, if we are to con
sider as authentic the instrument just alluded to,
and it certainly bears all the features of truth,
there can be little doubt but that, at this period,
she constantly behaved herself towards him with
the most insufferable insolence. Their quarrels
were doubtless fomented by Buckingham, who
trembled lest the Queen should obtain an undue
influence over her husband. " The Queen of
England," says Madame de Motteville, " related to
me, that quickly after her marriage with King
Charles the First, she had some dislike to the
King her husband, and that Buckingham fomented
it ; that gentleman saying to her face, that he
would set her and her husband at variance, if he
could." It is evident, from the account given by
Bassompierre of his embassy into England, and
also from the letters of the time, that Henrietta
was almost daily either in tears or in a passion.
Bassompierre mentions the circumstance of the
King entering an apartment in which he was con
versing with Henrietta, when, it appears, she in
stantly " picked a quarrel " with her husband ; —
" the King," he adds, " took me to his chamber,
and talked a great deal with me, making me com
plaints of the Queen, his wife."* With the dis
missal of the French train, peace and comfort seem
for the first time to have visited the domestic
privacy of Charles.
The accusation which has been brought against
* Embassy to England, p. 64.

86 CHARLES I.
Charles, of having been unfaithful to the marriage-
bed, rests almost entirely on the assertions of the
republican triumvirate, Milton, Peyton, and Lilly,
whose charges are as vague as their minds were
prejudiced. Lilly remarks, that "the King rarely
frequented illicit beds, and that he had not heard of
above one or two natural children whom he had, or
left behind him."* Peyton enters rather more into
detail : " The Queen," he says, " was very jealous
of the King, insomuch as he loving a very great
lady now alive, whom he had for a mistress, to the
intent he might have more freedom with her, sent
her lord into the Low Countries ; in the mean
while daily courts her at Oxford, in her husband's
and the Queen's absence : but the lord returning,
the King diverted his affectionate thoughts to
another married lady, of whom the Queen was
jealous on her return from France, so that on a
time this lady being in Queen Mary's presence
and dressed d-la-mode, the Queen viewing her
round, told the lady she would be a better mistress
for a King than a wife for a knight. The lady re
plied, ' Madam, I had rather be a mistress to a
King, than any man's wife in the world.' For which
answer she was constrained to absent herself from
court a long time." The same writer alludes to
the jealousy and indignation of Charles, on seeing
a certain nobleman handing through the court at
Whitehall, a lady whom he " dearly loved." f
* Lilly's Life of Charles I. p. 11.
+ Divine Catastrophe of the House of Stuart.

CHARLES I. . 87
But the most unfair attack is that of Milton.
" Have you the impudence," he writes to Salmasius,
" to commend his chastity and sobriety who is
known to have committed all manner of lewdness
in company with his confidant the Duke of Buck
ingham ? It were to no purpose to inquire into
the private actions of his life who publicly at plays
would embrace and kiss the ladies lasciviously, not
to mention the rest." All this the republican and
" holy poet" must have well known to be false.
It is to be observed that no authority whatever is
adduced for any one of these charges ; that the
name of no lady is even so much as hinted at ; and
that the writers of this wretched scandal, especially
Milton and Peyton, were rancorous and bigoted to
the last degree, and we shall have little difficulty
in rescuing the character of Charles from their
impudent and malignant aspersions.
So little ground is there, indeed, for accusing
Charles of adultery, that it may be questioned
whether any single instance can be brought forward
of his having, even before marriage, been engaged
in an intrigue. Peyton of course comes forward
with one of his unsupported scandals, and informs
us that, when unmarried, he " had for his mistress
a great married lady by whom he had a boy," and
that at the christening he presented the child with
8000/. There is, however, a letter extant from
Charles, when he was Prince of Wales, addressed
to the Duke of Buckingham, which may, perhaps,
lead to a doubt of his immaculacy. It has cer-

88 CHARLES I.
tainly reference to some intrigue* in which Charles
was engaged, but whether that intrigue was of an
amorous or of a political nature, the reader must
judge for himself.
" Steenie, " I have nothing now to write to you, but to
give you thanks both for the good counsel ye gave
me, and for the event of it. The King gave me a
good sharp position ; but you took away the work
ing of it, by the well-relished comfites ye sent after
it. I have met with the party, that must not be
named, once already ; and the culler of writing this
letter, shall make me meet with her on Saturday,
although it is written to-day, being Thursday. So
assuring you that the business goes safely on, I rest
your constant friend. Charles.
" I hope you will not show the King this letter ;
but put it in the safe custody of Mr. Vulcan."*
With half a nation for his enemies, including
numbers too willing to blacken his character, on
little or no foundation, and filling an exalted si
tuation, where the most unimportant action was
eagerly watched and noted down, it is impossible
not to believe, that if Charles had been an immoral
character, it would have descended trumpet-tongued
to posterity. The few clumsy charges which have
been brought forward may be considered, perhaps,
as the strongest evidence of his unsullied virtue.
* Harris, vol. ii. p. 46.

CHARLES I. 89
Indeed, the unimpeachable morality of Charles
procured for him from his contemporaries the ex
pressive title of the White King. The name ap
pears to have had some allusion to the dress which
he wore at his coronation, and partly perhaps, to
an absurd construction of an ancient prophecy,
published by the astrologer, Lilly, with which he
endeavoured to identify Charles.* At the funeral
of the King, the snow fell thick upon the black
velvet pall which covered his coffin. " It was all
white," says his faithful follower, Sir Thomas Her
bert, " the colour of innocency. So went the
White King to his grave,"f Osborne gives him the
same title, but of course introduces it in derision.
The Court of Charles was scarcely less strict
than that of his puritanical successor, Oliver Crom
well. Every species of immorality was regarded
with horror, and even levity was confined within
proper bounds. The King set the example of
decency, and his courtiers followed it. In the
Memoirs of Colonel Hutchinson, a valuable com
pliment is paid by his republican lady to the
well-regulated propriety of the Court of Charles.
" The face of the Court," she says, " was much
changed in the change of the King ; for King
Charles was temperate, chaste, and serious, so
that the fools and bawds, mimics, and catamites,
of the former Court, grew out of fashion ; and the
nobility and courtiers, who did not quite abandon
* See Lilly's Life of himself.
t Herbert's Memoirs, p. 206.

90 CHARLES I.
their debaucheries, had yet that reverence to the
King, to retire into corners to practise them."
The amusements of Charles were such as con
ferred honour on genius, and gave encouragement
to virtue and the arts. There is no writer of the
period whose productions are not more decent than
those of either the preceding or subsequent reigns.
Walpole, who hated equally the King and his po
litics, in a passage not unworthy of the occasion,
has at least done justice to his taste, and the high
refinement of his Court. " During the prosperous
state of the King's affairs, the pleasures of the Court
were carried on with much taste and magnificence.
Poetry, painting, music, and architecture, were all
called in to make them rational amusements ; and I
have no doubt but the celebrated festivals of Louis
the Fourteenth, were copied from the shows exhibi
ted at Whitehall, in its time the most polite Court
in Europe. Ben Jonson was the laureat ; Inigo
Jones, the inventor of the decorations ; Laniere
and Ferabosco composed the symphonies ; the
King, the Queen, and the young nobility danced
in the interludes."* To the names given by Wal
pole we may add those of Milton and Selden. The
" Masque of Comus," written by the former, and the
scenic contrivances of the latter, may afford some
conception of the rational amusements of the Court
of Charles. Marshal Bassompiere mentions his
state introduction to Charles and Henrietta : " I
found the King," he says, " on a stage raised two
* Walpole's Works, vol. iii. 271.

CHARLES I. 91
steps, the Queen and he in two chairs, who rose at
the first bow I made them on coming in. The
company was magnificent, and the order exquisite."
This was a high compliment from the most ele
gant man in Europe, and perhaps, the best judge
of his time as to the merits of such a scene.
Among the Strafford Letters we find numerous
allusions to the amusements ofthe Court of Charles,
as described to the Earl of Strafford by his amus
ing correspondent Mr. Garrard. On the 9th of Ja
nuary 1633, the latter writes: — " I never knew a
duller Christmas than we had at court this year,
but one play all the time at Whitehall, and no
dancing at all. The Queen had some little infirm
ity, the 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, " The Faithful Shepher
dess,"* 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 lordship, that the
dicing night the King carried away in James
Palmer's hat, 1850/. The Queen was his half, and
brought 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 Can
dlemas day, the other the King presents the Queen
* The Faithful Shepherdess : a Dramatic Pastoral, by J. Flet
cher. The Epilogue was spoken by Lady Mary Mordaunt, pro
bably a daughter of Lewis, third Baron Mordaunt. The Faith
ful Shepherdess had previously met with an unfavourable re
ception on the public stage. — Biog. Dram. vol. ii. p. 216.

<)2 CHARLES I.
with on Shrove Tuesday, at night. High expences ;
they speak of 20,000/. that it will cost the men of
the law."
Again, Mr. Garrard writes to the Earl on the
27th of February following : — "On Monday after
Candlemas-day, the gentlemen of the Inns of Court
presented their Masque at Court : there were sixteen
in number, who rode through the streets in four
chariots, and two others to carry their pages arid
musicians, attended by an hundred gentlemen on
great horses, as well clad as I ever saw any r they
far exceeded in beauty any Masque that had for
merly been presented by those societies, and per
formed the dancing part with much applause. In
their company there 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 Buckingham."*
It may be interesting to insert the Dramatis Per
sona? of one of those celebrated Masques, once the
glory of Whitehall. The following is the Court
" play-bill," at the performance of the Ccelum Bri-
tannicum, of which Carew, one of the most elegant
of love poets, was the author, and Inigo Jones the
inventor and director of the machinery.
THE NAMES OF THE MASQUES.
THE KING'S MAJESTY.
DUKE OF LENOX, EARL OF HOLLAND,
EARL OF DEVONSHIRE, EARL OF NEWPORT
* Stafford's Letters, vol. i. p. 177 and 207.

CHARLES I. 93
EARL OF ELGIN, LORD DUNGARVON,
VISCOUNT GRANDISON, LORD DUNLUCE,
LORD RICH, LORD WHARTON,
LORD FIELDING, LORD PAGET,
LORD DIGBY, LORD SALTOUN.

THE NAMES OF THE YOUNG LORDS AND
NOBLEMEN'S SONS.
LORD WALDEN, MR. THOMAS HOWARD,
LORD CRANBORN, MR. THOMAS EGERTON,
LORD BRACKLEY, MR. CHAS. CAVENDISH,
LORD CHANDOS, MR. ROBERT HOWARD,
MR. WILLIAM HERBERT, MR. HENRY SPENCER.*
Even the political misfortunes, which began to
press upon Charles, could not altogether destroy
his interest in the fine arts ; and though their
splendour had certainly somewhat faded, his favou
rite Masques continued still to be a source of en
joyment. Algernon, Earl of Northumberland, in a
letter to his sister, the Countess of Leicester, dated
5th December 1639, thus writes : " The King and
Queen have begun to practise their Masque : a com
pany of worse faces did I never see assembed, than
the Queen hath gotten together upon this occasion,
not one new woman amongst them, My lady Car
narvon conditioned, before she would promise to be
of the Masques, that it should not be danced upon a
* Carew's Works, p. 269.

94 CHARLES I.
Sunday, for she is grown so devout by conversing
with my Lord Powis and the Doctor, that now she
will neither dance nor see a play upon the Sabbath.
I assure you their Majesties are not less busy now
than formerly you have seen them at the like ex
ercise."* Charles was not only well-informed in all mat
ters of Court etiquette, and in the particular
duties of each individual of his household, but en
joined their performance with remarkable strict
ness. Ferdinando Masham, one of the esquires of
his body, has recorded a curious anecdote relative
to the King's nice exaction of such observances :
" 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 wait
ing and lying there, he unbolted the door upon my
* Collinsl Memorials, vol. ii. p. 621. In a letter of the time
it is said, " The Masking-house is nearly ready, and 1400/. is
appointed for the charge of a Masque at Twelfth Night." Col-
lins's Memorials, vol. ii. p. 531.— Mr. D'Israeli says, " The full
est account I have found of one of these entertainments, which
at once show the curiosity of the scenical machinery and the
fancy of the poet, the richness of the crimson habits of the gen
tlemen and the white dresses, with white herons' plumes and
jewelled head-dresses and ropes of pearls, ofthe ladies, was in
a manuscript letter of the time, with which I supplied the edi
tor of Jonson, who has preserved the narrative in his Memoirs
of that poet." " Such were the magnificent entertainments,"
says Mr. Gifford, in his introduction to Massinger, " which,
though modern refinement may affect to despise them, modern
splendour never reached, even in thought." Cur. of Lit vol
p. 223.

CHARLES I. 95
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 de
livered the letter to any other, I .should not have
thought him fit for his place.' " It seems that,
after a certain hour, when the guard was set, and
the " All-night" served up, the Royal Household
was considered under the sole command of the
Esquire in waiting.* " The King," says Lord Cla
rendon, " kept state to the full, which made his
court very orderly, no man presuming to be seen
in a place where he had no pretence to be."
* Pegge's Curialia, vol. i. part 1, p. 23. Charles was proba
bly well aware, of what modern wisdom seems inclined to for
get, that the vulgar are easily caught by appearances, and that
the trappings of monarchy are in no slight degree its support
ers. We naturally call to mind an anecdote, related by Wal
pole, of the conduct of a certain Spanish ambassador who aban
doned a Congress because he was unable to obtain precedence
over the French deputy. On his return to his own Court, he
waited on the King and explained his conduct. " What !" said
the indignant monarch, " could you think of abandoning such
an important business for the sake of a ceremony ! " The am
bassador piqued at the reflection, answered with great spirit :
" A ceremony I What is your Majesty yourself but a ceremo
ny !" It may be remarked that Sir Henry Wotton used wit
tily to define an ambassador, as " a man sent abroad to tell
lies for the good of his country."

96 CHARLES I.
Although Charles formed many friendships from
among his own subjects, he never lost sight of the
dignity of his own station, and was peculiarly tena
cious of any undue familiarity when the license
emanated not from himself. When in the West of
England, during the civil troubles, Dr. Thomas
Wykes, Dean of Burien in Cornwall, an inveterate
punster, happening to be riding near him, ex
tremely well mounted, — " Doctor," said the King,
" you have a pretty nag under you ; I pray, how
old is he 1" Wykes, unable to repress, even in the
presence of majesty, the indifferent conceit which
presented itself; — "If it please your Majesty," he
said, " he is in the second year of his reign" (rein).
Charles discovered some displeasure at this un
licensed ribaldry. — " Go," he replied, " you are a
fool." *
Though kind and considerate to those about
him, the manners of Charles, unfortunately for
himself, were by nature far from either graceful or
conciliating ; and considering the peculiar period
in which he lived, and how influential is the well-
timed civility of a King, the deficiency was a
real misfortune. It was afterwards said of his
son, Charles the Second, that he denied favours
with more grace than his father bestowed them.
The unfavourable impression conveyed by the
manners of Charles, was owing, in a great degree,
to a natural impediment in his speech. At times
* Pope's Life of Ward, Bishop of Salisbury, p. 59.

CHARLES I. 97
he stammered so painfully that it was with diffi
culty he could bring out a word. This infirmity
would seem to have been hereditary, for his father's
tongue is described as being too large for his mouth,
and Charles himself was unable to speak till he
was four years old. It is remarkable that this im
perfection left him at his trial, and that he address
ed his inhuman judges on that memorable occasion
with extraordinary fluency and ease. Lilly, who
heard him, authenticates the fact.
There was undoubtedly, however, in Charles, a
want of tact in his general address, as well as an
impediment in his speech. This defect of man
ner will, perhaps, be best exemplified by the
following lively passage, which occurs in a letter
from the Countess of Leicester to her husband,
when the latter was ambassador at Paris : it is
dated 14th March, 1636 ; — " Since my coming
to town, I have been twice at the Court, be
cause I did not see the King the first time, but
from the Queen I received then expectations of
her favour to you : the Elector also made me
some compliments concerning you, much hand
somer than I expected from him. In his Majesty,
I found an inclination to show me some kindness,
but he could not find the way ; at last he told me,
that he perceived I was too kind to my husband
when he was with me, which kept me lean, for he
thought me much fatter than I used to be. This
short speech was worse to me than an absolute
VOL. II. H

98 CHARLES I.
silence, for I blushed, and was so extremely out of
countenance that all the company laughed at me."*
The learning and accomplishments of Charles
were of no ordinary kind. He was an excellent
mathematician ; well read in the history and laws
of his country, and had studied divinity as deeply
as any of his contemporaries. He perfectly un
derstood the French, Spanish, and Italian lan
guages, and was conversant with, and appreci
ated, the classics. He had studied carefully the
arts and manufactures, and himself observed, that
he believed he could earn his livelihood by any
one of them, except " weaving in tapestry." He
said at another time, that, were he compelled to
make choice of a profession, he would not be a
lawyer : — "I could not," he added, " defend a
bad cause, nor yield in a good one." His con
ference with Henderson, and especially his nego
tiation with the parliamentary commissioners, on
which latter occasion he combated, unaided, the
arguments of some of the wisest men in Eng
land, afford high proof of the vigour of his in
tellect and the depth of his scholastic knowledge.
The highest compliment ever paid to the mental
powers of Charles, proceeds from his adversary
Henderson himself. This famous disputant and
theologian, — this gifted Presbyterian, on whose
controversial genius the hopes of thousands of en
thusiasts were fixed, — who was to have annihi-
* Collins's Memorials, vol. ii. p. 472.

CHARLES I. 99
lated the arguments of his sovereign, and to have
made him a convert to presbyterianism, — thus
speaks of the illustrious antagonist, over whose ar
guments and principles he had anticipated an easy
conquest : — "I do declare before God and the
world, whether in relation to Kirk or State, I
found his Majesty the most intelligent man that
ever I spoke with ; ' as far beyond my expres
sion as expectation. I profess that I was often
times astonished with the solidity and quick
ness of his reasons and replies, wondered how
he, spending his time in sports and recreations,
could have attained to so great knowledge ; and
must confess, that I was convinced in conscience,
and knew not how to give him any reasonable
satisfaction ; yet the sweetness of his disposition
is such, that whatsover 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 and 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."* Charles,
like his father, held literature in great respect.
On one occasion, when with the army at Oxford,
he sent to the Bodleian Library to borrow a book.
He was told that by the rules of the institution, no
book was permitted to be lent out of the library.
* Echard, vol. ii. p. 557.
h 2

100 CHARLES I.
Instead of persisting in his request, he went in
stantly to the Bodleian, and examined personally
the volume he required.
Charles, among his other accomplishments, is said
to have been a painter ; and it has even been affirm
ed that Rubens corrected some of his drawings.*
That great artist, in one of his letters, mentions as
one of his chief inducements to visit England, that
he has been credibly informed the Prince of that
country is the best judge of art in Europe.f
Few of our Kings have had the least perception
of the beautiful. Charles the First is undoubtedly
-the only monarch of this country to whom the arts
may be considered as under an obligation. His
collection of statues, paintings, models, and an
tiquities, must have been superb in the extreme ;
and but for the interruption of the civil troubles,
and the tasteless devastation which followed, the
cabinet of the court of England would still have
been the envy of the polite world. Besides objects
of taste, such as had descended to him from for
mer monarchs, he had himself collected for many
years with vast labour and expense. He had
added to his gallery of pictures the entire ca
binet of the Duke of Mantua, considered the
most splendid in Europe.:): The price of paint-
*• Anecdotes of Painting; Walpole's Works, vol. iii. p. 182.
t Seaward's Anecdotes, vol. i. p. 168.
J Some of these pictures were unfortunately spoiled by the
quicksilver on their frames.— Anecdotes of Painting ; Walpole's
Works, vol. iii. p. 183.

CHARLES I. 101
ings on the Continent rose, it is affirmed, to
double their value, in consequence of a competi
tion between Charles and Philip the Fourth of
Spain, another royal collector. It has even been
asserted, that Charles was once on the point of an
agreement with Vandyke, that, for the immense sum
of eighty thousand pounds, he should adorn the
walls of the Banqueting House at Whitehall with
the ceremonies of the Order of the Garter. Such a
building, embellished by such an artist, would in
deed have been the glory of Europe.* The Ban
queting House, however, in the reign of Charles,
was decorated with some of his choicest pictures ;
and we find him refusing to permit one of the
Queen's favourite masques to be performed in it,
lest the lights should damage the collection : the
incident, however trifling, is a proof of his care for
the arts.f
We have several other evidences ofthe taste and
refinement of Charles. At Mortlake he patronised
a manufacture of tapestry, which, but for the age
of barbarism which followed, might have rivalled
the boasted Gobelins of Paris. He delighted in
the company of learned men, and in their society
is said to have been more social and at his ease
than on any other occasion. He loved and under
stood music, and was himself a pupil of Cooper's,
* Fenton's Waller, Notes, p. 37 ; Walpole's Works, vol. i.
p. 235
f Strafford Letters, vol ii. p. 140.

102 CHARLES I.
and performed on the viol di Gamba. He was a
friend of the poets, especially of Ben Jonson, and
of May, the translator of Lucan. Milton speaks of
Shakspeare as the " closet companion of his soli
tudes." To the patriots and avengers of 1648 we are
indebted for the loss of the magnificent collection
of Charles. It is to be regretted that the conduc
tors of popular convulsions have been rarely men of
refinement. The year before the death of Charles,
his splendid effects, his unique cabinet, the delight
of his leisure hours, were directed by the Parlia
ment to be sold. Some ignorant individuals, who
styled themselves commissioners, were appointed
the appraisers. The inventory took a year in
drawing up, and the collection three years in sell
ing. The catalogue is preserved among the Har-
leian MSS., and is entitled, " An Inventory of the
Goods, Jewels, Plate, &c. belonging to King Charles
I, sold by order of the Council of State, from the
year 1649 to 1652."
Each article or lot had its price previously fixed,
and nothing could exceed the gross barbarity and
want of taste in the valuation. This Gothic insen
sibility and ignorance, however, mattered little ;
for except a slight occasional competition, the price
given seldom exceeded the appraisement. It is
curious to discover what in those days was consi
dered the value of pictures, which are now de
servedly regarded as beyond price. The cele-

CHARLES I. 103
brated cartoons of Raphael were valued at only
£300, and what is more remarkable were " knock
ed down" without a purchaser. The six following
pictures alone brought a price which could be con
sidered as equivalent to their worth.
A Sleeping Venus, by Corregio, sold for 1,000?.
A Madonna, by Raphael, 2,000?.
A Picture, by Julio Romano, 500/.
A Madonna and Christ, by Raphael, 800?.
A Venus and Pard, by Titian, 600?.
The following have been mentioned as remark
able for the insignificant sums at which they were
purchased. The Woman taken in Adultery, by Rubens, 20?.
Peace and Plenty, by Rubens, 100?.
Venus attired by the Graces, by Guido, 200?.*
The Duke of Buckingham and his brother, one
of the finest efforts of Vandyke, was valued at 30/.
and sold for 50/. Christ, the Virgin, and " many
* The following account of various sums, paid by Charles I.
to Vandyke and Rubens, will, doubtless, be considered as cu
rious. " To Sir Anthony Vandyck, for divers pictures, viz. our own
royal portraiture ; another of Monsieur, the 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 chil
dren, 100?. One of the Emperor Vetellius, 20?. ; and for mend
ing the picture of the Emperor Galbus, 5?.
To Sir Anthony Vandyck, 444?. for nine pictures of our royal
self, and most dearest consort the Queen ; 40?. for the picture

104 CHARLES I.
Angels dancing," by Vandyke, was also only valued
at 40/. Walpole informs us, that his father after
wards gave 700/. for this picture, and that it had
been previously twice sold for upwards of 1,000/.
Titian's pictures were generally appraised at 100/.
But the valuation of the following list is really
ludicrous. King Edward III. with a great curtain before it, 4?.
A Portrait of Buchanan, 31. 10s.
Queen Elizabeth, in her robes, 1?.
The Queen Mother, in mourning, 31.
The King, when a Boy, 2?.
Picture of the Queen, when with child, 5*.
The valuable collection of coins sold, on the ave
rage, at about a shilling a-piece. The pictures,
together with the furniture of nineteen* palaces
which had belonged to Charles, and the remains of
the jewels and plate which had not already been
sold for the maintenance of the royal cause, fetched
the comparatively trifling sum of one hundred and
of our dearest consort, the Queen, by him made, and by our
command delivered unto our right trusty and well-beloved
cousin and counsellor, the Lord Viscount Wentworth, our
Deputy of Ireland.
To Sir Peter Rubens, Knight, 3,000?. for certain pictures
from him sold unto us.
Issue Roll of Thomas de Brantingham. Introduction.
London, 1835.
* Granger incidentally mentions the number of the King's
palaces as twenty-four. Including the old Scotch palaces they
probably amounted to even more than this number.

CHARLES I. 105
eighteen thousand and eighty pounds, ten shillings,
and sixpence.*
It has been remarked as a singular circumstance,
that a sale so magnificent, and so extensive as to
occupy three years in its accomplishment, should
have failed in exciting a greater degree of atten
tion in foreign princes. This apathy, however,
may in some degree have originated in feelings
of delicacy. Lord Clarendon mentions incident
ally, that some of the King's pictures, as well as
the rich furniture of his palaces, were privately
purchased by the Spanish Envoys for their mas
ter. The unsettled state of the public mind in
England may account for the want of taste dis
played in our own country upon this melancholy
occasion. Those who had alike the mind to ap
preciate and the power to purchase, had been
displaced by those who had neither. It may here
be remarked, that some idle toys, obtained proba
bly for the amusement of Henrietta, or the decor
ation of her apartments, were purchased at large
prices, while, as we have already seen, the works
of the first artists were valued at sums which, in
these days, would scarcely exceed the annual inte
rest of their purchase-money.
* See Walpole's Works, vol. iii. p. 201 ; and Curiosities of
Literature, vol. v. p. 22 ; for further particulars respecting the
Cabinet of Charles and its remarkable disposal.

106

CHAPTER VI.

Charles at the Battle of Naseby — his Flight from Oxford —
his Arrival at Newark, and ungracious Reception by the
Scottish Army. — Treachery of the Scots. — Imprisonment
of Charles at Holmby — his Amusements there. — Charles
and Major Bosville. — The King is denied all Intercourse with
the Ministers of his own Church, and deprived of his Attend
ants — his Health and Diet. — Insolence of Cornet Joyce. —
Removal of the King from Holmby — his Reception at Chil-
derley. — Professions of Fidelity by Cromwell and Fairfax. —
Charles's Arrival at his Palace at Newmarket — freed from
the annoying Attentions of Joyce. — The King's Interview
with his Children. — The Bowling-green at Whitchurch. —
Arrival of Charles at Hampton Court — his Court there. —
Secret Compact between him and Cromwell. — Morrice's Story
of the Letter in the Saddle. — Interview at Sion House be
tween Charles and his Children — his Advice to them.
The history of the civil wars has been recounted
in more than one painfully interesting narrative,
and is so familiar to the reader, that repetition
would be but tedious and unprofitable. Never
theless, in a work professedly devoted to private
history, it is impossible to pass over in silence so
remarkable a period in the personal history of
Charles as his captivity and his death.
The battle of Naseby was decisive to the for-

CHARLES I. 107
tunes of Charles, and from henceforward he vir
tually ceased to be a King. It was at the close
of this action that he is said to have ridden along
the ranks, animating his men with his voice and
hand, and imploring them not to desert him in his
need : " one charge more," he exclaimed, " and we
recover the day." His courage, indeed, has never
been called in question, even by his most furious
maligners, and on more than one occasion elicited
the admiration of even his enemies. During the
course of the civil struggles, that courage had ever
appeared as eminent on the field of battle, as it
afterwards shone illustrious on the scaffold. But
now, surrounded by enemies on all sides, he retired
to Oxford, which had been faithful to him during
every change, and where, for the last time, he was
regarded and respected as a free monarch. But
Fairfax was fast approaching with a victorious
army. The prospect of being led away captive by
his own subjects; the thought of their triumphant
shouts ; of becoming the dependent of absurd en
thusiasts and ruined projectors, was too humiliating
to endure. Accordingly, though not till Fairfax
was within three days' march of Oxford, the King
decided on flight. But even at the moment of de
parture he had scarcely made up his mind which
way to turn, or in what friend to trust ; — whether
to proceed to London, or to throw himself on the
generosity of the Scottish army. About a month
before he quitted Oxford, he addressed a letter

108 CHARLES I.
to Lord Digby, in which is the following cha
racteristic passage : " I desire you," says the high-
minded monarch, " to assure all my friends, that
if I cannot live as a King, I shall die like a gentle
man, without doing that which may make honest
men blush for me."*
Charles selected but two individuals as the
companions of his flight. These were his faithful
follower Ashburnham, and Dr. Hudson, a clergy
man, who was intimately acquainted with the fea
tures and by-parts of the country through which
the fugitives must necessarily pass. The King
himself was disguised as the servant of Ashburn
ham. On the night of the 27th of April 1646,
orders having been given at the different gates of
the town to allow to three persons a free pass,
Charles proceeded over Magdalen Bridge, and
commenced his sorrowful and hazardous journey.
The principal reliance of the fugitives was in an
old pass which they had procured from an officer
of the royal army, and which afterwards proved of
the greatest assistance. Even at their first stage,
Dorchester in Oxfordshire, where a troop of dra
goons were quartered, they escaped examination
by its means.f
From Dorchester they proceeded, by way of
Henley and Maidenhead, as near to London as
* Carte; Life of the Duke of Ormond, vol. iii. Appendix,
No. 433.
\ Desid. Cur. lib. ix. p. 9 ; Clarendon, vol. v. p. 393.

CHARLES I. 109
Brentford, where Charles again hesitated as to the
expediency of throwing himself on the honour of
the Parliament and the loyalty of the citizens.
At Benson, they had been closely questioned by
a party of horse, but Ashburnham asserting they
belonged to the Commons, they were again allowed
to proceed. One circumstance caused them great
annoyance : a soldier in Ireton's regiment had
actually joined company, and proceeded with them
from Nettlebed as far as Slough. This man, per
ceiving the liberal manner in which Hudson dis
tributed money to the guards, turned to the King,
whom (being dressed as a servant and having a
saddlebag before him,) he naturally regarded as
his equal, and inquired if his master was of the
House of Lords ? Charles answered calmly, that
his master was merely of the Lower House.
At Brentford, they turned their faces towards
the north, and after some stay at Harrow on the
Hill, came to Uxbridge, where they deceived an
other guard with their pass. At Hillingdon, a
village near that town, they remained about three
hours ; and here the King endured another painful
conflict, as to whether he should proceed further
northward, or return to London and throw him
self on the generosity of his subjects. After a
severe struggle, it was decided, however, that
they should prosecute their original intention,
and they therefore proceeded cautiously towards
St. Albans. In passing through that town they

110 CHARLES I.
were encountered by an " old man with a hal-
bert," who inquired to what party they belong
ed ? Hudson told him to the Parliament, and
throwing him a sixpence they again proceeded on
their way. But they had scarcely left St. Albans
above a mile behind them, when they perceived
a horseman galloping towards them at his utmost
speed. Charles and Ashburnham, in some conster
nation, turned out of the direct road, while Hudson
faced about to meet the suspicious person. It
proved, however, to be merely a drunken cavalier,
who passed on his way without taking any notice
of the party, or even of the salutation of Hudson,
who civilly greeted him. From hence the King
proceeded through Larborough in Leicestershire,
Stamford Downham in Norfolk, (near which place
he passed the night at a common village inn,) and
at length arrived at Newark, where he formally
delivered himself to Lord Leven, the general of the
Scottish army. It may be remarked, that it was
nine days after his quitting Oxford, before the
Parliament received the least intimation of the
King's proceedings. They were naturally much
discomposed at his flight, and had issued a pro
clamation, threatening instant death to whoever
should harbour the royal fugitive.*
Charles ere long had sufficient reason to repent
the step which he had taken. He neither expe
rienced that attachment from the Scots which he
* Desid. Cur. lib. ix. p. 9. 21.

CHARLES I. Ill
had anticipated, nor even that ordinary respect
which misfortune had a right to claim. His per
son was closely guarded, and he was refused all
communication and correspondence with those
who were dear to him ; while, at the same time, he
was daily insulted by pulpit insolence, or wearied
by pulpit absurdity. One would have thought
that afflicted majesty, — that the extreme of hu
man misfortune, — a monarch deprived of his
throne, his freedom, and his children, might have
been compassionated under any circumstances,
and might even have claimed respect from politi
cal zealots or the wildest of religious fanatics.
But the surly and acrimonious Covenanters were as
devoid of humanity as they were of taste, and the
captive and traduced monarch was daily insulted
by their unfeeling exhortations and pious barbarity.
Among other instances of his being personally
affronted by these zealots, the following is well
known. In the very presence of the persecuted
Monarch, one of their preachers had appointed,
as part of the service of the day, the psalm which
commences, " Why dost thou, tyrant, boast thyself,
Thy wicked deeds to praise ? "
As soon as the words were given out, the King
rose from his seat, and calmly proposed to substi
tute the psalm, which thus begins,
" Have mercy, Lord, on me I pray,
For men would me devour."

112 CHARLES I.
The congregation kindly sided with Charles, and
sang the more appropriate version.
From the time of that great national stain, the
iniquitous sale of his person by the Scottish army,
till we find him a prisoner of the Parliament in his
own house at Holdenby, there is little remark
able in the King's personal history. The tidings of
that atrocious transfer, and the proposed change
of keepers, were first communicated to him by
letter. He was amusing himself at chess at the
time ; but so far was he from being agitated at
the important change which awaited him, that he
continued the game with the same apparent
interest, and the same undisturbed placidity of
manner. Holdenby, or Holmby House, in Northampton
shire, was one of his own nineteen palaces, where
he had passed some of the happiest moments of
his youth. When Duke of York, it had been pur
chased for him by his mother, Anne of Denmark,
who little anticipated that it would hereafter be
come the prison of her favourite child. It had
originally been built by Lord Chancellor Hatton,
and shortly after receiving the last visit of Charles,
was pulled down by a decree of the Parliament.
During his journey to this place, Charles was re
ceived with every show of affection, and sometimes
even with enthusiasm, by his subjects. On his
arrival, we are told, " very many country gentle
men, gentlewomen, and others of ordinary rank,

CHARLES I. 113
stood ready there, to welcome the King, with joyful
countenances and prayers."*
At Holmby his situation was somewhat im
proved. There was at least the appearance of a
court; he was allowed the services of persons whom
he could trust, and the society of those whom he
loved. It is remarkable, too, that the Parliamen
tary Commissioners waited on him with all due
observance at his meals.f In order to defray in
part his household expenses at this period, accord
ing to a proposition of the Committee of Revenue,
dated 5th February 1647, the communion plate at
Whitehall was sacrilegiously melted. The Com
mittee report to the House of Commons, that the
" vestry plate, hitherto set upon the altar of his
Majesty's chapel at Whitehall," consists as follows :
A paire of great candlesticks, Two gilt lay res,
One gilt shipp, A square basonn and fountaine,
Two gilt vases, A silver rodd.
Charles, though restricted in liberty, was not
* Herbert, p. 15. — " It is note-worthy," 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." — Herbert, vol. v. p. 14. Heath says, that he was " gratu-
lated all the way to Holmby by the people, as in a progress." —
Chron. ofthe Civil Wars, p. 128.
t Clarendon, vol. v. p. 422 ; Herbert, p. 16.
VOL. II. I

114 CHARLES I.
altogether deprived of amusement ; — and no man
could have greater resources in himself. In the
mornings he either rode out on horseback, or paced
up and down the gravel walks at Holmby. He was
a fast walker, and the Earl of Pembroke, the
" memorable simpleton," who was generally forced
upon him as his companion, had some difficulty in
keeping pace with him in the exercise. Bowls was
a game in which Charles had ever taken great
pleasure ; and as there was no bowling-green at
Holmby, he constantly rode over, either to Al-
thorp or Harrowden, (the latter1 a house of Lord
Vaux,) where he might divert himself with his
favourite amusement. The Commissioners were
commonly his companions in the sport. It
would be difficult to imagine a more remarkable
scene than that of the recent competitors for sove
reignty becoming peaceful rivals in such a homely
diversion. In one of his excursions to Harrowden, he en
countered, under peculiar circumstances, the face
of an old friend. , During the period Charles was
a prisoner of the Scots at Newcastle, he had de
spatched a faithful adherent, Major Bosville, to
Paris, with an important letter to the Queen.
Bosville, having obtained a reply, continued seve
ral days lurking in the neighbourhood of Holm
by, before an opportunity offered of delivering
his despatch. Three nights he spent at the mean-

CHARLES I. 115
est cottages, and twice slept under furze bushes
in the open air. At last, disguised as a country
man, and with a fishing-rod in his hand, seizing
an opportunity of the King riding over a narrow
bridge, he surreptitiously placed the important
document in his Majesty's hands. Unfortunately
the Commissioners witnessed the movement ; but
Charles told them it was merely a letter from
the Queen, containing a recommendation that the
Prince should serve in the French army during
the next campaign. Bosville was afterwards ex
amined by the wary Commissioners, but whether
he suffered for his loyalty does not appear. The
gallant soldier, it seems, had made up his mind to
force the letter into the hands of Charles, even
though he should be surrounded by the parlia
mentary guards, and with their pistols pointed
at his head.
Many similar attempts at communicating with
the captive monarch were prevented by the watch
fulness of the Parliament. One Mary Cave, of a
decent family at Stanford, had been enlisted in the
royal cause, and had engaged to deliver a letter
to the King. She happened to be acquainted with
the landlady of one of the parliamentary captains,
who was at that time employed as a guard over
his Sovereign. The landlady had requested the
officer to obtain, for her young friend, the honour
of kissing the King's hand, to which the latter had
i 2

116 CHARLES I.
good-naturedly consented. But in the mean time
the landlady had acquainted her husband with
the design, which the man, unwilling to risk
a discovery, immediately imparted to the cap
tain. The young lady, coming unsuspiciously to
Holmby on the day appointed for her interview
with the King, was instantly seized, and by order
of the Commissioners underwent a strict search.
Fortunately nothing was discovered on her person,
but some days afterwards an important letter was
found behind the hangings of the room, which
it was supposed, during her investigation, she
had ingeniously contrived to conceal.
What greatly distressed the King was, his being
denied not only the attendance of his domestic
chaplains, but even all intercourse whatever with
the ministers of his own church. He had twice
addressed a solemn appeal to the Parliament on
this subject, and though the House of Lords show
ed every inclination to gratify him, the Commons
sternly withheld their consent. Offers of ghostly
assistance, indeed, were constantly made to him by
the Puritan preachers, who were in attendance on
the Commissioners. These people, among other in
trusions, were ever hovering about the royal table,
with the object of pronouncing the benediction ;
but Charles always said the grace himself, and
sometimes even in an audible voice. " The Parlia
ment," says Neal, " appointed two of their clergy,
Mr. Caryl and Mr. Marshall, to preach in the

CHARLES I. 117
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, however,
invariably civil to his persecutors, and though
himself refraining from being present at their
hours of worship, he laid no restraint on his at
tendants. But an act of oppression, which shortly followed,
sunk far more deeply into the heart of Charles.
One day the Commissioners waited on him in a
body, and, acquainting him with the spirit of some
new instructions which they had received, request
ed him, with great apparent humility, to dismiss,.
with only two exceptions, the loyal and affectionate
servants who had been long attached to his person.
Two of the grooms of the bed-chamber, Maxwell
and Mawle, to whom were afterwards added Har
rington and Sir Thomas Herbert, were alone per
mitted to attend him in future. At dinner the same
day, when the faithful train came as usual to wait
on him, he informed them of what had passed, and
added that they must hereafter cease to regard him
as their master. The scene which ensued was af
fecting in the extreme. They offered up the most
fervent prayers for the King's safety and happiness,
and after respectively kissing his hand, retreated
* Hist, of the Puritans, vol. ii. p. 246.

118 CHARLES I.
with all the expressions of the most poignant dis
tress. Charles himself was so much moved, that
he retired to his bed-chamber, and giving orders
that no one should intrude on his privacy, spent
the remainder of the day in solitude and grief.
It is remarkable that neither misery nor confine
ment had the least effect on the health of Charles,
and that during the whole period of his sufferings
he never once had need of a physician. This was,
no doubt, owing in a great measure to the abste
miousness of his diet. It was his custom to eat but
sparingly, and seldom of various dishes. His at
tendant, Herbert, says, that " he drank but" twice
every 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, nor between meals."
One afternoon the King was at Althorp, amusing
himself at bowls with the Commissioners, when
information was brought to them that a large and
suspicious-looking body of horse was on its way to
Holmby. The King was immediately hurried back
to that place, and the Commissioners, after some
consultation, agreed to stand on their defence. At
midnight the troopers arrived, and after drawing
up in regular order before the house, and placing
guards at all the avenues, their leader demanded
admittance. This person was no other than Cornet
Joyce, the son of a tailor, and perhaps the most

CHARLES I. 119
impudent ruffian on record. Though merely armed
with verbal directions from Cromwell, who was
himself perfectly unauthorised to issue them, he
alike laughed at the power of the Parliament and
the reverence which is commonly attached to the
person of a King.
On his knocking for admission, the command
ant of the garrison inquired his name and business.
He replied that his name was Joyce ; that he
was a cornet in Colonel Whaley's regiment, and
that his object was to speak with the King. The
commandant inquired from whom ? Joyce told
him from himself, at which the others very natu
rally gave a contemptuous laugh, but Joyce told
him it was no laughing matter. In the mean time
the soldiers within the garrison and those without
had been sociably conversing together ; and having
discovered that both parties belonged to the same
army, and were attached to the same cause, the
former immediately opened the gates, and Joyce
quietly took command of the house.
Having posted sentinels over the Commissioners'
apartments, he hastened to that part of the house
where the King slept. With a. cocked pistol in
his hand, he knocked loudly at the door of the
grooms of the bed-chamber, through whose apart
ment he must necessarily pass, before he could
gain admission to that of the King. These gen
tlemen, having ascertained from him his name
and object, came to the gallant determination of

120 CHARLES I.
sacrificing their lives sooner than admit the in
truder. In the mean time, the King having been
awakened by the disturbance, rang the silver
bell he was in the habit of keeping by his bed
side, at which Maxwell hastened to his chamber,
while the others defended the outer door. Charles,
being made acquainted with the cause of the tu
mult, positively refused to rise, and Joyce, though
exceedingly exasperated, was at length persuaded
to retire. The next morning the King rose somewhat
earlier than usual, and the cornet, having been
admitted to his presence, told his Majesty with
the utmost confidence, and almost in as few words,
that he came to remove him from Holmby. The
King asked him whither he was to go ? Joyce
told him to the army. Charles naturally request
ed to see his instructions. " Your Majesty shall
be soon satisfied," said the other ; and drawing up
his men, a fine troop and well clad, in the inner
court, pointed them out from the window to
Charles. " Your warrant," said the King, smiling,
" is written in fair characters, and is legible with
out spelling." *
On the 3rd of June 1647, after a residence of
four months, the King departed from Holmby. He
was attended in the same coach by three of the
Commissioners, the Earls of Pembroke and Den
bigh, and Lord Montague; the rest followed on
* Herbert, p. 26 ; Warwick, p. 299.

CHARLES I. 121
horseback. According to Herbert, who was present,
the King was the merriest person of the party.
The fact seems to have been, that Charles was
extremely well pleased with his removal to the
army. He had long entertained a notion that
the most influential officers were secretly his
friends, and that by their means he should even
tually regain possession of his rights. — " Sir," he
once said to Fairfax, " I have as good interest in
the army as yourself." Cromwell and Fairfax both
denied that Joyce had received his authority from
them, but Charles insisted that he could not be
lieve them unless they hung him up for his inso
lence. Cromwell, however, could not conceal the
elation which he felt at the success of the enter
prise. " Now," he said, " that I have the King
in my hands, I have the Parliament in my
pocket." *
It is impossible indeed to doubt that Crom
well was at the bottom of this daring outrage.
Hobbes of Malmesbury observes justly in his Behe
moth, — " I cannot believe that Cornet Joyce could
go out ofthe army with a thousand soldiers to fetch
the King, and neither the General nor the Lieu
tenant-general, nor the body of the army, take
notice of it." With regard to the force with which
Joyce was supported, the accounts are extremely
conflicting. Heath, as well as Hobbes, mentions
them as a thousand strong ; Dr. Barwick as fifteen
* Echard, vol. ii. p. 575.

122 CHARLES I.
hundred ; Sanderson, on the King's authority, as
five hundred, and Clarendon as fifty. Herbert,
who was on the spot, merely speaks of them as
a "body of horse," and in another place as a
" troop." Major Huntingdon, in his " Reasons
for laying down his commission," says expressly, in
speaking of Joyce's exploit, that " Lieutenant Ge
neral Cromwell had given him orders at London
to do what he had done, both there and at Ox
ford." *
From Hinchinbrook, where the King passed the
first night, he came to Childerley, a house of Sir
John Cutts, about four miles from Cambridge.
Hither the fellows and scholars of the University
flocked to him in great numbers, and with every
demonstration of loyalty and respect. He was
also respectfully attended at this place by many
of the principal officers of the army. Among the
number were Cromwell, Ireton, Lambert, and
Whaley. Several of them knelt to him and kissed
his hand.f With Cromwell and Fairfax he had
frequently long interviews, and received from them
the most unbounded professions of fidelity.
From Childerley, Charles was removed to his own
palace at Newmarket. Here, to his great satis
faction, he was at last freed from the attentions
of Cornet Joyce, whose sanctified manners and
vulgar familiarity had continued to annoy him
since their departure from Holmby. Charles, when
* Maseres's Tracts, vol. i. p. 399. + Herbert, p. 35.

CHARLES I. 123
at Childerley, had endeavoured to bring this of
fensive person to trial, and had summoned a coun
cil of war for the purpose; Cromwell's influence,
however, was too powerful, and Joyce escaped un
punished. At Newmarket the King experienced a greater
degree of freedom and kindness than had hitherto
been his lot. He was allowed to take exercise on
the heath, either in his coach or on horseback ; his
chaplains wrere permitted to attend him, and he was
treated generally by the officers of the army with
civility and respect.* He dined in public as in
former days ; his presence-chamber was thronged
with the neighbouring gentry ; and when he went
abroad, he was received with loud acclamations by
the people, f Sir Philip Meadows, who was at
Newmarket during the King's visit, assured Lord
Dartmouth, that Charles's was the only cheerful
countenance to be seen in the place, i
On the 24th of June 1647, the King left New
market for Royston, another royal mansion. Here
he stayed two days, and from thence removed to
Hatfield, where he remained till the end of the
month. At Windsor he passed another two days,
and thence came to Caversham, a seat of Lord
Craven, not far from Reading. While at this
place, he was allowed the exquisite pleasure of
again embracing his children. He met them at
* Clarendon, vol. v. p. 443. t Herbert, p. 38.
£ Burnet, vol. i. p. 86, note.

124 CHARLES I.
Maidenhead, in which town they remained and
passed the evening together. Cromwell, who him
self knew the feelings of a father, was present at
their first interview. He afterwards described the
scene to Sir John Berkley as one of the most
affecting he had ever witnessed. " I met with
him" [Cromwell], says Berkley in his Memoirs,
" about three days after I came to Reading, as he
was coming from the King, then at Caversham. He
told me that he had lately seen the tenderest sight
that ever his eyes beheld, which was the interview
between the King and his children, and wept plen
tifully at the remembrance of it." Ludlow corro
borates the fact, and informs us that while Crom
well was telling the story, the tears rolled down his
cheeks. Charles had the satisfaction of passing two
whole days with his children, while a prisoner at
Caversham. During his residence at this place, the
unfortunate King used to pay frequent visits to a
bowling-green in the retired parish of Whitchurch,
then belonging to the ancient family of Lybbe, and
at present to their descendant Lybbe Powys, Esq.
The bowling-green still remains (1839), and near it
is a small building which used to afford shelter or
refreshment to those who indulged in the game.
Mr. Powys, in his residence, Hardwick House, has
the picture of the old lady who lived in this build
ing, and who used to wait on the King during his
occasional visits.
At Woburn, whither the King was next re-

CHARLES I. 125
moved, he met with an affectionate and even splen
did reception. From thence he was removed to
Latimers, a seat of the Devonshire family ; and
after remaining brief periods at Moore Park near
Rickmansworth, Stoke near Windsor, then the seat
of the Huntingdons, Oatlands, and other places,
he at length arrived at Hampton Court in the
middle of August, about ten weeks after his depar
ture from Holmby.
Charles was extremely gratified with the last
change, and appeared even more cheerful than
before. " He dines abroad," says Sanderson, " in
the Presence Chamber, with the same duties and
ceremonies as heretofore, where many of the gentry
are admitted to kiss his hand. After dinner he
retires to his chamber ; then he walks into the park
or plays at tennis ; yesterday he killed a stag and
a buck." The Court again presented in a great
degree its former magnificence ; the nobility flock
ed round his person ; his servants returned to their
respective duties ; and the chaplains performed
their offices in the royal chapel. The King was
allowed to hunt with the Duke of Richmond ; the
officers of the army continued to treat him with
respect, and Cromwell came often to see him, and
was admitted to long conferences.* Certainly
there is reason to doubt whether that entraordi-
nary man was not, at this period, well inclined
* Heath's Chronicle of the Civil Wars, p. 147 ; Clarendon,
vol. v. p. 471.

126 CHARLES I.
towards his sovereign. There is a tradition of a
secret compact, by which, on the restoration of
the King to his rights, Cromwell was to re
ceive ten thousand a year, the Earldom of Es
sex, and the Garter. The treaty, it is said, was
broken off by the discovery of an autograph letter
from Charles to his Queen, in which the King
stated, that the promise being altogether com
pulsory, he should feel himself justified, when re
stored to liberty and power, in declining to fulfil
the conditions.* This story becomes somewhat
remarkable, when compared with the following
curious anecdote, related by Morrice, the Chap
lain of Lord Orrery, in his memoirs of that noble
man. " One day," says Morrice, " Lord Broghill was
riding, with Cromwell on one side of him and
Ireton on the other, at the head of their army,
when they fell into discourse about the late King's
death. Cromwell declared, that if the King had
followed his own mind, and had had trusty ser
vants about him, he had fooled them all. And
further said, that once they had a mind to have
closed with him ; but upon something that hap
pened, they fell off from that design again. My
Lord, finding Cromwell and Ireton in a good
humour, and no other person being within hearing,
asked them if he might be so bold as to desire an
account, first, why they once would have closed
.* Kennet, vol. iii. p. 170.

CHARLES I. 127
with the King ? and secondly, why they did not ?
Cromwell very freely told him, he would satisfy
him in both his queries. ' The reason,' says he,
' why we would once have closed with the King was
this : we found that the Scots and the Presbyterians
began to be more powerful than we ; and if they
made up matters with the King, we should have
been left in the lurch : therefore, we thought it
best to prevent them, by offering first to come in
upon any reasonable conditions. But while we
were busied in these thoughts, there came a letter
from one of our spies, who was of the King's bed
chamber, which acquainted us, that on that day
our final doom was decreed ; that he could not
possibly tell what it was, but we might find it out
if we could intercept a letter sent from the King
to the Queen, wherein he declared what he would
do. The letter, he said, was sewn up in the skirt
of a saddle, and the bearer of it would come with
the saddle upon his head, about ten of the clock
that night, to the Blue Boar Inn in Holborn ; for
there he was to take horse, and go to Dover with
it. This messenger knew nothing of the letter in
the saddle, but some persons in Dover did. We
were at Windsor when we received this letter ;
and immediately upon the receipt of it Ireton and
I resolved to take one trusty fellow with us, and
with troopers' habits to go to the Inn in Holborn ;
which accordingly we did, and set our man at the
gate of the Inn where the wicket only was open, to

128 CHARLES I.
let people in and out. Our man was to give us no
tice when any person came there with a saddle,
whilst we, in the disguise of common troopers, call
ed for cans of beer, and continued drinking till about
ten o'clock : the sentinel at the gate then gave
notice, that the man with the saddle was come in.
Upon this we immediately arose, and as the man
was leading out his horse saddled, came up to him
with drawn swords, and told him that we were
to search all that went in and out there ; but as
he looked like an honest man, we would only
search his saddle and so dismiss him. Upon that,
we ungirt the saddle, and carried it into the stall,
where we had been drinking, and left the horseman
with our sentinel : then ripping up one of the
skirts of the saddle, we there found the letter of
which we had been informed ; and having got it
into our own hands, we delivered the saddle again
to the man, telling him he was an honest man,
and bidding him go about his business. The man,
not knowing what had been done, went away to
Dover. As soon as we had the letter, we opened
it ; in which we found the King had acquainted
the Queen that he was now courted by both the
factions, the Scotch Presbyterians and the army ;
and which bid fairest for him should have him ;
but he thought he should close with the Scots
sooner than the other. Upon this,1 added Crom
well, 'we took horse, and went to Windsor; and
finding we were not likely to have any tolerable

CHARLES I. 129
terms from the King, we immediately, from that
time forward, resolved his ruin."* This story,
curious as it is, must be received with some degree
of caution.The army had somewhat more humanity than
the Parliament, and permitted frequent interviews
between the King and his children. The first
time that he met them, after coming to Hampton
Court, was at Sion House, the residence of the
Earl of Northumberland, under whose charge they
had for some time been placed. When they be
held their persecuted father, " they fell down on
their knees," says a bystander, " and begged his
blessing." Charles embraced them most affection
ately, and appeared overjoyed to find them in such
perfect health, and so kindly treated. From this
period they were constantly permitted to pass the
day at Hampton Court, or Charles would ride over
to them at Sion.f
At these affecting interviews, Charles omitted no
opportunity of instilling virtuous principles into
the minds of his young children. He conjured the
Duke of York, then about fourteen, in the event
of any accident befalling his unfortunate father, to
transport himself into Holland, where he was cer
tain of being affectionately received by his elder
sister, the Princess of Orange. He desired the
Princess Elizabeth never to marry, unless with the
* Orrery's State Letters, vol. i. p. 26.
f Herbert, p. 49 ; Oar. vol. v. p. 471.
VOL. II. K

130 CHARLES I.
consent of her mother and her brother Charles;
always to be obedient to them both, and to the
Queen especially, except in matters qf religion ;
conjuring her, whatever misfortunes might befall
the Church of England, that she should always be
constant in that faith.* The necessity of faithfully
adhering to the truths enjoined by that church,
Charles had ever solemnly impressed on his family.
On the 22nd of March 1645, he addresses to Prince
Charles the following solemn appeal — " Once
again, I command you, upon my blessing, to be
constant to your religion, neither hearkening to
Romish superstitions, nor the seditions and schis-
matical doctrines of the Presbyterians and Inde
pendents ; for know, that a persecuted church is
not thereby less pure though less fortunate."f
* Echard, vol. ii. p. 584. j- Kennet, vol. iii. p. 161.

131

CHAPTER VII.
The King's Flight from Hampton Court. — Ashburnham's " Fatal
Mistake." — Charles proceeds in custody to the Isle of Wight.
— Colonel Whaley's Account of the Discovery of the King's
Escape from Hampton Court. — The King's Arrival at Cowes.
— Singular Omen. — Arrival at Carisbrook. — Dismissal of the
King's Chaplains and Servants. — Captain Burley's rash
Attempt — his barbarous Execution. — The King's Removal
to Newport. — Anecdotes. — Melancholy Change in the Ap
pearance of Charles. — Projects for his Escape from Caris-
book. — Fruitless Attempts.
The circumstances which induced Charles to fly
from Hampton Court, and the details of that ill-
advised measure, have been variously related by
our historians. It is, however, agreed on all
hands, that his dread of assassination was the prin
cipal motive. Anonymous letters, advertising him
of his danger, had for some time been daily con
veyed to him ; and the King himself, in a letter
to the Parliament which was afterwards found in
his bed-chamber, gave it as the special reason of his
flight : " I cannot deny," he says, " that my per
sonal security is the urgent cause of this my retire
ment." * To this we may add the testimonies of
Sir John Berkley and Ashburnham, the companions
of his flight. " I did most humbly beg of him,"
* Heath's Chronicle, p, 150. k 2

132 CHARLES I.
says the latter in his Narrative, " that he would
be pleased to say whether really and in very deed
he was afraid of his life in that place, for his going
from thence seemed to us a very great change in
his affairs. His Majesty protested to God, that he
had great cause to apprehend some attempt upon
his person, and did expect every hour when it
should be." After every consideration, it appears
most probable that Charles was, after all, a mere
puppet in the hands of Cromwell ; — that the latter
had been previously perfectly well acquainted with
the proposed time and manner of the King's intend
ed flight ; — that it was Cromwell himself who had
caused the fear of assassination to be conveyed to
the mind of his victim ; and that, in fact, Charles
merely fell into a pit which had been prepared for
him by that arch-traitor and extraordinary man. It
was, undoubtedly, the policy of Cromwell to remove
the King as far as possible from the Parliament,
and to surround him with his own creatures. The
latter measure could only be effected by devising
some plausible excuse for enforcing a more rigor
ous confinement, while both objects would natu
rally be accomplished by a flight, which the projec
tor would contrive should be unsuccessful. Crom
well is even said to have privately intimated to
Charles, through his relation Colonel Whaley,
that he could no longer be responsible for his
safety. There is not the slightest doubt but there
was a traitor in the court of Charles, and that his
most secret counsels were instantly conveyed to

CHARLES I. 133
Cromwell. It is remarkable too, that Colonel
Hammond, the Governor of the Isle of Wight, to
whom Ashburnham afterwards entrusted the King's
person, should have left London almost at the
same time that Charles departed from Hampton
Court; and that too at a particular crisis, when
there was no ostensible motive for his returning to
his post, and when the agitations in the army
rendered it important to his own interests that he
should remain in London. The fact is the more
curious, since Ashburnham, it appears, had made
up his mind that the King should entrust himself
with Hammond some time before their departure
from Hampton Court.* Dr. Barwick, who was
likely to be well informed, in the life of his bro
ther, Dr. Peter Barwick, has the following pas
sage : " Cromwell, by his holy cheats, seduced
the good King into the Isle of Wight, and con
fined him in Carisbrook Castle," &c. and Andrew
Marvell, the friend of Cromwell, and from his
situation likely to have had some insight into
the secret history of the period, in his ode on
the return of Cromwell from Ireland, has the
following lines : —
And Hampton shows what part
He had of wiser art,
When, twining subtle fears with hope,
He wove a net of such a scope,
That Charles himself might chase,
To Carisbrook's narrow case

* Clarendon, vol. v. p. 493 and 495.

iffi ¦'? CHARLES I.
It is but fair, however, to remark, that Milton,
Cromwell's Latin secretary, strongly denies, in his
panegyric on the Protector, that he was the de
viser of the flight. It has even been asserted that
some local arrangements, and especially the removal
of the guards to a greater distance from the King's
apartments, were owing to the machinations, and
were a part of the plan, of Cromwell. That the
guards were thus removed is undoubted, though
Hume, who passes over the circumstances of the
King's flight in rather an apathetic manner, assures
us that they were even doubled before his depar
ture. The expression used by Colonel Whaley to
Lenthall, the Speaker, is curious : " I could no
more," he says, " detain the King, if he had a
mind to go, than I could keep a bird in a pound."
Heath goes so far as to assert, that the King's visit
to the Isle of Wight was publicly talked of in that
island long before his arrival, and that the guards
were removed on purpose to give him free egress
from Hampton Court.*
On a dark and tempestuous night, the 11th of
November 1647, the King, pretending to be in
disposed, had retired at an early hour to his own
chamber. When all appeared to be quiet, accom
panied by Ashburnham, Sir John Berkley, and Mr.
Legge, all of them in disguise, he passed through
the vaults of the palace into the garden. From
hence, a private door admitted them to the banks
* Heath's Chronicles, p. 148.

CHARLES I. 1.35
ol the Thames, where a boat was in readiness,
which conveyed them across the water to Thames-
Ditton, where they discovered their horses waiting.*
The account left us by Sir John Berkley is curious :
— " On the Wednesday, as I take it," he says, " we
had orders to send spare horses to Sutton, in Hamp
shire, a place where I never had been, and the
Thursday after, his Majesty, with Will. Legge, came
out at the closing of the evening, and immediately
went towards Oatlands, and so through the forest,
where his Majesty was our guide, but lost our
way, though he were well acquainted with it, the
night being excessively dark and stormy." Having
wandered at least ten miles out of their proper
course, it was day-break when they reached the
inn at Sutton, where they discovered a committee
of the county sitting " about the Parliament's busi
ness." Their horses were immediately ordered out,
and they proceeded on their way to Southamp
ton. Even at this period Charles appears to have
been undecided in what quarter to seek refuge, and
* Heath's Chronicles, p. 148 ; Herbert, p. 52. Lord Cla
rendon's account of the King's flight, is, in one respect, some
what different. " They discovered" he says, " the treading of
horses at a bach door of the garden into which his Majesty had a
passage out of his chamber, and it is true that way he went, having
appointed his horse to be there ready at an hour," &c. History
ofthe Rebellion, vol. v. 488. — It is improbable that Charles should
have had a horse on the Middlesex side of the river. The river,
as is well known, flows immediately under the walls of the gar
den ; and the utmost distance to Thames-Ditton ferry can hard
ly exceed half a mile.

136 CHARLES I.
at his desire all four ofthe fugitives led their horses
down the next hill, for the purpose of conferring
on the subject."
At length they arrived on the sea-shore, not far
from Southampton. The King, being disappoint
ed in a vessel which he appeared to expect — for
Ashburnham seems to have been the only person
in his confidence, — they turned their horses' heads
towards Titchfield, the residence of the Countess
Dowager of Southampton, to whom Charles made
no scruple of discovering himself.
At Titchfield the King again deliberated with
his friends, as to the next step which they should
take. During the debate, Ashburnham proposed
that they should cross over to the Isle of Wight ;
as Hammond, though a friend of Cromwell, and
the son-in-law of Hambden, was the nephew of the
King's favourite chaplain. The details of that
" fatal mistake," are well known. Ashburnham
and Berkley were despatched to the island, with
directions on no account to inform the Governor
of the King's place of abode, unless they could
obtain the most solemn promise of protection, and
an assurance that, if Hammond were unable to
defend his Majesty, at least he would not detain
him. On reaching Carisbrook, they learnt that
Hammond had just ridden towards Newport, whi
ther they proceeded and fell in with him. Berkley
immediately took him aside, and acquainted him
that the King was in the neighbourhood, but with-

CHARLES I. 137
out naming his hiding-place. " Hammond," says
Berkley, " grew so pale, and fell into such a trem
bling, that I did really believe he would have fallen
off his horse, which trembling continued with him
at least half an hour after." Hammond, as is well
known, declined entering into any engagement,
expressing, however, a strong attachment to the
King's person — but alleging the duty which he
owed to his superiors. Such a result to their ne
gotiation intimated anything but the security they
required ; and yet Ashburnham, with inconceiv
able rashness, actually brought back the Governor
with him to Titchfield. Charles, when acquaint
ed with the result of the expedition, could not
conceal the bitterness of the moment, " O Jack !"
he said, " thou hast undone me ! " Ashburnham, as
Berkley tells us, " wept bitterly," and offered to
despatch the Governor, but the King rejected the
proposal. Charles had no choice but to submit,
and accordingly, accompanied Hammond to the
Island.* In the mean time the inmates of Hampton Court
were amazed and confounded at the discovery of
the King's flight. In all the minor details con
nected with the untoward enterprize, there is
great difficulty in arriving at the truth. Hume
cursorily mentions that it was an hour before the
King was missed, while Lord Clarendon seems to
imply that the event did not transpire till the next
'"' Clarendon, vol. v. p. 489, &c.

138 CHARLES I.
morning : — " they who went into his chamber," he
says, " found that he was not there, nor had been
in his bed that night." But the real fact seems to
have been, that Charles took his departure immedi
ately after dark, which in the month of November,
would be at an early hour,) and that he was miss
ed about three hours after he had commenced his
flight* Colonel Whaley, who had the charge of
his person, in his official despatch to the Speaker,
minutely details the circumstances of the disco
very. " As for the manner, Mr. Speaker, of the
King's going away, it was thus : — Mondays and
Thursdays were the King's set days for his writing
letters to be sent into foreign parts. His usual
time of coming out of his bed-chamber on those
* Whitelock says, November 12 ; — " Letters from Lieutenant-
general Cromwell, to the House, of the King's going away.
That the Commissioners and Colonel Whaley missing him at
supper, went into his chamber and found him gone, leaving his
cloak in the gallery, and some letters of his own handwriting
upon the table." Rushworth says, " November 11. This night
came the unexpected news of his Majesty's escape from Hamp
ton Court. About nine of the clock, the officers who attended
him wondered he came not forth of his chamber, went in, and
missed him within half an hour of his departure" It appears
from the Journal of the House of Commons, that Cromwell's
letter to the House was dated November 11, twelve at night,
and mentions nine o'clock as the hour of the King's departure.
It is evident, however, that as no one had seen him set off, and
as his keepers had all along believed him to be safe in his apart
ment, the exact hour of his flight could not as yet have been
ascertained. Sir John Berkley, who accompanied Charles from
Hampton Court, mentions especially that he " came forth at
the closing ofthe evening."

CHARLES I. 139
days, was betwixt five and six of the clock. Pre
sently 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," proceeds Whaley,
" I came into the room next his bed-chamber,
where I found the Commissioners and bed-cham
ber-men : I asked them for the King. They told
me, he was writing letters in his bed-chamber.
I waited there without mistrust till six of the
clock. I then began to doubt ; and told the
bed-chamber men, Mr. Maule and Mr. Murray,
I wondered the King was so long a writing. They
told me he had, they thought, some extraordinary
occasion. " Within half an hour after, I went into the
next room to Mr. Oudart, told him I marvelled
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, there
fore, I thought, he should do well to see, and to

140 CHARLES I.
satisfy both myself and the House, that were in fears
of him. He replied, the King had given strict com
mands not to molest him, therefore durst not ; be
sides 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 oft, that I might know
whether his Majesty were there or not : but all to
no purpose. He still plainly told me, he durst not
disobey his Majesty's commands.
" When it drew towards eight of the clock, I
went to Mr. Smithby, keeper of the privy lodgings,
desiring him 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 amaz
ed me.
" I went presently back to the Commissioners
and bed-chamber men, acquainted them with it;
and therefore desired Mr. Maule again, to see
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 I would speak to
the Commissioners to go along with us. I did • we
all went.

CHARLES I. 141
" 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 Commissioners said, it may be the King is in
his closet. Mr. Maule presently replied and said,
he is gone."*
Parties of horse and foot were instantly despatch
ed to search the lodge in the park, as well as Ash
burnham's house at Ditton and other places ; and
measures were still being taken for the King's disco
very, when the news of his being a prisoner in the
Isle of Wight was received by the Parliament.
Among other papers which were found in the King's
bed-chamber after his flight, was a kind letter to
Colonel Whaley ; who, however faithful to his
employers, had failed in being a rigorous or un
feeling guardian. The document throws some light
on the amiable character of Charles, who never
lost sight of private duties, even in the most ex
citing moments of his life.
" Colonel Whaley,
" 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 pro-
* Desid. Cur. lib. ix. p. 40.

142 CHARLES I.
tecting of my household-staff 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 eldest daughter's picture, copied
by Belcan, to the Countess of Anglesey ; and my
Lady Stanhope's picture to Cary Raleigh. There
is a fourth, which I had almost forgot, it is the
original of my eldest daughter ; it hang! 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 resti
tution, I rest, Your friend, Charles Rex.
" P. S. — I assure you it was not the letter you
showed me yesterday that made me take this reso
lution, nor any advertisement of that kind. But I
confess that I am loath 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." *
On landing in the Isle of Wight, the King pass
ed the first night at Cowes. It may be remarked
that, in 1713, the minister of Newport exhibited
to a person, (from whom Bishop Kennet had the
story,) an old and curious carved bedstead, on
which King Charles rested on that eventful night.
* Heath, Chron. p. 149.

CHARLES I. 143
On the head-board were engraved in gilt letters
the words, " Remember thy end." The King, tak
ing it as an omen of his approaching death, knelt
and prayed fervently by the bed-side.*
From Cowes, Charles was conducted by Colonel
Hammond to his memorable prison at Carisbrook.
As he passed through Newport, a lady presented
him with a Damask rose, which, notwithstanding
the inclement season of the year, still flourished
in her garden ; accompanying the graceful offering
with an ardent prayer for his happiness. The
King thanked her kindly, and seemed much grati
fied, and even affected, by the attention.
For a brief period Charles was treated at Caris
brook with every demonstration of respect. His
chaplains were again allowed to attend him ; his
old servants repaired to him as before, and he was
permitted to ride about the island as he pleased.
But the days of bitterness were fast approaching ;
his chaplains were first removed, and then came an
order that all whom he had longest loved and had
most confided in should be discharged from their
attendance. This last seems to have been a heavy
blow to Charles, and he could with difficulty con
ceal his grief. " Such," says Herbert, " as were
at that time in the presence, noted it; but not
* Kennet, Comp. Hist. vol. iii. p. 170. — The author has
recently made personal inquiries at Newport, but, notwith
standing the kind exertions of more than one individual to
whom he was a stranger, could discover no trace of this inter
esting relic.

144 CHARLES I.
knowing the occasion of his Majesty's sadness, they
seemed full of grief, as by their dejected looks was
visible. But the King beckoning with his hand to
Mr. Ashburnham and others, he told them what the
governor had communicated. Next day, after the
King had dined, those gentlemen came all toge
ther, and prostrating themselves at his Majesty's
feet, prayed God for his preservation, and, kissing
his hand, departed." From this period the King
was precluded from his usual rides, his recreation
being entirely confined to the lines of the castle.
The barbican, however, had been converted by
Hammond into a bowling-green, and afforded him
some amusement. A " pretty summer-house" had
also been constructed on the ramparts, whither
he frequently retired to commune with his own
thoughts. The bowling-green on the barbican at
Carisbrook, with its turf steps ; the walls of the
old castle frowning above it, and its beautiful
marine view, is as perfect at the present moment as
if it had been laid down but yesterday. A great
portion of his time, at this period, was passed by
Charles either in the study of the Bible, or in
earnest prayer.
It is worthy of remark, that during his confine
ment at Carisbrook, persons afflicted with the evil
continued to resort to him in infinite numbers, and
from the remotest parts. Throughout the Isle of
Wight the kind-hearted inhabitants were much
affected by the misfortunes of their King, and at

CHARLES I. 145
their assemblies openly expressed their indignation
at the treatment which he received. There was
on the island a gallant man, of a good family, one
Captain Burly, who had formerly commanded one
ofthe King's ships of war. When the fleet became
disloyal to its Sovereign, Burly was dismissed from
his post by the Parliament; but willing to serve his
master in any capacity, he shortly afterwards en
tered the royal army. In his new profession he
soon rose to an important command, and only when
the .royal cause was utterly lost, retired to his na
tive island and to the society of his early friends.
He had lived thus for some time, beloved and re
spected, when, observing the indignation of the
people, he one day, with more chivalry than dis
cretion, caused a drum to be beat, and placing
himself at the head of a small body of loyalists,
called out to them to follow him, and he would
lead them to the rescue of their King. Among the
assembly, however, were some cooler heads than
his own, and the project was forced to be dropped.
" Poor Burly," as Lord Clarendon styles him, paid
the forfeit of his rashness. The gallant fellow was
condemned to be hung, drawn and quartered ; and
with many unnecessary circumstances of barba
rity, the sentence was carried literally into exe
cution.* Herbert has supplied us with a list of books
in which the King most delighted at this period.
* Clarendon, vol. v. p. 510.
VOL. II. L

146 CHARLES I.
Next to the Holy Scriptures, he says, his Majesty
preferred " Bishop Andrew's Sermons, Hooker's
Ecclesiastical Polity, Dr. Hammond's Works, Vil-
lalpandus upon Ezekiel, Sand's Paraphrase on
the Psalms of David, Herbert's Divine Poems,
Fairfax's translation of Tasso, and Spenser's Faery
Queene." When at Carisbrook, Charles himself clothed
his melancholy feelings in poetry. The verses in
question, which extend to a considerable length,
were omitted in the collection of the King's works,
but were printed shortly afterwards by his biogra
pher Perinchief. Burnet, who seems to have been
ignorant of the latter fact, mentions in his Lives
of the Dukes of Hamilton, that " he had them
from a very worthy gentleman, who attended on
Charles, and copied them from the original. " The
mighty sense and great piety of them," he adds,
" will be found to be beyond all the sublimities of
poetry, which are not yet wanting here." Even
Walpole condescends to speak well of them. " The
poetry," he says, " is uncouth and inharmonious ;
but there are strong thoughts in them, some good
sense, and a strain of majestic piety." It may be
doubted if too high praise has not been passed
upon this production : the following verses are cer
tainly far from happy : —
Tyranny bears the title of taxation,
Revenge and robbery are reformation ;
Oppression gains the name of sequestration.

CHARLES I. 147
My loyal subjects, who, in this bad season,
Attend (by the law of God and reason,)
They dare impeach and punish for high treason.
Next at the clergy do their furies frown,
Pious episcopacy must go down;
They will destroy the crosier and the crown.
Churchmen are chained, and schismatics are freed,
Mechanics preach, and holy fathers bleed ;
The crown is crucified with the creed.
The Church of England doth all faction foster,
The pulpit is usurped by each impostor ;
Ex tempore excludes the pater noster.
Hume justly observes, that the truth of the sen
timent, rather than the elegance of expression, ren
ders them very pathetic.
The following couplet also, composed by Charles
in the treaty chamber at Newport, has been pre
served by Nicholas Oudart, —
A coward 's still unsafe, but courage knows
No other foe but him who does oppose.
It was the custom of Charles, at this period, to
insert mottos, or remarkable verses, in the blank
pages of his favourite authors. In many of them he
wrote the words Dum spiro spero, — while I breathe"
I have hope. In another book he had inserted the
following couplet, probably from Boethius, —
Rebus in adversis facile est contemnere vitam ;
Fortiter ille facit, qui miser esse potest: l 2

148 CHARLES I.
Which may thus be translated, —
In grief 'tis easy to despise the grave,
Who dares be wretched, is the truly brave.
And again, from Claudian,
Fallitur egregio quisquis sub principe credit
Servitium ; nunquam libertas gratior extat,
Quam sub fcege pio.
There is no slavery in a good man's rule ; —
But ne'er does liberty more grateful spring,
Than 'neath the empire of a pious King. *
After a confinement of several months at Caris
brook, Charles was removed to the house of a
private gentleman at Newport, where his friends
were once more permitted to visit him. This
change was rendered necessary in consequence
of the personal negotiation which was pending
between Charles and the Parliamentary Commis
sioners ; there being a want of space, and other
facilities, at Carisbrook, by which the treaty
could commodiously be carried on. The change
was an agreeable one to Charles, who had been
long in constant dread of assassination. To Sir
John Bowring he said : " I have had a sad time
* The copy of Shakspeare's Plays which belonged to Charles,
containing several of these interesting insertions, is preserved
in the royal library at Windsor. This relic is rendered the
more curious from its pages being interspersed with manv au
tograph annotations of King George the Third.

CHARLES I. 149
of it, since the two Houses imprisoned me in this
castle, expecting every hour when I should be
murdered." One day, at Newport, the King beck
oned Sir Philip Warwick to the window where
he was standing, and pointing out to him a little
hump-backed man in the street, inquired if he
knew who it was. Sir Philip answering that he
had never seen him before, — "I show him to
you," said Charles, " because he was the best
companion I had for three months together at
Carisbrook, where he used to light my fires." Sir
Philip Warwick relates another slight incident
which occurred about the same period. " One
evening," he says, " the King's favourite dog
scraping at the door, his Majesty desired Sir
Philip to let in Gipsy." " I perceive," said the
latter, as he opened the door, " that your Majesty
loves greyhounds better than spaniels." " Yes,"
replied Charles, " for they are both equally at
tached, and the greyhound is no flatterer." The
interesting apartments which witnessed these
scenes, are now occupied by the Free School, at
Newport. The famous Treaty Chamber is the
present school-room.
The Commissioners, who presided at the treaty,
were much surprised at the melancholy change,
which sorrow, rather than time, had produced in
the appearance of Charles. Though less than a
year had elapsed since they had last seen him
at Hampton Court, his hair had become almost

150 CHARLES I.
entirely grey. Since the expulsion of his ser
vants, too, he had worn nearly the same clothes,
and had allowed his beard and the hair of his
head to grow at will. Nevertheless his mind ap
peared as clear ever, and his cheerfulness and
manly dignity were even more conspicuous than
before. Previously to his quitting Carisbrook, Charles,
it may be mentioned, had entertained more than
one project of escape. There are extant several
letters, which passed between the King and one
of his faithful followers, relative to the mode of
his intended flight. In one of them, without
date, Mr. Firebrace thus writes to the King :
" This night I have thought of a new project,
which, by the grace of God, will effect your
business. 'Tis this. In the back-stairs window
are two casements, in each two bars : one of the
bars, in that next the door, shall be cut, which will
give you way enough to go out. I am certain the
top of the hill comes within a yard of the casement,
so that you may easily step out, and keep close to
the wall till you come to a hollow place, (which
you may observe as you walk to-morrow,) where
with ease you may go down and so over the out
works. If you like this way, it shall be carried
on thus. Hen. C  shall cut the bar, and do
up the gap with wax or clay, so that it cannot
be perceived. I have already made it loose at
the top, so that when you intend your business.

CHARLES I. 151
you shall only pull it, and it will come forth.
You must sup late and come up so soon as you
have supped. Put off your George and on your
grey stockings, and on notice to be given you by
Hen. C  , come into the back stairs and so
step out. We shall meet you, and conduct you
to your horses, and then to the boat."
Charles writes in reply to this letter, 26th April,
1648 : — "I have now made perfect trial, and find
it impossible to be done ; for my body is much too
thick for the breadth of the window, so that un
less the middle bar be taken away, I cannot get
through. I have also looked upon the other, and
find the one much too little, and the other so high,
that I know not how to reach it without a ladder ;
besides, I do not believe it so much wider than
the other, as that it will serve ; wherefore, it is
absolutely impossible to do anything to-morrow,
at night."* All difficulties, however, having been
removed, on a particular night horses were
placed in readiness, and a vessel was provided
for his transportation, when the design was un
fortunately discovered. Charles, it appears, had
been furnished with a saw and file, with which
instruments, after considerable labour, he had
succeeded in sawing through one of the bars of
the window. At midnight, the hour agreed upon
with his friends without, he was proceeding to
* Life of Dr. J. Barwick, by Dr. P. Barwick, p. 383 to 391.
Appendix.

152 CHARLES I.
make his escape, when he perceived, what was
extremely unusual, some persons in conversation
below. Suspecting that his purpose had tran
spired, he closed the window hastily, and retired
to bed. In the mean time Hammond, who seems
to have been acquainted all along with what was
passing, entered the King's apartment, and per
ceived, by the bar which had been removed, that
his suspicions had been correct.
A second attempt at escape, which proved equally
unfortunate in its result, is recorded both by Cla
rendon and Ashburnham. Charles, on this oc
casion, placing faith in the vulgar notion, that
where the head can make its egress, the body can
invariably follow, had inserted his head through
the bars ; but was unable, by forcing himself either
backwards or forwards, to extricate himself from
his painful situation. In this predicament he was
compelled to call for assistance, and the design
transpired.* There is much reason to suppose,
that had Charles descended from the window, he
would have been fired at by a traitor below ; in
deed, the suspected person, one Rolph, was after-
* Ashburnham says in his Narrative : " Having discovered
upon trial that he could pass his body between the bars of the
window of his chamber, because he found there was room
enough for his head, (the rule being that where the head can
pass the body may,) but most unhappily he mistook the way of
measure, for instead of putting forth his head sideways, he did
it right forward, by which error, when all things were adjusted
for his escape the second time, and that he thought to put in

CHARLES I. 153
wards tried at Winchester assizes for the conspi
racy. The trial, however, was a mere juggle :
Rolph was placed under no kind of restraint ;
the jury were prejudiced in his behalf, and even
the judge interfered in his favour. The conse
quence was, that the bill was ignored by the grand
jury ; — the same, nearly to a man, who had re
cently condemned poor Burly to an untimely
end.* execution what he thought so sure, (his passage through the
window,) he stuck so fast in it, and (as he was pleased to send
me word) did strain so much in the attempt, as he was in great
extremity, though with long and painful struggling he got back
again.'' See also Sir John Bowling's account of Secret Trans
actions in ihe Isle of Wight.
* Clarendon, vol. vi. p. 192 to 198; Herbert, p. 115.

154

CHAPTER VIII.
Charles's Observation on parting with the Commissioners. —
The King's Refusal to break his Parole — his departure from
Newport. — Hurst Castle and its grim Captain. — The King's
Confinement there. — Midnight Visit of Major Harrison. —
Removal ofthe King. — Loyalty ofthe People of Winchester.
— Lord Newburgh's Scheme for the King's Escape. — Treat
ment of Charles at Windsor. — Announcement to him of a
Public Trial — his departure from Windsor. — Military Caval
cade conducting the King to London — his Arrival at St.
James's — his Treatment there. — Discontinuance of all State
Ceremony. — The King's Sufferings at this Period. — Ashburn
ham's futile Project for the King's Escape. — Proclamation of
his approaching Trial — he is conveyed to Cotton House, and
summoned to attend his Trial. — Appearance of Westminster
Hall on that Occasion. — Bradshaw, the President, in danger
of Assassination. — Demeanour of Charles when conducted to
the Bar. — Daring Conduct of Lady Fairfax. — Charles's Denial
of the Authority ofthe Court. — Bradshaw's brutal Behaviour.
— Indignities heaped on Charles. — An evil Omen. — Bradshaw
and his Wife on the Morning of the last Day of the King's
Trial. — Sentence of Death pronounced — its Effect on
Charles  Bradshaw prohibits the King from speaking. —
Insulting Conduct of the Soldiers. — Public Sympathy. — Re
moval of Charles to St. James's.
About the close of the Treaty of Newport, when
all hope of accommodation was evidently at an
end, Charles was standing at a window, employed

CHARLES I. 155
in dictating to Sir Philip Warwick, when a thought
seemed suddenly to strike him. " I wish," he said,
" I had consulted nobody but myself; for then, as
where in honour or conscience I could not have
complied, I could have easily been positive ; for
with Job I would willinglier have chosen misery
than sin." While he spoke these words the tears
gathered in his eyes, and rolled down his cheeks.
" They were the biggest drops," adds Sir Philip,
" that ever I saw fall from an eye ; but, re
collecting himself, he turned presently his head
away, for he was loth it should be discerned.''
His parting with the Commissioners was affect
ing. " My Lords," he said, " I believe we shall
scarce see each other again ; but God's will be
done. I have made my peace with him, and shall
undergo, without fear, whatever he may suffer
men to do to me."*
The time had now approached when Charles
was to bid farewell to the Isle of Wight, and
Colonel Cobbit, with a party of horse, was des
patched thither to conduct his removal. The
King had already received some intimation of
what would happen, and was strongly pressed
by his friends to make another effort to escape ;
but he was at this time on his parole, and pe
remptorily refused to break it.f The affection
ate entreaties of the Earl of Lindsey and Colonel
Cook, produced not the slightest effect. After
* Evelyn's Memoirs, Appendix. t Echard, vol. ii. p. 620.

156 CHARLES I.
combating their arguments for some time, — ' ' Good
night," said the King, " I shall go and take my
rest." — " Which, I fear," rejoined Cook, taking
up the words, " will not be long." Charles, per
ceiving Cook to be much discomposed : " Ned,"
he said, " what troubleth you ?" Cook replied,
" that it was his Majesty's danger, and the dis
inclination which he showed to adopt any mea
sures which might avert it." " Were your trou
ble greater," replied Charles, " I would not for
feit my word to alleviate it." f
The morning after this conversation, Colonel
Cobbit presented himself to the King, and formally
intimated to him his instructions. He refused,
however, to acquaint the King with his destina
tion, or even to satisfy him whether his instruc
tions were from the Parliament or from the army.
After a brief colloquy, Cobbit pressed his Ma
jesty to enter his coach, which, he added, had
been already prepared for his use. Charles turn
ed sorrowfully to bid- farewell to those faithful
servants, whom he probably never expected to
meet again : like those about him, he seemed
fully satisfied that it was to be his last journey,
and that he was proceeding to a violent death.
" Never," says Herbert, who was present, " was
beheld more grief in men's faces, or greater fears
in their hearts, the King being at such a time,
and in such a manner hurried away, they knew
* Kennet, vol. iii. p. 178.

CHARLES I. 157
not whither ; Tmt no remedy appearing, the no
blemen, the venerable persons, and other his Ma
jesty's servants, approached to kiss the King's
hand, and to pour forth their supplications to
Almighty God to safeguard and comfort his Ma
jesty in that his disconsolate condition." Charles,
who on similar melancholy occasions had been the
most cheerful of the party, betrayed the mental
suffering which he endured. As he was entering
his coach, Cobbit, without any invitation, showed
an intention of entering it also, but the King, by
pointedly opposing his foot, made him sensible that
the intrusion was as unpalatable as it was insolent.
The Duke of Richmond was allowed to attend him
for the distance of two miles. His only other
companions were Herbert, Harrington, and Mild-
may, his carver. When the Duke of Richmond
kissed the King's hand, on taking his melancholy
farewell, Charles desired that he would carry back
his kind remembrance to the Earl of Lindsey and
Colonel Cook :— " Tell Colonel Cook from me,"
he said, " never to forget the passages of this
night."* A more wretched spot can scarcely be conceived,
than that in which Charles once again found him
self a prisoner. Hurst Castle stood about a mile
and a half into the sea, on a cold and gloomy pro
montory, remarkable for its noxious vapours, and
so unwholesome that the guards were constantly
* Kennet, vol. iii. p. 178.

158 CHARLES I.
compelled to be changed;* — "a dismal recepta
cle," observes Herbert, "for. so great a monarch,
the greatest part of whose life had been so full
of earthly glory." — " The captain of this wretched
place," adds Herbert, " 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 could
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."
This tremendous personage, however, appears to
have been a mere bully ; for his rudeness having
been complained of to his superior officer, he sunk
into the insignificant underling.
During the three weeks that Charles remained
at Hurst, there was little to divert the melancholy
of his thoughts. His walks were confined to a
shingly shore, the nature of which rendered his
favourite exercise extremely unpleasant ; his ac
commodations were slender in the last degree ;
and his apartment was so dark that he required
candles at noon-day. Indeed, from the time he
was first a prisoner in the Isle of Wight, his
personal luxuries had never been very carefully
attended to. He told Sir Philip Warwick that
* Heath, p. 193 ; Clar. vol. vi. p. 203 ; Walker's History of
Independency, Part ii. p. 27.

CHARLES I. 159
" though he had never complained, yet he had
frequently been in want even of clean linen."
At the latter part of the King's stay at Hurst,
about midnight, an unusual noise was heard in the
castle. The drawbridge was let down, and the
sound of horses' feet was plainly perceptible. The
noise awoke the King, who rang his silver bell for
Herbert, and desired him to ascertain the cause
of the disturbance. The whole, however, that
Herbert could discover, was, that Major Harrison
had arrived at the castle with a troop of horse.
The King said nothing at the time, but desiring
Herbert to attend in the outer room, composed
himself to prayer. In less than an hour he opened
the door, and appeared to be in so much affliction
that Herbert could not refrain from tears. " I am
not afraid," said the King, " but do not you know
that this is the man who intended to assassinate
me ?" — adding, " this is a fit place for such a
purpose. Herbert," he said, " I trust to your
care ; go again, and make further inquiry into his
business." Herbert shortly returned, bringing with
him the information that his Majesty was imme
diately to be removed to Windsor. At this news
the King appeared much pleased, little imagining,
however, that it was to be but another step to
the block.
Two days after this event, the King bade adieu
to Hurst, and commenced his journey towards
London. At Winchester, he met with much re-

160 CHARLES I.
spect, and an appearance of loyalty to which he
had been long a stranger. The bells of the town
were rung ; the Mayor and Aldermen received
him at his entry, and presented him with the keys
and mace of the city ; the gentry flocked in num
bers to welcome him, and the people hailed him
with acclamations.* He passed the night at a
gentleman's house at Farnham, where he was
waited on by several officers of the army, and by
several of the influential persons in the neigh
bourhood. His manner at this period was at least
that of a cheerful, if not of a happy man.
The next day he dined at Lord Newburgh's
house at Bagshot, where another wild scheme
had been devised for his escape. Lord Newburgh
having ascertained, while the King was yet at
Hurst, that he would shortly be removed to
Windsor, had sent privately to his Majesty, re
commending, that before he reached Bagshot, he
should contrive to lame the horse which he rode ;
adding, that he would then supply him with a
fresh one out of his own stables, which he would
undertake should be one of the fleetest in England.
Had this plan succeeded, Charles was to have
waited till the night set in, (by which time they
would probably have been in the heart of Windsor
forest, with the windings of which he was well
acquainted) when he was to set spurs to his horse,
and gallop away from his keepers. Accordingly,
* Heath's Chron. p. 193; Herbert, p. 138.

CHARLES I. 161
Charles, who appears to have regarded the plan
as a feasible one, (as had previously been agreed
upon,) expressed a .strong desire to dine at Bagshot,
and as they approached Lord Newburgh's house,
made great complaints of the horse which he rode,
and expressed his intention of providing himself
on the first opportunity with another. At Bag-
shot, however, the information was conveyed to
him, that the horse in which he had so much
trusted had been lamed but the day before.* Even
had this accident not happened, it is difficult to
believe that he could have escaped the vigilance,
or at least the pistols of his keepers.
At Windsor he was treated with much civility
by Colonel Whichcot, the Governor of the Castle.
For some time he seemed to take an interest in
passing events, and we find him casually sending
the seeds of some Spanish melons to be planted
in the Queen's gardens at Wimbledon. He gene
rally walked on that part of the 'terrace which looks
towards Eton, and which also happened to be the
aspect of his apartments. When Whichcot inform
ed him that, in a few days, he was to be conveyed
to Whitehall, " God," he said, " is everywhere
alike, in wisdom, power and goodness." It was
here that the first intimation was conveyed to him
of those extraordinary proceedings, which in a few
days were to follow. When the probability of a
public trial was announced to him, he retired to
* Clarendon, vol. vi. p. 221.
VOL. II. M

162 CHARLES I.
his own chamber, and passed a considerable time
in solitude and prayer.
On the day fixed for his departure from Wind
sor, he passed through a double line of soldiers
to the Round Tower, or Keep, where his coach
was in readiness to receive him. At the last mo
ment, he was allowed an interview with the un
fortunate Duke of Hamilton, who was also a pri
soner in the castle. The Duke fell on his knees,
and kissing the King's hand exclaimed in a pas
sion of grief, " my dear master ! " Charles replied,
" I have indeed been so to you." But the meeting
was not allowed to be protracted, and after a tender
and solemn farewell, the kind monarch and the
loyal subject were separated for the last time.* At
the great gate of the castle, at the end of Peascod-
street, as well as in the market-place, the King
was successively joined by different bodies of sol
diers, who placed themselves under the command
of Major Harrison, and followed close behind the
royal coach. One Proctor, in his evidence at the
trial of Hugh Peters, thus describes his encoun
tering them on the road. " Having occasion," he
says, " to go from London to Windsor, the day
that the King was brought from thence a pri
soner, 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,
* Burnet, Lives of the Dukes of Hamilton, p. 379.

CHARLES I. 163
at last I espied the prisoner at the bar immediately
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 ditch, horse and all,
where I stayed till they passed by, and was glad I
escaped so."* It was probably about this period,
that the fanatical buffoon, Hugh Peters, pressed
his spiritual assistance upon his persecuted Sove
reign : " I did intend," said the republican, " to
preach before the poor wretch, but the poor wretch
would not hear me."f Passing through Brentford
and Hammersmith, the cavalcade at length con
ducted the King to St. James's, the scene of many
happier days, and the last prison of the persecuted
monarch. On his arrival at St. James's, the first act of
Charles was to retire to his own chamber, where
he continued some time in prayer and in the pe
rusal of the Bible. For about the period of a fort
night he was treated with some regard to his ex
alted rank, though with little respect to his pri
vate feelings. Although the principal nobility, his
favourite servants, and his domestic chaplains, were
excluded from his society, he was still attended
with some degree of former state. He dined pub
licly in the presence-chamber ; the gentlemen of
his household waited on him at his meals, and the
* Trial of the Regicides, p. 518. t Same, p. 165.
m 2

164 CHARLES I.
cup as usual was presented to him on the knee.
Nevertheless the strictest guard was placed over
his person, and only one of his followers, the affec
tionate Herbert, was permitted to attend him in
his bed-chamber. But even the mockery of respect
was continued but for a few days. It was decreed,
at one of the councils of the army, that hence
forward all state ceremony should be dispensed
with, and that the number of domestics, and even
the dishes supplied to his table, should be dimi
nished. When this unfeeling and parsimonious
curtailment, and the absence of many faithful faces,
were first witnessed by Charles, and when his re
stricted meal was brought into his presence by
common soldiers — " There is nothing," he remarked,
" more contemptible than a despised Prince." From
this time he caused his food to be conveyed into his
own chamber, and ate his dinner in private.
In one of the suppressed passages of Lord Cla
rendon's history, there is a heart-stirring account of
the King's sufferings at this period, but it scarcely
appears to be borne out by the testimony of other
writers. According to the noble historian, a guard
of soldiers was forced upon him, night as well as
day, even in his bed-chamber, where they smoked
and drank as if they had been among their own
comrades in the guard-room. The King, it is
added, was confined entirely to his bed-chamber,
where he was compelled to perform his devotions,
and whatever nature requires, in the presence of
these rude companions.

CHARLES I. 165
A project had been set on foot to effect his
escape, but the usual fatality attended it. Ashburn
ham says in his Narrative ; " 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 pro-
poseth, and God disposeth, and no creature is able
to resist his power." It may be remarked that
such soldiers as had once guarded the King, were
never again selected for the same duty. It was
apprehended that their feelings might be too much
wrought upon by such a scene of piety and dis
tress. Charles, though in daily fear of private assassi
nation, to the last could scarcely comprehend the
possibility of a public trial and execution. He
believed that he might be imprisoned for life, that
monarchy might be abolished in his person, or that
his son might be called upon to reign in his room,
but the awful catastrophe which followed, he seems
scarcely to have regarded as a possible disaster.
However, on the 9th of January 1649, to the as
tonishment of the citizens of London, and the in
dignation of the majority, a serjeant-at-arms rode
solemnly into the middle of Westminster Hall, and,
with the sound of drums and trumpets, proclaimed
the approaching trial. On the 19th, the King was
conveyed in a sedan-chair from St. James's through
the park, to his usual bed-chamber at Whitehall,

166 CHARLES I.
at the door of which a guard of soldiers was placed.
In order to have Herbert nearer his person, he
desired him to bring his pallet-bed into his own
chamber. The next day he was conveyed in a sedan-chair
to the house of Sir Robert Cotton, on the bank of
the Thames, near the west-end of Westminster
Hall. King-street and Palace-yard were lined on
each side with soldiers, between whom the unhappy
monarch passed ; Herbert, the only one of his
servants who was allowed to attend him, walking
by his side bare-headed.
Shortly after his arrival at Cotton-house, he was
summoned by Colonel Hacker to attend that self-
constituted tribunal, the proceedings of which can
not but be viewed with mingled feelings of asto
nishment and abhorrence. Apart from the amazing
spectacle of a great nation sitting in judgment on
its Sovereign, and from the melancholy considera
tions suggested by the position of Charles, the
scene which presented itself must have been impos
ing and magnificent in the extreme. At the upper,
or south end of the hall, on benches covered with
scarlet, and raised one above the other, sat the
judges, whose numbers amounted to about seventy.
In the centre, on a raised platform, was placed a
chair of state for the President Bradshaw ; it was
covered with crimson velvet, as was also a desk
placed before him for his use. Immediately facing
Bradshaw was placed a chair of velvet for the

CHARLES I. 167
King ; and in the space between them was a table,
covered with a rich Turkey carpet, on which the
mace and sword of justice were laid, and at which
the two clerks of the court were seated. On either
side of the hall, galleries had been erected for the
convenience of spectators ; and behind, and on the
right and left of the King, were the soldiers and
officers of the court ; Cook, the Solicitor for the
self-styled people of England, standing on the
King's right hand. A strong bar ran across the
centre of the hall, behind which were crowded the
populace in a dense mass.
Even the leads and windows of the hall were
filled with soldiers. This was not so much a pre
caution to prevent the escape or rescue of the
King, as to protect the persons of the judges.
Bradshaw, the President, stood in no slight danger
of assassination. One Burghill, a royalist, had
made up his mind to shoot him, but his intention
being discovered, he was instantly arrested : for
tunately, the soldiers who guarded Burghill be
coming intoxicated, he was enabled to escape.
Bradshaw was well aware of his danger, and pro
cured a high-crowned beaver hat lined with steel.
This remarkable relic, with a suitable Latin in
scription, was afterwards presented to the Museum
at Oxford, where it is still preserved.
The King, on entering Westminister Hall, was
received from the custody of Colonel Hacker by
the Serjeant-at-arms, who conducted his Majesty

168 CHARLES I.
to the bar. After looking sternly at his judges,
and on the galleries on each side of him, he seated
himself without either taking off his hat, or show
ing the least respect for the court. Some minutes
afterwards he rose from his chair, and turning
round, fixed his eyes steadily on the guards and
the crowd of people behind him. While the charge
was being read, he sat unmoved and maintained
his usual placidity of countenance ; while at some
of the more absurd or daring allegations he was
occasionally observed to smile. " One thing was
remarked in him," says Mrs. Hutchinson in her
Memoirs ; " 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
Earl of Strafford."
When the name of Fairfax, the Lord General,
had been called over, and no answer was return
ed, a female voice exclaimed from one of the gal
leries, " He has more wit than to be here ;" but
when, in the course of reading the charge, the pro
ceedings were stated to be on behalf of the people
of England, the same mysterious voice called out
still louder — " No, not the hundredth part of them !
It is false — where are they ? — Oliver Cromwell is
a traitor." The utmost confusion was the conse-

CHARLES T. 169
quence, and Colonel Axtell even desired the sol
diers to fire into the gallery from whence the voice
issued. It was discovered, however, that Lady
Fairfax, the wife of the General, and a daughter of
the House of Vere, was the daring person ; she was
instantly compelled to retire.* Lady Fairfax was
not the only voice which was that day raised for
majesty in distress. As he passed through the hall
to Cotton-house, on returning from the court,
there were loud cries of "God save the King!"
an unexpected manifestation of public feeling
which was gratefully acknowledged by the perse
cuted monarch.
Charles, by the advice, it is said, of Sir Matthew
Hale, persisted in denying the authority of the
court. Undoubtedly, it was the wisest and most
dignified course he could have adopted ; besides
having the effect of shortening the proceedings
and consequently his own sufferings. The beha-
* " I was present," says Sir Purbeck Temple, " at all the
trials of the King, and very near him. I heard the King de
mand from Bradshaw, by what authority and commission they
proceeded thus strangely to try him. Then I heard the Lady
Fairfax, and one Mrs. Nelson, my sister, after the exhibiting
of the charge in the name of the Commons assembled in Par
liament, and the good people of this kingdom, against Charles
Stuart King of England ; I say, I heard the lady cry out from a
gallery over the court, ' Not half the people ! It is false ; where
are they or their consents? Oliver Cromwell is a traitor.'
Upon which I heard Axtell cry out, ' Down with the whores ! —
shoot them,' which made me take farther notice of him." —
Trial of the Regicides, p. 185.

170 CHARLES I.
viour of Bradshaw was inconceivably brutal. When,
at the close of the day's proceedings, he ordered
the guards, with a surly insolence of manner, to
remove the prisoner, Charles pointed with his cane
to the sword on the table, " Sir," he said, " I do
not fear that." As soon as the proceedings were
over, the King was again conducted to Cotton-
house, where he passed the night ; Herbert making
up his bed on the floor and sleeping by his side.
The next day being Sunday, afforded him a res
pite, and he spent many hours with Bishop Juxon,
either in prayer or religious conversation.
On the following morning, the twenty-second of
January, the King was again placed before his
judges. On this occasion, having been brought
to Westminster by water, although the soldiers
who guarded him wore their caps as usual, the
watermen positively refused to sit covered in his
presence. The number of his judges had increased from
sixty-seven to seventy. As Charles entered the
hall, the soldiers raised loud cries for justice, some
of the officers joining in the clamour. It seems to
have been the only instance in which he changed
countenance ; but the pang was easily conquered,
or at most was but momentarily displayed. A
bye-stander, Sir Purbeck Temple, describes the
indignities which were heaped upon the mild and
suffering monarch. In his evidence at the trial
of Colonel Axtell. " I saw him [Axtell]," he says,

CHARLES I. 171
" the most active person there ; and during the
time that the King was urging to be heard, he was
then laughing, entertaining his soldiers, scoffing
aloud ; whilst some of the soldiers, by his suffering,
and, I believe, procurement, did fire powder in the
palms of their hands, that they did not only offend
his Majesty's smell, but enforced him to rise up out
of his chair, and with his hand to turn away the
smoke ; and after this he turned about to the people
and smiled upon them, and those soldiers that so
rudely treated him."*
As he was quitting Westminster Hall on the
second day, one of the soldiers, as he passed by,
exclaimed, " God bless you, Sir ! " The King
thanked him, but the man's officer overhearing
the benediction, struck him severely with his cane
on the head. " Methinks," said Charles, " the
punishment exceedeth the offence." One person
was actually brutal enough to spit in his face :
the King quietly wiped it away. " My Saviour,"
he remarked, " suffered more than this for me."
The man who was guilty of this brutality is sup
posed to have been Augustine Garland, a lawyer,
and one of the King's judges ; Garland, however,
positively denied the fact. When the soldiers had
conducted Charles to his apartment, he fell on his
knees in prayer ; but even quiet was a boon denied
to him. "When they had brought him to his
chamber," says Perinchief, " even there they suffer-
* Trial of the Regicides, p. 185.

172 ' CHARLES I.
ed him not to rest ; but thrusting in and smoking
their filthy tobacco, they permitted him no privacy
to prayer and meditation." The King asked Her
bert if he had heard the cry of the soldiers in the
morning. Herbert answered that he had, and
that he could not but wonder at their vehement
animosity. " I am well assured," said the King,
" that the soldiers bear no malice to me : the cry
was no doubt given by their officers, for whom the
soldiers would do the like, were there occasion."
To another person he had remarked, — " Poor souls,
for a little money they would do as much against
their commanders."
On the third day of the trial, the twenty-third of
January, the King was again guarded to the hall
as formerly. Nothing of importance occurred,
except that the gold head of his cane fell off, a
remarkable incident, which he considered to be an
evil omen. When he returned to Cotton-house in
the evening, the populace pressed on him notwith
standing the soldiers, and many exclaimed — " God
preserve your Majesty," demanding blessings from
Heaven on their afflicted King. Charles appeared
much gratified, and repeatedly returned them
thanks for their good wishes and prayers.
On the morning of the fourth and last day, the
day of condemnation, Bradshaw's wife rushed into
her husband's chamber at Westminster, where he
had been lodged for safety and convenience, and
beseeched him by his hopes of happiness here and

CHARLES I. 173
hereafter, to absent himself from the horrid work.
" Do not," she said, " sentence this earthly King,
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 ?" Bradshaw
pushed her away. " I confess," he said, " he has
done me no harm, nor will I do him any, except
what the law commands." The man, it appears,
was intoxicated with the extraordinary position in
which he was placed, — the insignificant lawyer had
risen to be the judge of his Sovereign, the elected
chief magistrate of the people of England. This
day the President entered the hall in his scarlet
gown, a signal to Charles that his doom was fixed,
and that before another sun had set, his sentence
would be pronounced.
After a vulgar, tiresome, and absurd tirade from
Bradshaw, the O, yes ! was made, and silence com
manded in the court. The clerk then read the
sentence. After reciting the act of the self-called
Commons of England, (for Charles was certainly
not tried by the representatives of the people, at
least by a free, full, and constitutional House of
Commons,) it proceeded to accuse him of being
the author and continuer (which, being untrue,
it was impossible to prove,) of the late unnatural,
cruel, and bloody wars, and consequently guilty
of high treason, and of all the murders, rapines,
burnings, spoils, desolations, damages, and mis
chiefs, occasioned by and committed during the

174 CHARLES I.
said wars ; " for which treasons and crimes," it pro
ceeded, "this Court doth adjudge that he, the said
Charles Stuart, as a tyrant, traitor, murderer, and
public enemy to the good people of this nation,
shall be put to death, by severing his head from
his body." When the sentence was read the King
smiled calmly, and lifted up his eyes as if pleading
for that mercy in Heaven which he was denied by
his persecutors upon earth.
Bradshaw stood up. — " The sentence now read
and published," he said, " is the act, sentence,
judgment, and resolution of the whole court." On
this, as had already been agreed upon, the whole
of the judges also rose, as a tacit acknowledg
ment of their acquiescence and consent. The King,
with the same placid smile, inquired of the Presi
dent if he would hear him for a few moments.
Bradshaw. — Sir, you are not to be heard after
the sentence.
Charles.— No, Sir 1
Bradshaw. — No, Sir, by your favour. Guards,
withdraw your prisoner.
Charles. — I may speak after the sentence, by
your favour, Sir. I may speak after the sentence,
ever. By your favour 
Bradshaw. — Hold !
Charles — The sentence, Sir ; I say, Sir, I do 
Bradshaw — Hold !
Charles. — lam not suffered to speak! Expect
what justice the people will have.

CHARLES I. 175
Before he could say more, the King was removed
by the guards. The regicides accounted for their
cruel and infamous refusal to listen to the condemn
ed Monarch, by an argument too absurd even to
be plausible. The King, they said, being account
ed dead in law, a hearing could not be permitted.
As Charles passed, for the last time, through that
famous hall, the banqueting-room of the Kings his
ancestors, and the trial-scene of more than one of
his own friends, and of many of the greatest and
most brilliant of their day, he was insulted in the
grossest manner by the poor hirelings whom he
passed ; the soldiers smoking their tobacco in his
face, and throwing their pipes before him in his
path, besides heaping on him the lowest and most
virulent abuse.
From Westminster he was conveyed, in a sedan
chair, through a double line of soldiers, to his
chambers at Whitehall. As he passed through
King-street, the more respectable inhabitants,
many of them with tears in their eyes, stood at
their stalls and windows, and beheld the scene of
harassed and fallen majesty, with audible prayers
for his safety or eternal happiness. After a lapse
of two hours he was removed to St. James's, where
he passed the three remaining days of his life.

176

CHAPTER IX.
Charles's Dignity and Fortitude in his Last Hours — his Pre
paration for Death. — Herbert's Mission to Lady Wheeler. —
The King's Farewell — interview with his Children. — The
Fatal Morning. — The King's Bequests — his Devotions -c-
his Progress from St. James's to the Scaffold — his Arrival
at Whitehall. — The Summons to Execution.
The necessity of religion, and the advantages of
a virtuous life, were never more beautifully exem
plified than in the last hours of Charles. His ac
cumulated miseries — the loss of power — the bru
tality of republicanism, and the horrors of disso
lution, were nothing to a mind prepared like his ;
to the brave man — the pious Christian — the con
scientious monarch. How well did he say to Lord
Digby, " Either I will live as a king, or die
like a gentleman." There was nothing of that fa
natical enthusiasm, or those false and rapturous ec
stasies, which constituted the zeal and sanctity of
his persecutors — his death was that of a good
man, who forgave his persecutors, and trusted in
his God. His dignity and his fortitude too, were
all his own. Bishop Juxon, his spiritual adviser,
was a cold dry man, but little calculated to excite

CHARLES I. 177
an adventitious enthusiasm in the last hours of life.
With the assistance of this prelate, the King pre
pared himself for the latest scene. While he sent
the kindest remembrances to his friends, he gave
directions that he should by no means be inter
rupted in his preparation for death. " I know," he
said, " my nephew, the Elector, will endeavour it,
and other Lords that love me, which 1 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 will 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, according to a contemporary
journal, "The Moderate Intelligencer," — "he com
manded his dogs should be taken away, and sent
to his wife, as not willing to have anything pre
sent that might take him off from serious consi
deration of himself. Being desired to say some
what, how far he was guilty of the death of his
father, and the rebellion of Ireland, he said, ' with
reverence of God be it spoken, he had done no
thing that he needed to ask pardon for.'" When
some of the dissenting ministers requested permis
sion to pray with him, he told them he had already
selected his ghostly adviser ; at the same time,
thanking them for their offer, and desiring they
would remember him in their prayers.
On one of the intermediate nights between his
trial and execution, the King took a ring from
VOL II. n

178 CHARLES I.
his finger, on which was an emerald set between
two diamonds, and delivering it to Herbert, de
sired him to proceed with it to a certain house
in Channel Row, at the back of King Street,
Westminster, where he was to deliver it to the
lady of the house without saying a word. This
person was Lady Wheeler, the King's laundress.
Having obtained the watchword from Colonel
Tomlinson, Herbert proceeded, on a dark night,
to the spot which the King had designated. Hav
ing obtained admittance, he was told by the
lady to wait in the parlour till she returned.
She shortly afterwards re-entered the room, and
placing in his hands a small cabinet closed with
three seals, desired him to deliver it to the same
person from whom he had received the ring. The
next morning, in Herbert's presence, the King
broke the seals, when the cabinet was found to
contain a number of diamonds and jewels, most
of them 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."
The day before his execution, the Princess Eli
zabeth and the Duke of Gloucester were allowed
to take a last farewell of their unfortunate father.
The Princess, an extraordinary child, was deeply
affected ; and the little Duke, taking his impres
sion from the scene around him, wept almost as
bitterly. They both fell on their knees and crav-

CHARLES I. 179
ed their father's blessing. The King raised them
up and kissed them affectionately. Placing the
Princess on his knee, he desired her to tell her
brother James, that he must no longer regard
Charles as his elder brother, but as his Sovereign ;
adding that it was his dying wish they should
love one another, and forgive their father's ene
mies. He told her not to grieve for him, for he
died for the laws and liberties of the land, and
for the maintenance of the Protestant religion.
He desired her to tell her mother that his thoughts
had never strayed from her, and that his love had
survived to the last. He then gave her his bless
ing, enjoining her to convey it to her brothers and
sisters, and to remember him to all who were dear
to him. " But, sweetheart," he said, " you will
forget this." " No," she replied, " I shall never
forget it while I live;" and bursting into tears
afresh, promised to write down whatever he had
said to her.
Then he took the Duke of Gloucester on his
knee. " Sweetheart," he said, " they will cut off
thy father's head." The child looked wistfully in
his face. " Mark, child, 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 brothers Charles and James
* The King's foresight is remarkable. In 1654, the question
of calling the Duke of Gloucester, with limited powers to the
throne, was seriously discussed by the Republicans.
n2

180 CHARLES I.
are alive ; for they will cut off 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." The child replied, " he would
be torn in pieces first," an answer from one so
young, which evidently afforded great pleasure to
the King. He then presented them with his
jewels, and while the tears rolled down his cheeks,
kissed them both fondly, and prayed the Almighty
to bless them. He watched their departure with
a father's grief, and as the door of the apartment
was closing on them, moved hastily towards them
from the window where he was standing, and fold
ing them in his arms, again kissed and blessed
them, and bade them farewell for ever.
The remainder of the day was spent in prayer
and meditation. Bishop Juxon preached a sermon
before him, taking for his text, Romans ii. v. 16 :
" In the day when God shall judge the secrets of
men by Jesus Christ," &c. When the discourse
was at an end he received the Sacrament, and af
terwards continued till a late hour of the night in
conversation with the Bishop. After his departure
he remained about two hours praying and read
ing by himself. He then, as night approached,
called to Herbert to place his bed on the floor by
his own. Herbert enjoyed but little rest, but the
King slept calmly for about four hours.
On the fatal morning, about two hours before
day-break, he awoke, and drawing back his cur-

CHARLES I. 181
tains, called to his faithful attendant, whom he
perceived much troubled in his sleep, from the
effect, it seems, of a remarkable dream * " Her
bert," he said, almost playfully, " 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 then mentioned what
clothes he should wish to wear, desiring he might
have a shirt more than ordinary, lest the coldness
of the day might make him tremble, which, he
added, would be interpreted by his enemies into
fear. " I do not dread death," he said. " Death
* Herbert relates the substance of this dream, in a letter to
Dr. Samways, dated 28th August, 1680. "For some hours
his Majesty slept very soundly ; for my part, I was so full of
anguish and grief, that I took little rest. The King, some
hours before day, 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 Ma
jesty, 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 time, your
Majesty asked me, if I heard it not ? I said I did ; but did not
use to go without 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

182 CHARLES I.
is not terrible to me. I bless my God, I am pre
pared." He then spent a short time in naming the few
legacies which were left him to bequeath. To
Prince Charles he sent his Bible, on the margin of
which were his private remarks and annotations.
He desired that he would read it often and with
great care ; adding, 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 constantly
been in the habit of wearing ; to the Princess Eliza
beth Andrews' Sermons, Archbishop Laud against
Fisher the Jesuit, and Hooker's Ecclesiastical Po
lity ; to the Duke of Gloucester, King James's
Works, and Hammond's Practical Catechism ;
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 ; and, falling on
his knees, your Majesty gave him your hand to kiss, and took
him aside to the window, where some discourse passed between
your Majesty and him, and I kept a becoming distance, not hear
ing 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 reverences, the third being so submiss, as he fell prostrate
on his face on the ground, and I immediately stept 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 thinking it was no dream." The King said,
my dream was remarkable, but he is dead ; yet, had we confer
red together during life, 'tis very likely (albeit I loved him well)
I should have said something to him might have occasioned his
sigh." — Memoirs of Sir J. Herbert, p. 219.

CHARLES I. 183
Cassandra to the Earl of Lindsey ; and his gold
watch to the Duchess of Richmond, the daughter
of his early favourite, the Duke of Buckingham.
By this time the Bishop had arrived, and the
King retired with him to prayer. After the prayers
of the church had been gone through, the Bishop
read the twenty-seventh chapter of St. Matthew,
which describes the passion of our Saviour. The
King applied the passage to his present condition,
and thanked the Bishop for the selection. He was
much surprised and gratified when he was informed
that it was, in fact, the chapter set apart in the
calendar for the lesson of the day.
While he was still at his devotions, Colonel
Hacker knocked at the door. He appeared much
agitated, and informed the King it was time to set
off for Whitehall. Charles told him he would
come presently, and shortly afterwards, taking the
Bishop by the hand, and bidding Herbert bring
with him his silver clock, with a cheerful counte
nance he proposed to depart. As he passed
through the garden of St. James's into the
Park, he inquired of Herbert the hour of the day,
and afterwards bade him keep the clock for his
sake. It was ten o'clock when the King came forth.
On each side of him was arranged a line of sol
diers, and before and behind him were a guard
of halberdiers, their drums beating and colours
flying. The King passed to the scaffold, through

184 CHARLES I.
St. James's Park, on foot. On his right hand
was Bishop Juxon, and on his left Colonel Tom-
linson, both bareheaded, with whom he frequently
conversed during their walk through the Park.
There is a tradition that he pointed out a tree,
not far from the entrance to Spring Gardens,
(close to the spot which is now a well-known sta
tion for cows,) which he said had been planted
by his brother Henry. During his walk to the
scaffold, a ruffianly fanatic officer inquired of
him, with insulting barbarity, if it were true that
he had been cognizant of his father's murder.
Another stern republican, a " mean citizen," as
he is styled by Fuller, was perceived to remain
close by his side, and keep his eyes constantly
fixed on the King, with an expression of parti
cular malignity. Charles merely turned away his
face : eventually, however, the man was uncere
moniously pushed aside by the more feeling among
his persecutors. The guards marching at a slow
pace, the King desired them to proceed 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." However,
the noise of the drums rendered conversation ex
tremely difficult.
Passing along the famous gallery, which at that
time ran across the street at Whitehall to the op
posite part of the palace, the King was conducted
to his usual bed-chamber. The scaffolding had only

CHARLES I. 185
been commenced the preceding afternoon,* and not
having been then completed, the delay thus afforded
allowed him a considerable time for prayer. It was
a cold and dismal day. Two or three dishes had
been provided for his dinner, but having partaken of
the Sacrament, he declined this misplaced kindness :
however, on its being represented to him how long
he had fasted, that the weather was extremely
bitter ; and that, should the cold produce the least
shivering, it would be maliciously interpreted by
his enemies, he consented to partake of a piece of
bread and a glass of claret. While he was en
gaged at his devotions with Bishop Juxon, Nye,
and others of the puritan clergymen, knocked at
the door of his apartment, and offered to assist in
preparing him for his fate. But he told them
they had so often prayed against him, they should
never pray with him in his agony, though'he should
be grateful, he added, if they would remember him
in their prayers. As soon as he had completed his
devotions, " Now," he said, " let the rogues come ;
I have forgiven them, and am prepared for all I am
* Hume says, quoting from Walker's History of Indepen
dency, that " the King slept sound as usual, though the noise
of workmen, employed in framing the scaffold, and other pre
parations for his execution, resounded in his ears." This is
more poetical than true. Charles had passed the previous
night at St. James's, at the distance of nearly half a mile.
Even had he slept at Whitehall, as his apartments were close
to the water's side, and in a different direction, he could
scarcely have been disturbed by the noise.

186 CHARLES I.
to undergo." When Colonel Hacker gave the last
signal at the door of the apartment, the Bishop
and Herbert fell on their knees weeping : the King
gave them his hand to kiss, and as Juxon was an
old man, he kindly assisted him to rise. To Co
lonel Tomlinson, who had shown him every atten
tion in his power, he presented his gold tooth-pick
case, requesting him to attend him to the last.
Then, desiring the door to be opened, and telling
Hacker he was prepared to follow him, he passed
with a cheerful countenance, through an avenue of
guards, to the scaffold.

187

CHAPTER X.
The exact Spot where Charles was beheaded. — Last Moments
ofthe Monarch — The Execution. — Horror ofthe Spectators.
— Cromwell gazing on the King's Corpse. — General Sorrow
on the Death of Charles. — Homage paid to his Memory by
his Enemies. — Lines by the Marquis of Montrose. — The
King's Executioner. — The Body taken to Windsor. — The
royal Obsequies in St. George's Chapel  Doubts formerly
existing respecting the real Burial-place of Charles. — Sir
Henry Halford's Account of the opening of King Charles's
Coffin, in 1813.— The King's Children.
Considerable doubt has existed as to the exact
spot on which Charles was beheaded. The scaffold
unquestionably ran in front of the Banqueting-
House, from the centre of that building to the end
nearest to Charing Cross. In height it was level
with the top of the lower windows. Immediately in
the centre of the building, between the upper and
lower windows, a passage had been broken in the
wall, through which the unfortunate King passed.
At the recent renovation of the Banqueting House,
this passage was plainly perceptible, a fact which
must be considered as entirely setting the question
at rest. For a space of about seven feet in height
and four in breadth, the bricks presented a broken
and jagged appearance, and the brickwork intro
duced was evidently of more modern date.

188 CHARLES I.
To return to the last moments of Charles. The
scaffold had been covered with black cloth, and a
coffin, lined with black velvet, was in readiness to
receive his remains. In the platform itself had
been fixed iron rings and staples, to which ropes
had also been attached, by which it was intended to
force the King to the block should he make the
least attempt at resistance. The persons who at
tended him to the scaffold, besides Bishop Juxon,
were two of the gentlemen of his bed-chamber,
Harrington and Herbert. The former afterwards
suffered so much from the shock, that an illness
ensued which nearly cost him his life. The King
himself appeared cheerful, resigned, and happy.
He merely requested of Colonel Hacker, to be
careful that he was not put to unnecessary pain.
Having put on his satin cap, he inquired of one of
the two executioners, both of whom were masked, if
his hair was in the way. The man requested him
to push it under his cap. As he was doing so, with
the assistance of fhe Bishop and the executioner, he
turned to the former ; " I have a good cause," he
said, " and a gracious God on my side."
The Bishop. — There is but one stage more ;
this stage is turbulent and troublesome, it is a
short one ; but you may consider it will soon carry
you a great way ; it will carry you from earth to
heaven ; and there you will find a great deal of
cordial joy and comfort.
The King.— I go from a corruptible to an incor-

CHARLES I. 189
ruptible crown, where no disturbance can be, no
disturbance in the world.
The Bishop. — You are exchanged from a tempo
ral to an eternal crown ; a good exchange.
Observing one of the persons, who had been ad
mitted to the scaffold, accidentally touching the
edge of the axe with his cloak, the King requested
him to be careful. Then again inquiring of the
executioner, " is my hair well ?" he took off his
cloak and George, and delivering the latter to the
Bishop, exclaimed significantly " remember." To
the executioner he said, " I shall say but short
prayers, and when I thrust out my hands — ."
Looking at the block, he said, " you must set it
fast." The executioner replied it was fast. The
King remarked it might have been higher. Being
told it could not have been higher, he said, " when
I put out my hands this way, then — "
In the mean time, having divested himself of his
cloak and doublet, and being in his waistcoat, he
again put on his cloak. Then, lifting up his hands
and eyes to heaven, and repeating a few words to
himself which were inaudible to the bystanders,
he knelt down and laid his neck on the block.
The executioner stooping to put his hair under his
cap, the King, thinking he was about to strike, bid
him wait for the sign. After a short pause he
stretched out his hands, and the executioner at one
blow severed his head from his body. The head
was immediately lifted up by the other headsman

190 CHARLES I.
and exhibited to the people. " Behold," he ex
claimed, " the head of a traitor."*
Thus, on the 30th of January, 1649, at the age of
forty-nine, died King Charles. The dismal groan,
which rose at the moment of his decapitation from
the dense populace around, was never forgotten
by those who heard it. Certainly, by the vast
majority of the people of England, the execution of
Charles was regarded as an atrocious and barbarous
murder. Philip Henry, the famous divine, was a
witness of the memorable scene. " He used to
mention," writes his son, " that at the instant when
the blow was given, there was such a dismal univer
sal groan among the thousands of people that were
within sight, as it were with one consent, as he
never heard before and desired he might never hear
the like again." This fact is corroborated by the
testimony of an aged person, one Margaret Coe,
who died in 1730, at the age of one hundred and
three. She saw the executioner hold up the head,
and well " remembered the dismal groan which was
made by the vast multitude of spectators when the
fatal blow was given." f Immediately after the axe
* In the British Museum is preserved a curious single folio
sheet, printed at Frankfort shortly after King Charles's death,
in which there is a print descriptive of his execution, surmounted
by medallion heads of Charles, Cromwell, and Fairfax. The
only persons represented to be on the scaffold, besides Charles
and the two executioners, who are in masks, are Bishop Juxon,
and Colonel Tomlinson and Hacker. There is a Latin motto
from Horace, Carm. lib. i. ode 4.
-j- Sir Edward Peyton, in addressing his work, the Divine

CHARLES I. 191
fell, a party of horse rode rapidly from Charing
Cross to King Street, and another from King
Street to Charing Cross, with the object of dis
persing the people, or, more probably, of dissipat
ing their gloomy thoughts.
The body of Charles, having been placed in the
coffin prepared for it, was conveyed by Bishop
Juxon and Herbert to the back stairs at White
hall, to be embalmed. In their way they encoun
tered Cromwell, who informed them that orders
would be speedily issued for the burial. The
Catastrophe, to the Commons of England, has the following
remarkable passage : — " I thrice humbly desire your patronage,
especially finding by experience the composition and style of
this present narrative will incur tlie displeasure and hatred of
most qf this slate." This admission coming from a fifth mo
narchy man, as Anthony Wood styles Peyton, and addressed to
the heads of his own party, is certainly of some weight. Indeed,
whatever might have been the general feeling against the poli
tical character and conduct of Charles, there can be no doubt
that his public death upon the scaffold was regarded, by nine
tenths of the people, as a bloody and atrocious act. Among
the thousands who gazed upon that scene of violence and fero
city, there was, perhaps, scarcely a single by-stander in whose
breast all feelings of pity were so entirely stifled, as not to be
excited by so awful a transition from the height of human
greatness to the extreme of human misery. It is only in the
worst of human bosoms that there exists the impulse to injure
still further the being whom we have humbled and rendered
powerless. Among the actors or spectators of the execution of
Charles, there may have been some to whom, from motives of
ambition, or a persuasion of its political expediency, that scene
may not have been unpalatable ; but these persons were neither
many in number, nor were they, generally speaking, among the
more respectable of their detested party.

192 CHARLES I.
regicide came shortly afterwards to gaze upon
the corpse of his victim. He remarked on the
appearance of health and promise of longevity
which it exhibited. It is even said that he at
tempted to fasten a suspicion, that Charles was
suffering under a disgraceful disease at the time
of his death, but that the praiseworthy firmness
of a physician who attended the opening of the
body, destroyed the validity of the scandal. This
physician was certainly not the same practitioner
who was employed to embalm the body and to
sew on the head. That person was one Thomas
Tropham, surgeon to Fairfax, and a bachelor of
physic in the university of Oxford. There were
many spectators of the ceremony. At its com
pletion this facetious ruffian remarked, that he
had been sewing on the head of a goose.
No monarch ever departed this life more beloved
and lamented by his own party than did the un
fortunate Charles. They felt as if a near and
dear friend had been snatched from their sight.
Archbishop Usher, who witnessed the death of his
master from the roof of Wallingford House, (the
site of the present Admiralty,) was carried away
fainting ; and Dr. Fell, Dean of Christ Church,
died, it is said, of grief, when the tidings were
brought to him. The majority of the people of
England expressed their sorrow as loudly as they
felt it deeply. All who were able to approach the
body dipped their handkerchiefs and staves in his

CHARLES I. 193
blood ; the block was cut into small pieces ; and
large sums of money were offered for a lock of his
hair, or a few grains of the sand which had been
discoloured by his blood. It seems that, in addi
tion to the common interest attached to such relics,
it was supposed they would be efficacious in curing
the evil. But even his enemies, on more than
one occasion, paid unexpected homage to his me
mory. Perhaps the most singular is the tribute of
the regicide Henry Martin. " If we are to have
a King," he said in the House of Commons, " I
would as soon have the last gentleman as any sove
reign on record." But the fine verses of Andrew
Marvel, another foe to monarchy, must not be
omitted, — While round the armed bands
Did clasp their bloody hands,
He nothing common did or mean,
After that memorable scene ;
But with his keener eye
The axe's edge did try,
Nor called the gods, with vulgar spite,
To vindicate his helpless right,
But bowed his comely head
Down, as upon a bed.
The heroic Marquis of Montrose is said to have
written his master's epitaph with the point of his
sword. The lines attributed to him, and rendered
thus remarkable, the author had previously ima
gined to be the production of John Cleveland,
more especially as they are printed among his
works, and as the death of the martyred King is
VOL. II. o

194 CHARLES I.
a favourite subject of his muse. Bishop Guthrie,
however, who was likely to have the best informa
tion on the subject, inserts them in his Memoirs
as the production of the Marquis, without in the
least questioning their authenticity. The lines are
as follow : —
Great, good, and just ! could I but rate
My griefs, and thy too rigid fate ;
I 'd weep the world to such a strain,
As it should deluge once again ;
But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies,
More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes ;
I '11 sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds,
And write thy epitaph with blood and wounds.
There has existed much doubt and discussion
respecting the identity of the King's executioner.
Several persons have been named for the unenvi
able honour, and sufficient materials might be col
lected on the subject to form a curious and enter
taining treatise. However, after every attention to
the evidence, (and some interesting matter has
recently been brought to light,) there seems to be
no doubt that it was Richard Brandon, the com
mon executioner, who had previously beheaded
the Earl of Strafford. This man eventually died
in great agony of mind, and was carried to the
grave amid the execrations of the populace.*
The royal corpse, having been embalmed and
placed in a leaden coffin, was conveyed to St.
* See Ellis's Orig. Letters, vol. iii. ; Kennet's Complete
Hist. vol. iii. ; Gent. Mag. for 1767 ; Trial of the Regicides
&c. &c.

CHARLES I. 195
James's Palace. The usurping authorities refused
permission to bury it in Henry the Seventh's
Chapel, though, at the same time, they allowed
five hundred pounds to defray the expenses of the
interment. The spot eventually agreed upon by
both parties was Windsor. Thither the melan
choly cavalcade proceeded ; the body being carried
in a hearse covered with black velvet, and drawn
by six horses. It was followed by four mourning
coaches, containing several of the most faithful
servants of the deceased monarch, who hastened
to pay the last tribute to his memory. The first
resting-place was the Dean's house at Windsor :
the room was covered with black, and the coffin sur
rounded with lights. From thence the body was
removed to the King's usual bed-chamber in the
castle. The persons to whom the performance of the
royal obsequies was intrusted were, the Duke of
Richmond,, the Marquis of Hertford, Lord South
ampton, Lord Lindsay, the Bishop of London,
Herbert, and Mildmay. They had all been de
voted servants of their late master. Their first
step was to proceed to St. George's Chapel, to
select a proper resting-place for his remains.
That beautiful and interesting building was at
this period, internally, a mass of ruins. The an
cient inscriptions, the architectural ornaments, the
stalls and banners of the Knights of the Garter,
had been torn or uprooted by the hands of repub-
o2

196 CHARLES I.
licanism, and lay strewed in melancholy devastation
on the floor. It was found impossible to distin
guish the tomb of a monarch from the grave of
a verger. At last, one of the noblemen present,
happening to strike the pavement with his staff,
perceived by the hollow sound that there was a
vault beneath. The stones and earth having been
removed, they came to two coffins, which proved
to be those of King Henry the Eighth and Queen
Jane Seymour. Though considerably more than
a century had elapsed since their interment, the
velvet palls which covered their coffins were still
fresh. In this vault, over against the eleventh
stall on the sovereign's side, it was decided to inter
the body of King Charles.
Accordingly, on the 7th of February, the royal
remains, having been carried from the King's bed
chamber into St. George's Hall, were thence borne
to the chapel. In addition to those to whom the
solemnization of the funeral had been originally
entrusted, Colonel Whichcot, the Governor of the
Castle, and several of his officers, attended the ce
remony. The snow fell thick upon the velvet pall,
and when it entered the chapel the coffin was per
fectly white, the " colour of innocency." Bishop
Juxon stood ready at the head of the vault, with
the book of Common Prayer in his hand. He was
preparing to read the burial service, according to
the rites of the Church of England, when he
was stopped by the Governor. " The book of

CHARLES I. 197
Common Prayer," said the bigoted soldier, " had
been put down by authority, and should not 'be
used in any garrison where he commanded." The
coffin was lowered amid the tears and prayers of
the faithful followers of the unfortunate monarch.
On its leaden surface was inscribed, in capital
letters — KING CHARLES,
1648.
A mysterious doubt existed for many years re
specting the real burial-place of King Charles. By
many it was believed that he lay in the sand at
Whitehall, and that the coffin, on which was in
scribed his name, merely contained stones and
rubbish.* Another report was raised by the old
Cromwellites, at the Restoration, that the bodies of
Charles and Cromwell had been made to change
coffins, and that in reality it was the corpse of the
King, instead of his murderer, which had been
exposed at Tyburn, and which was afterwards
buried beneath the gallows. There was one cir
cumstance which attached some weight to these
* Aubrey says, " I well remember it was frequently and
soberly affirmed by officers of arms and grandees, that the
body of King Charles the First was privately put into the
sand at Whitehall ; and the coffin that was carried to Windsor
and laid in King Henry the Eighth's vault, was filled with
rubbish and brick-bats. Sir Fabian ~Ph\]]'vps,jurisconsultus, who
adventured his life before the King's trial by printing, assures
me that the King's coffin cost but six shillings : a plain deal
coffin."

198 CHARLES I.
idle surmises. At the Restoration, the Parliament
voted the large sum of seventy thousand pounds
towards a public funeral for the late King, and
for the purpose of erecting a grateful and a lasting
monument to his memory. To the astonishment
of all men, it was reported that his remains could
nowhere be discovered, although many persons were
still alive who could have pointed out the spot.
But all doubts have been set at rest in our times
by the opening of King Charles's coffin in 1813, in
the presence of George the Fourth, then Prince of
Wales. The interesting account of Sir Henry
Halford is well known. " On removing the pall, a
plain leaden coffin, with no appearance of ever hav
ing been enclosed in wood, and bearing an inscrip
tion King Charles, 1648, in large legible characters,
on a scroll of lead encircling it, immediately pre
sented itself to the view. A square opening was
then made in the upper part of the lid, of such
dimensions as to admit a clear insight into its con
tents. These were an internal wooden coffin, very
much decayed, and the body carefully wrapt up
in cere-cloth, into the folds of which a quantity of
unctuous or greasy matter, mixed with resin, as
it seems, had been melted, so as to exclude as
effectually as possible, the external air. The
coffin was completely full, and from the tenacity
of the cere-cloth, great difficulty was experienced
in detaching it successfully from the parts which
it enveloped. Wherever the unctuous matter had

CHARLES I. 199
insinuated itself, the separation of the cere-cloth
was easy, and when it came off a correct impression
of the features to which it had been applied was
observed in the unctuous substance. At length the
whole face was disengaged from its covering. The
complexion of the skin of it was dark and dis
coloured. The forehead and temples had lost
little or nothing of their muscular substance ; the
cartilage of the nose was gone ; but the left eye,
in the first moment of exposure, was open and full,
though it vanished almost immediately ; and the
pointed beard, so characteristic of the period of
the reign of King Charles, was perfect. The
shape of the face was a long oval ; many of the
teeth remained ; and the left ear, in consequence of
the interposition of the unctuous matter between
it and the cere-cloth, was found entire. When
the head had been entirely disengaged from the
attachments which confined it, it was found to be
loose, and, without any difficulty, was taken up
and held to view. It was quite wet, and gave a
greenish red tinge to paper and linen which touch
ed it. The back part of the scalp was entirely per
fect, and had a remarkably fresh appearance, nearly
black. A portion of it, which has been since
cleaned and dried, is of a beautiful dark brown
colour.* That of the beard was a redder brown.
On the back of the head the hair was not more
* This is singular; it being an unquestionable fact that the
King's hair was almost grey, long previous to his trial.

200 CHARLES I.
than an inch in length, and had been probably
cut so short for the convenience of the executioner,
or perhaps, by the piety of friends soon after death,
in order to furnish memorials of the unhappy King.
On holding up the head, to examine the place of
separation from the body, the muscles of the neck
had evidently retracted themselves considerably ;
and the fourth cervical vertebra was found to be
cut through its substance transversely, leaving the
surfaces of the divided portions perfectly smooth
and even ; an appearance which could have been
produced only by a heavy blow, inflicted with a
very sharp instrument, and which furnished the
last proof wanting to identify King Charles the
First." By his Queen, Henrietta Maria, the King had
eight children. Besides those, whose Memoirs
will be hereafter introduced, he had a son named
Charles, his first-born, who survived the rite of
baptism but a few hours. The infant was born at
Greenwich in 1629; its birth having been acce
lerated by a fright suffered by the Queen. It is
remarkable that the Roman Catholic priests of
the Queen's household were in anxious expecta
tion of its birth, trusting, by an immediate and
secret baptism, to smuggle it into their own church ;
Charles, however, was on the watch, and directed
his chaplain, Dr. Webbe, who was in attendance,
to baptize it according to the forms of the Church
of England. The infant was buried at Westmin-

CHARLES I. 201
ster. Another of the King's children was Cathe
rine, his fourth daughter, whose career was equally
brief. This child, as were most of the offspring
of Charles, was born at Whitehall. It has been
remarked as curious, that their names, with only
one exception, are omitted in the parish registry
of St. Martin's. The King invariably sent a sum
of money, by some member of his household, in
order to ensure the usual entry. These persons,
it is said, deceived his Majesty, and appropriated
the money to their own use.*
* Fuller's Worthies, vol. ii. p. 108.

202

HENRIETTA MARIA.
Character of this Princess. — Lord Kensington's Mission to
Paris. — Henrietta's Prepossession in favour of Charles 
Pretensions of Count Soissons to the Hand of the Princess
— he is challenged by the Earl of Holland  Description of
Henrietta by that Nobleman. — Splendid Marriage Ceremony
of Henrietta and Charles (by Proxy). — Public Rejoicings at
Paris. — Departure of Henrietta — her Arrival at Dover. —
First Interview with her Husband at Dover. — The Royal
Couple at Canterbury. — Their enthusiastic Reception in
London. — Feelings of the Puritans on the Birth of the
Queen's first Child. — Reputed Loveliness of Henrietta 
Anecdote. — Henrietta's Embarkation for Holland, and Ex
ertions in her Husband's Cause. — Return to England — her
dangerous Situation at Burlington — her Courage. — Im
putations against her Conjugal Fidelity — her Union, after
the Death of Charles, to Henry Jermyn — her extreme Dis
tress in Paris. — Manner in which she received the News of
Charles's Death — her Return to England, and Residence
in Somerset House — her Death and Burial.
The character of Henrietta Maria is seldom a
favourite one with our historians. Generally speak
ing, she is described as turbulent, wanton, and insin
cere ; implacable in her resentments ; rash in her
resolves ; precipitating her husband into the most
dangerous excesses, and entertaining the most lofty
conceptions of the royal prerogative. That the
conduct of Henrietta was not felicitous ; that she

HENRIETTA MARIA. 203
was bigoted in religion, headstrong in her passions,
and that her capacity was far from extensive, it
would be difficult to deny ; and yet much that has
been said to her disadvantage may be traced to
party bitterness and the prejudice of faction. To
the republicans, the exalted station which she oc
cupied, and the religion which she professed, na
turally rendered her an object of suspicion and dis
like ; while the royalists, taking advantage of her
supposed influence over the King, attributed to her
indifferent counsels, whatever in their master's con
duct they would otherwise have found difficult to
defend. Moreover, the manners of the volatile French
woman were little suited to the people among
whom she came to reside. Her zealous and un
disguised partiality for the religion and manners
of her own country ; her love of admiration ; her
fondness for music, dancing, and all the frivolities
to which her sex are privileged, were converted, by
the jaundiced eye of puritanism, into the most hein
ous sins. After all, Henrietta was neither deficient
in private virtues nor agreeable qualities. Her dis
position was generous when not provoked; her
manners were playful and animated ; she was fear
less in danger ; an affectionate mother, and an in
dulgent mistress. Her attachment to the ruined
fortunes of her husband can never be spoken of
without praise. The prominent position which she
occupied, in the political troubles of the period, may

204 HENRIETTA MARIA.
be ascribed rather to the unfortunate circumstances
in which she was placed, than to personal ambition,
or a mere love of intrigue. Had she lived in
peaceable times, or, indeed, had Buckingham sur
vived to guide the counsels of his master, Hen
rietta, in all probability, would have been merely
remembered for the gaiety of her manners, and
the lustre of her charms.
Henrietta Maria, youngest daughter of Henry
the Great, of France, and sister of Louis the
Thirteenth, was born 28th November, 1609. Of
her childhood little is known ; indeed, at the pe
riod of her marriage with Charles, she had scarce
ly completed her sixteenth year. In 1624, Lord
Kensington, afterwards Earl of Holland, had been
despatched to Paris, in order to sound the feelings
of the French Court, with regard to the match.
He found the young Princess greatly prepossessed
in favour of her future husband. The account of
the Prince's journey into Spain appears to have
strongly influenced her imagination. When the
tale of his adventures was first related to her, she
observed, " He might have found a wife much
nearer, and have saved himself much trouble." In
deed, with all the romance of a young girl, she
appears to have fancied herself in love with
Charles, long before they actually met.
Lord Kensington, unwilling to risk the disgrace
of a refusal, proceeded cautiously in his delicate
mission. As regarded Henrietta herself, she took

HENRIETTA MARIA. 205
no pains to disguise her partiality for the Prince.
The state of her feelings, however, will be best
discovered by the following romantic incident,
which is thus agreeably related by Lord Kensing
ton in one of his letters to Charles : " I cannot," he
says, " but make you continual repetitions of the
value you have here, to be (as justly we know you),
the most complete young Prince and person in the
world. This reputation hath begotten in the sweet
Princess, Madame, so infinite an affection to your
fame, as she could not contain herself from a pas
sionate desiring to see your picture, the shadow of
that person so honoured, and knowing not by what
means to compass it, it being worn about my neck ;
for though others, as the Queen and Princesses,
would open it, and consider it, the which ever
brought forth admiration from them, yet durst not
this poor young lady look any otherwise on it than
afar off, whose heart was nearer unto it than any
of the others who did most gaze upon it. But at
the last, rather than want that sight, the which she
was so impatient 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, say
ing, she could not but want that curiosity, as well
as others, towards a person of his infinite reputa
tion. As soon as she saw the party that brought
it, she retired into her cabinet, calling only her in ;
where she opened the picture in such haste as

206 HENRIETTA MARIA.
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 a
business so fit for your secrecy, as I know it shall
never go farther than unto the King your father,
my Lord Duke of Buckingham, and my Lord of
Carlisle's knowledge." * Shortly afterwards, when
Henrietta received two letters, one from King James,
and the other from her lover, she placed the for
mer in her cabinet, and the latter in her bosom.
James was much pleased when the anecdote was
related to him ; — "It was an omen," he said,
" that she would preserve his name in her me
mory, and Charles in her heart."
One would have thought the young, the grace
ful, and gallant Earl of Holland, (for such he
was now created,) would have been a dangerous
mediator between two lovers who had never met.
But Holland, though afterwards some suspi
cion became attached to his intercourse with
Henrietta, at this period loved his master. It
was about the same time that Count Soissons de
clared openly and boldly at the Louvre, that
he had been contracted to the Princess before
several witnesses, and even went so far as to
assert that she was his lawful bride. Holland in
stantly challenged him to single combat, but
Soissons refused to meet him. " The Court of
* Cabala, p. 318.

HENRIETTA MARIA. 207
France," he said, " was too powerful, to allow him
to maintain the truth with his sword.*"
If it be presumed that the feelings of Charles
were equally romantic with those of his future bride,
the glowing descriptions which Lord Holland trans
mitted of her accomplishments were well calculated
to increase his flame. In a letter dated 26th Fe
bruary 1625, he thus writes to the Prince : " You
will find a lady of as much loveliness and sweetness
to deserve your affection, as any creature under Hea
ven can do. And, Sir, by all her fashions since my
being here, and by what I hear from the ladies, it is
most visible to me, her infinite value, and respect
unto you. Sir, I say not this to betray your be
lief, but from a true observation and knowledge of
this to be so ; I tell you this, and must somewhat
more, in way of admiration of the person of Ma
dame ; for the impressions I had of her were but
ordinary, but the amazement extraordinary, to find
her, as I protest to God I did, the sweetest crea
ture in France. 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 creature. They
say she sings most sweetly : I am sure she looks
so." f In another letter Lord Holland writes : " I
* Divine Catastrophe of the House of Stuart.
t Cabala, p. 312.

208 HENRIETTA MARIA.
found it true, that neither her master Bayle, nor
any man or woman in France, or in the world,
sings so admirably as she. Sir, it is beyond ima
gination ; that is all that I can say of it."
The articles of marriage between Charles and
Henrietta were signed by James on the 11th of
May 1624, and by the French King on the 14th of
August following. The treaty was finally ratified
at Paris, by the Earls of Carlisle and Holland, on
the 13th of March 1625. At the beginning of May,
the necessary dispensation was received from Rome,
when Cardinal Richlieu performed the espousals,
the Duke de Chevereux appearing as proxy for
Charles. The ceremony was magnificent in the extreme.
On the day appointed, the 11th of May, the royal
bride was conducted by the King, the Queen, and a
long train of courtiers, to the House of the Arch
bishop of Paris, where she was formally attired by
her ladies in the nuptial robes. From hence they
proceeded to a magnificent theatre, erected in front
of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame. The Duke de
Chevereux was dressed in a black robe, lined with
cloth of gold, and sparkling with diamonds. On
each side he was supported by the Earls of Carlisle
and Holland, clad in beaten silver. Standing under
a gorgeous canopy, the King of France, assisted
by his brother, consigned their sister to the
Duke de Chevereux, as the representative of King
Charles. The marriage having been solemnized

HENRIETTA MARIA. 209
according to the ceremonies of the Romish church,
the procession advanced in the same order to the
Cathedral, the Duke de Chevereux taking prece
dence of the King of France. After the celebra
tion of mass, from which the English Earls had
absented themselves on account of their religious
scruples, the procession returned to the house of
the Archbishop, where a splendid banquet had
been prepared. The King sat under a canopy in
the centre of the table, Henrietta being placed on
his left hand, and the Queen-mother on his right.
Next to Henrietta sat the Duke de Chevereux,
and the Earls of Carlisle and Holland by the side
ofthe Duke.
On the 24th of May, the Duke of Buckingham,
attended by the Earl of Montgomery, and others
of the English nobility, arrived at Paris, for the
purpose of conducting Henrietta to England.
During the seven days which they remained in
the French capital, nothing could exceed the
splendour of the entertainments which were pro
vided for them, or the magnificence of the public
rejoicings. Bonfires illuminated the streets ; the
cannon roared on the walls, and the prison doors
were opened ; while the nobility of Paris vied
with each other in the costliness of their feasts ;
a rivalship in which the celebrated Richlieu is
said to have carried off the palm.*
Henrietta bid farewell to Paris on the 2nd of
* Rushworth, vol. i. p. 169, 170; Echard. vol. ii. p. 12.
VOL. II. P

210 HENRIETTA MARIA.
June 1625. It is asserted in a letter of the period,
that she was arrested at Amiens by a legate from
the Pope, who commanded her to perform a pen
ance of either sixteen or twenty-six days, as an
atonement for uniting herself to a heretic Prince,
or, as another writer informs us, for having mar
ried Charles without a dispensation. Henrietta, it
is said, instantly wrote to Charles, who was anxi
ously expecting her at Canterbury, acquainting him
with the cause of her delay. His answer was deci
sive ; he informed her that if she did not immedi
ately resume her journey, he would return to Lon
don without her. The young Queen, however
unwillingly, continued her progress, and the Pope
was defrauded of his expected triumph.* How
ever, as his Holiness had already given his con
sent to the marriage, the story is in all probability
a fabrication. At Boulogne she found the Duchess of Bucking
ham and an English fleet in readiness to receive
her. She set sail on the 12th of June, and after
an uncomfortable passage of twenty-four hours ar
rived at Dover. During this short voyage she had
suffered so much from sea-sickness, that it was
deemed necessary to convey her into the town in
a litter, and thence to apartments prepared for
her in the Castle. The news of her arrival was
carried to the King at Canterbury in an hour and
six minutes.f Charles was hastening to meet his
* Ellis, vol. iii. p. 200. t Finetti Philoxenis, p. 152.

HENRIETTA MARIA. 211
young bride, when he received a communication
from her, intimating how much she had suffered by
her voyage, and requesting him to defer the inter
view till the following day.*
The next morning, about ten o'clock, the King,
attended by a suitable retinue, arrived at Dover.
Henrietta was at her morning meal, and, for
various private reasons, was scarcely prepared for
the interview ; yet she instantly rose from table,
and hurrying down stairs, fell on her knees be
fore her husband, and taking his hand, kissed it
affectionately. Charles instantly raised her, and
" wrapping his arms around her, kissed her with
many kisses." Her first words were those of re
verence and affection : — " Sire, Je suis venue en
ce pais de votre MqjestS pour itre us6e et com-
mandSe e vous."\ Charles seemed surprised to find
her taller than he had expected, and cast his eyes
upon her feet, as if suspecting that she had made
use of artificial means to improve her stature. Hen
rietta, with all her native quickness, perceived what
was passing in the King's mind. She immediately
raised one of her feet, and pointed to the shoe : —
" Sir," she said, " I stand upon mine own feet. I
have no helps of art. Thus high I am, and am
neither higher nor lower."J Some tears fell from
her eyes, but Charles kissed them away, telling her
playfully " he should not fail doing so, as long as
* Rushworth, vol. i. p. 170.
t Ellis, Orig. Let. vol. iii. p. 190. % Ibid. vol. iii. p. 196.
P 2

212 HENRIETTA MARIA.
she continued weeping." He told her " she had not
fallen into a land of strangers, and that she might
be ever satisfied of his tenderness and esteem."
After a short period, the bystanders were requir
ed to withdraw, and the royal lovers remained
an hour in private.* The first request of Hen
rietta must have been highly gratifying to her hus
band. " She trusted," she said, " that should she
ever do anything to offend him, he would himself
tell her of her fault, instead of employing a third
person." Charles readily promised a compliance,
and exacted the same stipulation from his bride.f
Having prepared themselves for dinner, and
come forth into the presence chamber, Henrietta
presented her French servants formally, and by
name. Charles, having already dined, seated him
self by the Queen, and helped her to venison and
pheasant with his own hand. Her confessor, who
stood by her, solemnly reminded her that, being
the eve of John the Baptist, it was a fast day of the
church, and consequently that she must be cautious
how she provoked scandal on the very first day
of her arrival. J But at this period, at least, her
husband had the ascendant of the Pope and his
penances, and Henrietta, to the great delight of her
Protestant subjects, ate heartily of the forbidden
dishes. After dinner, the King and Queen proceeded on
* Rushworth, vol. i. p. 170. f Ibid. vol. i. p. 170.
X Ellis, Orig. Let. vol. iii. p. 198.

HENRIETTA MARIA. 213
horseback to Canterbury, where it was intended
to consummate the marriage. On Barram Downs
they were received by a vast concourse of the no
bility, of both sexes, who divided themselves into
rows while their Majesties passed on. The road
had been strewed with roses and other flowers, by
the loyal peasants of Kent, who rent the skies with
their shouts and acclamations. " The ladies," writes
Howell, " appeared like so many constellations,
but methought that the country ladies outshined
the courtiers."
The same night, having arrived at Canterbury,
and supper being over, the Queen retired to rest.
Charles followed shortly afterwards, being attended
to the apartment by two of the Lords of the Bed
chamber, whose duty it was to undress him. It
appears that the King's first step was to secure the
doors of the bed-chamber (which were actually
seven in number) with his own hand. He then un
dressed himself, and having excluded his two at
tendants, cautiously bolted the door. These par
ticulars throw a curious light on the customs of
the period ; since it seems certain that not even
the nuptial chamber of the sovereign was secure
against the strange licence and intrusive jocularity
which were permitted by the less refined taste of
our ancestors on the marriage night. It would
seem, indeed, that it was only by stratagem that
Charles was enabled to rid himself of his own at
tendants. " The next morning," we are told, " he

214 HENRIETTA MARIA.
was pleasant with the Lords that he had beguiled
them, and hath ever since been very jocund." *
On the 16th of June 1625, Charles arrived with
his bride in the capital. They had entered the
royal barge at Gravesend, from whence, attended
by several of the barges of the nobility, they pro
ceeded up the river in regal state. From London
Bridge to Whitehall their procession resembled a
triumph. Thousands of vessels crowded the
Thames ; every lighter and barge was filled with
spectators, and the banks appeared a moving mass
of population. The guns roared from the Tower,
as well as from the various ships in the neighbour
hood ; while the populace, notwithstanding that
the plague raged around them, and the rain fell in
torrents, vied with each other in the clamour of
their gratulations. The King and Queen were
each dressed in green. The windows of the barge,
notwithstanding the pelting rain, were kept open ;
Henrietta frequently acknowledging the shouts of
the populace, by gracefully waving her hand. It
was observed that her head already reached the
King's shoulder, and that she was young enough to
grow taller.f
* Ellis, Orig. Let. vol. iii. p. 198.
t See " The Life and Death of that Matchless Mirror of
Magnanimity, Henrietta Maria de Bourbon : London, 1685."
Also, " 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."

HENRIETTA MARIA. 215
The difference of religion between Henrietta and
her new subjects but slightly affected her first
welcome. Much was expected from her youth, her
reputed good sense, and the zeal and influence of
her husband. Henrietta too, in some degree sa
crificing her respect for truth to the love of popu
larity, was not unwilling to assist the deception.
Being asked, shortly after her arrival, if she could
abide a heretic : " Why not," she said, " was not
my father one ?"* But neither her popularity nor
her dissimulation were of long existence. Shortly
afterwards, when she proved with child, the Puritans
loudly expressed their dissatisfaction, speaking of
her as an idolatress and likening her to Heth the
Canaanite. Regarding her religion with extreme
abhorrence, and perceiving the probability of her
hereafter influencing her children in the Romish
faith, they foretold those misfortunes which after
wards befel the descendants of Charles. The
Puritans looked rather to the issue of the Queen
of Bohemia, whose education they were satisfied
had been in accordance with the principles of the
Reformed religion. The birth, therefore, of an
heir to the crown was a black day in the calen
dar of Puritanism. Heylin mentions a village, in
which he was himself resident at the time, where a
day of rejoicing had been set apart, in commemo
ration of the Prince's birth. All sorts of festivities,
such as feasting, ringing of bells, and bonfires, had
* Ellis, Orig. Let. vol. iii. p. 198.

216 HENRIETTA MARIA.
been announced to the inhabitants. But, he adds,
no single individual of the Presbyterian or Puritan
party came forth from their houses on that day ;
but, on the contrary, closed their doors, as on occa
sions of general mourning and distress.*
The reputed loveliness of Henrietta, notwith
standing the exquisite portraits of Vandyke, and
the enthusiasm of the contemporary poets, has been
occasionally disputed. A small share of personal
charms will easily exalt a Queen into a goddess,
and Waller thus addresses Henrietta :
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.
Beauty had crowned you, and you must have been
The whole world's mistress, other than a Queen.
All had been rivals, and you might have spared,
Or killed, and tyrannized, without a guard.
Sir William Davenant has celebrated the beauty
of Henrietta with still more fulsome panegyric.
Several of his smaller pieces are addressed to her,
and on New Year's Day he writes, —
There is no need of purple or of lawn
To vest thee in ; were but thy curtains drawn
Men might securely say that it is morn ;
Thy garments serve to hide not to adorn.
Now she appears, whilst every look and smile
Dispenses warmth and beauty through our isle.
Descending, however, to mere prose, it may not
* Heylin's Life of Laud, p. 198.

HENRIETTA MARIA. 217
be unamusing to transcribe the brief descriptions of
those persons who beheld her in the zenith of
youth and loveliness, and who were qualified to
form a sober opinion of her personal merits. " I
can send you gallant news," writes Howell to his
brother-in-law ; " for we have now a most gallant
new Queen of England, who in true beauty is far
beyond the long-wooed Infanta ; for she was of a
fading flaxen hair, big-lipped, and somewhat heavy-
eyed ; but this daughter of France, this youngest
branch of Bourbon, is of a more lovely and lasting
complexion, a dark brown ; she hath eyes that
sparkle like stars ; and for her physiognomy, she
may be said to be a mirror of perfection."
Mr. Meade, who was present at her first landing
in England, describes her to Sir Martin Stuteville,
as " a nimble and quiet, black-eyed, brown-haired,
and, in a word, a brave lady, though, perhaps, a
little touched with the green sickness." But we
prefer the description of Sir Symonds D'Ewes, who
hastened to gratify his curiosity with a sight of the
new Queen : " On Thursday, the 30th, the last day
of this instant June, I went to Whitehall pur
posely to see the Queen, which I did fully all the
time she sat at dinner, and perceived her to be a
most absolute delicate lady ; after I had exactly
surveyed all the features of her face, much enliven
ed by her radiant and sparkling black eye. Be
sides, her deportment among her women was so
sweet and humble, and her speech and looks to her

218 HENRIETTA MARIA.
other servants so mild and gracious, as I could not
abstain from divers deep-fetched sighs, to consider
that she wanted the knowledge of the true reli
gion." Her eyes appear to have been really beau
tiful. Waller speaks of them in the inflated lan
guage of the day.
" Such eyes as yours, on Jove himself had thrown
" As bright and fierce a lightning as his own."
And again, —  " Such radiant eyes,
" Such lovely motion, and such sharp replies."
Notwithstanding the conciliating manners of
Henrietta on her first arrival in England, it was
shortly evident that the spirit of Henry IV. was
not entirely dormant in the bosom of his daughter.
The following court decree is introduced on the
authority of an eye-witness. " The Queen, howso
ever very little of stature, is yet of a pleasing coun
tenance, if she be pleased, but full of spirit and
vigour, and seems of a more than ordinary resolu
tion. With one frown, diverse of us being at
Whitehall to see her, being at dinner, and the
room somewhat over-heated with the fire and com
pany, she drove us all out of the chamber. I sup
pose none but a Queen could have cast such a
scowl."* Henrietta was not crowned with her hus
band. It was demanded that the ceremony should
be performed according to the solemnities of her
own church ; but this being of course refused, her
* Ellis, Orig. Let. vol. iii. p. 206.

HENRIETTA MARIA. 219
bigotry, or the threats of her confessor, forbade
her to assist in any religious ceremonial of Pro
testantism. She is described, in a letter of the
period, as standing in a window as a mere looker-
on, her ladies " frisking and dancing" around her.*
She beheld the procession from an apartment in
the Gate-house, Westminster, which looked into
Palace-yard, and had been purposely fitted up for
her accommodation.
It certainly speaks much in favour of Henrietta,
that her own relatives, and those who were nearest
to her person, regarded her with the warmest af
fection and esteem. The dying words of Charles
bore testimony to his admiration and his love.
With her brother, Louis the Thirteenth, she was
also a great favourite. Robert, Earl of Leicester,
Ambassador at Paris in 1636, mentions the evident
satisfaction of Louis, when he presented him with
a letter from his sister the Queen of England : " It
was observed," he says, " by those that were by,
that when he spoke of the Queen, a very great
natural affection did appear, both by his words and
gesture ; and, it is said in this court, that he loves
the Queen best of all his sisters ; and when he
speaks of her, he always calls her, ma bonne soeur
d'Angleterre." f Her son, James the Second, re
verts to her memory with affection ; — " She ex
celled," he says, " in all the qualities of a good
* Ellis, Orig. Let. vol. iii. p. 213.
¦j- Collins's Memorials, vol. ii. p. 283.

220 HENRIETTA MARIA.
wife, .a good mother, and a good Christian." Her
nephew, also, Louis the Fourteenth, appears to
have been attached to her in her life-time, and
after her death erected a splendid monument to
her memory.
Sir William Waller, in his Recollections, re
cords an anecdote of Henrietta during her stay at
Exeter, which endeared her to the inhabitants of
that loyal town. While passing northward of the
town, her ears were saluted by the dismal cries of
some person in distress. They were found, on in
quiry, to proceed from a poor woman, whose daugh
ter was in her confinement, and who was evidently
in a dying state from the want of proper nourish
ment and assistance. The Queen took a gold chain
from her neck, and placing the Agnus which was
attached to it in her bosom, delivered the chain
to the woman ; desiring her, at the same time, to
take it into the city and to dispose of it to a gold
smith. The Queen's confessor afterwards hazarded
an invidious remark on the object of her charity
having been a heretic. When this latter circum
stance was mentioned to Charles, alluding to her
barefoot journey to Tyburn, he asked jestingly if
they had not compelled her to do penance.
On the 23rd of February 1642, Henrietta, dread
ing the threatened impeachment of the Commons,
and the fury of the people, wisely decided on
quitting England, and embarked at Dover for
Holland. She carried with her the crown jewels,

HENRIETTA MARIA. 221
with which she eventually purchased arms and
ammunition for the service of her husband. But her
absence from England was of brief duration. After
using every exertion to influence the Prince of
Orange and the States in favour of the royal cause
in England ; after eluding the spies of the Par
liament and the ships which they sent out to arrest
her, she again set sail from Scheveling the follow
ing year, and arrived safely at Burlington Bay in
Yorkshire. The night after her landing her life was in
considerable danger. Four of the parliamentary
ships having entered the roads, and having ascer
tained in which house the Queen was lodged, com
menced playing their cannon against it. Hen
rietta was in bed at the time, but so imminent was
the danger, that she was compelled to quit the
house "bare-foot and bare-leg," and after a pre
cipitate and very hazardous flight, found shelter in
a ditch behind the town. But even here the dan
ger was considerable, a sergeant being killed within
a few paces from where she stood. In the midst
of the firing, Henrietta remembered that she had
left her favourite lap-dog asleep. Heedless of the
danger, she instantly flew back to the house she
had just quitted, and having discovered the little
creature, returned with it triumphantly in her
arms. On hearing of her hazardous situation, the Earl
of Newcastle immediately hastened to Burlington

222 HENRIETTA MARIA.
and conducted her in safety to the army at York.
Had she attempted to rejoin her husband at Ox
ford, where his quarters then were, she would, in
all probability, have fallen into the hands of the
republicans ; it was decided therefore that she
should remain in Yorkshire, where she continued
to reside for about four months ; equally enchant
ing all who approached her by her affable demean
our and graceful manners.
The courage displayed by Henrietta at Bur
lington is not the only instance of her utter reck
lessness in the hour of danger. On one occasion,
when one of the Parliament ships was in full chase
of her, regardless of the cries and entreaties of her
female attendants, she commanded the captain on
no account to strike, but to wait till the last ex
tremity, and then to blow up the vessel.* At an
other time, when. in imminent danger from a storm
at sea, she sat tranquilly on the deck, and exclaim
ed laughingly, — " Les reines ne se noyent pas, —
Queens are never drowned. "f And yet Mr. Hallam
remarks that " Henrietta was by no means the
high-spirited woman that some have fancied."
Even to Charles she occasionally displayed the
spirit of her race. When the King showed some
disinclination to seize the five refractory mem
bers, " Go, coward," she said, " and pull out these
rogues by the ears, or never see my face again."
* Curiosities of Literature, vol. v. p. 236.
f Seaward, vol. iv. p. 352.

HENRIETTA MARIA. 223
This anecdote was related to Pym by the Countess
of Carlisle ; and yet at other times Henrietta could
bear insult and injury with singular generosity of
mind. When the tidings were brought to her that
she had been impeached by the Commons of high-
treason, and that her enemy Pym had actually
carried up the impeachment to the bar of the
Lords, she wrote to the Duke of Hamilton, that
she hoped God would forgive them for their re
bellion, as she in her heart forgave them their con
duct to her. On another occasion she refused to be
made acquainted with the names of some English
peers, who had expressed themselves her enemies.
" Though they hate me now," she said, " perhaps
they will not always hate me ; and if they have
any sentiments of honour, they will be ashamed of
tormenting a poor woman, who takes so little pre
caution to defend herself."
The enemies of Henrietta have attempted to
blast her fair fame, by accusing her of unfaithful
ness to the marriage-bed. Undoubtedly there was
much of French levity in her manners and con
duct, but still the fact of infidelity is not only not
proved, but is deficient in reasonable presumptive
evidence. Walpole, in his tedious juvenile poem,
" The Epistle from Florence," speaks confidently
" Of lustful Henrietta's Romish shade."
Peyton, also, an equally rancorous writer, ac
cuses her of having intrigued with Jermyn, after-

224 HENRIETTA MARIA.
wards Earl of St. Albans, even in the life-time of
her husband. " A certain Earl," he says, " en
lightened the King on the subject, telling him
that if he did not believe his word, if he would
go into her chamber, he might be satisfied, and
behold Jermyn sitting upon the bed with the
Queen ; so the King and the lord went in, and
found her and Jermyn in that posture. The King
presently, more ashamed of the act than blaming
her, departed, without speaking a word." There is
one important argument to refute this disgraceful
accusation, namely, the want of confidence in the
veracity of the narrator.
It must be allowed, however, on the other hand,
that the character of Henrietta has never been com
pletely cleared. Lord Dartmouth, in a note to
Bishop Burnet's History, supplies us with a curious
anecdote. The Queen, he informs us, had con
ceived a particular dislike to the Duke of Hamil
ton. His grace, for some reason, being anxious
to obtain an interview with Henrietta, had per
suaded Mrs. Seymour, a woman ofthe bed-chamber,
to admit him secretly into the Queen's private
apartment at Somerset-house ; when, his wishes
having been gratified, he stated that from his place
of concealment he surprised Henrietta in great
familiarities with Jermyn. Lord Dartmouth's au
thority was Sir Francis Compton, who had it from
his mother the Countess of Northampton, an in
timate acquaintance of Mrs. Seymour.

HENRIETTA MARIA. 225
Another piece of scandal is related by the Bishop
himself, in one of the suppressed passages of his
history. When the unfortunate Marquis of Mont
rose was in Paris and in distress, the Queen, not
withstanding her own straitened circumstances,
had supplied him liberally with jewels and money.
Montrose, he says, afterwards repaid her kind
ness, by boasting of other favours which she had
conferred upon him. Henrietta, when she heard
of the circumstances, instantly sent to him to
leave Paris, and positively refused to see him
again. This story was related to Burnet by a
daughter of the Duke of Hamilton, who affirmed
that she had the latter particulars from the Queen
herself. The ill-fated Earl of Holland was another re
puted lover of Henrietta. His beauty and gal
lantry may alone have given rise to the report,
though it has been asserted, with little reason,
that their intimacy commenced at Paris, previous
to the union of Henrietta with Charles. Accord
ing to Peyton, when some misunderstanding had
arisen between the King and Holland, (on ac
count of which the latter was confined to his
house at Kensington, the present Holland-house,)
Henrietta refused to cohabit with her husband
unless the restraint were taken off. The circum
stance, alluded to by Peyton, appears to have oc
curred in April 1633, when Holland was undoubt
edly closely confined to his own house by order
VOL. II. Q

226 HENRIETTA MARIA.
of the King. In a letter dated 18th April 1633,
from Sir Henry Wotton to Sir Edmund Bacon,
there is a passage which might have been expect
ed to throw some light on the subject. However,
as it is somewhat lengthy, and the meaning intri
cate, it will be sufficient to insert it in a note.
The reader will be the best judge whether it, in
any degree, implicates the character of Henrietta.
It may be remarked that the writer strongly en
joins his correspondent to put the letter into the
fire as soon as he has perused its contents.*
* " The Earl of Holland was on Saturday last (the day after
your post's departure) very solemnly restored at Council-table,
(the King present) from a kind of eclipse, wherein he had stood
since the Thursday fortnight before. All considered the ob
scuration was long, and bred both various and doubtful dis
course, but it ended well. All the cause yet known was, a
verbal challenge sent from him by Mr. Henry Germain in
this form to the now Lord Weston, newly returned from his
foreign employments. That since he had already given the
King an account of his embassage, he did now expect from '
him an account of a letter of his, which he had opened in
Paris, and he did expect it at such a time, even in the Spring-
garden, close under his father's window, with his sword by his
side." " It is said (I go no farther in such tender points) that my
Lord Weston sent him, by Mr. Henry Percy, (between whom
and the said Lord Weston had, in the late journey, as it seems,
been contracted such friendship as overcame the memory that
he was cousin-german to my Lord of Holland,) a very fair and
discreet answer : — That if he could challenge him for any injury
done him before, or after his embassage, he would meet him
as a gentleman, with his sword by his side, where he should
appoint ; but for anything that Jiad been done in the time of

HENRIETTA MARIA. 227
There appears every reason to believe that, after
the death of Charles, Henrietta secretly united
herself to her master of the horse, and reputed
lover, Henry Jermyn, created, at the Restoration,
Earl of St. Albans ; it has been supposed, how
ever, by some writers, that they omitted the mar
riage ceremony. " I had three cousins," says Sir
John Reresby, " then in an English convent at
Paris, one of them an antient lady, and since ab
bess of the house : hither the Queen was wont
often to retire for some days ; and the lady would
tell me that Lord Jermyn, since St. Albans, had
the Queen greatly in awe of him, and indeed, it
his embassage, he had already given the King an account
thereof, and thought himself not accountable to any other.
This published on Thursday was fortnight, the Earl of Holland
was confined to his chamber in Court, and the next day morn
ing to his house at Kensington, where he remained without any
further circumstance of restraint or displeasure Saturday and
Sunday ; on which days being much visited, it was thought fit
on Monday to appoint Mr, Dickenson, one of the Clerks of the
Council, to his guardian thus far, that none without his pre
sence should accost him. This made the vulgar judgments
run high, or rather indeed low, that he was a lost and dis
carded man, judging as of patients in fevers, by the exaspera
tion of the fits. But the Queen, who was a little obliquely
interested in this business — for in my Lord of Holland's letter,
which was opened, she had one that was not opened, nor so
much (as they say) as superscribed ; and both the Queen's and
my Lord of Holland's were inclosed in one from Mr. Walter
Montague (whereof I shall tell you more hereafter) — the
Queen I say, stood nobly by him, and, as it seems, pressed her
own affront. It is too intricately involved for me so much as to
guess at any particulars." — Reliquiae Wottoniance, p. 455.
Q2

228 HENRIETTA MARIA.
was obvious that he had great interest with her
concerns ; but that he was married to her, or had
children by her, as some have reported, I did not
then believe, though the thing was certainly so."
The manner in which St. Albans subsequently
dropped the lover, and apparently took upon him
self the stern authority of the husband, is another
proof that their union was not altogether imagin
ary. Indeed, his conduct towards Henrietta, at a
later period, almost amounted to ill-usage. " The
widow of Charles the first," says Madame de
Baviere, in one of her letters, " made a clandestine
marriage with her Chevalier d'honneur, Lord St.
Albans, who treated her extremely ill, so that,
whilst she had not a fagot to warm herself with,
he had in his apartment a good fire, and a sump
tuous table. He never gave the Queen a kind
word, and when she spoke to him, he used to say,
' Que me veut cette femme ? — What does that woman
want ?'" This piece of private history is corro
borated by Count Hamilton : speaking of the Earl,
he says, " It is well known what a table the good
man kept at Brussels, while the King, his master,
was starving, and the Queen Dowager, his mistress,
lived not over well in France."
It would be difficult to exaggerate the distressed
condition of Henrietta after the death of her hus
band. Her principal residence was in the Louvre
at Paris ; yet even here, amidst her own relations
and her own people, the once-envied Henrietta

HENRIETTA MARIA. 229
was frequently in want even of the necessaries of
life. She was at length compelled to make ap
plication to Cardinal Mazarine, to intercede with
Cromwell for the restitution of her dowry : the
request was made and refused. But the most re
markable picture of her distress is described by
Cardinal de Retz in his Memoirs : — " Five or six
days before the King removed from Paris, I went
to visit the Queen of England, whom I found in
the chamber of her daughter Henrietta, who hath
been since Duchess of Orleans. At my coming in,
she said, ' You see I am come to keep Henrietta
company ; the poor child could not rise to-day for
want of a fire.' The truth is, that the Cardinal
(Mazarine) for six months together had not or
dered her any money towards her pension, that no
tradespeople would trust her for anything ; and
there was not at her lodgings a single billet.
You will do me the justice to think that the
Princess of England did not keep her bed the
next day for want of a fagot ; but, however, you
will think likewise, that it was not this which the
Princess of Conde" meant in her letter ; what she
spoke about was, that some days after my visiting
the Queen of England, I remembered the condi
tion I had found her in, and had strongly repre
sented the shame of abandoning her in that man
ner, which caused the Parliament to send forty
thousand pounds to her Majesty. Posterity will
hardly believe that a Princess of England, grand-

230 HENRIETTA MARIA.
daughter to Henry the Great, hath wanted a fagot
in the month of January, in the Louvre, and in
the eyes of the French Court." When Salmasius
published his Defensio Regia, in support of Charles
the Second, he was found fault with for neglect
ing to send a copy to the exiled Queen. It was
said that, " though poor, she would have paid the
bearer." With regard to the manner in which Henrietta
received the news of her husband's death, Mr.
D'Israeli, in his " Commentaries on the Reign of
Charles," has inserted an interesting passage from
the MS. account of an eye-witness. The writer
is the Pere Gamache, one of the Capuchins who
attended on the Queen of England at that period.
" The city of Paris," writes Gamache, " was then
blockaded by the insurgents, and in the King's
minority, it was with difficulty we obtained either
entrance or egress. The Queen of England, re
siding at the Louvre, had despatched a gentleman
to St. Germain-en-laye to the French Court, to
procure news from England. During her dinner,
where I assisted at the grace, I had notice to re
main there after the benediction, and not to quit
her Majesty, who might need consolation at the
sad account she was to receive of the terrible ac
count of the King her husband. At this grievous
intelligence, I felt my whole frame shudder, and
withdrew aside from the circle, where, during an
hour, the various conversations on indifferent sub-

HENRIETTA MARIA. 231
jects seemed not to remove the uneasiness of the
Queen, who knew that the gentleman she had
despatched to St. Germain ought to have returned.
She was complaining of his delay in bringing his
answer. On which the Count of St. Albans (Jer
myn) took this opportunity to suggest that the
gentleman was so faithful and so expeditious in
obeying her Majesty's commands on these occa
sions, that he would not have failed to have come,
had he any favourable intelligence. ' What then
is the news? I see it is known to you,' said the
Queen. The Count replied, that in fact he did
know something of it, and when pressed, after
many evasions, to explain himself, and many am
biguous words to prepare her, little by little, to
receive the fatal intelligence, at length he declared
it to the Queen, who seemed not to have expected
anything of the kind. She was so deeply struck,
that instantly, entirely speechless, she remained
voiceless and motionless, to all appearance a statue.
A great philosopher has said, that ordinary griefs
allow the heart to sigh and the lips to murmur,
but that extraordinary afflictions, terrible and fatal,
cast the soul into stupor, make the tongue mute,
and take away the senses. ' Curaz leves loquuntur,
graves stupent.' To this pitiable state was the
Queen reduced, and to all our exhortations and
arguments she was deaf and insensible. We were
obliged to cease talking, and we remained by her
in unbroken silence, some weeping, some sighing,

232 HENRIETTA MARIA.
and all with sympathising countenances, mourning
over her extreme distress. This sad scene lasted
till night-fall, when the Duchess of Vendome,
whom she greatly loved, came to see her. Weep
ing, she took the hand of the Queen, tenderly kiss
ing it, — and afterwards spoke so successfully that
she seemed to have recovered this desolated Prin
cess from that loss of all her senses, or rather, that
great and sudden stupor, produced by the surpris
ing and lamentable intelligence of the strange death
of the King." This scene is affectingly described,
but the tidings could hardly have been so com
pletely unexpected, as the narrator would lead us
to suppose.
The fact is evident, indeed, that for some time
previously Henrietta had anticipated the worst.
The effect that her husband's misfortunes might
have on her mind, appears, in point of fact, to
haye been an object of public speculation, and,
accordingly, about three weeks before the execu
tion of Charles, we find the following curious no
tice in one of the journals of the period. " The
Queen of England is returned from her devotions
in the House of the Carmelites, where she hath
been for diverse days past : she seems not deject
ed at the present state of her husband in Eng
land, yet, say her ladies, her nights are more sad
than usual." *
Henrietta, notwithstanding the treatment she
* Moderate Intelligencer, December 28 to January 4, 1649.

HENRIETTA MARIA. 233
had experienced from her husband's subjects, was
far from regarding England with the aversion
which might have been expected. She took a
pleasure, during her exile in France, in exalting
the character of the English ; and in the brilliant
circles of Paris, their kindness, generosity, and
courage, were the constant themes of her discourse.
The late troubles, the death of her husband, and
her own expulsion, she attributed rather to some
desperate enthusiasts, than to the real temper of
the people. Her magnanimity is celebrated by
Waller :— Constant to England in your love,
As birds are to their wonted grove,
Accusing some malignant star,
Not Britain, for that fatal war.
An interesting feminine anecdote is recorded
by Sir John Reresby, illustrative of her regard
for England. " To give a little instance," he says,
" of her inclination for the English, I happened
to carry an English gentleman with me one day to
Court, and he, to be very fine, had got him a gar
niture of rich ribbon to his suit, in which was a
mixture of red and yellow ; which the Queen ob
serving, called to me, and bade me advise my
friend to mend his fancy a little, as to his ribbons,
the two colours he had joined being ridiculous in
France, and might give the French occasion to
laugh at him."
On the 2nd of November, 1660, the year of her

234 HENRIETTA MARIA.
son's restoration, after an absence of nineteen years,
Henrietta again returned to Whitehall. Her in
tention was to pass the remainder of her days in
England. Somerset House, where she had spent
so many happy years, was again allotted for her
residence. She observed on re-entering it, that
" had she known the temper of the English
people some years past, as well as she did then,
she had never been compelled to quit it." Un
der her auspices the old building was beauti
fied with a taste and magnificence which called
forth the poetical admiration both of Cowley and
Waller. The history of Henrietta from this period con
tains little of interest or importance. She appa
rently would have had no objection to interest the
decline of life, by entering afresh into the political
arena; but her want of judgment was too much
suspected, and her name too intimately connected
with past troubles. Indeed, it is an almost un
noticed fact, that at the Restoration there was
actually a discussion in Parliament whether her
return, under any circumstances, should be per
mitted.* Still the conduct of the Commons was,
subsequently, not ungenerous, for they settled on
her an income of sixty thousand a-year. Her
court at Somerset House was numerously attended,
and though she took no share in the amorous
* Letter from Ignatius White to Sir G. Lane, dated 12th of
May, 1660. — Carte's Collection, vol. ii. p. 34.

HENRIETTA MARIA. 235
broils of the period, yet she is described as much
diverted with the details whenever they trans
pired. With the exception of a short visit to France
in 1662,* Henrietta remained in England till the
breaking out of the great plague in 1665, when,
dreading the approaches of that gigantic disease,
she took leave of her children, whom she then
beheld for the last time. She was accompanied
as far as the Nore by the King, Prince Rupert,
and the Duke of Monmouth, who respectfully at
tended her embarkation.
Henrietta died in the castle of Colombe, about
four leagues from Paris, on the 10th of August
1669, in the sixtieth year of her age. " Her dis
temper," says Ludlow, " seemed at first not to be
dangerous, but on taking something prescribed
by the physicians to procure sleep, the potion ope
rated in such a manner that she woke no more."
She was buried at St. Denis, the burial-place of
the French Kings, with the honours usually paid
to a Queen Mother of France. Having been em
balmed, her body lay in state for some days in
the castle of Colombe. Her heart was placed in
a silver urn, inscribed with her name and title,
and carried by her Almoner, Lord Montague, and
a suitable train, to the Monastery of Chaliot.
Her body was interred with unusual magnificence,
* She left England 2nd of January, 1662, and returned 28th
of July.

236 HENRIETTA MARIA.
Father Senault delivering the funeral oration. In
his discourse he attributed the misfortunes of
Charles to his infidelity. Sir Leoline Jenkins,
then Ambassador at Paris, afterwards indignantly
expostulated with him on the offensive charge.
Senault said that he had made use of the term as
less choquant than heresy.

237

HENRY, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER.
Character of this young Prince — Treatment of him by the
Parliament — his Tutor — he is permitted by Cromwell to
join his Family in France — his Mother's ineffectual At
tempts to convert him to the Romish Faith. — ' Remarkable
Letter to him from his Brother, Charles II  The Marquis
of Ormond despatched to remove Henry from Paris to Co
logne — his Mother's Indignation at the Interference of
Charles. — Henry accompanies his Brother, the Duke of
York, to the Spanish Campaign — his Valour at the Battle
of Dunkirk — his Arrival in England at the Restoration —
his Death. — Charles's Grief at this Event. — Respect paid
to his Memory — his Funeral.
The amiable qualities and promising parts of
this young Prince scarcely appear to have been
exaggerated. They acquired for him the admir
ation of his contemporaries, and the warm affec
tion of his own family. Added to the courage and
ingratiating manners which distinguished his race,
he possessed the quickness and good nature of his
brother Charles, and the application to business
which was remarkable in the Duke of York. He
had, perhaps, more judgment than either. Consi
dering the early age at which he died, and the dis
advantages of his education, his accomplishments
were certainly of no ordinary kind Besides the
Latin language, he was master of the French,

238 HENRY,
Spanish, Italian, and Low Dutch. He was able
to appreciate the constitution of his country, and
the merits of the Protestant faith. The parting
scene and dying injunctions of his unhappy father
sank deeply into his heart ; and neither time nor
the contamination of the world were ever able to
obliterate their effect.
Henry of Oatlands, as he is styled from the
place of his birth, was born at Oatlands, in Surrey,
8th July, 1639. In his infancy he was committed
to the care of the Countess of Dorset, and at
the death of that lady, in 1647, the Earl of Nor
thumberland was selected by the Parliament to be
his governor. From the Earl he was afterwards
transferred to the Countess of Leicester, and with
his sister, the Princess Elizabeth, became an in
mate of Penshurst. Their removal to this classical
spot was by special direction of Parliament, who
dreaded lest the tragical fate of their father, and
their presence in the capital, should create for
the royal orphans an inconvenient degree of com
miseration. It was ordered, moreover, that their
indulgences should be diminished, and their attend
ants lessened. The use of titles was forbidden,
and it was directed that they should partake of the
same food, and sit at the same table, as the chil
dren of the family. Some of the more zealous pa
triots went considerably further. A proposition
was actually made in Parliament that the Duke
should be bound to a trade, in order, as it was

DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 239
expressed, " that he might earn his bread ho
nestly."* His tutor was a Mr. Lovel, a man of piety and
learning. When the Duke was afterwards sent to
Carisbrooke Castle, Lovel, much to the satisfac
tion of the royal orphan, was allowed to be his
companion. At Carisbrooke he experienced even
less respect than had been permitted at Penshurst.
Mildmay, the Governor, was directed to treat him
merely as the son of a gentleman, and he was in
variably addressed as Mr. Harry. When in his
thirteenth year, Cromwell, without alleging any
* In the Mercurius Elencticus, from February 21st to 28th,
1648, we discover the following passage : — " Sure Cromwell in
tends to set up his trade of brewing again, for the other day,
being in the presence ofthe Duke of Gloucester, he stroked him
on the head, and, like a merciful protector and faithful guardian,
saith, ' Sirrah, what trade do you like best ? Would not a shoe
maker be a good trade for you ? Shoemakers are gentlemen, I
can assure you, and so are brewers too ; and if you like either of
those trades, I will provide you a good master, either Colonel
Hewson or Colonel Hardwicke, and move the Parliament to
give you something (if you prove a good boy, and please your
master) to set up your trade. And for that little gentlewoman,
your sister, (meaning the Lady Elizabeth) if she will be ruled, I
will provide her a husband ; one of Colonel Pryde's sons, or one
of my own, if either of them like her or can love her.' The
Duke told him, ' that being a King's son, he hoped the Parlia
ment would allow him some means out of his father's revenue to
maintain him like a gentleman, and not put him apprentice like
a slave.' Nose Almighty makes answer, ' Boy, you must be an
apprentice, for all your father's revenue will not make half satis
faction for the wrong he hath done the kingdom,' and so Nose
went blowing out." There is too much of party spirit discover
able in this passage, to render it admissible in any other light
than as a pasquinade.

240 HENRY,
reason, permitted him to rejoin his family in
France, and the sum of 500/. was allowed for the
expences of his removal.
Henrietta was overjoyed to embrace a child
whom she had scarcely seen since his birth, and
whom she trusted to make a convert to her own
faith. She discovered the task to be more ardu
ous than she had anticipated. The young Duke
combated all her arguments ; alleging, moreover,
the displeasure of his brother Charles, and the
solemn injunctions of his deceased father, that he
should adhere to the Reformed religion, and espe
cially that he should obey his Sovereign in pre
ference to his mother.
When Charles had somewhat unwillingly con
sented to allow the Duke of Gloucester to remain
in Paris with his mother, he had exacted from her
a promise that she would refrain from tampering
with his religious principles. Charles was absent in
the Low Countries when the information reach
ed him of his brother's danger. Though himself
inclined to the Romish persuasion, he had fore
sight enough to discover how dangerous, and pro
bably fatal, to his hopes of regaining the English
crown, would be an open profession of that faith
in any of the members of his family.* Accordingly
* Lord Mordaunt, in a letter to the Duke of Ormond, in
1659, alluding to a report that Charles himself had embraced
the Romish persuasion, thus expresses himself: — " Your master
is utterly ruined, as to his interest here, in whatever party, if
this be true ; though he never had a fairer game than at present."
— Ormond Papers, vol. ii. p. 264.

DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 241
he despatched the following remarkable letter to
his brother at Paris. It would be alone curious as
the composition of a young man of pleasure, who
had only completed his twenty-fourth year.
" Dear Brother, » Cologne, Nov. 10, 1654.
" I have received yours without a date, in which
you tell me that Mr. Montague* 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
any body else in that matter, you must never think
to see England again ; and whatsoever mischief
shall fall on me or my affairs, from this time, I must
lay all upon you as being the only cause of it.
Therefore, 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 will use ; and for
the second, as soon as they have perverted you,
they will have their end, and then they will care
* Abbott Montague, Almoner to Henrietta Maria. He
enticed the Duke to the delightful Abbey of Pontoise, where,
according to Lord Clarendon, he "sequestered him from all
resort of such persons as might confirm him in his averseness
from being converted." — Hist, ofthe Rev. v. vii. p. 122.
VOL. II. R

' 242 HENRY,
no more for you. I am also informed that there is
a purpose to put you into the Jesuit's College,
which I command you, upon the same grounds,
never to consent to. And whensoever any one shall
go to dispute with you in religion, do not answer
them at all ; for though you have the reason on
your side, y£t 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."
In addition to this forcible appeal, Charles in
stantly despatched the Marquis of Ormond to
Paris ; transmitting by him a strong letter of ex
postulation to the Queen, and some written direc
tions from himself to the Duke, enjoining him to
put himself into the hands of the Marquis, and
immediately repair to him at Cologne. Henrietta
expressed the most vehement indignation at the in
terference of Charles. She insisted that the natural
authority of a mother had been wrested from her ;
adding that the Duke might act as he pleased, for
she would never see his face again. Ormond in
stantly hurried the young Duke from the dangerous

DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 243
neighbourhood of Pontoise. At Paris they were
detained some days for want of a few pounds to
defray their expenses to Cologne, at which place,
however, they eventually arrived in safety, to the
great satisfaction of Charles.
In 1658 the Duke of Gloucester, then only nine
teen, attended his brother, the Duke of York, to
the Spanish campaign. At the battle of Dunkirk
they fought side by side, making several charges on
horseback, and behaving with a valour worthy of
their race. James himself bears testimony to the
conduct of his young brother. At the close of the
day, the Duke of Gloucester, either in giving or
warding off a blow, unfortunately lost possession of
his sword. ViUeneuve, Master of the Horse to the
Prince de Ligne, immediately alighted from his
horse and recovered the weapon ; the Duke cover
ing him with his pistol till he had remounted.
ViUeneuve was afterwards shot through the body,
but fortunately the wound was not of a dangerous
nature. At the Restoration, the Duke of Gloucester at
tended his brother Charles to England ; the Parlia
ment sending him five thousand pounds as a mark
of their esteem. He survived the return of his
family but a few months, having died of the
small-pox on the third of September, 1660, in his
twenty-second year. Pepys, who speaks of him
as a "pretty boy," ascribes his death to the neg
ligence of the physicians. His loss was bewailed
R 2

244 HENRY, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER.
by his own family and regretted by all who knew
him. Of Charles, it was said, that he was more
affected by his brother's death than by any other
misfortune which had ever befallen him. James,
too, in his Memoirs, more than once recurs to his
memory with affection, and speaks with admira
tion of his parts. " He had all the natural qua
lities," he says, "to make a great Prince, which
made his loss the more sensibly felt by all the
royal family." Evelyn, whose praise is of no small
value, speaks of him as a Prince of "extraordinary
hopes," and Sir John Denham, in his Directions
to a Painter, thus apostrophizes his untimely
end: — O more than human Gloucester, Fate did show
Thee but to earth, and back again withdrew.
According to Reresby, he was far from insen
sible to female charms. He was probably gifted
also with some share of the natural wit of Charles.
When his brother, the Duke of York, married the
daughter of Lord Chancellor Clarendon, he said,
" He could never sit in the same room with her,
— she smelt so of her father's green bag."
He was buried in Westminster Abbey, in the
same vault with Mary Queen of Scots, and Lady
Arabella Stuart ; the Duke of York being chief
mourner, and the Dukes of Richmond, Bucking
ham, and Albemarle attending him to the grave.

245

MARY,
PRINCESS OF ORANGE.
Birth of this Princess — she is contracted in Marriage to Wil
liam, Prince of Orange — the Ceremony — her affectionate
Conduct to her Family in their Misfortunes — scandal re
specting her and the Duke of Buckingham — her Intimacy
with Henry Jermyn — scheme of Henrietta Maria to unite
the Princess to Louis XIV. — Mary's Return to England —
her Death at Whitehall — her Brother James's Tribute to
her Memory — her Burial.
This amiable and warm-hearted Princess, the
eldest daughter of Charles the First and the mother
of William the Third, was born 4th of November,
1631. The event is reported in the following let
ter addressed by George Gresley to Sir Thomas
Pickering. " Sir, — Upon Thursday last the Duke of Ven-
ddme, illegitimate brother to our Queen, arrived
here from out the Low Countries, and is lodged at
Sir Abraham Williams's house.
" Upon Friday morning, about four of the clock,
the Queen was (God be praised) safely delivered of
a Princess, who was christened the same morning,
by reason it was weak, as some say, it being born
three weeks before the time ; but I have heard it

246 MARY,
was done to save charges, and to prevent other
christening. The name, Marie ; the Countesses
of Carlisle and Denbigh godmothers, and the Lord
Keeper godfather ; the Lady Roxburgh governess,
and the nurse one Mrs. Bennet (some say wife to a
baker) and daughter to Mrs. Browne that keepeth
Somerset House.
" Your very assured friend and servant,
"George Gresley."
" Essex House, the 9th of Nov. 1631."
When in her tenth year, on the 2nd May 1641,
the young Princess was married, or, more pro
perly speaking, contracted to William, afterwards
second Prince of Orange. The ceremony is de
scribed by Principal Baillie, in one of his curious
letters to the Presbytery of Irvine. On the 4th of
May 1641, he writes, — " On Sunday, 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, all in cloth of silver. The Prince of Orange
went in before with the ambassadors, and his cou
sins of Tremmul and Nassau. The King gave him
his bride. Good Bishop Wren made the marriage.
At night, before all the court, they went to bed in
the Queen's chamber. A little 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." The young Prin-

PRINCESS OF ORANGE. 247
cess followed her husband to Holland on the 23rd
of February, 1642. By her early marriage she was
spared from being an actual witness of the misfor
tunes of her family, though afterwards, when they
were in poverty and exile, her conduct towards
them afforded a beautiful example of sisterly love.
The Princess is described by her contemporaries
as possessing every quality that can add grace or
dignity to the female character. Much of this
praise is undoubtedly deserved, but still her judg
ment was indifferent, and it is doubtful whether
her love of admiration was confined within proper
bounds. It appears by a letter of the period that
the witty Duke of Buckingham was one of her
admirers, and that scandal was not silent when it
connected their names. The Duke unadvisedly fol
lowing her into Holland, she sent to let him know
that malice had been busy with her name, that
his sudden return might revive unfounded reports,
and requested that he would not take it ill, if she
implored him to discontinue his visits.* On this
occasion there is nothing to implicate her fair fame,
except that when sovereign Princesses are thus
wooed, it is generally then own fault : besides, they
were both young, and Buckingham was extremely
handsome. But Henry Jermyn, the " lady-killer of De
Grammont," is supposed to have been more suc-
* Letter from Mr. Nicholas Oudart to Mr. Harding, 30th
May, 1652  Desid. Curiosa, vol. ii. lib. 12. p. 5.

248 MARY,
cessful : indeed, there is some doubt whether, after
her husband's death, they were not actually united
in marriage. King William appears to have
thought so, for at the Revolution, Jermyn was
one of the few Roman Catholics, who had been
attached to the fortunes of James, whom he re
ceived into favour.
The Princess was left a widow at the age of
nineteen, her husband having died on the 27th of
October, 1650. Her mother Henrietta Maria sub
sequently conceived an idea of uniting her to the
French King, Louis the Fourteenth, and accord
ingly sent for her to Paris. The Princess fell
into the scheme, and parted with her jewels, as
well as with some of her son's property, to sup
port a splendid appearance at the French capital.
The enterprise, however, was not successful, and
the Princess either remained a widow, or contented
herself with Jermyn.
At the Restoration, after an absence of nineteen
years, she returned to England. The joy of meet
ing her family was sadly damped by the recent
loss of her brother Henry, who had died but a
few days previous to her landing. Shortly after
wards she was herself attacked by the small-pox,
which ended her days at Whitehall, on the 24th
of December, 1660, having completed her twenty-
ninth year. Her brother James pays an affection
ate tribute to her memory. " Her personal merits,"
he says, " and particular love of all her relations,

PRINCESS OF ORANGE. 249
which she manifested in the time of their distress,
caused a sorrow for her death as great as was their
esteem." And Walker says, in his History of In
dependency, " Her tender love and zeal to the
King, in his afflictions, deserves to be written in
brass, and graven with the point of a diamond."
Waller has also celebrated her in a dull pane
gyric. She was buried in Henry the Seventh's
chapel, Westminster, in the same vault with her
favourite brother Henry.

250

ELIZABETH,
DAUGHTER OF CHARLES THE FIRST.
Birth and Character of this Princess — her Interview with her
Father the Day before his Execution — her Relation of this
Solemn Scene — she is committed by the Parliament to the
Care of Mildmay — her rumoured Apprenticeship to a Glover
at Newport — her Sickness and Death during her Captivity
in the Isle of Wight — her Funeral.
The most gifted of the children of Charles ;
her affectionate disposition and precocious parts
are invariably spoken of with admiration. She
was the darling child of her unhappy father, who
was gratified with her sympathy, delighted with
her ingenuous and pious mind, and proud of the
quickness of her apprehension, and her remarkable
insight into human character. She was born at
St. James's on the 28th of December 1635.*
* Mrs. Makins, the linguist, sister to John Pell, the linguist
and mathematician, was for some time her instructress. Mrs.
Makins, it seems, afterwards kept a school. At the end of
" An Essay on the Education of Gentlewomen," published in
1673, is the following curious postscript. " If any enquire
where this education may be performed ; such may be inform
ed, that a school is lately erected for gentlewomen at Totten
ham High-Cross, within four miles of London, in the road to
Ware; where Mrs. Makins is governess, who was sometimes

ELIZABETH, DAUGHTER OF CHARLES I. 251
The Princess had been admitted to her father's
presence the day previous to his execution, and,
like her brother Henry, had carried away an im
pression which was never effaced. That solemn
and affecting scene has been elsewhere described,
but it is not generally known that the young
Princess herself committed an account of it to
paper. When Charles had communicated to her
his last directions, " Sweetheart," he said, " you
will forget this." — " No," she said, " I shall
never forget it while I live ; " and with many tears,
promised to write down the particulars. The rela
tion, in her own words, is as follows : —
" What the King said to me 29th of January
last, being the last time I had the happiness to
see him.
tutoress to the Princess Elizabeth, daughter to King Charles
the First; where, by the blessing of God, gentlewomen may be
instructed in the principles of religion, and all manner of sober
and virtuous education ; more particularly in all things ordina
rily taught in other schools. Works of all sorts, dancing, mu
sic, singing, writing, keeping accounts, half the time to be
spent in these things ; the other half to be employed in gain
ing the Latin and French tongues ; and those that please, may
learn Greek and Hebrew, the Italian and Spanish, in all which
this gentlewoman hath a complete knowledge, &c. &c.
" Those that think these things improbable or impracticable,
may have farther account every Tuesday, at Mr. Mason's Coffee-
House in Cornhill, near the Royal Exchange ; and Thursday,
at the Bolt and Tun, in Fleet-Street, between the hours of three
and six in the afternoon, by some person whom Mrs. Makins
shall appoint." — Granger, vol. iii. p. 233.

252 ELIZABETH,
" He told me he was glad I was come, and
although he had not time to say much, yet some
what he had to say to me, which he had not to
another, or leave in writing, because he feared
their cruelty was such, as that they would not
have permitted him to write to me. He wished
me not to grieve and torment myself for him ;
for that would be a glorious death that he should
die, it being for the laws and liberties of the land.
He bid me read Bishop Andrews' Sermons, Hook
er's Ecclesiastical Polity, and Bishop Laud's book
against Fisher, which would ground me against Po
pery. He told me, he had forgiven all his enemies,
and hoped God would forgive them also ; and com
manded us to forgive them. He bid me tell my
mother that his thoughts had never strayed from
her, and that his love would be the same to his
last. Withal, he commanded me and my brother
to be obedient to her ; and bid me send his bless
ing to the rest of my brothers and sisters, with
commendations to all his friends. So after he had
given me his blessing, I took my leave.
" Further, he commanded us all to forgive those
people, but never to trust them ; for they had been
most false to him, and to those that gave them
power, and he feared also to their own souls. And
desired me not to grieve for him, for he should die
a martyr ; and that he doubted not but that the
Lord would settle his throne upon his son, and
that we should all be happier than we could

DAUGHTER OF CHARLES I. 253
have expected to have been if he had lived ; with
many other things, which at present I cannot re
member." The Princess was at Hampton-Court at the
period of Charles's escape from that place. It
was in consequence of her complaining that the
sentinels disturbed her rest, that they were re
moved to a greater distance, and thus, it is said,
afforded particular facility to Charles in effecting
his flight.
Having been successively under the charge of the
Earl of Northumberland and the Countess of Lei
cester, in August 1650 she was committed by the
Parliament to the care of Anthony Mildmay, for
merly carver to King Charles, by whom she was
conducted to Carisbrook Castle. The Commons
appear to have taken but little care of her main
tenance. In the " Desiderata Curiosa" is published
a memorial from Mildmay to the Speaker, in fa
vour of the four domestics allowed her by the Par
liament, who petition for their promised remune
ration. The rumour which has existed, that the Princess
was actually bound apprentice to a glover or but
ton-maker at Newport, is generally supposed to
have been unfounded : nevertheless, the author
is credibly informed that the indenture is still pre
served among the archives of that town. Probably
she was saved from the actual indignity of servitude

254 ELIZABETH,
by the state of her health, as she survived, her
arrival at Carisbrook but a few weeks.
Early in September, returning from bowls with
her brother, the Duke of Gloucester, she complain
ed of a pain in her head, which was followed by a
sickness that ended her short life of captivity and
sorrow. " She fell sick," says Fuller, " about the
beginning of September, and continued so for three
or four days, having only the advice of Dr. Bignall,
a worthy and able physician of Newport. After
very many rare ejaculatory expressions, abundantly
demonstrating her unparalleled piety, she took leave
of the world, on Sunday the 8th of the same Sep
tember," 1650. Sir Theodore Mayerne, a celebrat
ed physician of the period, sent her some medicines
from London. Heath says, " that with this excep
tion, but little care was taken of her in her sick
ness." This account indeed is corroborated by
-Mayerne himself, who had been physician to the
Court in its palmy days, and who in this capacity
had prescribed for the Princess in 1649 : he inserts
the following touching memorandum among his pa
pers : — " Ex febre malignd tunc grassante, obit in
custodid in Vecti Insula, procul a medicis et remediis,
die 8 Septemb. circa tertiam pomeridianam."* " She
died of a fever at that period raging, when in pri
son in the Isle of Wight ; far removed from physi
cians and medical aid, on the eighth day of Sep
tember, about three o'clock in the afternoon." The
* Ellis's Original Letters, vol. iii. p. 330. Second Series.

DAUGHTER OF CHARLES I. 255
royalists attributed her death to poison, adminis
tered by order of Cromwell. Undoubtedly the acer
bity of party feeling alone originated the report.
The Princess is generally reported to have died
of grief. Probably the scenes which she had wit
nessed, the loss of liberty, and the deep feelings of
which her nature was susceptible, tended to hasten
her end. But her constitution seems originally to
have been delicate, as we are told that the quick
ness of her mind made amends for the weakness of
her body. Fuller says that she was " affected with
the afflictions of her family beyond her age." At
the time of her death she had not completed her
fourteenth year.
Her remains were carried to the church of New
port, in a " borrowed coach." This circumstance
omitted, there appears to have been no want of
respect for her memory. Her body was embalmed
and placed in a leaden coffin, the mayor and alder
men of Newport respectfully attending the inter
ment.

256

ANNE,
DAUGHTER OF CHARLES THE FIRST.
Birth of this Princess — affecting Anecdote connected with
her last Moments — her Death.
Mr. Garrard writes to the Earl of Strafford,
on the 23rd of March 1636, " Friday morning, the
17th of this month, St. Patrick's day, was the Queen
brought to bed of a daughter, which will please
the Irish well. It is not yet christened, neither
hear I anything of the gossips."* There is a sim
ple but affecting anecdote related of this little
Princess, who died before she had completed her
fourth year. In her last moments she was desired
by one of her attendants to pray. She said she
was not able to say her long prayer, meaning the
Lord's Prayer, but would say her short one :
" Lighten mine eyes, O Lord, that I sleep not the
sleep of death." She had scarcely repeated the
words when life departed.-}- She was born at St.
James's, 17th March 1637, and died 8th Decem
ber 1640. * Strafford Letters, vol. ii. p. 57.
f Fuller's Worthies, vol. ii. p. 108.

257

HENRIETTA MARIA,
DUCHESS OF ORLEANS.
Character of this Princess — she is consigned to the Care of the
Countess of Morton. — Escape ofthe Countess with her young
Charge to Paris. — Joy of the Queen in meeting her Daugh
ter. — Sir John Reresby's Account of the latter. — The
young Princess at the French Court. — Deceptive Conduct
of Louis. — Henrietta's Lovers — her Return to England at
the Restoration. — Description of her by Pepys — her Mar
riage to the Duke of Orleans. — her Success in confirming
her Brother James in the Romish Faith — her second Visit
to England, and Reception at Dover by Charles the Second. —
Scandalous Reports. — Suspicions connected with the Duch
ess's last Illness — her dying Interview with Montagu — her
Death — its Effect on Charles  Inquiry into the Circum
stances of the Duchess's Decease — her Children by the
Duke of Orleans.
Youngest daughter of Charles the First. Love
ly in her person, gay and attractive in her man
ners, fond of admiration, and not averse to intrigue,
she was the idol alike of the French King and
of his complaisant courtiers. She was the favour
ite child, and constant companion of her mother,
whose religion she embraced, and whose country she
preferred. With all the vivacity of her fascinating
parent, she possessed much of the wit and humour
of her brother Charles. Burnet, who is no friend
vol. n. s

258 HENRIETTA MARIA,
to her character, speaks of her as the wittiest
woman in France. She was never even beheld by
her unfortunate father.
Henrietta was born in Bedford -House, Exeter,
in the midst of the civil troubles, on the 16th of
June 1644. Only ten days after her birth, her
mother was compelled to resign her to the care
of others, being forced to seek refuge in France.
She was intrusted by Charles to the beautiful
Countess of Morton,* who, true to ht r trust, con
trived to elude the vigilance of the Parliament,
and escaped with her young charge to Paris.
The Princess was scarcely more than two years
old when they set out from Oatlands on their
hazardous journey. They had disguised her in
a coarse grey frock, and as the child naturally
missed the bright colours it had been accustomed
to, she frequently lisped out her displeasure,
assuring every one she spoke to, that it was not
the dress she had always worn. Lady Morton is
complimented by Waller on the success of her
enterprise : —
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 us passion when her story's read ;
What may the living do, which brought away
Though a less bloody, yet a nobler prey ?

* Anne, daughter of Sir Edward Villiers, (brother to George
Villiers, first Duke of Buckingham,) and wife of Robert Doug
las, Earl of Morton.

DUCHESS OF ORLEANS. 259
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 Queen was overjoyed to embrace her child,
and from this period they were inseparable. The
childhood of the young Princess was passed either
in Paris or its vicinity. Sir John Reresby, who
seems to have been a favourite of the exiled
Queen, was a frequent visitor at the Palais Royal.
" Her Majesty," he says, " had none of her chil
dren with her but the Princess Henrietta Maria ;
and few of the English making their court there,
I was the better received. As I spoke the lan
guage of the country, and danced pretty well, 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 cham
ber, 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 appearance of the youthful Princess was
hailed with rapture in the brilliant circles of Paris.
At the French Court there were none who could
compete with her either in wit or loveliness;
and the young King, Louis the Fourteenth, was
the first to confess the power of her charms.
" The Court of France," says Reresby, " was very

260 HENRIETTA MARIA,
splendid this winter, 1660; a grand Masque was
danced at the Louvre, where the King and Prin
cess Henrietta of England danced to admiration.
But there was now a greater resort to the palace
than the French Court ; the good-humour and
wit of our Queen-mother, and the beauty of the
Princess her daughter, being more inviting than
anything that appeared in the French Queen."
According to Burnet, the only object of Louis, in
addressing the Princess as a lover, was to cover
his intercourse with the celebrated Madame La
Valiere. Henrietta, he adds, who had encouraged
the King's addresses, was highly incensed when
she discovered the deception.
It is to be feared that, like many of her family,
the heart of Henrietta was too susceptible of ten
der sentiments ; to what extent, however, there
was criminality in her attachments, it is now im
possible to ascertain. Truth is never easy to ar
rive at, but in cases of scandal the difficulty is
commonly doubled. Among the foremost of Hen
rietta's lovers stands the Count de Guiche. The
feeling on both sides is described as ardent and
sincere. Madame Lafeyette dismisses all idea of
impropriety, yet she speaks of their attachment
as une confidence libertine. Such an expression is
strangely at variance with spotless virtue.
Another of Henrietta's reputed lovers was the
Count de TreviUe. When on her death-bed, it
is said she repeated in her delirium, Adieu, Tre-

DUCHESS OF ORLEANS. 261
ville! The Count was so much affected by this
slight incident, or, more probably by the death
of his mistress, that he shut himself up for many
years in a monastery. When he returned to the
world he was an altered and devout man*
At the Restoration, Henrietta accompanied her
mother to England, where she remained about six
months. Pepys says in his Diary, " The Princess
Henrietta is very pretty, but much below my ex
pectation ; 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 much handsomer
than she." On the 31st of March 1661, while yet
scarcely seventeen, she was married to Philip
Duke of Orleans, only brother to Louis the
Fourteenth, a wicked and narrow-minded volup
tuary, with nothing to recommend him but his
handsome person, f
In May 1670 Henrietta again visited England,
on which occasion she is reported to have con
firmed her brother James in his predilection for
the Romish faith. Her principal object, however,
as is well known, was to persuade Charles to join
* Burnet, vol. i. p. 555.
\ The Abbe de Longueville thus describes the Duke :
" He was continually talking without ever saying anything.
He never had but one book, which was his mass-book, and
his clerk of the closet used always to carry it in his pocket
for him." — Seaward, vol. ii. p. 209.

262 HENRIETTA MARIA,
the French King in a league against the Dutch.
Charles, attended by the Duke of York, Prince
Rupert, and the Duke of Monmouth, hastened to
Dover to receive her on landing. The court
shortly followed, and for a fortnight, which was
the extent of her visit, Dover was the constant
scene of splendid rejoicings. It was on this oc
casion that she is said to have fixed her affections
on the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth.*
Henrietta was the favourite sister of Charles,
and there can be no doubt of the sincerity of
his affection. Colbert, the French Ambassador
in England, in his despatches lays great stress on
this circumstance. In one of his letters he writes,
" Her influence over the King was remarked by
all ; he wept when he parted with her, and
whatever favour she asked of him was granted."')"
Unfortunately this amiable weakness on the part
of Charles gave rise to some scandalous reports,
which can scarcely be more than alluded to. They
would not now have been referred to, but that
Ludlow, Marvell, and Burnet have lent them the
credit of their names. Some weight appears to
have attached to them at the time, for we are
assured that Henrietta sent for Montagu, the
English Ambassdor, on her death-bed, and with
the most solemn asseverations, declared her inno
cence of any improper attachment for her own
blood. In a little work, published shortly after
* Reresby, p. 173. + Dalrymple, vol. i. p. 76.

DUCHESS OF ORLEANS. 263
the death of Charles, his memory is confidently
loaded with this offensive charge.
Whatever may have been the conduct of Hen
rietta, during her short visit to England, it is cer
tain that the jealous temper of her husband was
painfully aroused by the reports which reached
him. We are naturally unwilling to place much
faith in the rumours of royal poisonings ; still,
there is a mystery hanging over the fate of Hen
rietta which it is far from easy to remove ; nor
shall we readily acquit her husband of being the
author of her death. The following particulars
of her dissolution are not without interest.
Some days after her return to France, she de
sired one of her attendants to bring her usual
beverage, a glass of succory water. She com
plained at the time that it was very bitter, and
being presently attacked by the most excruciating
pains, exclaimed several times that she was poi
soned ; desiring that she might be put to bed, and
her confessor instantly sent for. The King of
France shortly afterwards arrived, bringing with
him his own physician. The latter endeavoured
to console her with false hopes, but she persisted
in her conviction that she should never recover.
Her piety and resolution are described as most
exemplary. She told her husband that she had
the less fear of death, as she had nothing to re
proach herself with in her conduct towards him.
Of the French King she took leave with all the

264 HENRIETTA MARIA,
grace of former days, telling him that what made
her most regret to leave the world, was the loss
of his friendship and esteem.
She had more than once expressed a strong
desire that Montagu, the English ambassador,
should be summoned to her sick chamber ; and
accordingly he attended, and remained with her
to the last. She told him she could not pos
sibly live long, and desired him to convey her
most affectionate regards to the King, her bro
ther, and to thank him for all the kindness he
had ever shown her. She frequently recurred to
the grief which he would feel at her loss : " 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." She told Mon
tagu where he would discover her money after
her death, desiring him to distribute it among
her servants, whom she mentioned by name ; she
recommended them also in the strongest manner
to the protection of Charles. She said that she
had long been on bad terms with her husband,
and that he had recently been exasperated by
finding her in close conversation with the King
of France ; but they were discoursing, she said,
on affairs which could not be communicated to
a third person. Montagu more than once in
quired of her in English if she believed herself
poisoned, but her confessor caught the expression,
and told her she must accuse no one. When

DUCHESS OF ORLEANS. 265
Montagu afterwards pressed the question, she
shrugged up her shoulders, but said nothing.
She had no sooner expired, than her money and
papers were seized by her husband. The latter
were principally in cipher, and probably baffled
his curiosity.
As regards the question of Henrietta having
been poisoned, there was much difference of opi
nion even in her own family. Her brother, the
Duke of York, certainly discredited the fact. —
" It was suspected," he says, " that counter poisons
were given her ; but when she was opened, in the
presence of the English Ambassador, the Earl of
Ailesbury, and an English physician and surgeon,
there appeared no ground of suspicion of any foul
play." This account is in exact opposition to what
is asserted by Burnet, that her stomach was com
pletely ulcerated. Charles, however, appears to
have been far from satisfied that his sister died
a natural death. When Sir Thomas Armstrong
detailed to him the particulars of her illness, for
which purpose he had ridden post from Paris, the
King burst into tears ; — " The Duke," he said,
" is a  ! But, prithee, Tom, don't speak of
it." However, he sent Sir William Temple into
France, to make inquiries into the truth of the
report. Temple told Lord Dartmouth that he
" found more in it than was fit to be known," but
that he advised the King to drop the inquiry, un
less he was in a condition to resent it as became a

266 HENRIETTA MARIA,
great King, especially as it might prejudice the
infant daughters of his deceased sister. The
French King appears to have been in some diffi
culty how to act. In the first instance he inti
mated his belief in his brother's guilt in the most
unequivocal manner, by refusing to receive a letter
which he sent him. However, he afterwards al
tered his opinion ; asserting that after every in
quiry into the circumstances, he was completely
convinced of the innocence of the Duke. With
out pretending to arrive at any definite conclu
sion, it may be remarked that Montagu appears
fully satisfied that there had been foul play.*
Sir Thomas Armstrong seems to join with him in
the conclusion. He says, that when he entered
the apartment, about four hours after the death
of the Princess, the body was in such a state of
decomposition, that he could scarcely bear to re
main in the room.
Henrietta died at St. Cloud on the 30th of June
1670, having just completed her twenty-sixth year.
By Philip, Duke of Orleans, she was the mother
of three children : — Philip, who died young ;
Maria, married to Charles II. King of Spain ;
and Anna Maria, who became the wife of Victor
Amadeus II. Duke of Savoy, and afterwards King
* This is supposing, (what we believe to be the case,)
that the five remarkable letters, attached to the first volume
of Lord Arlington's correspondence, are the productions of
Montagu.

DUCHESS OF ORLEANS. 267
of Sicily and Sardinia. This latter Princess was
great-grandmother of Louis XVI, who was be
headed in 1793 ; that unfortunate monarch being
the sixth in generation from Charles the First.

268

GEORGE VILLIERS,
DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
CHAPTER I.
Summary of Buckingham's Character — his Parents — his Mo
ther's Presage of his future Greatness — his first Appear
ance at Court. — James's Admiration. — Indignity offered to
Somerset's Picture. — Effect of the King's Partiality. — The
Queen's Prediction. — Buckingham insulted by one of So
merset's Retainers. — Project to assassinate Buckingham. —
Commencement of James's Favours to Buckingham. — Arch
bishop Abbot's Advice to him. — Dazzling Rapidity of Buck
ingham's Rise — his Magnificence. — The Entertainments of
York House. — Buckingham's Cabinet of Pictures — his Pa
tronage of Lord Herbert of Cherbury. — Origin of Bucking
ham's Sobriquet, " Steenie " — his Person and Character,
sketched by Bishop Goodman and Sir Symonds D'Ewes. —
Buckingham's Marriage. — Scandal relating to him. — Letter
from his Wife during his Absence in Spain. — Mutual Af
fection. Although we may deny to Buckingham the
merit of genius, and even of any extraordinary
political capacity, we shall still wonder at that
consummate knowledge of human character, and
those thousand accomplishments, which raised him
to the pinnacle of human greatness, — which made
the wisest and haughtiest of his contemporaries
subservient to his will, — and gave him an as-

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 269
cendant alike over the imbecile James and the
virtuous Charles. His odious position as a fa
vourite, and his unfitness to conduct the interests
of a great empire, have drawn down upon him
the harshest invectives of the historian. Neverthe
less it is easier to impugn the wisdom of his coun
sels than the integrity of his intentions. Charles
would never have fixed his affections on a really
bad man ; and, however we may regret the weak
judgment and unfortunate influence of Bucking
ham, there is no reason to doubt, either his zeal
for his country, or his attachment to his unfor
tunate master.
Moreover, Buckingham was not deficient in the
better qualities of the heart. If his spirit was
imperious, his equals, not his inferiors, were in
sulted by his haughtiness or crushed by his power.
His disposition was generous ; he was a consider
ate master ; he despised the common arts of
dissimulation ; and if a violent, he was at least
an open enemy. His exterior qualifications, the
eminent grace and elegance of his person, the
refinement of his manners, his chivalrous courage,
and the magnificence of his taste, have never
been called in question. His character appears to
have been a strange mixture of generous qualities
and unruly passions.! After perusing the history
of his dazzling career, we shall perhaps doubt
whether there is most room for envy or commise
ration, for applause or censure.

270 GEORGE VILLIERS,
George Villiers was born at Brooksby, in Lei
cestershire, 28th of August 1592. He was the
third son of Sir George Villiers, Knight, by Mary
Beaumont, his wife, a lady to whom a separate
memoir has been accorded. The Villierses, an an
cient though not a distinguished family, had been
resident in Leicestershire for nearly four centu
ries ; a circumstance which of itself would at least
confer respectability. The future favourite was
the darling of his mother, who seems to have
conceived an intuitive presage of his greatness,
and to have planned his education accordingly.
At the death of his father, when he was about
thirteen, she sent for him from his school at Bil-
lisden, and caused him to be instructed in all
those graceful accomplishments, which are more
likely to make an elegant courtier than a sober
Christian. With a view of giving a last finish to
his education, at the age of eighteen he set out
for France, in which country he remained about
three years.
Buckingham made his first appearance at Court
about the year 1614. His means at this time were
so extremely slender, as scarcely to enable him
to support the character of a gentleman. Arthur
Wilson says, " that he had not above fifty pounds
a-year," and Sir Symonds D'Ewes goes still fur
ther. According to the latter authority, Bucking
ham, shortly before he became favourite, was seen
at Cambridge races, " in an old black suit, broken

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 271
out in various places." Weldon gives a curious
reason for his first appearance at Court. Buck
ingham, it appears, had fallen in love with a
daughter of Sir Roger Aston, Master of the Robes
to King James. The lady was extremely attached
to him, and their union was only delayed by the
deficiency of their pecuniary resources. In the
mean time Buckingham was introduced to the
King, when the prospect of future aggrandise
ment bursting upon him, he most ungallantly
abandoned the smiles of the lady for those of for
tune. This early attachment is alluded to both by
Wotton and Lloyd. They alike agree in attri
buting the defection of Buckingham to the ad
vice of Sir John Graham, who persuaded him to
laugh at romance, and rather endeavour to push
his fortune at Court.
Buckingham first caught the eye of James while
performing in the play of Ignoramus, on an occa
sion of its being acted before his Majesty by the
Students of Cambridge. The King was so struck
with the grace and symmetry of his person, and
expressed his admiration so warmly, as to give
the first idea to the enemies of Somerset, of su
perseding him by a new candidate for royal fa
vour.* The probability of success was seriously
canvassed at a supper party, at which were present
the heads of the noble families of Herbert, Sey
mour, and Russell. The company, we are told,
* Coke, vol. i. p. 75.

272 GEORGE VILLIERS,
on breaking up, elated probably by the wine which
they had drunk, happened to pass through Fleet
Street, when one of the party, perceiving Somer
set's picture exposed for sale in a painter's stall,
desired his servant to throw some dirt on the
face ; an order which was effectually obeyed.* The
anecdote is trivial, but casts some light on the
manners of the time.
The King's partiality had no sooner become
publicly known, than Buckingham had no want of
friends. William, Earl of Pembroke, and Lucy,
Countess of Bedford, supplied him liberally with
money, and Sir Thomas Lake, we are assured,
bought for him the place of cup-bearer, to which
he was shortly afterwards nominated. According
to Lloyd, the courtiers wished him well because
he was an Englishman ; the nobility, because he
was a gentleman ; the King, because he had
beauty and parts ; and the ladies, because he
was the " exactest courtier in Christendom,"
On one of Buckingham's first visits to Court,
the King turned to Lord Arundel, and inquired
" what he thought of him." Arundel, looking at
his blushing face, observed " that his bashfulness
was ill-suited to a Court." The Queen, however,
Anne of Denmark, was of a different opinion, and
the result proved that she had the more foresight
of the two. When she was pressed to introduce
Buckingham to the King, by those who wished ill
* Aulicus Coquinariae ; Lloyd's State Worthies, vol. ii. p. 227.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 273
to Somerset, she gave as her objection, that " if
he were to become a favourite, he would become
more intolerable than any that had gone before
him." This anecdote is related by Coke, and
authenticated by Archbishop Abbot, who was pre
sent when the Queen made use of the words :
" Noble Queen," (he writes, in mentioning the
circumstance,) " how like a prophetess did you
speak !" His grace informs us, that the King
would never adopt a new favourite, unless he were
recommended by his wife. His motive was, that
he might turn the tables on her, should she here
after complain of the selection.*
Buckingham had to encounter many insults from
the friends and retainers of Somerset. On one
occasion, a creature of the declining favourite,
in carrying a dish to the royal table, designedly
spilt some of its contents over Buckingham's splen
did dress. Want of spirit was not a failing of
Buckingham, and he instantly repaid the insult
with a box on the ear. Such a proceeding, ac
cording to the laws of the Court, exposed the
offending party to the penalty of losing his hand ;
and Somerset, in his capacity of Lord Cham
berlain, was the proper person to see the mu
tilation enforced, f l James, however, interfered,
* Biog. Brit. Art. Abbot.
+ The Statute, 33 Henry VIII. c. 12, after enacting the
barbarous penalty, proceeds as follows : " And for the further
declaration of the solemn and due circumstance ofthe execution,
appertaining, and of long time used and accustomed, to and for
VOL. II. T

274 GEORGE VILLIERS,
and by his behaviour on the occasion, gave ad
ditional proof /of the interest he took in his new
favourite. Buckingham, we are told, obtained a
" clear conquest " over his rival.*— f
One Ker, or Carr, illegitimately connected with
the falling favourite, carried his feelings of friend
ship to such an extreme, that he had actually
made up his mind to assassinate Buckingham.
Fortunately, a friend, to whom he had communi
cated his project, discovered it to the Court. Ker
denied the charge so stubbornly, that, though
condemned to a long imprisonment, he escaped
with his life.
James commenced his favours to Buckingham,
as he had formerly done to Somerset, by attending
to his education and moral improvement. He
taught him, we are told, three things ; a love for
retirement, the art of conversation, and the quali
fications of a man of business. Buckingham did
credit to the King's judgment, by showing himself,
in the first instance, courteous and affable to all
men ; procuring the royal patronage gratis for
those who sought him, while Somerset had been
such malicious strikings, by reason whereof blood is, hath been, or
hereafter shall be shed, against the King's peace ; it is there
fore enacted by the authority aforesaid, that the serjeant, or
chief surgeon, for the time being, or his deputy, of the King's
household, his heirs and successors, shall be ready at the
place and time of execution as shall be appointed, as is afore^
said, to sear the stump when the hand is stricken off."
* Aulicus Coquinarias; Lloyd, vol. ii. p. 159.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 275
in the habit of exacting large sums for the fa
vours which he conferred.*
It is greatly to Buckingham's credit that, in the
commencement of his career, he lived on terms of
friendship with, and was regarded with an affec
tionate interest by, the amiable Archbishop Abbot.
That excellent prelate thus addresses the young
courtier, on the first dawn of his rising splendour :
— " And now, my George, because of your kind
affection towards me, you style me your father,
I will from this day forward repute and esteem you
for my son, and so hereafter know yourself to be.
And in token thereof, I do now give you my bless
ing again, and charge you, as my son, daily to serve
God ; to be diligent and pleasing to your master,
and to be wary that, at no man's instance, you
press him with many suits ; because they are not
your friends that urge those things upon you, but
have private ends of their own, which are not fit
for you. So praying God to bless you, I rest,
" Your very loving father,
"Lambeth, 10th Dec. 1615." " G. CANT."f
" To my very loving son, Sir George Villiers,
Knight, and Gentleman of his Majesty's
Bed-chamber."
~4-The dazzling rapidity of Buckingham's rise is
perhaps unexampled in the annals of favouritism.
Within a few short years, he was knighted, made
* Coke, vol. i. p. 79.
j- Bishop Goodman's Memoirs, vol. ii. p.J61.
t 2

276 GEORGE VILLIERS,
a Gentleman of the Bed-chamber, created Baron
of Whaddon and Viscount Villiers, Earl, Marquis,
and Duke of Buckingham ; received the Order of
the Garter, and the appointments of Master of
the Horse, Chief Justice in Eyre, Warden of the
Cinque Ports, Master of the King's Bench Office,
Steward of the Manor of Hampton Court, Lord
High Admiral of England, Steward of Westmin
ster, Constable of Windsor, and Chancellor of the
University of Cambridge.* The^se favours were
all heaped upon him by James. Charles, on his
accession to the throne, had little but his affection
to add to such a pageant.
Buckingham's magnificence was at least equal
to his illustrious fortunes. Imagination can con
ceive nothing more splendid than the entertain
ments, the public display, and indeed the personal
appearance of this favourite of fortune. His jewels
* Buckingham was appointed cup-bearer, and received into
the King's household in 1613, On St. George's day, 1615, he
was knighted, made a gentleman of the bed-chamber, and had
an annuity of a thousand pounds settled on him out of the
Court of Wards. At New Year's tide following, he received
the appointment of Master ofthe Horse; and in July 1616,
was installed Knight of the Garter. On the 22nd of August,
in the same year, he was created Baron of Whaddon, in the
county of Bucks, and Viscount Villiers. On the 5th of Janu
ary 1617, he was made Earl of Buckingham, and a privy-
counsellor; and in March, accompanying the King to Scot
land, he was sworn of the privy council of that kingdom.
He was created Earl of Coventry and Duke of Buckingham,
18th May 1623. We find his titles thus fulsomely embla
zoned : —
" The right high, and right mighty Prince, George Villiers,

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 277
were alone valued at three hundred thousand
pounds. " It was common with him," we are told,
" at an ordinary dancing, to have his clothes trim
med with great diamond buttons, and to have dia
mond hat-bands, cockades, and earrings ; to be yoked
with great and manifold ropes and knots of pearl ;
in short, to be manacled, fettered, and imprisoned
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 all
over with diamonds ; as were also his sword,
girdle, hat-band, and spurs."* Buckingham was
the first person who was carried about in a sedan
chair. The circumstance caused a great sensation
Duke, Marquis, and Earl of Buckingham ; Earl of Coventry,
Viscount Villiers, Baron of Whaddon ; Lord High Admiral of
England, Ireland, and the Principality of Wales ; Governor of
all the Castles and Sea-forts, and of the Royal Navy ; Master
of, the Horse to his Majesty ; Lord Warden, Chancellor, and
Admiral of the Cinque Ports, and the members thereof ;
Constable of the castle of Dover; Justice in Eyre of all his
Majesty's forests, parks, and chaces on this side the river
Trent ; Constable of the royal castle of Windsor ; Gentleman
of the King's bed-chamber ; Counsellor of estate of the king
doms of England, Scotland, and Ireland ; Knight of the most
noble Order of the Garter ; Lord President of the Council of
War ; Chancellor of the University of Cambridge ; and Lord
General of his Majesty's forces in the Isle of Rhee." — Granger,
vol. ii. p. 278.
* Hail. MSS. ; Harris, vol. i. p. 245.

278 GEORGE VILLIERS, :
at the time ; the vulgar attributing it to his pride,
and railing at him as he passed through the streets.
" It was a shame," they said, " that men should be
brought to as servile condition as horses."*
Another incident which added greatly to his un
popularity, was the circumstance of his having his
coach drawn by six horses ; a memorable instance
of his splendour, when we remember that only
forty years had elapsed since coaches were first
introduced into England. f When the fact was
related to the old Earl of Northumberland, (the
" stout earl," as he is called,) he said that if Buck
ingham was drawn by six horses, he had at least
a right to eight ; with which number he actually
drove through the streets, to the great content
ment of the citizens.
These indeed are but trivial illustrations of
Buckingham's magnificence-;]- but it would be diffi
cult to do justice to the refined taste, the unparal-
* Wilson, p. 131. Evelyn tells us, in his Diary, that Sedan
chairs were first brought to England by Sir Saunders Dun
combe. This person, who was gentleman pensioner to Kings
James and Charles I., is said to have taken out a patent in
1634 : Buckingham, however, may yet have been the first who
had the boldness to make use of them.
t The introduction of coaches into England is commonly
attributed to Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, in 1580. It seems,
however, that they were first brought from the Netherlands
by William Booren, a Dutchman, who presented one to Queen
Elizabeth, about the eighth year of her reign. See Harl.
Misc. vol. iv. p. 218. — They were first drawn by only two
horses.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 279
leled splendour, which characterised the entertain
ments of York-house ; — " those entertainments,"
says D'Israeli, which " combined all the picture of
ballet-dances with the voice of music, the charms
of the verse of Jonson, the scenic machinery of
Inigo Jones, and the variety of fanciful devices of
Gerbier."* Bassompiere, whose judgment in mat
ters of taste was unrivalled, describes one of Buck
ingham's entertainments as the most splendid he
had ever seen. " 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 were led into another room, where the assem
bly was, and one entered it by a kind of turn
stile, 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 four in the morning ; thence
we were shown into vaulted apartments, where
there were five different collations, "f This would
appear to be the identical entertainment, the de
scription of which Mr. D'Israeli has extracted from
the Sloane MSS., and published in his Curiosities
of Literature. " Last Sunday at night, the Duke's
* Cur. of Lit. vol. v. p. 223.
•f- Bassomp. Emb. to Eng. Lond. 1819. p. 95.

280 GEORGE VILLIERS,
grace entertained their Majesties and the French
Ambassador at York-house with great feasting and
show, where all things came down in clouds ;
amongst which, one rare device was a representa
tion of the French King and the two Queens, with
their chiefest attendants, and so to the life that
the Queen's Majesty could name them. It was
four o'clock in the morning before they parted,
and then the King and Queen, together with the
French Ambassador, lodged there. Some esti
mate this entertainment at five or six thousand
pounds." The Duke's cabinet of pictures and works of
art were valuable and choice in the extreme.
Gerbier writes to his master, 8th February 1625.
" Sometimes, when I am contemplating the trea
sure of rarities which your Excellency has in so
short a time amassed, I cannot but feel astonish
ment in the midst of my joy. For out of all the
amateurs, and princes, and kings, there is not one
who has collected in forty years as many pictures
as your Excellency has collected in five. Let
enemies and people ignorant of paintings say what
they will, they cannot deny that pictures are noble
ornaments, a delightful amusement, and histories
that one may read without fatigue. Our pictures,
if they were to be sold a century after our death,
would sell for good cash, and for three times more
than they have cost. I wish I could only live a
century, if they were sold, to be able to laugh at

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 281
those facetious folk, who say it is money cast away
for baubles and shadows : I know they will be pic
tures still, when those ignorants will be less than
shadows.*" , For a collection which had been made
by Rubens, the Duke gave 10,000/. ; and he had
also employed Sir Henry Wotton, when Ambas
sador at Venice, to purchase for him the most
valuable productions of the great masters.-f- For
one of the pictures of Titian, the Ecce Homo, Lord
Arundel offered him 7000/. either in money or land.
In this picture were introduced likenesses of the
Pope, Charles the Fifth, and Solyman the Mag
nificent. When the Duke's cabinet came to be
disposed of during the civil broils, this fine work
of art was purchased by the Archduke Leopold,
and placed in the castle of Prague.f ~f Bucking
ham's encouragement of the fine arts was not
confined to pictures. When he was sent to the
States, to negotiate for the restitution of the Pala
tinate, he purchased for a large sum the curious
collection of Arabic MSS. by Erpinus the linguist,
which he afterwards bequeathed to the University
of Cambridge. J
There can be no doubt indeed but that Buck
ingham both appreciated and patronized talent. -7
Without any apparent motive but the fame which
* Bishop Goodman's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 371.
f Walpole'sWnecdotes of Painting ; Fairfax's Life of Buck
ingham. + Reliq. Wotton. p. 523.

528S| GEORGE VILLIERS,
^uj/abilities had acquired for him, the famous Lord
lerbert of Cherbury obtained his appointment
as Ambassador to Paris at Buckingham's hands.
When Lord Herbert shortly afterwards became
involved in one of those scrapes which his chivalrous
sense of honour was continually entailing on him,
Buckingham took his part, and protected him from
the serious consequences of the King's displea
sure.* It was owing also to his fine taste, in con-
juction with that of his royal master, that Rubens,
Vandyke, and Gerbier were attracted to England,
and that Inigo Jones supported the national cha
racter by his genius, f When will such a period
again arrive ? Not till we have a new Charles and
another Buckingham.
In forming our estimate of the accomplishments
of Buckingham, and the brilliant figure which he
presented at two succeeding courts, we must bear
in mind his exquisite elegance and beauty, which
rendered him the idol of the fair sex, and the envy
of his own. James, as is well known, conferred
on him the familiar name of Steenie. He alluded
to the passage (Acts vi. 15.) where it is said of St.
Stephen, that, " All that sat in the council look
ing stedfastly on him, saw his face as it had been
the face of an angel ;" from whence the King
chose to confer on his favourite the not very
appropriate name of Stephen, and thence by cor-
* Life of Lord Herbert of Cherbury by himself, pp. 125,
126, and 129.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 283
ruption Steenie. Bishop Goodman, who was welt,
acquainted with him, draws the following sketch;,
of his person and character : — " Buckingham," he
says, " of all others was most active ; he had a very
lovely complexion ; he was the handsomest bodied
man of England ; his limbs 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 36,000/. per annum by
the Court,) whom of all men in the world Buck
ingham had most wronged, — yet I had 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 gen
tleman, or words to that effect."
Sir Symonds D'Ewes mentions the occasion of
a tilting-match at Whitehall, when he had the
opportunity of watching Buckingham closely for
about half an hour; the Duke being, at the time, in
earnest conversation with some French noblemen.
" I saw everything in him," he says, " full of deli
cacy and handsome features ; yea his hands and
feet seemed to be specially effeminate and curious.
It is possible he seemed the more accomplished,
because the French Monsieurs that had invested
him were very swarthy hard-featured men." f Cla
rendon, and indeed every writer of the period,

284 GEORGE VILLIERS,
bears the same testimony to Buckingham's uncom
mon beauty. It would seem, however, by his later
portraits, that it lasted but with the period of early
youth. Buckingham was only once married. His wife
was Catherine, daughter of Francis Earl of Rut
land. I According to Arthur Wilson, the Duke had
in the first instance seduced her from her father's
house, and after keeping her for some time in his
lodgings, returned her to her family. The blood
of the Earl was naturally roused, and he sent a
message to Buckingham that if he did not instantly
marry his daughter, his greatness should be no
protection to him. Buckingham eventually con
sented to repair the lady's honour, and they were
accordingly married. As Lady Catherine, how
ever, was the richest heiress in England, it is sin
gular that Buckingham should not originally have
courted her as a wife instead of a mistress.
The affair indeed is altogether involved in mys
tery and doubt. That the Earl of Rutland was
unwilling to marry his daughter to Buckingham, —
that her partiality for the favourite caused her
parent to treat her harshly, and that she eventually
eloped from her father's house, is evident from the
letters which passed between the Duke and his
future father-in-law, from the period of her flight
to that of her marriage. The Duke, however, de
nies in the strongest manner that her honour had
suffered at his hands. He writes to the Earl : 

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 285
" I can delay no longer 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 friend
ship, and her honour, I must now, contrary of 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 ble
mish in her honour, but that 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 ; consider
ing 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,
" G. Buckingham.''*
The King, it seems, had originally refused his
consent to thjg&s- union, as long as the lady should
continue to profess herself a Roman Catholic.
The Lord Keeper, Dr. Williams, was selected to
effect her conversion, and as the lady's interests
were concerned, and - her character at stake, he
appears to have encountered but little difficulty in
performing his task.
* Bishop Goodman's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 192.

286 GEORGE VILLIERS,
Wilson expatiates with much acrimony when
he speaks of Buckingham's amours. He says that
if the Duke's eye " culled out a wanton beauty,
he had his setters that could spread his nets, and
point a meeting at some lady's house, where he
should come as by accident and find accesses, while
all his train attended at the door, as if it were
an honourable visit." Peyton, of course, joins in
the popular cry. " The Duke," he says, " vitiated
many virgins, gentle and noble in birth, though
vicious for yielding to his lust." But, perhaps, the
most singular piece of scandal is that of Sir Symonds
D'Ewes. After attacking the Duke for his want
of devotion, he tells us that, at the sacrament of
baptism, at which Buckingham happened to be a
spectator, with some young and beautiful women,
the minister no sooner came to the passage, where
it is required of the sponsors to forsake the carnal
lusts of the flesh, than Buckingham began to
" wink and smile" at his fair companions, by which
the solemnity of the ceremony was entirely de
stroyed. Such highly-coloured accusations are not
altogether to be relied upon. Beauty had doubt
less its charms for Buckingham, and in all proba
bility his conduct was not immaculate ; neverthe
less, considering the temptations to which his rank
and accomplishments exposed him, his character
appears tolerably free from reproach, nor can he
reasonably be charged with any violent offence
against the laws of society or virtue. Whatever

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 287
may have been Buckingham's conduct in this par
ticular, at least his own wife was the last to ima
gine him guilty of the charge. She writes to him
during his absence in Spain, 16th July 1623 : —
" 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 win the ladies' hearts. Yourself
is a jewel that will win the hearts of all the
women in the world ; but I am confident it is not
in their power to win your heart from a heart that
is, was, and ever shall be yours till death. Every
body tells me how happy I am in a husband, and
how chaste you are ; that you will not look at a
woman, and yet how they woo you. And Sir
Francis Cottington was yesterday telling me, how
you made a vow not to touch any woman till you
saw me ; and though I was confident of it 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 verily hope I should have had a lock of your
hair by Killegrew, and I am sorry I had it not ;
but seeing you have a conceit it may prove un
lucky, it is well you sent it not, though I think it
but an old wife's tale."*
/ There is reason to believe, from the letters
which passed between them, that Buckingham was
a most affectionate husband. Sir Henry Wotton
tells us that he loved his wife dearly, and the
* Bishop Goodman's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 279.

288 GEORGE VILLIERS.
manner in which he disposed of his estates adds
weight to the fact.*
* Wotton says, " he loved her dearly, and well expressed
his love in an act and time of no simulation, towards his end
bequeathing her all his mansion-houses during her natural life,
and a power to dispose of his whole personal estate, together
with a fourth part of his lands in jointure." — Reliq. Wotton.
p. 236.

289

CHAPTER II.
Buckingham's indomitable Pride. — Implacable Enmity between
him and Olivarez. — Story respecting Buckingham and the
Countess Olivarez. — Correspondence between King James,
Charles, and Buckingham. — Jewels lavished on the Spanish
Ladies by the two latter. — Buckingham's unpopular Con
duct in Spain  Specimens of the style of Correspondence
between James and Buckingham. — Letters from the Duchess
of Buckingham to her Husband. — Plot against Buckingham.
— Change in the King's Treatment of him. — Buckingham's
Distress. — Erroneous Opinion that the Duke was declining
in the Royal Favour. — Buckingham's Resentment towards
Iniosa. The indomitable pride and headstrong passions
of Buckingham were never more openly displayed
than when he accompanied Charles on his visit to
Madrid. The Spaniards were, at least, as much
astounded by his insolence, as they were dazzled
by his splendour. Spanish etiquette could with
difficulty comprehend the existence of such a cha
racter. They beheld, for the first time, a subject
on the most intimate terms of friendship with the
Prince his master ; the same man placing himself
on an equality with their own sovereign, and in
sulting that sovereign's haughty minister, Olivarez,
whenever they came in contact. " He was some-
VOL. II. u

290 GEORGE VILLIERS,
times covered," says Bishop Hacket, " when the
Prince was bare ; sometimes sitting when the
Prince stood ; capering aloft in sudden fits ; and
chirping the ends of sonnets." — " He was offensive
to the Court of Spain in taunting comparisons,
and an open derider of their magniloquent phrases
and garb of stateliness."* i-
Whatever may have been the original cause of
misunderstanding between Buckingham and Oli
varez, it is certain that their enmity was impla
cable ; and that on one occasion Buckingham deli
berately gave the proud Spaniard the lie. They
had been discussing the probability of the Prince's
conversion to the Romish faith, when Olivarez, in
the heat of argument, affirmed that Buckingham
had given hopes of such a consummation. The
Duke, in the most direct manner, insisted that it
was false ; adding, that he felt himself bound in the
character of a gentleman to support the contrary,
in whatsoever manner he might be called upon to
maintain its truth. Olivarez naturally flew into
a passion ; but it appears, that out of respect for
the person of Charles, he refrained from demanding
the satisfaction which, under other circumstances,
would have been exacted.f
There exists a story, which was openly discussed
at the time, and which, for some years afterwards,
was current in Spain, that attributed the ill-feeling
* Life of Lord Keeper Williams, part i. p. 133.
f Wilson, p. 250 ; Reliq. Wott. p. 217.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 291
between the two ministers to circumstances of a
private nature. Buckingham, it was said, thought
proper to make the Countess Olivarez the ob
ject of his addresses ; but the lady was so far
from being flattered by the preference, that she
divulged the circumstance to her husband. A plan
was then concerted between them, by which a
lady, not of the most immaculate virtue, and suf
fering moreover under a disgraceful disease, was
substituted in the room of the Countess. The
plot, we are told, fully answered their expecta
tions.* This story is confidently told both by Weldon
and Peyton, and hinted at by Wilson and Sir
Philip Warwick. " It should seem," says Wel
don, " that he made court to Count Olivarez's
wife, a very handsome lady, but it was plotted
betwixt the lady, her husband, and Bristol, that
instead of that beauty he had a notorious stews-
bird sent him." Peyton's version is similar, but
not so decent. Notwithstanding such various au
thorities, Lord Clarendon has thrown considerable
discredit over the story. — " Though the Duke,"
he says, " was naturally carried violently to those
passions, when there was any grace or beauty in
the object, yet the Duchess of Olivarez was then a
* One Wadsworth, who was employed in teaching the Eng
lish language to the Infanta, accuses Buckingham of the most
improbable improprieties. Among other charges, he mentions
his having introduced the most degraded females into the royal
palace of Spain. v 2

292 GEORGE VILLIERS,
woman so old, past children, of so abject a pre
sence, in a word, so crooked and. deformed, that she
could neither tempt his appetite nor magnify his
revenge." A passage also in Bishop Hacket's Life
of Lord Keeper Williams tends still further to
throw discredit on the story. " There was a scan
dalous error," he says, " made table-talk in Eng
land, that our Duke had attempted the chastity of
the Condessa Olivarez, and was cheated with a
diseased strumpet laid in his bed. This is grossly
contumacious. The lady was never solicited by
Buckingham to defile her honour with him, as Sir
Walter will testify in a postscript of a letter to the
Duke : — ' The Condessa Olivarez bids me tell you,
that she kisseth your Grace's hands, and does every
day recommend you particularly by name in her
prayers to God.' "
It is certain, however, that Buckingham quitted
Madrid without having taken leave of the Coun
tess. When he parted from Olivarez he told him
that he should always entertain the kindest feel
ing towards the royal family of Spain ; — " but as
for you, sir, personally," he added, " I shall make
no professions of friendship with you, and you must
always expect opposition at my hands." Olivarez
turned on his heels, telling him, he accepted what
was spoken.*
Among the Harleian MSS. are several of the
letters which passed between James on the one
* Cabala, p. 358.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 293
hand, and Charles and Buckingham on the other,
during the period that the latter were absent on
their romantic expedition. Those from Madrid
are generally subscribed both by Charles and
Buckingham, while the King usually addresses
them together. The following is a brief specimen
of James's mode of writing to the travellers :
" Sweet boys, the news of your going is already
so blown abroad, as I am forced, for your safety,
to post this bearer [the Earl of Carlisle] after you,
who will give you his best advice and attendance
in your journey. God bless you both, my sweet
babes, and send you a safe and happy return."
"James R."*
The travellers thus describe to James one of
the clandestine visits which they paid to the in
terior of the French court, during their short
sojourn at Paris.
" Sir, " Since the closing of our last, we have been
at Court again, (and that we might not hold you
in pain, we assure you that we have not been
known,) where we saw the young Queen, little
Monsieur, and Madame, at the practising of a
mask that is intended by the Queen to be pre
sented to the King, and in it there danced the
Queen and Madame, with as many as made up
nineteen fair dancing ladies, amongst which, the
* Ellis, Original Letters, vol. iii. p. 121.

294 GEORGE VILLIERS,
Queen is the handsomest, which hath wrought in
me a greater desire to see her sister. So, in haste,
going to bed, we humbly take our leaves and
rest. " Your Majesty's most humble,
and obedient son and servant,
" Charles."*
" And your humble slave and dog,
" Paris, the 22nd of February, 162|." " STEENIE."
The old King, no doubt, felt extremely desolate
in the absence of his heir and his favourite, and
longed fervently for their safe and speedy return.
In one of his letters, he writes to his " sweet
boys:" — " I wonder why you should ask me the
question if ye should send me any more joint letters
or not: alack, sweet hearts, it is all my comfort
in your absence, that ye write jointly unto me, be
sides the great ease it is both to me and you ; and
ye need not doubt but I will be wary enough in
not acquainting my council with any secret in
your letters. But I have been troubled with
Hamilton, who, being present by chance at my
receiving both of your first and second packet out
of Madrid, would needs peer over my shoulder when
I was reading them, offering ever to help me to
read any hard words ; and, in good faith, he is
in this business, as in all things else, as variable
and uncertain as the moon."
* Ellis, Original Letters, vol. iii. p. 121.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 295
In this letter James gives his son abundance of
good advice. He warns him against being too pro
fuse in his expenditure ; enjoins him to be careful
of his person at the tilting matches, and to prac
tise dancing in private ;* " But," he adds, " the
news of your glorious reception makes me afraid
that ye will both misken your old Dad hereafter."
He concludes his letter with the same homely ex
pression. " Thus God keep you, my sweet boys,
with my fatherly blessing, and send you a happy
successful journey, and a joyful and happy return
in the arms of your dear Dad."
We have already alluded to the profusion of
jewels and other sumptuous presents which were
lavished by Charles and Buckingham on the Spa
nish ladies ; however, they were not wrested from
the old King without much difficulty and repeat
ed entreaties. The Duke, we are told, on state
occasions, purposely had his diamonds so loosely
set, that, on passing a knot of Spanish beauties,
he could easily shake a few off at his will. When
these were picked up and offered to be returned
to their owner, they were of course gracefully pre-
* D'Israeli, in his Commentaries on the Reign of Charles I.,
remarks in a note : — " I find a curious anecdote of that zealous
paternal attention of our pedant King, which I have not met
elsewhere. James took such minute care of their education,
that ' the children of James were well instructed in music
and dancing: his Majesty desired them to keep up tbeir dan
cing privately, though they whistle and sing to one another for
music' "— Harl. MSS. 6987. (24).

296 GEORGE VILLIERS,
sented to the obliging fair ones. No wonder that
the visit of Charles and his handsome favourite
is still the theme of admiration in Spain. Sir
Henry Ellis has published two original letters from
Charles and the favourite, beseeching the old King
to send them further supplies of jewels : Bucking
ham, in a postscript to one of the Prince's letters,
amusingly adds ; " I, your dog, say you have many
jewels, neither fit for your own, your son's, nor
your daughter's wearing, but very fit to bestow on
those here who must necessarily have presents ;
and this way will be least chargeable to your
Majesty in my poor opinion." Buckingham, in
another letter, in which he addresses the King
as " Dear Dad, gossip, and steward," actually
presses James to part with some jewels which
formed a portion of the King's own wearing ap
parel : he mentions particularly the King's best
hat-band, the Portugal diamond, and the rest of
the pendent diamonds, as requisite to make a
necklace for the Prince to present to his mistress.
Buckingham is far from forgetful of his own in
terests, and takes care to ask for a rich chain or
two for himself; or else, he says, your dog will
want a collar.*
Buckingham's conduct appears to have been
as personally displeasing to the Spanish King as
it was to his minister Olivarez. According to
Howell, who was on the spot, there was indeed
* Ellis, Original Letters, vol. iii. pp. 145, 146.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 297
jome doubt whether the King would not actually
refuse to treat with him on the subject of the
match. The Earl of Bristol, the English Ambas
sador, writes to the Bishop of Lincoln : — "I know
not how things may be reconciled here before
my lord Duke's departure, but at present they
are in all extremely ill, betwixt the King, his
ministers, and the Duke ; and they stick not to
profess, that they will rather put the Infanta
headlong into a well than into his hands." In
another letter to the bishop, the Earl adds : " I
protest unto your lordship as a Christian, that
I never heard in all the time of his being here,
nor since, any one exception taken against him
[Charles], unless it were for being supposed to be
too much guided by my lord Duke of Bucking
ham, who is indeed very little beholden to the
Spaniards for their good opinion of him ; and de
parted from hence with so little satisfaction, that
the Spaniards are in doubt that he will endeavour
all that shall be possible, to cross the marriage." *
The unsuccessful termination of the Spanish match,
or rather, Buckingham's share in procuring its
miscarriage, rendered the Duke for a short period
the favourite of the English Parliament. They
spoke openly of that man as the " Saviour of his
country," whom, but a few months afterwards, they
execrated and denounced as a traitor. I
As the style of correspondence which was car-
* Cabala, pp. 98, 99.

298 GEORGE VILLIERS,
ried on between James and Buckingham can
scarcely have failed in affording amusement, an
other specimen or two may not be unwelcome.
Among other instances of the familiarity with
which the favourite approached his master, it may
be remarked that, in his letters, the Duke fre
quently addresses the old King as his " purveyor."
This term undoubtedly had its origin in the quan
tity of fruit, game, and sweetmeats, which the
King was in the habit of sending as presents to the
Duke and " Kate," as he familiarly styled the
Duchess. More than once, in his letters, Buck
ingham returns thanks to his " dear dad and gos
sip," for some such dainty cargo. The following
brief extracts may be taken as specimens : — " A
million of thanks for your good melons and pears."
— " The best show of true repentance of a fault,
is to make a true confession : I did forget to give
thanks for my melons, grapes, peaches, and all
the things else you sent : I must pass my account
under that general term, or else I shall make the
same fault again, by leaving out something, your
favours are so many:" — " I have received two
boxes of dried plums and grapes, and the box of
violet cakes and chickens, for all which I humbly
thank your Majesty:" — And again, " The sense
and thankfulness of my heart for your excellent
melons, pears, sugared beans, and assurance of
better fruit planted in your bosom than ever grew
in paradise, will best appear in my humble obe-

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 299
dience of your commands." The conclusion of the
letter from which the last extract is taken, is
amusing and characteristic enough : — " My stags,''
adds the Duke, " are all lusty, my calf bold, and
others are so too ; my Spanish colts are fat, and
so is my jovial filly. Mall,* great Mall,f Kate,J
Sue,§ and Steenie, shall all wait on you on Satur
day, and kiss both James' and Charles' feet. To
conclude, let this paper assure you, that the last
words I spoke to you> are so true, that I will not
only give my word, sware you on the Holy Evan
gelists, but take the blessed sacrament upon them.
So craving your blessing, I rest,
" Your Majesty's most humble slave and dog,
" Steenie.
" P.S. Baby Charles, I kiss thy warty hands." ||
It appears, that the term of " Tom Badger,"
which occurs in the following letter from James,
was one of the cant names by which the frivolous
monarch thought proper to distinguish his fa
vourite : perhaps his subscribing himself to the
Duke as " your old purveyor" is scarcely more
undignified. * Lady Mary, the Duke's daughter.
¦j- Mary, Countess of Buckingham, the Duke's mother.
\ Catherine, his Duchess.
§ Susan, Countess of Denbigh, the Duke's youngest sister.
|| " Letters of the Duke and Duchess of Buckingham,
chiefly addressed to King James I." pp. 2, 15, 21, and 26. —
Edinburgh, 1834.

300 GEORGE VILLIERS,
" Sweet hearty blessing, blessing, blessing, on
my sweet Tom Badger, and all his, for breeding
me so fine a kennel of young hounds, some of
them so fair and well-shaped, and some of them
so fine pretty little ones, as they are worthy to
lie on Steenie and Kate's bed : and all of them
run together in a lump, and God thank the Master
of the Horse, for providing me such a number of
fair useful horses, fit for my hand : in a word,
I protest I was never master of such horses and
hounds ; the bearer will tell you what fine run
ning we had yesterday. Remember now to take
the air discreetly, and for God's sake and mine,
keep thyself very warm, especially thy head and
shoulders ; put thy park of Bewlie to an end,
and love me still and still, and so God bless thee
and my sweet daughter, and god-daughter, to the
comfort of thy dear dad. James R.
" Thy old purveyor sent thee yesternight six
partridges and two leverets. I am now going to
hawk the pheasant."*
There are extant some affectionate letters, ad
dressed by the Duchess of Buckingham to her
husband during his absence in Spain, which ex
hibit the domestic character of the Duke in a very
pleasing light. " I think," she writes, " there
never was such a man born as you are ; and how
much am I bound to God, that I must be that
* Nuga: Antiquae, vol. i. p. 394; Harl. MSS. 6987.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 301
happy woman to enjoy you from all other women,
and the unworthiest of all to have so great a bless
ing. Only this 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 else the happiest and richest
woman in the world."
But the following specimen is even more pleas
ing. " York House, 16th July 1623.
" My lord, indeed I must crave your pardon
that I did not write you no 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 another very
fast, and I think she will run before she can go.
She loves dancing extremely, and when the sara
band 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 Frances Hubert taught the Prince, she
will clap both her hands together, and on her

302 GEORGE VILLIERS,
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 were here but
to see her, for you would take much delight in
her now she is so full 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."*
King James appears to have taken a great
interest in his friend's wife, and styles her
playfully, in one of his letters, " the poor fool
Kate : " We find Buckingham also speaking of
her affectionately as " his poor little wife."
Notwithstanding the playful and affectionate
letters which were addressed by James to Buck
ingham during the absence of the latter in Spain,
there is reason to believe that, had the King's life
been prolonged, the fall of the favourite would
have been as rapid as his rise. This supposition
indeed is far from improbable, when we remember
that James not only grew fretful and suspicious
as he approached his end, but that latterly he had
* Bishop Goodman's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 278.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 303
actually entertained apprehensions of personal dan
ger at Buckingham's hands.
7 Certain it is, that a plot was laid by Iniosa,
the Spanish Ambassador, (who acted probably
under the directions of Olivarez,) of which the
object was to remove Buckingham for ever from
the counsels and affections of his master. The
King, however, was so closely watched, that Iniosa
found some difficulty in carrying his plans into
execution. In order to obtain a private interview,
the Spaniard at length hit upon the following ex
pedient. On a certain day, desiring one of his
suite by all means to keep the Prince and Buck
ingham in close conversation, he drew from his
pocket a, document, in which the Duke's supposed
conspiracy was confidently detailed, and in which
a private audience was earnestly demanded for
himself. At the same time, he made a sign to the
King, that he should instantly conceal the paper
from view. The fears of James being thus awak
ened, he seized an opportunity, when Charles and
the Duke were absent in the House of Lords,
to receive the Spaniard in private. Iniosa lost
no time in impressing the pusillanimous monarch
with the prospect of his danger, recommending
that Buckingham should be restricted to some
house in the country for the remainder of his life.
The Duke, up to this time, had possessed the
strongest influence over the King. He used to
remove him, we are told, from place to place,

304 GEORGE VILLIERS,
as suited his purpose, although, occasionally, the
changes were far from pleasing to his imbecile
master. But when James next saw his favourite,
he turned to him imploringly, " Ah, Steenie,
Steenie," he said, "wilt thou kill me!"* The
Duke passionately protested his innocence, and
insisted on knowing the name of his accuser ; but
James refused all answer to his inquiries.
Doubtful, apparently, in what manner to act
the King summoned Prince Charles, and prepared
to depart for Windsor. Buckingham, as usual,
was proceeding to follow him, and had actually
set his foot on the step of the coach, when the
King invented some excuse for leaving him behind.
Unused to such treatment, the favourite burst into
tears. According to Bishop Hacket, he addressed
a strong appeal to the King, to which his Majesty
returned an unsatisfactory answer. James ad
mitted however, that he had not read the Duke's
letter without weeping ; and piteously complained
of being the unhappiest person in the world, in
being forsaken and betrayed by those who were
dearest to him.
In the midst of his distress, Buckingham was
visited at Wallingford House, by Lord Keeper
Williams. He found the Duke lying on his couch,
and so overwhelmed with grief, that he could
scarcely obtain an answer to his questions. Wil
liams advised him instantly to hasten to the King ;
* Wilson, p. 271.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 305
adding that, in the event of delay, a very short
time would enable his Majesty to concert with the
Parliament, and that the Duke's committal to the
Tower would be the inevitable consequence. This
rational advice Buckingham lost no time in follow
ing. He immediately set off for Windsor ; where,
by his respectful demeanour, his extraordinary per
sonal influence, and by never leaving James to
be worked upon by the machinations of others, he
eventually contrived to make his peace.* Perhaps
the King was unwilling to doubt the faith of one
on whom he had conferred so many and such ex
traordinary benefits, j-
It is to be regretted that Lord Clarendon, in
alluding to the misunderstanding between Buck
ingham and his Sovereign, enters but slightly into
the merits of the case. " Many," he says, " were
of opinion, that King James, before his death,
grew weary of this favourite ; and that, if he had
lived, he would have deprived him at least of his
large and unlimited power. And this imagination
so prevailed with some men, as the Lord Keeper
* Weldon, p. 142. Lives ofthe Chancellors, vol. i. p. 112.
t James, however, if we may judge by one of his own apoph
thegms, could scarcely have entertained any very great faith
in the existence of gratitude. He tells us that a King who
is in dread of conspiracies, should rather be jealous of those
whom he has benefited than of those whom he has discon
tented ; the latter, he says, wanting the power to be danger
ous, but the former having the means ever ready at their will.
This says but little for human nature.
VOL. II. X

306 DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
Lincoln, the Earl of Middlesex, Lord High Trea
surer of England, and other gentlemen of name,
though not in so high stations, that they had the
courage to withdraw from their absolute depend
ence upon the Duke, and to make some other
essays, which proved to the ruin of every one of
them ; there appearing no mark, or evidence, that
the King did really lessen his affection to him, to
the hour of his death." Bishop Kennet expresses
his belief in Buckingham's fidelity, and, in order
to give weight to his views, has published two
letters, addressed at this period by the Duke to
his Sovereign. They must certainly be regarded
as bearing the stamp of honesty, but are scarcely
of sufficient importance to be transferred from the
folios of the indulgent Bishop.
It may be remarked, that when Buckingham af
terwards discovered in the intrigues of Iniosa
the secret of his temporary disgrace, he instantly
assailed the Ambassador with his usual headstrong
impetuosity. Iniosa told the Duke that he was a
gentleman, and better born than himself; adding,
that he accused him of being a traitor to his face,
and that he would make good his words with his
sword. Charles was afterwards induced to forward
a complaint of Iniosa to the Court of Madrid, but
the charges appear to have been treated in the
lightest possible manner by the Spanish Court.*
* Weldon, pp. 142, 143.

307

CHAPTER III.
Buckingham confirmed in his exalted Fortunes by the Acces
sion of Charles to the Throne. — Jealousy iii early Life be
tween Charles and the Duke. — Steadiness of Charles's sub
sequent Affection for Buckingham. — Mission of the latter
to Paris — his splendid Appearance there — his Intrigue with
the Queen. — Anecdotes. — Curious Letter from the Earl of
Holland. — Buckingham frustrated in his wish to return to
Paris — Enmity between him and Richelieu. — Anecdote.
— Charges brought against Buckingham — his Conduct in
the Expedition to Rochelle. — Lady Davies's Prophecy. —
Pasquinade. — Buckingham insulted in the King's Presence.
— Charles's unabated Affection for the Duke. — Anticipa
tions of Buckingham's Fall. — Trial of Lady Davies. — Ana
grams. The accession of Charles to the throne was a
death-blow to the enemies of Buckingham. It was
but too evident that henceforth he would be more
fully confirmed in his exalted fortunes. The friend
ships of Charles were known to be, at least, as
stable as those of his father had been uncertain ;
and although in his affection for Buckingham the
young King had somewhat overrated his favour
ite's capacity, still it was not in his nature to be
either argued or frightened out of an opinion which
he had once maturely formed. On the other hand,
there is no reason to doubt but that Buckingham x 2

308 GEORGE VILLIERS,
repaid with warm gratitude and a personal attach
ment, the extraordinary affection of his master.
It is remarkable that between Charles and Buck
ingham a strong jealousy had existed in early
life. Clarendon tells us that the Duke's manner
was frequently highly insolent, and that, on one
occasion he was actually on the point of striking
the Prince. This anecdote, whether correctly or
not, is related more circumstantially by Weldon.
That writer informs us, that at Greenwich, before
four hundred persons, Buckingham raised his hand
over his head with a ballon-bracer, in such a manner
as to draw from Charles the expression, — " What,
my Lord, I think you intend to strike me." What
ever, however, may have been the cause of their
juvenile hostility, it is certain that it ceased with
their earliest youth. The affection, when once
conceived by Charles, remained unshaken to the
last. When the tide of public opinion set strong
est against the favourite ; .' when the Parliament
was threatening him with impeachment, and the
sailors thundering for their wages at his doors ;
when the suspicions of his having poisoned the
late King were universally believed by the vulgar,
and sedulously propagated by the great/ Charles, at
the risk of his own popularity, and, indeed, almost
of his throne, still clung to and supported the ,
friend of his choice. It is well known, that when
the Parliament were preferring articles against
Buckingham, the King showed his contempt of

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 309
their proceedings, and his love for his favourite,
by recommending the University of Cambridge to
elect the Duke as their Chancellor. This recom
mendation the University listened to, — it has been
said, to their own disgrace, but certainly to the
great discomfiture of the Parliament. Charles,
however, ever denied in the strongest manner the
Duke's supposed influence over his actions. He
said, that though it was commonly believed he was
ruled by Buckingham, the fact was far otherwise ;
that the Duke had ever been his most faithful and
obedient servant, and that he would hereafter prove
it to the satisfaction of the world.*
In 1625 Buckingham was despatched with the
Earl of Montgomery to Paris, for the purpose of
conducting Henrietta to the arms of her husband.
The beauty of his person and the singular mag
nificence ofthe mission were equally the admiration
of the French King and of his court. " He ap
peared," says Lord Clarendon, " with all the lustre
the wealth of England could adorn him with, and
outshined all the bravery that court could dress
itself in, and overacted the whole nation in their
own most peculiar vanities." Louis XIII. remark
ed that Buckingham was one ofthe few English
gentlemen he had ever seen, a sentiment which
seems at least to have been fully reciprocated by
his Queen.
' Whether Buckingham was really actuated by
* Ellis's Orig. Letters, vol. iii. p. 263.

310 GEORGE VILLIERS,
feelings of love, or whether it arose from mere mo
tives of ambition or a desire of amusement, certain
it is that he had the temerity to address the Queen
of France as a lover, and that his attentions were
far from being ill received by that engaging Prin
cess. He had previously beheld her person on his
journey to Madrid, and had described her to King
James as the handsomest woman he had seen at
the French court, -f-
During his short stay at Paris he brought all his
fascinations into play, for the purpose of captivating
her heart; and when he quitted that capital, in
attendance on Henrietta, his daring aspirations had
not only become known to the French minister,
but the King's jealousy had been painfully excited.
Several ofthe Queen's servants were turned away,
and her physician, Outange, her gentleman-usher,
and others of her household, were banished from
France. Madame de Motteville, who was in all
the secrets of Anne of Austria, has left us a very
interesting account of this singular affair. " The
Duke of Buckingham," she writes, " was the man
who appeared to have attacked the Queen's heart
with the best success. He was handsome, well-
shaped, high-spirited, generous, liberal, and fa
vourite to a great King. He had all the royal
treasures to spend, and all the jewels of the crown
of England to adorn his person. No wonder,
then, if with so many lovely qualities, he had
such high thoughts, such noble, yet such blame
able and dangerous desires ; and no wonder if he

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 311
had the good fortune to persuade those who
were witnesses of his addresses that they were
not troublesome."
The first instance in which Buckingham appears
to have expressed his sentiments, was in the garden
of a house near Amiens, where the Queen hap
pened to pass the night while accompanying her
sister-in-law, Henrietta, on her way towards Eng
land. Buckingham, whilst attending her in her
walk, expressing a strong desire to speak with her
in private, Putange, her gentleman-usher, out of
delicacy withdrew. How far Buckingham was car
ried by his feelings cannot now be known. It is
probable, however, by what follows, that he made
use of more than words to express his tenderness.
" Chance," says Madame de Motteville, " having
led them into a bye-walk, which was hid by a pal-
lisade from public view, the Queen, at that instant,
surprised to find herself alone, and it is likely im
portuned by some too passionate expression of the
Duke's sentiments, cried out ; and calling to her
gentleman-usher, she blamed him for leaving her."
We must form our own conjectures on such a pas
sage. Certainly it is a tolerably candid confession
for a confidant.
Buckingham really appears to have been sincere
in the professions which he made. When Henrietta
and her suite departed from Amiens, the Queen,
attended by the Princess de Conde", accompanied
them a short way in her coach. The hour of part-

312 GEORGE VILLIERS,
ing having at length arrived, Buckingham came to
bid farewell to his mistress. " He kissed her gown,"
we are told, and, " she being in the fore-seat of
the coach, he hid himself in the curtain as if he
had something to say to her, but in reality to wipe
away the tears which came into his eyes."
Buckingham had proceeded almost as far as
Calais, when, either unable to bear the pangs of
absence, or to conquer the impulse of the moment,
he resolved to return to Amiens, and once more
to behold his mistress if it were but for a moment.
The Queen had learnt from the Duchess de Chev-
reuse the probability of Buckingham again visiting
her, and yet she received him in bed and almost
alone. She spoke of his visit jestingly, and when
he entered her apartment (which he appears to
have done uninvited), she expressed not the slight
est surprise.
The Duke's first step, on entering her chamber,
was to kneel by her bedside and to kiss her sheet,
with every expression of strong passion. The
Queen, for some reason, remaining silent, an old
lady of honour, in order to prevent "other liber
ties" seated herself in the Queen's arm-chair, and,
telling him that such behaviour was not usual in
France, indignantly desired him to rise. The
Duke, however, continued obstinately in the same
posture, and, disputing the point with the old
lady, insisted that he was no native of France,
and not bound by its laws. He then addressed

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 313
himself to the Queen, and poured forth the most
passionate avowals of his love. By this time her
Majesty had recovered her speech, and pretend
ing to be extremely indignant, insisted on his
quitting the apartment. Buckingham rose from
his knees and obeyed her commands : it appears,
however, that she received him in public on the
following day. When the Duke again turned his
back upon Amiens, it was with the full intention
of revisiting France, whenever love or opportunity
should favour him.
In perusing this anecdote we know not what to
wonder at most ; — the Queen, with, of course, a
woman's feelings, allowing another to be the cham
pion of her honour; or the lady ofthe bedchamber,
without any apparent sanction from her mistress,
presuming to perform the part. Even Bucking
ham, reckless and chivalrous as he was, dared
not have excited apprehensions of his " taking
liberties," (such is Houssaie's expression) without
great previous encouragement. The fact also of
the Queen receiving him in bed, Buckingham's
rank, beauty, and powers of persuasion, added to
the Queen's negative submission to his addresses,
must lead us still further to the conclusion that
such advances were not distasteful.
Buckingham, on his departure for England, sent
directions to Sir Balthazar Gerbier to remain at
the French Court, for the purpose of keeping up
a correspondence with his royal mistress. Gerbier

314 GEORGE VILLIERS,
was narrowly watched by the agents of Richelieu ;
however, the Queen found means to send by hira
her own garter, as well as a valuable jewel, to her
absent lover.* Some time afterwards the Queen
happened, in one of her walks in the garden at
Ruel, to encounter the poet Voiture. On her in
quiring of him the subject of his thoughts, he
instantly repeated the following verses : —
Je pensois (car nous autres poetes
Nous pensons extravagement),
Ce que, dans l'humeur ou vous etes,
Vous feriez, si dans ce moment
Vous avisiez en cette place
Venir le Due de Buckingham ;
Et lequel seroit en disgrace,
De lui, ou du Pere Vincent.f
Had not Voiture been well aware of the state of
the Queen's feelings, he would scarcely have ven
tured on such delicate ground. The Queen, too,
not only expressed no displeasure, but admired the
verses and retained a copy of them. \
The young Earl of Holland, if we rightly in
terpret the cipher-marks in the following curious
letter, was also Buckingham's confidant in his in
trigue with the Queen of France, and seems to
have exerted all his influence to advance the in
terests of his friend. The first mark in the let-
* Coke, vol. i. p. 275.
j The Queen's confessor. There are two other stanzas, but
they are scarcely worth inserting.
X Memoires de Motteville, vol. i. p. 231.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 315
ter appears to be intended for the French King,
the heart very appropriately for the Queen ; and
the anchor (alluding to his post of Lord High
Admiral) for Buckingham. After speaking of
other affairs, Holland evidently recurs to the
Duke's projected return to the French court :
" 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 wil
ling to hear villains, say that ^s? 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 *Jf to return out of France : many
such bruits fly up and down. I have, since my
coming, given the Queen-mother, by way of dis
course, occasion to say somewhat concerning your
coming, as the other night when she complained
to me that things were carried harshly in England
towards France ; I then said, that the greatest un
kindness and harshness came from hence, even to
forbid your coming hither, a thing so strange, and
so unjust, as our master had cause and was infinitely
sensible of it. She fell into discourse of you, desir
ing you would respect and love her daughter ;* and
likewise that she had and would ever command
her to respect you above all men, and follow all
* Henrietta Maria.

316 GEORGE VILLIERS,
your counsels (the matter of her religion excepted),
with many professions of value and respect unto
your person ; but would never either excuse what
I complained of, or write you to come upon that
occasion. For though neither the business gives,
me cause to persuade your coming, nor my reason
for the matter of your safety ; yet know, you are
the most happy, unhappy man alive ; for ty is be
yond 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 prac
tices accompany the malice of the people here. I
tremble to think whether this will find a safe con
veyance unto you. Do what you will, I dare not
advise you : to come is dangerous ; not to come is
unfortunate. As I have lived with you, and only
in that enjoy my happiness, so I will die with you ;
and I protest to God for you, to do you the least
service."* The letter, unfortunately, is without
a date.
There was undoubtedly an intention to assassinate
Buckingham, had he persisted in his intentions to
return to his mistress. This fact is not only ren
dered probable by what is hinted at in Holland's
letter, but is confidently asserted by Lord Cla
rendon. When the bickerings among Henrietta's French
servants appeared likely to produce a rupture with
* Cabala, p. 253.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 317
France, Buckingham had requested Charles to send
him to Paris as a mediator. This, it appears, by
the interference of Richelieu, was prevented. Bas-
sompiere informs us, in his Embassy to England,
that the Duke having sent to apprize him of his
having been nominated to the mission to France,
the ambassador intimated to him in plain terms
that he would not be received. Buckingham's rage
at the disappointment exceeded all bounds. He
declared openly, says Clarendon, that he " would
see and speak with that lady in spite of the
strength and power of France." Indeed, the war
which shortly followed, has been generally attri
buted to the vexation of Buckingham. Probably
it may have hastened hostilities ; but the war at
this period arose from other and uncontrollable
circumstances, and must have ensued had the Duke
never entertained his daring attachment. He had
declared that if he could not enter France peace
ably, he would force his passage with an army.*
This, on a first consideration, would appear rather
an extraordinary manner of obtaining access to a
mistress. However, the difficulty seems to be
cleared up by an expression of Madame de Motte-
ville. Buckingham, she says, raised a division
between the two crowns, in order that he might
hereafter have a reason for returning to France,
by the necessity which would be contingent on a
treaty of peace. Henrietta, who stood in consider-
* Coke, vol. i. p. 275; Nani, Hist, of Venice, p. 251.

318 GEORGE VILLIERS,
able awe of Buckingham, appears, nevertheless, to
have been enlisted by him in his cause. When
she was desirous of paying a visit to her relations in
France, she wrote to her mother, requesting that
the Duke might be allowed to accompany her :
without whom, she said, she could not think of
undertaking the voyage. It is needless to add
that the proposal was instantly negatived by the
French Court.
Buckingham was equally on bad terms with
Richelieu at Paris, as he had been with Olivarez
at Madrid. It would be curious could we trace
their hostility to a rivalship in the court of beauty.
Nani, in his History of Venice, speaking of Buck
ingham's attachment to the Queen, affirms that the
Cardinal was " either inflamed, or feigned to be,
with the same passion." Whether it was this fact
that exasperated the Duke to so violent a degree,
cannot now be clearly ascertained. Richelieu, how
ever, triumphed over his rival, though Buckingham
did not live to see it. After the death of her hus
band, Louis the Thirteenth, the Queen united her
self to the Cardinal, his sacerdotal habit, as he had
never taken priest's orders, proving no obstacle to
their union. Richelieu soon grew tired of her, and
treated her unkindly.
The enmity which existed between the two minis
ters has been illustrated by an anecdote, which,
however trivial in other respects, is too character
istic to be omitted. Richelieu had addressed one

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 319
of his letters to Monsieur, instead of Monseigneur,
le Due de Buckingham, leaving, moreover, no va
cant space after the title of Monsieur. Bucking
ham repaid the slight by writing to Monsieur le
Cardinal de Richelieu. This trifling squabble was
on the point of leading to serious consequences.
However, the Cardinal was worsted, and yielded
the point with a wretched joke. " The cannons,"
he said, " of the British navy were more powerful
than the canons of the church."
But events were passing at home which were
calculated to occupy the mind of Buckingham
with other notions besides those of romance. The
impeachment of the Commons, and the charges
brought against him by the Earl of Bristol, had
certainly fallen harmless at the time ; but still his
enemies, though baffled, were not crushed, and his
name, whether deservedly or not, was daily becom
ing more odious with the people. With a view to
wiping off the obloquy, he determined to conduct,
in person, the unfortunate expedition for the relief
of Rochelle. He would make himself, he said,
more loved and honoured than was ever the Earl
of Essex, his unfortunate predecessor in the smiles
of royalty and popular favour. The expedition
was a formidable one, but its principal character
istic was its exceeding splendour. " Buckingham,"
says de Brienne, " appeared in this expedition with
the equipage of an amorous knight, rather than
the equipage of a general." He carried with him

320 GEORGE VILLIERS,
his coach, and, it was even rumoured, his jewels.
The vessels were hung with crimson velvet, and
bands of music enlivened the tedium of the voyage.
Buckingham's valour was undoubted, or such fan
tastic trappings might have raised suspicions of
his effeminacy.*
The history of the enterprise is familiar to
every one. Although the personal bravery of the
Duke achieved for him another laurel, it was one
dearly purchased. ; His countrymen, when they
beheld only one-third of his army returning with
him to England, — when they beheld the wife weep
ing for her husband, and the orphan for his fa
ther, — readily forgot that, in that sanguinary re
treat Buckingham had stood alone on the beach,
till his humblest follower had embarked; and
that he was the last man who had quitted the
shore. It was in Buckingham's nature to feel deeply
the outcry raised against him. In undertaking
his second expedition to Rochelle, he seems to
have determined either to die in the attempt, or
to retrieve the popular favour which he had lost.
He told Gerbier, his architect and confidential ser
vant, to add in one of his last despatches to the
Rochellers, that " God willing, he would be with
them in three weeks, and would either overcome or
die there." , On quitting the Isle of Rhe, he had
promised the gallant Rochellers that he would
* DTsraeli's Life and Reign of Charles I, vol. ii. pp. 48, 49.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 321
again come to their relief. So eager indeed was
he to redeem his pledge, that he furnished the
royal treasury with large sums of money out of
his own purse, without even keeping any account
of his disbursements.
When the famous Lady Davies sent to him a
written prophecy, that he would not outlive the
month ; " Gerbier," he said, " if God please I will
go, and will be the first man that shall set his
foot upon the dyke before Rochelle, to die, or do
the work ; whereby the world shall see the reality
of our intentions for the relief of that place."*
i Expressions of popular hostility were vented at
this period in more than one remarkable manner.
On the 19th of June, 1628, two months before the
Duke's death, a pasquinade was removed from a
post in Colman Street, part of which is as follows :
— "Who rules the kingdom? — The King. Who
* See the extracts from Gerbier's MS. in the Curiosities of
Literature, vol. v. p. 298. In the second volume of DTsraeli's
Commentaries on the Life and Reign of Charles I, will be found
an able defence of Buckingham's conduct as a military com
mander, against the incapacity and inexperience attributed to
him by Hume. Charles was certainly very far from dissa
tisfied with the Duke's conduct during the operations. The
King writes to him, 6th November, 1627 : " Unfeignedly, in
my mind, ye have gained as much reputation with wise and
honest men in this action, as if ye had performed all your de
sires. I have no more to say this time, but to conjure thee, for
my sake, to have a care for your health, for every day I find
new reason to confirm me in being your loving faithful friend,
" Charles R."
VOL. II. Y

322 GEORGE VILLIERS,
rules the King ? — The Duke. Who rules the
Duke?— The Devil."*
About this period Charles, happening to be in
Spring Gardens, watching his favourite game of
bowls, Buckingham, who accompanied him, un
like the rest of the company, remained covered.
A Scotsman who was present, having first of all
kissed the Duke's hand, suddenly snatched off his
hat, exclaiming, " Off with your hat before the
King." Buckingham instantly kicked the Scotch
man, and probably would have proceeded farther
had not the King interposed, — " Let him alone,
George," he said ; " he is either mad or a fool."
" No, Sir," said the offender, " I am a sober man,
and if your Majesty would give me leave, I will
tell you that of this man which many know, and
none dare speak. "f Buckingham showed in more
than one instance how deeply he was affected by
such and similar instances of his unpopularity.
In his farewell banquet to the Court, he appear
ed in a Masque, attended by a personification of
Envy, and surrounded by a number of barking
dogs, supposed to denote the empty revilings of
the vulgar.
Uninfluenced by all he saw and heard, the
affection of Charles continued unabated for the
companion of his youth.- Mr. Meade writes to
Sir Martin Stuteville. " This week, about Wed-
* Ellis's Orig. Letters, vol. iii. p. 252.
t Cur. of Lit. vol. v. p. 298.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 323
nesday, his Majesty went with the Duke, (taking
him into his own coach, and so riding through
the city as it were to grace him,) to Deptford
to see the ships : where, having seen ten fair
ships nearly rigged for Rochelle, they say he
uttered these words to the Duke : " George, there
are some that wish that both these and thou
mightest perish. But care not for them. We
will both perish together if thou doest."*
A superstitious presentiment of his approach
ing fate appears not only to have taken pos
session of the multitude, but even to have in
fluenced, if it could not terrify, the undaunted
mind of Buckingham. | Lord Clarendon alludes
to the many " predictions and prophecies," which
forewarned him of his untimely and violent end.
The aged sinner, Dr. Lambe, had foretold his
own death, as well as Buckingham's. This wretch
ed mountebank, who pretended to prophecy by
means of a supernatural agency, was said to be
an unworthy creature of the Duke, though Carte
affirms that Buckingham was not even acquaint
ed with Lambe's person.f The vulgar styled him
" the Duke's Devil." (vOn the day that Lambe was
torn in pieces by the mob, Buckingham's picture
* Ellis's Original Letters, vol. iii. p. 252.
T Carte's assertion is in a great degree borne out by the
evidence of a letter of the time, by which it appears that
Lambe was at one time actually engaged in a design against
the Duke's Life. — See Bishop Goodman's Memoirs, vol. ii.
p. 377.
v2

324 DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
fell down in the High Commission chamber at
Lambeth ; an omen which, when all men were
superstitious, and the majority discontented, was
eagerly hailed as a certain prognostic of his fall. >.
But the most extraordinary prediction was that
of Lady Eleanor Davies,* who had foretold the
time of the Duke's death, with wonderful preci
sion. She had been the authoress of several
prophecies, many of which proving singularly
correct, she acquired so much importance with
the vulgar, that it was thought necessary by the
Government to bring her to trial. One or two
anagrams, into which she had twisted her name,
considerably raised her in her own estimation.
Her maiden name of
Eleanor Audeley,
by transposing the letters, she easily converted into
Reveal, O Daniel.
When the silly lady appeared in court, a clever
lawyer turned the laugh against her by produ
cing another anagram, which, as Lady Eleanor's
is not a perfect one, has the most credit of the
two : Dame Eleanor Davies,
Never so mad a ladie.
The lawyer was probably not far from the truth.
* She was fifth daughter of George Audley, Earl of Castle-
haven, by Lucy his wife, daughter of James Mervin, of Fonthill,
in Wiltshire, and wife of the political and quarrelsome Sir John
Davies. She died in 1652. — See Ballard's Memoirs of Eminent
Ladies, p. 271.

325

CHAPTER IV.

Buckingham's Presentiment that his End was approaching —
his solemn Parting with Charles — his farewell Conversation
with Archbishop Laud. — Remarkable Ghost Story of Sir
George Villiers. — Incidents during the Duke's fatal Journey
to Portsmouth — his Assassination by Felton. — Apprehension
of Felton. — Charges against Alexander Gill  Felton's Trial
— his Condemnation, Repentance, and Execution. — Charles's
Grief on the Death of Buckingham. — Intended Magnificence
of the Duke's Funeral — its actual Meanness and Obscurity.
— Particulars concerning his Widow.
Buckingham, as has been already observed, was
himself impressed with an idea that his end was
fast approaching. His parting with Charles was
remarkable for a solemnity that was foreign to
his nature. Being indisposed, the King, attend
ed by the Earl of Holland, came in person to
pay him a visit. He found the Duke in bed,
and remained with him for some time in serious
and private conversation. When he at last rose
to bid his favourite farewell, " the Duke," says
Wotton, " embraced him in a very unusual and
passionate manner, and in like sort his friend

326 GEORGE VILLIERS,
the Earl of Holland, as if his soul had divined
he should see them no more.*
So also, when Buckingham took leave of Arch
bishop Laud, his countenance and manner were
strangely foreboding of evil. " I know," he said,
" your Lordship has good access to the King ;
pray put his Majesty in mind to be good
to my poor wife and children." Laud, struck
with the peculiarity of his manner, inquired if
he had any presentiment that misfortune was
likely to befall him. " I think," said the Duke,
" I am as likely to fall as another man." The
likelihood of his dying by the hand of an assas
sin does not appear to have struck him. When
his friends advised him to wear secret armour,
" No," he said, " there is no need of it : there
are no Roman spirits left." On another occa
sion, when the necessity of secret defence was
impressed upon him, " Against popular fury," he
said, " a shirt of mail will avail nothing : against
a single man I am able to defend myself."
* According to Sir Henry Wotton, the Duke's sister, Lady
Denbigh, was impressed with the universal presentiment: he
writes, " On the very day of his death, the Countess of Den
bigh received a letter from him ; whereunto all the while she
was writing her answer, she bedewed the paper with her tears.
And after a most bitter passion, (whereof she could yield no
reason, but that her dearest brother was to be gone,) she fell
down in a swound. Her said letter ended thus : ' I will pray
for your happy return, which I look at with a great cloud over
my head, too heavy for my poor heart to bear without tor
ment ; but I hope the great God of heaven will bless you.' "

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 327
But what bears in the most remarkable man
ner on this portion of our history, is the ghost
story of Sir George Villiers. This strange tale
is not only related by more than one contempo
rary writer, but even Lord Clarendon has de
parted from the dignity of history, and lent it
the credit of his name. The account of Lilly, the
astrologer, is as follows : —
" An aged gentleman, one Parker, as I re
member, having formerly belonged unto the Duke,
or of great acquaintance with the Duke's father,
and now retired, had a daemon appeared several
times unto him, in the shape or image of Sir
George Villiers, the Duke's father. This daemon
walked many times in Parker's bed-chamber, with
out any action of terror, noise, hurt, or speech,
but at last broke out into these words : ' Mr.
Parker, I know you loved me formerly, and my
son George very well at this time : I would have
you go from me ; you know me very well to be
his father, old Sir George Villiers of Leicester
shire ; and from me acquaint him that he above
all refrain the counsel and company of such and
such,' whom he then nominated, ' or else he will
come to destruction, and that suddenly.' Parker
did partly, though a very discreet man, imagine
he himself was in a dream all this time, and be
ing unwilling to proceed upon no better grounds,
forbear addressing himself to the Duke ; for he
conceived if he should acquaint the Duke with

328 GEORGE VILLIERS,
the words of his father, and the manner of his
appearance to him, (such apparitions being not
usual,) that he should be laughed at and thought
to dote, being that he was aged.
" Some few nights passed without further trou
ble to the old man. But not very many nights
after, old Sir George Villiers appeared again,
walked quick and furiously in the room, seemed
angry with Mr. Parker, and at last said, ' Mr.
Parker, I thought you had been my friend so
much, and loved my son George so well, that
you would have acquainted him with what I de
sired, but yet I know that you have not done it.
By all the friendship that ever was betwixt you
ind me, and the great respect you bear my son,
I desire you to deliver what I formerly com
manded you unto my son.' The old man see
ing himself thus solicited, promised the daemon
he would, but first argued it thus ; that the Duke
was not easy to be spoke withal, and that he
would account him a vain man to come with
such a message from the dead ; nor did he con
ceive the Duke would give any credit unto him.
Whereunto the daemon thus answered : ' If he
will not believe you have this discourse from me,
tell him of such a secret,' and named it, ' which
he knows none in the world ever knew but him
self and me.'
" Mr. Parker, being now well satisfied that he
was not asleep, or that the apparition was a

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 329
vain delusion, took a fit opportunity therefore,
and seriously acquainted the Duke with his fa
ther's words, and the manner of his apparition.
The Duke heartily laughed at the relation, which
put old Parker to the stand ; but at last he as
sumed courage, and told the Duke that he ac
quainted his father's ghost with what he now
found to be true, viz. scorn and derision. ' But,
my Lord,' saith he, ' your father bade me acquaint
you by this token, and he said it was such as none
in the world but your two selves did yet know.'
Hereat the Duke was amazed and much astonish
ed ; but took no warning or notice thereof, keeping
the same company still ; advising with such coun
sellors, and performing such actions, as his father,
by Parker, countermanded. Shortly after, old Sir
George Villiers, in a very quiet but sorrowful pos
ture, appears again unto Mr. Parker, and said,
' Mr. Parker, I know you delivered my words
unto George my son ; I thank you for so doing :
but he slighted them ; and now I only request
this more at your hands, that once again you
repair unto my son, and tell him, if he will not
amend and follow the -counsel I have given him,
this knife or dagger,' and with that he pulled a
knife or dagger from under his gown, ' shall end
him ; and do you, Mr. Parker, set your house in
order, for you shall die at such a time.'
" Mr. Parker once more engaged, though very
unwillingly, to acquaint the Duke with this last

330 GEORGE VILLIERS,
message, and did so ; but the Duke desired him
to trouble him no farther with such messages and
dreams ; told him he perceived he was now an old
man, and doted. And within a week after meet
ing Mr. Parker on Lambeth-bridge, ' Now, Mr.
Parker, what say you of your dream ?' Who only
returned, ' Sir, I wish it may never have success,'
&c. But within six weeks after he was stabbed
with a knife, according to his father's admonition
beforehand ; and Mr. Parker died soon after he
had seen the dream or vision performed."*
Lord Clarendon gives a somewhat different re
lation of the Duke's manner, when Parker ac
quainted him with the object of his mission. Sir
Ralph Freeman, he says, a connection of Buck
ingham's, was present, and watching the counte
nance of the Duke closely, observed that his colour
changed, and that he showed great commotion
during the interview. Parker afterwards told Sir
Ralph, that when he alluded to the secret which
the apparition had disclosed to him, the Duke
swore he could only have come to the knowledge
of it through the devil. Buckingham was then
proceeding on a hunting excursion. During the
whole day, he paid no attention to the sport,
but appeared to be in deep thought, and on his
return alighted unexpectedly at his mother's lodg
ings at Whitehall. Their conversation, which was
private, was carried on with so much animation,
that their voices were heard in the adjoining
* Lilly, Life of Charles I. p. 202.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 331
apartments. When the Duke quitted her, his
countenance exhibited much anger ; a circum
stance the more remarkable, since his intercourse
with his mother had ever been distinguished by
the most profound respect.
It would appear that the real name of the per
son whom the spirit selected as his confidant, was
not Parker, but Nicholas Towse. Plot, the na
tural historian, has published a letter addressed to
him by a Mr. Edmund Windham, purporting to
give an account of the whole affair, as the latter re
ceived it from Towse himself. The relation differs
but little from those of Clarendon and Lilly. It
may be interesting, to those who have never seen
an apparition, to be informed that the ghost, ori
his last appearance to Towse, had become so fami
liar to him, that " he was as little troubled with
it, as if it had been a friend or acquaintance that
came to visit him." Mrs. Towse had also a mira
culous story to relate as well as her husband. She
told Windham, that on the day Buckingham was
stabbed, she was sitting alone with her better half
in an apartment in Windsor Castle (where, it may
be remarked, Clarendon has also fixed the scene
of the drama,) when her husband suddenly started
from his chair, exclaiming, " Wife, the Duke of
Buckingham is killed." Towse, she says, subse
quently prophesied to her the very day on which
he should himself die, and, she adds, that the
prediction proved true.
The apparition of Sir George Villiers is at least

332 GEORGE VILLIERS,
as well authenticated as most of the ghost stories
of modern times ; and, as in the generality of
such cases, we may trace the phenomenon to
natural causes. What, indeed, can be more likely,
than that the Countess of Buckingham, aware of
her son's increasing unpopularity, and trembling
for the consequences, should have furnished an
old retainer of her family with an important se
cret, and despatched him on the extravagant
errand. The supposition is certainly not at va
riance with what we know of her character.
Buckingham, in all probability, had already sus
pected the cheat, and when he parted from his
mother in anger, it was probably owing to his
having elicited from her the truth.
During the Duke's fatal journey to Portsmouth
there occurred two incidents which may be worthy
of mention. He had proceeded some miles, when
a messenger rode up to him in great haste. This
person had been despatched by Sir George Goring,
afterwards Earl of Norwich, with a letter to the
Duke, in which he advertised him of a design
against his life, and advised him by all means to
adopt a different route to that which he had ori
ginally fixed upon. Buckingham put the letter
in his pocket, without either changing countenance
or, apparently, paying the least attention to its
contents. He had proceeded some way further,
when he was stopped by an old woman, who
requested earnestly that she might be brought to

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 333
his Grace. " She had overheard," she said, " a
conversation in the town, through which the tra
vellers were about to pass, in the course of which
a party of desperate men had agreed to assassi
nate his Grace." The Duke's attendants, who were
not above seven or eight in number, strongly re
commended their master to take a different road.
Buckingham, however, was obstinate, and the
party proceeded. " Hereupon," says Sir Henry
Wotton, " his young nephew, Lord Fielding, out
of a noble spirit, besought him that he would at
least honour him with his coat and blue riband
through the town ; pleading that his uncle's life,
whereupon lay the property of his whole family,
was of all things, under Heaven, the most precious
to him. At which sweet proposition, the Duke
caught him in his arms and kissed him, yet would
not accept of such an offer from a nephew, whose
life he tendered as much as himself; and so liber
ally rewarded the poor creature for her good
will." Just as he entered the suspected town, a
drunken or mischievous sailor suddenly caught
hold of his bridle ; one of the attendants, how
ever, rode violently against the ruffian and disen
gaged his hold.
The particulars of Buckingham's assassination
may be minutely gathered from the letters of the
time. The Duke, according to Howell, on the
morning of the fatal day, having " cut a caper or
two," and been under the hands of the barber,

334 GEORGE VILLIERS,
descended to breakfast. There were present some
French gentlemen, and several influential officers,
who were about to accompany him to Rochelle.
Soubize, brother to the Duke de Rohan, whispered
in his ear that the town was relieved. Buck
ingham affected to slight the news, on which the
conversation became warm and animated, espe
cially on the part of the French, who by their
vehement gesticulations gave it somewhat the ap
pearance of a quarrel. The meal being over, the
Duke drew towards the door. In passing under
some hangings which led to a neighbouring pas
sage, he encountered Colonel Fryar, who came to
speak to him on business. At this instant, one
Felton, a wretched enthusiast, raising his hand
suddenly over Fryar's shoulder, thrust his knife
into the Duke's heart, who, merely uttering the
words " the villain has killed me," made a step to
wards the assassin ; laying at the same time his
hand on his sword, which he half drew from the
scabbard. In another moment he staggered to
wards a table which was near him, and plucking
with his own hand the knife from his body, fell
lifeless into the arms of the bystanders. At first
it was thought he was in a fit, but the blood,
which almost instantly gushed from his mouth
and wound, discovered the dreadful nature of the
disaster.* -j
* Sir Symonds D'Ewes says, that he was placed upon a
table, where he continued struggling for life for about a quarter

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 335
The Duchess, who was with child at the time,
was in the upper room when the accident occurred.
Hearing the noise, she came forth from her bed
chamber, and from a balcony beheld her husband
weltering in his blood. Lord Carleton describes
the scene in his letter to Henrietta Maria : " The
Duchess of Buckingham," he says, " and the Coun
tess of Anglesea came forth into a gallery which
looked into the hall, where they might behold the
blood of their dearest lord gushing from him. Ah,
poor ladies ! such was their screechings, tears, and
distractions, that I never in my life heard the like
before, and hope never to hear the like again."
Such is the fate of greatness, or the ingratitude of
mankind, that those, as Philip Warwick tells us,
" who a little before had crowded to be his re
motest followers, so soon forsook his dead corpse,
that he was laid upon the hall table nigh to which
he fell, and scarce any of his domestics left to
attend him." — " Thus," he adds, " upon the with
drawing of the sun does the shadow depart from
the painted dial." Wotton says that there was
" no living creature in either of the chambers, no
more than if he had lain on the sands of ^Ethi
opia." So admirably had Felton selected both time
and place, that had it not been for his own reck
lessness or imprudence, he would probably have
of an hour. This is opposed to the accounts of other writers,
and does not appear to have been the fact.

336 GEORGE VILLIERS,
escaped with impunity. Suspicion (awakened by
the angry tones in which they had so lately con
versed) at first rested on the foreigners ; and
had not some in authority interposed their cooler
judgments, the innocent Frenchmen would in all
probability have instantly fallen by the swords of
the bystanders. In the meantime the assassin had
passed through the throng, and in the midst of
the uproar was standing quietly and unnoted in
the kitchen. He had tied his horse to a hedge in
the neighbourhood of the town, but whether from
being bewildered, or from having missed his way
in the passages of the house, he neglected to avail
himself of the means of flight. Felton, in the
hurry of the moment, had lost his hat, which was
discovered almost immediately afterwards by those
who went in quest of the murderer. In it were
found the following remarkable documents, — in
tended, no doubt, as an apology for his conduct,
in the event of his being slain by the Duke's
friends on the spot :
" If I be slain, let no man condemn me, but
rather condemn himself; it is for our sins that our
hearts are hardened, and become senseless, or else
he had not gone so long unpunished. " John Felton."
" He is unworthy of the name of a gentleman
or soldier, in my opinion, that is afraid to sacrifice
his life for the honour of God, his King, and
country. " John Felton."

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 337
It was evident that the owner of the hat could
be no other than the murderer of the Duke. In
the mean time, Felton had quitted the kitchen, and
was walking composedly in front of the house.
A bystander, suddenly observing a stranger with
out a hat, exclaimed, " Here is the fellow that
killed the Duke." Others crying, " Where is the
villain? where is the butcher?" — he quietly drew
his sword, and advancing amongst them, " I am
the man," he said; "here I am." Several persons
rushed upon him with their drawn swords, to
which Felton coolly exposed his breast, preferring
to die thus than by the hands of the executioner.
Lord Carleton, who has himself described the
scene, assisted by Sir Thomas Morton and others,
preserved him, though with considerable difficulty,
from the fury of the Duke's retainers. <
Felton, having been conveyed to a private
apartment, exhibited neither remorse for the crime
which he had committed, nor fear for its conse
quences. When, in order to aid the purposes of
justice, it was pretended to him that the Duke
was only dangerously wounded, he smiled incredu
lously ; observing, " that the blow," he was certain,
" had determined their hopes." When asked, " at
whose instigation he had committed so execrable
a crime ? " he answered, " that no man living
possessed sufficient influence to have persuaded
him to it ; that though he himself had been
twice passed over in his regiment, yet that he had
VOL. II. z

338 GEORGE VILLIERS,
been far from actuated by private wrongs ; that
his conduct had alone been swayed by a feeling
of duty ; by the manner in which Buckingham
had been branded in Parliament, and by his own
firm belief that the Duke was an enemy to the
State." He afterwards added, " that Eglesham's
scurrilous pamphlet had, in a great degree, in
stigated him to commit the crime."
Felton, who was a lieutenant in the army,
though a man of small stature, had been remark
able among his own associates for his decided
disposition and undaunted courage. On one occa
sion of his receiving an insult, he sent his ad
versary a challenge, accompanied by a piece of
his little finger, which he had himself ampu
tated.* It was intended to denote how little he
cared for pain, and how ready he was to peril his
life. The patriots, of course, regarded him as a
Brutus ; and it was hoped that he would uphold
his sentiments, and justify his conduct to the last.
As he passed through Kingston-on-Thames, an old
woman, alluding to the death of Goliath, called
out to him, " Now, God bless the little David !•"
His admirers lost no opportunity of doing him
honour. The letters which composed his name
were formed into the anagram of
No flie not,
John Felton.
The conceit will be found imperfect; the letter h
being omitted. * Rushworth, vol. i. p. 638.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 339
' It may be remarked, that the weapon which
cut short the life of Buckingham, was a common
knife, purchased for tenpence at a cutler's shop
on Tower-hill. Felton, having one of his arms
maimed, in order that he might effect his purpose
with the remaining hand, had sown the sheath in
the lining of his pockqt. Being extremely poor,
the fanatic had travelled to Portsmouth partly on
foot, and partly on horseback, in the best manner
his means permitted him.* -f*--
On his being brought to the Tower, a multitude
of people flocked thither in order to feast their
eyes on the political martyr ; he constantly be
seeching them to pray for him, and they, on the
other hand, with a general voice, crying, " Lord
comfort thee ! the Lord be merciful unto thee !"
or such like words. We are informed that he
was well lodged in the Tower, being allowed two
dishes of meat a day.
The manner in which Felton subsequently hum
bled himself, and expressed his penitence at his
trial, was as far from agreeable to his admirers, as
it was gratifying to the Court. The world with
out had regarded the act as one of Roman devo
tion, and looked upon the homicide as a martyr.
One Alexander Gill,f a Bachelor of Divinity at
* Reliq. Wott. p. 232.
f This Gill was the son of Dr. Gill, head master of St.
Paul's, and the schoolmaster of Milton. The son was also
the friend of the poet, as appears by three Latin epistles ad
dressed to him by Milton. He appears to have been a vulgar
z 2

340 GEORGE VILLIERS,
Oxford, and an under master of St. Paul's School,
was, fined two thousand pounds, and degraded
from his ministry and degrees, for having drunk
Felton's health, and expressed his regret at being
deprived of the honour of the deed. There were
two other charges against this disciple of the
murderer; — one, that he had made use ofthe
expression, "the Duke is gone down to hell to
meet King James there ;" the other, his saying,
that " the King, instead of ruling a kingdom, was
fitter to stand in a shop in Cheapside, crying, What
lack ye ?" The expression respecting the King
was omitted in open court.
Felton, at his trial, expressed, in more than
one remarkable manner, his contrition for his
crime. When the knife with which he had
stabbed Buckingham was produced in court, he
is said to have shed tears ; and when asked
" why sentence of death should not be passed
upon him ?" he lifted up the hand which had
done the deed, requesting "that it might be first
cut off, and that afterwards he might suffer death
in the manner the court should think fit." 1
and boisterous demagogue, and was once tossed by the scholars
of Trinity College for his indecent conduct in the chapel, when
performing the duties of reading-clerk. Wood tells us that he
was several times imprisoned ; and in 1635 he was compelled
to resign his office at St. Paul's, on account of severity to the
scholars. Eventually his republican principles brought him
into the Star Chamber, where he was sentenced to lose both
his ears, and pay a fine of 2,000/. His ears, however, were
saved at the entreaties of his father.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 341
There being reason to suspect that he was
instigated by the Puritans, it was proposed to
put him to the torture, in order to elicit from
him the names of his accomplices. When Laud,
then Bishop of London, hinted to him this inten
tion of the court, he replied "he could not tell
what extreme anguish might draw from him, as
in that case he might implicate his lordship him
self, or any of the peers present. The question,
whether he could legally be put to the rack, was
referred to the principal law officers, who decided
in the negative.* William, Earl of Pembroke,
who was present at Felton's examinations, re
marked, "that he had never seen valour and
piety more temperately mixed in the same person."f
After his condemnation, he made two requests
to the King ;¦ — one, that he might be allowed to
receive the communion before he suffered ; and the
other, that on the scaffold he might be clothed
with sackcloth, with ashes on his head, and a
halter round his neck, in testimony of his sincere
repentance. He sent a message to the Duchess
of Buckingham, imploring her to pardon him for
the death of her husband. She kindly sent him
her forgiveness, a boon which he acknowledged
with gratitude in his last moments. Felton men
tioned a curious fact to those who were about him.
He said, that at the instant he stabbed the Duke,
he repeated the words, " God have mercy on thy
* Rushworth, vol. i. p. 638. t Osborne's Works, p. 169.

342 GEORGE VILLIERS,
soul !" No wonder it was imagined he had been
instigated by the Puritans. " When I struck,"
he said, " I felt the force of forty men in me."
Felton was hanged at Tyburn, from whence his
body was conveyed to Portsmouth, where it
remained suspended for a considerable time in
chains. The Court was about four miles from Portsmouth
when the news of Buckingham's fate was conveyed
to the King. Charles was at public prayers when
Sir John Hippesley suddenly entered the room,
and, without heeding the sacredness of the oc
casion, went directly to the King, and whispered
the tidings in his ear. Much as Charles loved his
favourite, he respected his religious duties more ;
and whatever might have been the shock to his
feelings, he allowed the ceremony to proceed, and
even preserved his countenance unmoved. As
soon as prayers were over, he went suddenly to
his bed-chamber, and throwing himself on his bed,
he paid an affectionate tribute to the memory of
his earliest companion, by the many tears which he
shed, and the passionate grief which he displayed.*
It would appear that he endeavoured to drown
his sorrow by a stricter application to public affairs.
According to a letter of the period, — " The
King, in fourteen days after the Duke's death,
despatched more business than the Duke had done
in three months before : some that observe the
* Clarendon, vol. i. p. 54; Heylin; Life of Laud.

DUKE OF. BUCKINGHAM. 343
passages in court, say, the King seems as much
affected to the Duke's memory as he was to his
person ; minding nothing so much for the present
as the advancement of his friends and followers."*
Lord Carleton writes, " His Majesty's grief for
the loss of him was expressed to be more than
great, by the many tears he hath shed for him."
The Duke's body was conveyed in a hearse to
his residence at York House in the Strand: I His
bowels were inhumed at Portsmouth, where his
sister, the Countess of Denbigh, erected a monu
ment to his memory.- It was the King's intention
to honour his favourite with a magnificent funeral
at the royal expense; the preparations for which
are thus spoken of in a letter from a person on
the spot : — " On Thursday last the heralds were
sent for by my lord Treasurer, who gave them or
der to project as ample and sumptuous a funeral
as could be performed ; and so they brought in a
proportion of some things larger than were in the
funeral of King James. And all this must be done
at the King's charge ; and is said by the cour
tiers, would stand his Majesty in 40,000/. ; and
that my Lord Fielding, Master of the Wardrobe,
would gain by the London measure and the lists,
5,000/." However, the amount of Buckingham's debts, and
the murmurs which a magnificent funeral would
have excited when his memory was odious to so
* Ellis's Orig, Letters, vol. iii. p. 262.

344 GEORGE VILLIERS,
many, doubtless precluded the execution of these
splendid designs. Moreover, an argument of the
Treasurer, whose resources were not superabun
dant, appears to have added its weight on the
occasion. He told the King that a sumptuous
interment would be but the show of an hour, while
a monument would be not only less expensive, but
would remain a lasting memorial to the Duke's
honour. Charles fell into this view, but when he
afterwards reminded the Treasurer of what they
had agreed upon, — "I should be loth," said the
latter, " to tell your Majesty what the world would
,,^-say, not only here but all Christendom over, if you
should erect a monument for the Duke, before you
set one up for King James your father." -* The
manner in which Buckingham's obsequies were
eventually conducted, may afford food for medita
tion to the despiser of human greatness. Mr.
Meade writes to Sir Martin Stuteville, — " Not
withstanding that on yesterday was se'nnight all
the heralds were consulting with my Lord Treasurer
to project as great a funeral for the Duke as ever
any subject of England had ; nevertheless, last
night, at ten of the clock, his funeral was solemn
ized in as poor and confused a manner as hath
been seen, marching from Wallingford House over
against Whitehall to Westminster Abbey ; there
being not much above one hundred mourners, who
attended upon an empty coffin borne upon six
men's shoulders, the Duke's corpse itself being

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 345
there interred yesterday, as if it had been doubt
ed the people in their madness might have sur
prised it. But to prevent all disorder, the train
bands kept a guard on both sides of the way all
along, from Wallingford House to Westminster
church, beating up their drums loud, and carry
ing their pikes and muskets upon their shoulders
as in a march, not trailing them at their heels, as
is usual at a mourning. As soon as the coffin was
entered the church, they came all away, without
giving any volley of shot at all. And this was the
obscure catastrophe of that great man."* Bucking
ham was assassinated on the 23rd of August 1628,
having scarcely completed his thirty-sixth year.
At the time of his death he is said to have pos
sessed about 4,000/. a-year, and 300,000/. in jewels ;
and that his debts amounted to 61,0001. Clarendon
says, that though he died possessed of a large
estate, yet the love of money had never swayed
him either to an unjust or an unkind action. ,
Of the Duke's widow, the particulars which have
been recorded are not important. According to
the fashion of the age, Sir William Davenant ad
dressed a copy of verses to her on the assassination
of her husband, in which the virtues of the Duke
form the principal topic : —
 " gone is now the Pilot of the state,
The court's bright star, the clergy's advocate ;
The poet's brightest theme, the lover's flame,
The soldier's glory, mighty Buckingham.

* Ellis's Original Letters, vol. iii. p. 265.

346 GEORGE VILLIERS.
Wilson says that the Duchess was bred a Papist
by her mother ; became a zealous Protestant after
her marriage ; but that afterwards, at her mo
ther's instigation, she reverted to the Romish faith.
Lord Clarendon, who was personally acquainted
with her, says nothing of these tergiversations,
but, on the contrary, speaks highly of her wit and
spirit. The following lines are annexed to a scarce
print of the Duchess, engraved by Delaram : —
The ancients, who three Graces only knew,
Were rude and ignorant : look here and view
Thousands in this one visage ; yea in this,
Which of the living but a shadow is.
If these her outward graces be refined,
What be the interior beauties of her mind.*
Cowley also addressed a copy of verses to her,
in which encomium almost amounts to hyperbole : —
If I should say that in your face were seen
Nature's best picture of the Cyprian Queen ;
If I should swear under Minerva's name,
Poets (who prophets are) foretold your fame ;
The future age would think it flattery ;
But to the present, which can witness be,
'Twould seem beneath your high deserts as far,
As you above the rest of women are.
The Duchess, after the death of her husband,
married Randolph Macdonald, Earl and Marquis
of Antrim. The King was much displeased with
the match, though he afterwards forgave the widow
of his friend. J Buckingham had four children by
' * Beloe's Anecdotes, vol. i. p. 218.

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 347
his Duchess ; Charles, who died an infant ; George,
the witty Duke, who succeeded him ; Francis, who
fell in the civil wars ; and Mary, afterwards Du
chess of Richmond. The King ever regarded and
treated them as his own children, and educated
them in his own family. ~j—

348

THOMAS WENTWORTH,
EARL OF STRAFFORD.
Remarkable Party at the Council-table of Charles I. — Wretch
ed Fate of all who composed it. — Early Life of Thomas
Wentworth — his Marriage — he is created a Baronet by
James I. — his second Marriage. — Death of his second
Wife. — Wentworth's Love for his Children — his violent
Opposition to the Court — his sudden Leap from a Patriot
to a Courtier — his Elevation to the Peerage. — Pym's Ani
mosity. — Wentworth's illustrious Ancestry — his further
Advancement in Honours and high Offices — his third Mar
riage — he is created Earl of Strafford — he becomes unpo
pular — he is impeached of High Treason — his Apprehen
sion — his Trial in Westminster Hall  Memorable Letter
to him from Charles — his Confidence in the King's Promise.
— Terrible Dilemma in which Charles was placed. — The
King's Agony in signing Strafford's Death-warrant — his
subsequent Remorse  Strafford's Letter to Charles. — In
terview of the former with Secretary Carleton  Detection
of Strafford's Plan of Escape from the Tower — his Prepara
tion for Death — his Secretary, Slingsby. — Strafford's Pro
gress to the Scaffold — his last Address — his Execution.
They were a remarkable party who assembled
round the council-table of Charles I. Besides the
unfortunate monarch, there sat the magnificent
Buckingham, the loyal Hamilton, the severe Straf
ford, the high-churchman Laud, the melancholy

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 349
Falkland, and the gay and graceful Holland. In
the midst of their haughty councils and high re
solves, how little did they foresee the wretched
fate which awaited them ! There was not one of
that assembly whose death was not violent.
Charles, Hamilton, Strafford, Laud, and Holland,
died on the scaffold ; Buckingham fell by the hand
of an assassin ; and Falkland, under circumstances
of peculiar bitterness, on the battle-field.
Were we to select from the royal party a single
individual, whose brilliant qualities and open cha
racter would most strongly contrast with the wily
fanatics and mushroom politicians of the age of
Charles, our choice would undoubtedly fall on the
stately Strafford. The nobleness of his disposition,
his undeviating rectitude, his mental accomplish
ments, and steadfast fidelity to his sovereign ; his
high bearing, his long line of ancestry, and his
graceful manners, are in strong relief, not only to
the Harrisons and Barebones, but even to the
Cromwells, and Pyms, and Iretons of the day.
The subject of the present memoir, the eldest
son of Sir William Wentworth, of Wentworth-
Woodhouse, in the county of York, was born in
Chancery Lane, London, 13th of April 1593. He
was educated at St. John's College, Cambridge,
whence he proceeded on his travels with his tutor,
a Mr. John Greenwood, for whose character he
ever retained particular respect. He returned
to England early in 1613, and was shortly after-

350 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
wards married to Margaret, eldest daughter of
Francis Clifford, fourth Earl of Cumberland. He
had no issue by this lady, who died in 1622, and
was buried at York.
About the period of his marriage, Wentworth
had been knighted. In 1614 he succeeded to the
estates and title of his family, his father having
been created a Baronet by James the First, at
the original institution of that order. In the Par
liament of 1621 he was returned as one of the
representatives of Yorkshire, having, previous to
his election, been sheriff of that county. On the
24th of February 1625, he united himself to Ara
bella, second daughter of John Holies, first Earl
of Clare. This lady died in October 1631, leaving
him with three children : William, who in 1665 was
restored to his father's titles ; Anne, married to
Edward Watson, Earl of Rockingham ; and Ara
bella, married to John M'Carthy, Viscount Mount-
cashel, in Ireland.
The lady Arabella, his second wife, is described
not only as very beautiful, but as possessing all
those mental qualities which were likely to endear
her to such a man as Strafford. He appears to
have loved her sincerely, and to have deeply la
mented her loss. It was of her, and of the chil
dren which she bequeathed him, that he spoke
so feelingly on his trial. The enemies of Strafford,
indeed, raised a scandalous report respecting the
manner of this lady's death. It was asserted, that

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 351
some letters, addressed by her husband to one of
his mistresses, had fallen into her hands ; that on
remonstrating with him on his infidelity, he struck
her on the breast ; and that, being with child at
the time, she died of the consequences of the blow.
The story is undoubtedly an utter falsehood.
There is no passage in Strafford's life where his
character appears in a more amiable light, than in
his love for his young offspring. When, in 1639,
owing to the troubles of the period, he was com
pelled to send his daughters to their grandmo
ther, the Countess of Clare, he addressed a letter
to that lady, which strongly exhibits his affection,
and his unwillingness to be deprived of their so
ciety. " I must confess," he says, " it was not
without difficulty before I could persuade myself
thus to be deprived the looking upon them, who,
with their brother, are the pledges of all the com
fort, the greatest at least, of my old age, if it shall
please God I attain thereunto. But I have been
brought up in afflictions of this kind, so that I still
fear to have that taken first that is dearest unto
me." He afterwards adds — " Nan, they tell me,
danceth prettily ; which I wish, if with convenience
it might be, were not lost ; more to give her a
comely grace in the carriage of her body than that
I wish they should much delight or practise it
when they are women. Arabella is a small practi
tioner that way also ; and they are both very apt
to learn that, or anything they are taught. Nan,

352 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
I think, speaks French prettily, which yet I might
have been better able to judge, had her mother
lived. The other also speaks, but her maid being
of Guernsey, the accent is not good. But your
ladyship is in this excellent, as that, as indeed all
things which may befit them, they may, and I hope
will, learn better with your ladyship than they
can with their poor father, ignorant in what be
longs to women, and otherways, God knows, dis
tracted, and so wanting unto them in all, save in
loving them ; and therein, in truth, I shall never
be less than the dearest parent in the world." *
The Lady Anne, or, as her father styles her,
"Nan," was Strafford's favourite daughter ; indeed,
as much may be gleaned from the manner in which
he dwells on her accomplishments in the foregoing
extract. When Strafford was absent from York
shire, during the progress of some family buildings
in that county, the little lady, then between three
and four years old, used to overlook the workmen,
and took much interest in seeing their work ad
vance. Sir William Pennyman writes to Strafford :
— " Your children are all very well, and your lord
ship needs not fear the going forward of your
building, when you have so careful a steward as
Mrs. Anne. She complained to me very much of
two rainy days, which, as she said, hindered her
from coming down, and the building from going
up.''^ The affectionate father was, doubtless,
* Strafford Letters, vol. ii. p. 379. f Ibid. vol. i. p. 55.

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 353
pleased with this precocious humour — indeed, older
people have said worse things.
Strafford, as is well known, had been long dis
tinguished among the popular leaders of the House
of Commons for his violent opposition to the
Court. Whether his defection was owing to ambi
tion, the love of power, or to an awakened dread
for the constitution of his country ; whether it was
the splendid promises of Charles, eager to gain
over so powerful a mind, or a fear that his asso
ciates were proceeding to too great lengths, it is
now impossible to determine. However, his sud
den leap from a patriot to a courtier was as severe
a blow to his own party as it was a triumph to the
Court. To the astonishment of all men, he was
created suddenly, 22nd July 1628, Baron Went
worth, Newmarsh, and Oversley. Shortly after his
elevation, he met his old friend Pym. " You see,"
said Strafford, " I have left you." — " So I per
ceive," was the demagogue's reply ; " but we shall
never leave you as long as you have a head on
your shoulders." Pym kept his word, and never
lost sight of Strafford till he had brought him to
the block. It would be curious to discover whe
ther a rivalship for the favours of the enchanting
Countess of Carlisle had any share in their ani
mosity. They were certainly both of them ad
mirers of her beauty, and at different times suc
cessful candidates for her favours ; but the suppo-
vol. n. 2 A

354 THOMAS W-ENTWORTH,
sition can only rest on conjecture, and that too an
improbable one.
As Strafford had no apparent claims to the
peerage, it was given out that his elevation was
solely owing to his illustrious ancestry. Accord
ingly, the preamble to his patent is emblazoned
with a long list of honourable names, and his de
scent deduced lineally from John of Gaunt; a
circumstance which of course would prove his al
liance to the blood royal. When the latter fact
was mentioned to Lord Powis, — " Damme /" he
said, " if ever he comes to be King of England, I'll
turn rebel!" On the 10th of December 1628,
Strafford was advanced to be Viscount Wentworth,
and in 1629 was made a Privy Councillor, appoint
ed Lord-Lieutenant of Yorkshire, and President of
the North. In February 1633 he was nominated
Lord-Deputy of Ireland, in which country his splen
did services are well known.
Previously to his departure for his government,
he united himself, a third time, in October 1632, to
Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Godfrey Rhodes, Knt.,
of Great Houghton in Yorkshire. He seems to
have been somewhat ashamed of the match, for
the ceremony took place in private, and it was
some time before it was divulged to the world.
His letters to this lady are common-place, and,
though they do not want affection, exhibit no re
markable evidence of her influence, or of her in-

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 355
tellectual capacity. The Earl was undoubtedly a
great admirer of female charms; and in this in
stance had probably been captivated by mere per
sonal beauty. The following letter may be taken
as a specimen of his correspondence with his third
wife. The allusion to the two ladies who had
gone before her could scarcely have been grati
fying to the young bride. The letter is dated
19th November 1632, the month after their mar
riage. " Dear Bess,
" Your first lines were welcome unt6 me, and I
will keep them, in regard I take them to be full,
as of kindness, so of truth. It is no presumption
for you to write unto me : the fellowship of mar
riage ought to carry with it more of love and
equality than any other apprehension. So I de
sire it may ever be betwixt us ; nor shall it ever
break of my part. Virtue is the highest value we
can set upon ourselves in this world, and the chief
which 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 dispositions 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
2 a 2

356 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
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."
Strafford mixes strangely the care of his wife's
morals with that of her personal appearance. In
the postscript of a letter, dated a few days after
wards, he writes : — " If you will speak to my
cousin Radcliffe for the paste I told you of for your
teeth, and desire him to speak to Dr. Moore in my
name, for two pots of it, and that the doctor will
see it be good — for this last indeed were not so —
you may bring me one down, and keep the other
yourself." By his third wife Strafford had two
children, Thomas and Margaret, who both died
unmarried. In 1640, his final honours were conferred on him.
On the 12th of January 1640, he was created Baron
Raby, of Raby Castle, in the Bishopric of Durham,
with a special remainder, and Earl of Strafford ;
and on the 12th of September following, he was
invested with the Order of the Garter.
Strafford's defection from his friends, his powerful
intellect, his entire devotion to his sovereign and
to the Church of England, and the lofty tone which
he adopted in council, had long aroused the fear
and hatred of the popular party. In England it
was the fashion to speak of him as the common

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 357
enemy of freedom and mankind. In Scotland, his
vigorous opposition to the rebels and covenanters,
in the cabinet as well as in the field, had long ren
dered him detested. In Ireland, for centuries the
hot-bed of faction, he was certain to find enemies.
The conduct which rendered him the idol of one
party, was sure to entail the hatred of the other ;
and the Irish Parliament, which had so lately
lauded him to the skies, were the first to buzz
around the sick lion.
With three kingdoms thus arrayed against him,
and with every advantage of those petty means
of which power, though only dishonourably, can
avail itself; deserted by the sovereign whom he
had so splendidly served ; the friend, who might
most have assisted him ; unconstitutionally im
prisoned ; and himself deprived of the aid of legal
advice, this great man stood on his trial unsup
ported and alone.
Strafford had no sooner arrived from Ireland,
than his former friend and now sworn enemy, Pym,
commenced the attack. He informed the House
of Commons that he had matter of the utmost
importance to communicate to them, desiring, at
the same time, that the doors might be locked,
and the keys laid upon the table. Pym's famous
speech is well known. Though he spoke of the
Earl as an enemy to his country, and even de
scended to a low vituperation of his private cha
racter, as regarded his admiration of women, he

358 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
alluded to his courage, enterprise, and capacity,
with the highest encomiums. Strafford was im
peached of high treason ; and before he could even
be made aware of the proceedings, Pym was de
puted by the Commons to carry up the accusa
tion to the House of Lords.
There is extant a curious journal, addressed
by Dr. Robert Baillie, Principal of the University
of Glasgow, to the Presbytery of Irvine in Scot
land. This person had been delegated by the
Covenanting Lords in Scotland to draw up the
articles of impeachment against Archbishop Laud.
He was on the spot at the time, and gives the
following interesting account of the apprehension
of Strafford.
"All things go here as we could wish. The
Lieutenant of Ireland came but on Monday to
town, late ; on Tuesday rested, and on Wednes
day came to Parliament ; but ere night he was
caged. Intolerable pride and oppression call to
Heaven for vengeance ! The lower House closed
their doors ; the Speaker kept the keys till his
accusation was concluded. Thereafter Mr. Pym
went up with a member at his back to the higher
House, and, in a pretty short speech, did in the
name of the Commons of all England accuse
Thomas Lord Strafford of high treason, and re
quired his person to be arrested till probation
might be made : so Mr. Pym and his pack were
removed. The Lords began to consult upon that

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 359
strange and unpremeditated motion. The word
goes in haste to the Lord Lieutenant, where he
was with the King. With speed he comes to the
House of Peers, and calls rudely at the door.
James Maxwell, keeper of the black rod, opens.
His lordship, with a proud glooming countenance,
makes towards his place at the board head ; but
at once many bid him void the house. So he is
forced in confusion to go to the door till he is
called. After consultation, he stands, but is told
to kneel, and on his knees to hear the sentence.
Being on his knees, he is delivered to the black
rod to be prisoner till he is cleared of the crimes
he is charged with. He offered to speak, but was
commanded to begone without a word. In the
outer room, James Maxwell required of him, as
prisoner, to deliver him his sword. When he had
got it, with a loud voice he told his man to carry
the Lord Lieutenant's sword. This done, he makes
through a number of people towards his coach,
all gazing, no man capping to him, before whom
that morning the greatest in England would have
stood uncovered, all crying, ' What is the mat
ter ?' He said, ' A small matter, I warrant you.'
They replied, ' Yes, indeed, high treason is a small
matter !' Coming to the place where he expected
his coach, it was not there ; so behoved to return
the same way through a world of gazing people.
When at last he had found his coach, and was en
tering it, James Maxwell told him, ' My Lord, you

360 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
are my prisoner, and must go in my coach !' so
he behoved to do so. For some days too many
went to see him ; but since, the Parliament has
commanded his keepers to be straiter. Pursuivants
are despatched to Ireland to open all the ports,
and to proclaim that all who had grievances might
come over."
The famous trial scene of the Earl of Strafford
took place in Westminster Hall, 22nd March 1641.
At the upper end of the hall was placed a throne
for the King and a chair for the Prince : the King,
however, though present, did not publicly exhibit
himself. On each side of the throne were erected
temporary closets, covered with tapestry. In one
of these sat some French nobles who were then in
England ; and in the other the King and Queen,
with several ladies of the Court. A curtain had
been attached to the front of this box, which was
intended to preserve the royal party unseen, but
Charles, for some reason, instantly tore it down
with his own hands. The Queen, we are told,
and the court ladies, were constantly observed em
ployed in taking notes during the trial.
Immediately beneath the throne, on seats co
vered with green cloth, sat the Peers in their
parliamentary robes ; and near them the judges
on " sacks of wool," in their scarlet gowns. Lower
down, were ten ranges of seats for the members
of the House of Commons. A bar, covered with
green cloth, ran across the centre of the hall.

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 361
Behind this was placed a table and desk for the
convenience of the prisoner, and a chair which
he could make use of if he felt himself fatigued.
Close to him stood Sir William Balfour, the Lieu
tenant of the Tower. Strafford employed four
secretaries, who sat at a desk behind him ; and
on one side of them were the witnesses for the
prosecution. Galleries were erected on each side
of the hall, which were filled with spectators, in
cluding members of the House of Commons not
actually concerned in the impeachment.
Strafford, on each day of the trial, was brought
from the Tower, attended by six barges, and guard
ed by a hundred soldiers. On his landing at
Westminster, he was received by a hundred of
the train-bands, who conducted him to the hall,
and afterwards guarded the doors. Strafford and
the peers generally arrived about eight in the
morning ; the King usually preceding them by
about half-an-hour.
Rushworth, who was employed to take notes of
the evidence, has supplied most of these particulars.
Principal Baillie speaks of it as " daily, the most
glorious assembly the isle could afford," and supplies
some interesting particulars of Strafford's carriage.
" All being set," he writes, " the Prince in his
robes, in a little chair on the side of the throne,
the chamberlain and black rod went in and brought
in my Lord Strafford. He was always in the same
suit of black. At the entry he made a low cour-

362 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
tesy ; proceeding a little, he gave a second ; when
he came to his desk, a third ; then, at the bar, the
fore face of his desk, he kneeled : rising quickly,
he saluted both sides of the house, and then sat
down. Some few of the lords lifted their hats to
him. This was his daily carriage."
The judgment and ability with which Strafford
defended his cause, and the entire illegality of the
whole proceedings, are matters of history. Had
he not been foredoomed, his unanswerable argu
ments and pathetic eloquence must undoubtedly
have acquitted him. Pointing to his children who
stood beside him, he thus concluded his brilliant
speech : — " My Lords, I have now troubled your
Lordships a great deal longer than I should have
done, were it not for the interest of these pledges
that a saint in heaven has left me." He then
paused and wept. " I should be loth, my Lords, —
what I forfeit for myself is nothing : but, I con
fess, that my indiscretion should forfeit for them,
it wounds me very deeply. You will be pleased
to pardon my infirmity ; something I should have
said, but I see I shall not be able, and therefore
I will leave it. And now, my Lords, for myself,
I thank God, I have been, by his good blessing
towards me, taught that the afflictions of this pre
sent life are not to be compared with that eternal
weight of glory that shall be revealed to us here
after. And so, my Lords, even so with all hu
mility and all tranquillity of mind, I do submit

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 363
myself clearly and freely to your judgments, and
whether that righteous judgment shall be to life
or to death, Te Deum laudamus, Te Deum confitemur."*
Even his enemies beheld his demeanour, and
listened to his eloquence, with admiration. After
giving his evidence against Strafford, Sir William
Pennyman burst into tears. But the strongest
testimony is that of Whitelock, who was chairman
of the committee that drew up the impeachment.
" Never," he says " any man acted such a part,
on such a theatre, with more wisdom, constancy,
and eloquence, with greater reason, judgment, and
temper, and with a better grace in all his words
and actions, than did this great and excellent per
son, and he moved the hearts of all his auditors,
some few excepted, to remorse and pity."-]" When
Cardinal Richelieu was told of Strafford's execu
tion, " The English nation," he said, " were so
foolish, that they would not let the wisest head
among them stand upon its own shoulders."
While the trial was still proceeding the Earl
had received the following memorable letter from
Charles.
" Strafford, " The misfortune that is fallen upon you by the
strange mistaking and conjunction of these times,
* Rushworth. Trial of Straff, p. 660.
t Whitelock's Memorials, p. 44.

364 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
being such that I must lay by the thought of em
ploying you hereafter in my affairs, yet I cannot
satisfy in honour or conscience, without assuring
you, now in the midst of all our troubles, that,
upon the zvord of a King, you shall not suffer in
life, honour, or fortune. This is but justice, and
therefore a very mean reward from a master to so
faithful and able a servant, as you have shown
yourself to be ; yet it is as much as I conceive the
present times will permit, though none shall hinder
me from being Your constant faithful friend,
" Charles R."*
This solemn promise of Charles, and the cer
tainty that no crime amounting to treason could
be proved against him, appears to have satisfied
Strafford that his punishment would at least not
be capital. " Sweet heart," he writes to his wife ;
" albeit all be done against me that art and malice
can devise, with all the rigour possible, yet I am
in great inward quietness, and a strong belief God
will deliver me out of all these troubles. The
more I look into my case the more hope I have,
and sure, if there be any honour and justice left,
my life will not be in danger." In another letter
he writes ; " Your carriage, upon this occasion, I
should advise to be calm, not seeming to be neg-
lective of my trouble, and yet as there may appear
no dejection, in you. Continue in the family as
* Strafford Letters, vol. ii. p. 416.

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 365
formerly, and make much of your children. Tell
Will, Nan, and Arabella, I will write to them by
the next. In the mean time I shall pray for them
to God, that he may bless them, and for their sakes
deliver me out of the furious malice of my enemies,
which yet, I trust, through the goodness of God,
shall do me no hurt. God have us all in his
blessed keeping. Your very loving husband,
" Strafford."
It is painful to perceive how confident was the
Earl's reliance on the King's promise. He says,
in one of his last letters to his wife, " I know
at the worst his Majesty will pardon without
hurting my fortune, and then I shall be happy.
Therefore comfort yourself, for I trust these clouds
will away, and that we shall have fair weather
afterwards." There can be no doubt but that a most alarming
popular convulsion would have ensued, had Charles
exercised the royal prerogative, and refused his
assent to Strafford's death. Whitelock says, " A
rabble of about six thousand men, out of the city,
came thronging down to Westminster, with swords,
cudgels, and staves ; calling out for justice against
the Earl of Strafford, and pretending decay of trade
and want of bread." Fear had already prevailed
over the Lords ; but something more was wanting
to induce the King to break his word, and to put
his hand to the death-warrant of his most faithful

366 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
friend. However, the patriots still hoped to obtain
their end by intimidation. Reports of foreign in
vasion, of conspiracies against the Commons, and
of a general rising in England, were ingeniously
and successfully promulgated. So terrified, indeed,
were the King's personal friends, that, almost to a
man, they endeavoured to persuade him to his dis
honour ; and the Queen, who had formerly been
on bad terms with Strafford, though she had more
recently exerted herself strenuously in his favour,
beseeched the King, with tears in her eyes, to
consult the safety of his family, and listen to the
fearful outcry which was raised.
There were none of his own misfortunes which
so painfully affected Charles as the agony of these
distressing moments. On the one hand were the
tears and entreaties of his family and friends ; the
prospect of civil war ; and, in all human proba
bility, of utter ruin : on the other hand, there was
dishonour and the sacrifice of his friend. A more
terrible conflict can scarcely be conceived. That
Charles yielded to the emergency ; that his own
miserable fate was the fruit of that untoward con
cession, exemplifies in an admirable manner the
Christian tenet, not to do evil that good may come.
Charles, however, before he could be induced
to assent to the death of Strafford, strained every
nerve to save his life. On the lst of May
he summoned together the two Houses of Par
liament, and fervently implored them not to

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 376
proceed too harshly against the Earl. He said,
that as regarded most of the charges he was sa
tisfied of Strafford's innocence ; that, in his heart,
he could not accuse him of high treason, and
that neither fear nor any other motive should
induce him to consent to his death. The Earl,
he said, had doubtless been guilty of many mis
demeanours ; indeed, so satisfied was he of that
fact, that he solemnly promised them never again
to employ him in any place of trust ; " no," he
added pointedly, " not even in that of a con
stable." But, unfortunately, the security of the patriots
was in the death of Strafford, and the King's en
treaties were unavailing. Finally, on the 11th of
May, the day preceding the Earl's death, he sent
the Prince of Wales to the House of Lords, with a
letter written in his own hand, in which he im
plored them, as a favour to himself, to seek a
conference with the Commons, and to use their
utmost endeavours to spare the Earl's life.* When,
eventually, Charles put his hand to the death-war
rant, " My Lord of Strafford's condition," he said,
" is more enviable than mine."
The injustice which Charles thus allowed him
self to be guilty of, was looked back upon with the
deepest remorse and penitence during the misfor
tunes which afterwards overwhelmed him. We have
seen him making a solemn vow, that should op-
* Whitelock, p. 46.

368 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
portunities hereafter offer, he would perform pub
lic penance for the death of his servant. To
the Queen he writes in one of his letters, " No
thing can be more evident, than that Strafford's
innocent blood hath been one of the great causes
of God's just judgments upon this nation, by a
furious civil war ; both sides being hitherto al
most equally punished, as being in a manner
almost equally guilty."* He afterwards put to
paper some reflections on Strafford's death, which
afford painful evidence of his remorse : " I never,"
he says, " bore any touch of conscience with
greater regret, and I have often with sorrow
confessed it both to God and man."f The bit
ter recollection still haunted him on the scaffold.
Almost in his last moments he exclaimed, " 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 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."J If the world blamed Charles, Charles at
least blamed himself more.
The King, in all probability, would never have
consented to Strafford's execution, but for the
famous letter which the Earl himself sent him ;
* The King's Cabinet opened, p. 24.
t Rushworth, Trial of the Earl of Strafford, p. 275.
X King Charles's Works, p. 208.

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 369
in which he prayed him to pass the bill for his
attainder, as the only means of setting the con
science of his Sovereign at liberty, and of restor
ing him to the affections of his people. The
fact, however, of Strafford so nobly offering his
life, to ensure the welfare of his master, should
rather have acted as an additional inducement
to Charles in refusing his assent. Strafford's
letter, the authenticity of which has been most
unreasonably called in question by Carte, will
be found in the Harleian Miscellany. After
using many arguments to persuade Charles to
consent to his execution ; " Sir," he concludes
" 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 beg 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 ap
pear more or less worthy of his death. God long
preserve your Majesty."
Whether or not the crimes or misdemeanours
of Strafford rendered his punishment a just one,
did not so much wreigh on Charles's conscience,
as the fact that no charge whatever which had
been brought against him was legally punishable
VOL. II. 2 B

370 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
by death. It is this fact which made him say
to the Queen, that " both sides are equally guilty."
The world will more readily forgive the faults of
Strafford, than they will acquit Charles for having
consented to his death.
The King had no sooner given his assent to
Strafford's attainder, than he despatched Secre
tary Carleton to the Tower, to communicate to
the Earl the reasons which had influenced him.
He laid considerable weight on the circumstance
of Strafford having himself importuned him to
sacrifice his life. When Carleton had concluded,
the Earl could scarcely credit his senses. White-
lock says, he " seriously asked the secretary
whether his Majesty had passed the bill or not ;
as not believing, without some astonishment, that
the King would have done it." When the other
assured him it was but too true, he rose from
his chair, lifted up his eyes to heaven, and lay
ing his hands upon his heart, exclaimed, " Put
not your trust in princes, nor in the sons of
men, for in them there is no salvation." In a
letter to his faithful Secretary, Slingsby, " Your
going to the King," says Strafford, " is to no
purpose. I am lost : my body is theirs, but my
soul is God's. There is little trust in man."*
Strafford was no sooner convinced that Charles
was either unable or unwilling to exercise the
royal prerogative, than he set himself to devise
* Rushworth, Trial, p. 774.

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 371
a plan of escape from the Tower. There was a
scheme, to which Charles himself was certainly
a party, of carrying him away by water. It was
unfortunately discovered by some women listen^
ing at a keyhole, who contrived to overhear the
conversation between Strafford' and the captain of
a vessel in which he was to have embarked. An
examination took place before a joint committee
of the Lords and Commons, when it appeared, by
the evidence produced, that either a Captain Bil-
lingsley, or the Earl's secretary, Slingsby, (for the
identity is doubtful,) had received the King's pri
vate authority to convey a hundred men into the
Tower. Moreover, it was sworn to by Sir William
Balfour, the Lieutenant of the Tower, that Straf
ford had offered him twenty-two thousand pounds
to connive at his flight ; offering at the same time
to exonerate him with the Parliament, by placing
in his hands a warrant, signed by the King himself,
which would authorize him to remove his prisoner
to some other place of safety therein named. The
remaining witnesses were the women. They de
posed, that being anxious to obtain a sight of
the Earl, they had been led to the back door of
the gallery in which his apartments were situa
ted ; by which means they had observed the pri
soner pacing up and down with Billingsley, and
had overheard them conversing as to the best
means of effecting his escape, and the degree of
reliance which could safely be placed in the Lieu-
2b 2

372 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
tenant.* Mrs. Hutchinson also, in her Memoirs,
speaks of a plot for releasing Strafford from pri
son, and afterwards placing him at the head of
eight thousand Irish.
Strafford, at length perceiving all earthly hope
to be at an end, prepared himself for the fatal
stroke with a piety suited to a Christian, and the
dignity becoming a great man. He addressed
an affectionate letter of advice to his young son,
and another to his secretary, Guildford Slingsby ;
the latter undoubtedly the most beautiful com
position which has issued from his pen. The
brief but honourable career of this person is wor
thy of being rescued from oblivion. He was the
eldest son of Sir Guildford Slingsby, of a good
family in Yorkshire. Strafford had long kept him
about his person ; had trusted him with his most
important papers, and he was present with him both
at his trial and after his condemnation. Subse
quently to the death of his master, Slingsby went
abroad, but on the return of Henrietta Maria to
England he came in the train of that Princess, and
retired to Cleveland, where he possessed a small
estate. Here, his popularity was so great, that
in a short time he levied a body of eight hun
dred foot and eighty horse, to aid the fortunes
of his sovereign. But before this little army had
been half disciplined, they were set upon by Sir
* Whitelock, p. 44 ; Rushworth, Trial, p. 746.

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 373
Hugh Cholmley, with a force nearly double in
numbers. Slingsby was too chivalrous to decline
an engagement, and succeeded in routing the
enemy's horse. Having effected so much, he
placed himself at the head of his infantry, but,
unfortunately, receiving a severe wound, and his
horse falling, he was taken prisoner. Sir Hugh
Cholmley had generosity enough to feel for a
brave adversary. He had Slingsby conveyed to
Gisborough, where it was found necessary to am
putate both his legs. He survived the terrible
operation but three days. His mother hastened
to Gisborough, where she found the hope of her
family, and the prop of her old age, a corpse.
Sir Hugh, we are told, lamented almost as deep
ly as the bereaved parent the loss of " so accom
plished a gentleman."
Strafford passed to his execution less like a con
demned criminal than like a general at the head
of his army. The Lieutenant of the Tower had
strongly recommended him to make use of a coach,
lest the people, he said, should rush on him, and
tear him to pieces. " No," said the Earl, " I dare
look death in the face, and trust the people too.
Have you a care that I do not escape, and I care
not how I die, whether by the hand of the exe
cutioner, or the fury of the people."* He is re
ported to have composed a copy of verses the night
* Heylin, Life of Laud, p. 440.

374 THOMAS WENTWORTH,
previous to his execution, but as there is consider
able doubt whether they are genuine, it has not
been thought necessary to insert them.
Strafford was accompanied to the scaffold by the
Archbishop of Armagh, the Earl of Cleveland, his
brother Sir George Wentworth, and others of his
friends. Something of his former contempt of the
vulgar seems to have clung to him even in that
awful moment. His parting speech was address
ed rather to the Archbishop and to his imme
diate friends, than to the rabble who hooted him
to his death. His last address was such as might
have been expected from such a man. He asserted
that never at any moment had he entertained a
thought which he believed to be in opposition to
the welfare and happiness, either of the King or
the people. He expressed himself to be a true
son of the Church of England, adding that he bore
enmity to no man, and that he freely forgave all.
" Since I was twenty-one years of age," he said,
" unto this day, I never had thought or doubt of
the truth of this religion ; nor had any ever the
boldness to suggest to me the contrary to my best
remembrance." Having shaken hands with his friends, his chap
lain laid the book of common prayer on a chair,
and kneeling down together, they remained pray
ing for about half an hour. He then rose, and
beckoning his brother to him, desired him to bear
his love to his wife and sister. Further, he re-

EARL OF STRAFFORD. 375
quested him to give his blessing to his son, with
these solemn injunctions, — that he should continue
firm in the doctrine of the Church of England, and
in his duty to his King ; that he should entertain
no thought of revenge against his father's enemies,
and that he should aim at no higher distinction,
than to dispense justice on his own estate. " Carry
my blessing also," he added, " to my daughters
Anne and Arabella. Charge them to serve and
fear God, and he will bless them ; not forgetting
my little infant, that knows neither good nor evil,
and cannot speak for itself; God speak for it and
bless it. I have well nigh done. One stroke more
will make my wife husbandless, my dear children
fatherless, my poor servants masterless, and sepa
rate me from my dear brothers and all my friends ;
but let God be to you and them all in all."
The Earl then took off his doublet. " I thank
God," he said, " I am no more afraid of death ; but
as cheerfully put off my doublet at this time as ever
I did when I went to bed." Having put on a white
cap, he thrust his hair underneath it with his own
hands. He then inquired for the executioner, who
came forward and requested his forgiveness. " I
forgive you," said Strafford " and all the world."
Kneeling down at the block, the Archbishop being
on one side of him and another clergyman on the
other, the latter clasped the Earl's hands in his,
while they prayed. Their devotions being at an
end, he told the executioner that he would first

376 EARL OF STRAFFORD.
make an experiment of the block by laying his
head on it, but desired him not to strike till he gave
him a sign by stretching out his hands. Shortly
afterwards, placing his head a second time on the
block, he gave the appointed signal, and at one
blow his head was severed from his body. The
executioner held it up to the people, exclaiming
at the same time, " God save the King ! "
Such was the fate of the great Lord Strafford,
whose political faults were those of principle and
conscience, while his private virtues were at least
as eminent as his genius. The eulogium of his
enemy Whitelock deserves to be his epitaph.
" Thus," he says, "fell this noble Earl, who for
natural parts and abilities, and for improvement
of knowledge by experience, in the greatest af
fairs ; for wisdom, faithfulness, and gallantry of
mind, hath left few behind him that can be
ranked as his equals." Strafford was executed
on Tower-hill, on the 12th May, 1641, in the forty-
ninth year of his age.

377

WILLIAM LAUD,
ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.
Summary of Laud's Character — his Education and Prefer
ments in the Church — Scurrilous Attacks on his Birth and
Parentage — his personal Appearance. — Curious Parallel
between Wolsey and Laud. — Laud's Abhorrence of Puritan
ism : Anecdote — his Belief in Prognostics — his Visions —
his supposed Inclination to the Church of Rome : Anecdotes
— his private Virtues and munificent Benefactions — his Un
popularity. — Scurrilous Libels. — Attack on Lambeth Palace
defeated. — Impeachment of Laud — he is voted guilty of
High Treason and sent to the Tower — his Papers destroyed
by Bishop Warner. — The Original Magna Charta. — Seizure
of Laud's private Diary — Anecdotes of his Imprisonment. —
Last and affecting Interview between Laud and Strafford. —
Laud's Reception of the fatal Sentence against him — his
Passage to the Scaffold — his Execution — his Character by
Judge Whitelock. — Insight of James into Laud's Character.
— Burial of Laud's Remains.
A good man, but a petulant and mischievous
statesman. Undoubtedly his piety was sincere,
his industry great, his learning extensive, and his
private conduct unimpeachable. On the other
hand, he was intemperate and over-zealous in mat
ters of Church and State, and perhaps no enemy
to arbitrary measures. He was meek and amiable
in his intercourse with his own family, and not

378 WILLIAM LAUD,
uncourteous in his manners ; but in his public
capacity the warmth of his temper was too often
displayed, and his address was generally haughty,
and not unfrequently even rude. He loved his
King, but above all things regarded the welfare
and honour of the Church. Unfortunately his zeal
was productive of intolerance, and almost amount
ed to bigotry. His conscientious severity in the
Star-chamber ; his rigorous prosecutions of the
Puritans, Separatists, Brownists, and other sects ;
and his introduction of pictures and other para
phernalia into churches, at a time, too, when such
innovations were most unseasonable, obtained for
him more enemies than he had the power to re
sist. The vulgar require strong colouring to
excite their enmities to a proper pitch. Their
leaders described Laud to them as more than a
monster, something between a prelatical Draco
and a Romish priest.
Laud was born at Reading on the 7th of Oc
tober 1573. He was educated at the free-school
of that town, and afterwards removed to St. John's
College, Oxford. He was inducted into the vicarage
of Stanford, in Northamptonshire, in 1607, and
from thence rose, through a gradation of church
preferments, and after enjoying successively the
Bishoprics of St. Davids, Bath and Wells, and
London, to be primate of England in 1633.* His
* Those who murmur at the plurality of church benefices at
the present time, will scarcely credit the extent to which fa-

ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 379
predecessor in the See of Canterbury was the ami
able but puritanical Abbot. At the period of that
prelate's death, Laud was on his way from Scot
land, and probably little anticipated the elevation
that awaited him. It was first announced to him
by Charles himself. When Laud entered the pre
sence chamber, the King addressed him somewhat
playfully, — " My Lord's Grace of Canterbury, you
are welcome," and instantly issued directions for
his translation.*
Heylin, the Archbishop's biographer, makes a
good defence against the charge of extreme mean
ness of birth, which had been brought against his
patron by Lord Brook ; and which was echoed
in the thousand libels which his splendour and un
popularity called into birth. His origin is what
might be termed respectable. His father was a
clothier of Reading, and his mother, sister to Sir
William Webbe, afterwards Lord Mayor of Lon
don. Laud, in the days of his magnificence, was, no
doubt, much annoyed by these scurrilous attacks
on his birth and parentage. Heylin mentions a
particular occasion of his paying a visit to his
vouritism was carried in the reign of the first James. Bishop
Williams, the enemy, and as some would say the victim, of
Laud, had been, at one and the same time, Keeper of the Great
Seal, Bishop of Lincoln, Dean of Westminster, Prebend and
Residentiary of Lincoln Cathedral, and Rector of Walgrave in
Northamptonshire. * Clar. vol. i. p. 158.

380 WILLIAM LAUD,
patron, when he was admitted to the episcopal
garden at Lambeth, and found the countenance of
the Archbishop full of care. He held in his hand
a gross pasquinade, which was seized shortly be
fore it issued from the press. He told Heylin,
that he was accused in this document of as mean
a parentage as if he had been raked out of a
dunghill. At the same time he exclaimed, (and
his countenance cleared up as he dwelt on the
virtues of his parents,) " that though he had not
the good fortune to have been born a gentleman,
yet that his parents had been honest ; that they
had lived in good circumstances ; had employed
the poor, and had left a good name behind them."
Heylin's ingenious attempt at consolation is worth
recording. He reminded his patron of what had
been retorted by Pope Sextus the Fifth when simi
larly attacked. " If the sun's beams," said that
pontiff, " found their way through the rugged roof
and broken walls of my father's cottage, they at
least illumined every corner of the humble dwell
ing in which I was born." The comparison im
plied in this beautiful anecdote, was far from dis
pleasing to Laud.
Our imaginations would naturally depict this ex
alted prelate as of lofty stature and commanding
appearance. The contrary, however, was the case.
Sir Symonds D'Ewes speaks somewhat ill-natur
edly of him, as a " little, low, red-faced man." He
was, indeed, below the common height, and his

ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 381
complexion was florid. Fuller describes him as
" one of low stature, but high parts ; piercing eyes,
and cheerful countenance, wherein gravity and
pleasantness were well compounded." But he con
cludes with higher praise. " He was admirable in
his naturals, unblameable in his morals, and very
strict in his conversation." In a curious parallel
between Wolsey and Laud, published in the life
time of the latter, " Laud," says the writer, " was
of less size, but might be called a pretty man ;
both of ingenious and acute aspects, as may ap
pear by this man's face, the other's picture." It
is singular that, at the university, Wolsey should
have been nicknamed the boy-bachelor, and Laud
the little bachelor.
Laud's abhorrence of Puritanism, and his high
notions of the dignity of the Church, are amusingly
illustrated by the following anecdote. He had
accompanied Charles the First into Scotland, on
his progress into that country to be crowned. It
was proposed that, during the ceremony, the King
should be supported, on each side, by the Arch
bishops of St. Andrews and Glasgow'. The latter
prelate, being inclined to the tenets of the Puritans,
appeared purposely in the procession without his
episcopal robes. The high-churchman Laud ac
tually thrust him from the King's side. " Are you
a churchman," he said, " and want the coat of
your order ?"
This enlightened man appears to have been

382 WILLIAM LAUD,
singularly superstitious, even for the age in which
he lived. His elevation to the See of Canter
bury was received with mixed satisfaction, owing
to a strange presentiment which he conceived of
comina- evil. In a letter to the Earl of Straf-
ford, dated Fulham, 9th September, 1633, allud
ing to his change of residence from that place
to the Palace of Lambeth, he writes as follows :
" I doubt I shall never be able to hold my
health there one year, for instead of all the jolt
ing which I had over the stones between London
House and Whitehall, which was almost daily,
I shall now have no exercise, but slide over in a
barge to the Court and Star-chamber ; and, in
truth, my Lord, I speak seriously, I have had a
heaviness hang upon me since I was appointed to
this place, and I can give myself no account of it,
unless it proceed from an apprehension that there
is more expected from me than the craziness of
these times will give me leave to do."* His cu
rious diary is full of the most idle fancies and
ridiculous prognostics. The falling of the episco
pal arms at Canterbury cathedral in a storm, and
of his own picture by the breaking of a string un
equal to its weight, were circumstances sufficiently
ominous to cause him real uneasiness and pain.
Even the idle predictions of the mad prophetess,
Lady Davies, appear to have excited distress, and
are more than once alluded to in his letters : on
* Strafford Letters, vol. i. p. 111.

ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 383
the 15th of November, 1633, he writes from Ful
ham, to his friend the Earl of Strafford, — "The
indisposition of which I spake unto your Lord
ship, I thank God, passed over quickly, though
I find I cannot follow your counsel, for Croydon is
too far off to go often to it, and my leisure here
hath hitherto been extremely little, I may truly
call it none ; besides, the Lady Davies hath pro
phesied against me, that I shall not many days
outlive the 5th of November, and then to what
end should I trouble myself with exercise, or the
like."* He attached much importance to dreams,
and usually committed them to his common
place book. Among his papers was discovered a
curious account of his father's spirit presenting
itself to him in a dream, in 1639, forty-six years
after his death. Laud describes his father as
looking as well and cheerful as he had ever seen
him in his life-time. After a short conversation,
Laud inquired of the spirit the proposed length
of his visit. The latter added portentously, that
he should remain till they departed together.
Laud was then in the sixty-seventh year of his
age ; at least old enough to attach a due share
of importance to such phenomena.
Some of the visions which he has chronicled,
have, however, a somewhat suspicious reference to
the tenor of his waking thoughts. The following
were dreamed in the height of his hostility to his
* Strafford Letters, vol. i. p. 155.

384 WILLIAM LAUD,
old patron, the Lord Keeper Williams, and will
be curious to the minute observer of history.
" December 14, Sunday night. — I did dream
that the Lord Keeper was dead ; that I passed by
one of his men that was about a monument for
him ; that I heard him say his lower lip was in
finitely swelled and fallen, and he rotten already.
The dream did trouble me."
" January 14, Sunday. — Towards morning
dreamed that the Bishop of Lincoln (the Lord
Keeper) came, I know not whither, with iron
chains. But returning loosed from them, leaped
on horseback ; went away, neither could I over
take him."
His attachment to church ceremonials, and a
praiseworthy but impracticable scheme of reconcil
ing the religions of Rome and England by mutual
concessions, obtained for him the character of be
ing papistically inclined ; an imputation, however,
which was certainly very far from being deserved.
It is an undoubted fact that the Pope sent him a
serious offer of a cardinal's hat : indeed Laud tells
us as much in his diary. Arthur Wilson, in his life
of himself, mentions an interview he had with one
Dr. Weston, a catholic, at Bruges, the particulars
of which are not uninteresting. " The little Arch
bishop of Canterbury," he says, " Weston could
not endure. I pulled a book out of my pocket,
written by the provincial of the English friars,
which tended to reconcile the Church of England

ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 385
and the Church of Rome. ' I know the man,' said
Weston, ' he is one of Canterbury's trencher-flies,
and eats perpetually at his table ; a creature of his
making.' ' Then,' said I, ' you should better ap
prove of my Lord of Canterbury's actions, seeing
he tends so much to your way.' ' No,' replied he,
' he is too subtle to be yoked ; too ambitious to
have a superior. He will never submit to Rome.
He means to frame a motley religion of his own,
and be lord of it himself.'"*
The rigorous persecution of Franciscus, a Fran
ciscan Friar, (or, as we should style him, Father
Davenport,) who published a work in which he
endeavoured to unite the two religions by mutual
concession, is sufficient evidence that such a pro
ject was anything but favourably contemplated
, by the Papal See. The Catholics, we are told,
regarded it as " a union between hell and heaven,
Christ and Luther!"
One of the daughters of William, Earl of De
vonshire, having turned Catholic, she was ques
tioned by Laud as to the motives of her conver
sion. She replied that her principal reason was
a dislike to travel in a crowd. The meaning
being obscure, the Archbishop asked her what she
meant. " I perceive," she said, " your Grace and
many others are making haste to Rome, and, there
fore, to prevent being crowded, I have gone before
you." Notwithstanding the satire of this lively
* Desid. Curiosa, lib. xii. p. 22.
VOL. II. 2 c

386 WILLIAM LAUD,
lady, proof might be readily adduced, that not only
was Laud regarded by the Catholics as unfriendly
to the interests of their faith, but that he was even
considered at Rome as its greatest enemy.
The private virtues and munificent benefactions
of Laud were naturally overlooked by his enemies.
Nevertheless he did much for learning and huma
nity, and would have done more but for the disas
ters which overtook him. There was found among
his papers a long list of benefits which he had
intended to have conferred upon mankind. " But
for his untimely fate," says Anthony Wood, " St.
Paul's would have silenced the fame of ancient
wonders ; the English clergy would have been
the glory of the world ; the Bodleian Library, at
Oxford, had outstripped the Vatican, and his public
structures overtopped the Escurial." As it was,
his services to the public are of no mean order.
He subscribed munificently to the building of St.
Paul's. He procured an important charter for the
University of Oxford ; he founded there an Arabic
lecture, and presented them with a magnificent
collection of books. He adorned St. John's Col
lege, Oxford, and obtained for it the valuable living
of St. Lawrence, Reading, in which parish he was
born. Moreover, he obtained a charter for Dublin
College ; established a Greek press in London ;
and also founded some alms-houses at Reading,
with a revenue of two hundred a-year.
The dissolution of the Parliament, on the 5th

ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 387
of May 1640, was generally attributed to the in
stigation of Laud. His unpopularity had now
reached its height. Two thousand persons entered
St. Paul's at the same time, exclaiming, " No
bishop !" " No high commission !" The most scur
rilous libels were affixed to the walls in every
quarter of the town ; ballads were composed, and
sung in the streets ; and pictures, in which he was
exhibited in the most undignified postures, were
publicly displayed. The songs, in which he was
held up to derision, were usually first sung in the
ale-houses, and other scenes of low debauchery.
When this was told to the Archbishori, " His lot,"
he said, " was not worse than that of David ;" — at
the same time quoting the sixty-ninth Psalm, "They
that sat in the gate spake against me, and I was the
song of the drunkards." He is styled in a lampoon
of the time —
" One of Rome's calves, far better fed than taught."
His enemies, alluding to the title with which he
was addressed, said of him, with some humour,
" that he had better have had more grace, or no
grace at all." But, a paper which was posted in
the Exchange, had nearly led to important conse
quences. In this document the apprentices were
incited to rise in a body and attack the house of
the Archbishop. Accordingly, in the dead of the
night, about five hundred persons came to Lam
beth, and endeavoured to effect a violent entrance
2 c 2

388 WILLIAM LAUD,
into the palace. Laud, however, was prepared for
them ; and the rabble, after venting a good deal
of abusive and treasonable language, and breaking
a few windows, eventually took to their heels.
The next day some of the ringleaders were ar
rested and carried to prison. However, the doors
of the prison were broken open by the mob, and
the offenders liberated by their companions. Only
one person, Bensted, a sailor, was executed, and
his quarters exposed on the gates of the city.
On the subject of Laud's impeachment and ini
quitous trial, it would be needless to dwell at
length. He was accused of high treason, in en
deavouring to subvert the laws and constitution of
his country. Added to this, the unfounded charge
of Popery was confidently insisted upon. The
proceedings were as unjust and tyrannical as they
had previously been in the case of Strafford. Evi
dence was accumulated in the same dishonourable
manner ; the same threats were exercised towards
the House of Peers ; and the sentence passed was
equally illegal.
After a deliberation in the House of Commons
of only half an hour, the charges against the Arch
bishop were carried up to the Lords by Denzil
Holies, son of the Earl of Clare. On this, Laud
was committed to the custody of the Black Rod ;
and ten weeks afterwards the old prelate was voted
guilty of high treason, and sent to the Tower.
His enemies, the Commons, attacked him in the

ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 389
most opprobrious terms. Harbottle Grimston spoke
of him in his speech, as the great and common
foe of goodness and good men ; a viper, who in
stilled his poison into the sacred ear of Majesty.
" This man," said Serjeant Wilde, " is like Naa-
man, the Syrian, a great man, but a leper." Ni
cholas, another lawyer, in his violent attack, styled
him repeatedly, " the pander to the whore of Baby
lon." When the Lords voted him guilty there
were but seven peers in the house ; the rest, either
from too much shame, or too little courage, re
fraining from being present.
Laud was conveyed to the Tower amidst the
shouts and revilings of the populace. The crowd
had first collected in Cheapside, and from thence
to the Exchange their behaviour and language
are described as " beyond barbarity." Laud all the
time sat quietly in his coach. He exhibited nei
ther the contempt, which he must have felt, nor
the fear, which was a stranger to him. " I look,"
he said, " upon a higher cause than the tongues of
Shimei and his children."
Laud, on his first committal, had sent the key of
his cabinet to Warner, Bishop of Rochester, de
siring him either to burn or conceal such papers
as might be prejudicial to his own interests or
those of his friends. Warner was engaged for
three hours at the task, and had only just com
pleted it, when a messenger from the House of
Lords came to seal up the cabinet. Among the

390 WILLIAM LAUD,
documents carried off by Warner was the original
Magna Charta. This valuable piece of antiquity
was found among Warner's papers at his death.
It was afterwards presented to Bishop Burnet, and
is now in the British Museum.
In the absence of all proof of guilt, the House of
Commons had the baseness to seize and publish
the Archbishop's private diary. He was in bed at
the Tower when Prynne, followed by a guard of
soldiers, suddenly entered the apartment, and ad
vancing to where his clothes lay by the bed-side,
drew the volume from one of the pockets. Prynne
afterwards published it, with the concurrence of
the Commons, and with several infamous additions
of his own.
When Laud was first brought to the Tower, the
lieutenant was proceeding to conduct his prisoner
to the apartments recently occupied by Bishop
Williams, as affording the best accommodation in
the place. Laud requested he might be lodged in
any other rooms ; — "he was certain," he said,
" they would smell so of Puritanism." His ene
mies have accused him of undue severity towards
Williams. They forgot, however, how much harsher
was their own conduct towards an old man of
seventy-one, whom they persecuted tyrannically,
and executed unjustly.
A friend, who came to visit the aged prelate in
his confinement, inquired of him, how he fared.
" I thank God," he said, " I am well. The King

ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 391
has provided me with a comfortable lodging ; I
have good and wholesome fare, and by none of my
troubles have I been deprived of an hour's rest."
He said of the Tower, that, if he ever quitted it,
he would take care to have it beautified and im
proved. At this period he frequently repeated two
verses of the eighty-second psalm : — " I have said,
ye are gods, and all of you children of the Most
High. But ye shall die like men, and fall like one
of the princes."
There had long existed a strong affection be-
twen Laud and Strafford. The Earl, on the night
previous to his execution, expressed a great desire
to have an interview with his friend, but the boon
was barbarously denied. However, he sent a mes
sage to the Archbishop, desiring to be remember
ed by him in his prayers, and requesting that his
fellow-prisoner would appear at his window the
next morning, in order that he might bid him a
last farewel] as he passed to his execution. The
message was delivered to Laud by the Primate of
Ireland. The old man expressed his fears that,
owing to the weakness of his frame, he should be
prevented from acceding to the wishes of his friend.
The next morning, as Strafford passed by to the
scaffold, he looked up to Laud's window, but the
Archbishop was not there. " Though I do not see
him," said Strafford to the Lieutenant ofthe Tower,
" give me leave, I pray you, to do my last ob
servance towards his rooms." In the mean time

392 WILLIAM LAUD,
Laud, having been informed of the Earl's approach,
had been assisted to the window. These two great
men thus beheld each other for the last time.
Strafford requested the prayers and blessing of the
Archbishop. Laud lifted up his hands to heaven,
and fervently blessed and prayed for him. A mo
ment after, overcome with grief and natural in
firmity, he sunk to the ground. On his recovery,
he expressed much concern lest his weakness should
be attributed to dread of his own approaching
fate. " I hope," he said, " by God's assistance, and
through my own innocency, that when I come to
my own execution, I shall show the world how
much more sensible I am of my Lord Strafford's
loss than I am of my own."
When the fatal sentence was communicated to
Laud, he received the intimation with the com
posure and fortitude of a Christian. " No one,"
he said, " can be more desirous to send me out of
life than I am to go." The period between his
sentence and execution was principally spent in
prayer, having with some difficulty obtained the
attendance of one of his chaplains. The night
previous to his death was passed in a sound sleep.
When he was awakened on the fatal morning, by
the Lieutenant of the Tower, he expressed not the
slightest dismay; and it was remarked, that his
countenance exhibited the same freshness of colour
which it had ever worn.
He passed to the scaffold as to a triumph. The

ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 393
mob barbarously reviled and hooted him as he went
along ; but his hopes were not of this world ; and
his temper appeared as even, and his countenance
as cheerful, as they had ever been. He would seem
even to have sported with his fate,, and to have
exhibited instances of that anomalous merriment
which has not unfrequently been displayed by the
criminal in his last moments. In his discourse
on the scaffold, he says, " I am not in love with
this passage through the red sea, for I have the
weaknesses and infirmities of flesh and blood plen
tifully in me ; and I have prayed with my Saviour,
ut transiret calix iste, that this cup of red wine
might pass from me ; but, if not, God's will, not
mine, be done." Happening to perceive, through
a chink in the boards, that some people were
standing underneath the scaffold, and indeed im
mediately below the spot where the block was
placed, he called for the authorities to remove
them. " He was unwilling," he said, " that his
blood should fall on the heads of the people."
The bitter revilings of the mob, which continued
to follow him to the last moment, had no power to
ruffle the discomposure of his mind. One fanatic,
in particular, Sir John Clotworthy, a prominent
speaker in the House of Commons, continued har-
rassing him with impertinent questions, and at
tempted to draw him into a controversy. The an
swers of Laud were mild' and pertinent ; but his
tormentor persisting in his ill-timed zeal, he turn-

394 WILLIAM LAUD.
ed to the executioner, and presenting him with
some money, he appealed to him to do his duty,
requesting him to perform his task with as much
adroitness as possible. Kneeling down, he repeated
a short and appropriate prayer for the happiness
of the kingdom, and his own eternal salvation
through the merits of his Redeemer. Then, lay
ing his head upon the block, he gave the ap
pointed sign to the executioner by uttering aloud,
"Lord, receive my soul!" and at one blow his
head was severed from his body.
Laud suffered on Tower Hill, on the 10th of
January 1645, in the seventy-second year of his
age. His old friend, Judge Whitelock, described
his character in a few words. " He was too full
of fire, though a just and good man. His want
of experience in state matters, and his too much
heat and zeal for the Church, had he proceeded
in the way he was then in, would have set the
nation on fire." The insight of King James into
his character is more remarkable, and does credit
to the penetration of that monarch. When pressed
by Buckingham and Williams to consent to Laud's
advancement, " Laud," he said " is a- restless spirit,
to be kept back from all places of authority ; for
he cannot see when matters are well, but loves
to toss and change, and bring things to a re
formation floating in his own brain." Philips tells
us, in his Life of Lord Keeper Williams, that
the King, having been wearied into a compliance,

ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 395
exclaimed, passionately, as he quitted the apart
ment, " Then take hira to you, but on my soul
you will repent it." The remains of Laud were
decently interred in the church of Allhallowes,
Barking. In 1663 they were removed to Oxford,
and deposited with some ceremony near the altar
of St. John's College chapel, in that University.

396

HENRY RICH,
EARL OF HOLLAND.
Holland's Character and despicable Apostacy — his Lineage —
his Service in the Dutch Wars — his rapid Advance in Ho
nours — his Subserviency to Buckingham. — Carlisle's Friend
ship for Holland. — Marriage of the latter.— Holland House,
Kensington. — Holland's Wealth and Beauty — his Influence
with Women — his Conduct in the Expedition against the
Scots — his scandalous Defection. — The Queen's Anger
against, and Contempt for him — his time-serving Conduct
to Charles at the Siege of Gloucester — his Reception by the
King at Oxford — his second Desertion to the Parliament. —
He is distrusted and held in contempt by both Parties —
his Flight into Huntingdonshire, and Apprehension by the
Parliamentary Horse — his Trial and Condemnation — his
last Moments — his Execution, and that of the Duke of
Hamilton and Lord Capel.
The personal beauty and untimely fate of Hol
land have thrown an interest over his history,
which neither his capacity nor his conduct would
otherwise have justified. It is to the credit of
human nature, that meanness and ingratitude are
crimes which the world is the least inclined to
forgive. The despicable apostacy of Holland can
never be excused. Without any especial merit of
his own, he had risen to wealth, honour, and

HENRY RICH, EARL OF HOLLAND. 397
titles, by the personal regard of two sovereigns.
Charles had more than once incurred obloquy
by preferring him to offices for which others
were either more competent, or at least consi
dered themselves to have greater claims. And yet,
after basking for more than a quarter of a century
in the sunshine of royalty, he deserted his unfor
tunate master in his utmost need, and leagued
himself with the most inveterate enemies of his
benefactor. Verily, he had his reward. The once
brilliant courtier was dragged to the scaffold, sick,
miserable, and unregretted.
Henry Rich was a younger son of Robert, Lord
Rich, (created Earl of Warwick in 1610,) by Pene
lope, sister of Robert Devereux, the unfortunate
Earl of Essex. The date of his birth is uncer
tain, but must have been previous to the com
mencement of the seventeenth century. As his
family, though noble, were not wealthy, and,
moreover, were extremely numerous, the future
favourite was content to enlist himself as a volun
teer in the Dutch wars.
After two or three campaigns, the army being
in winter quarters, he paid a visit to his friends
in England. His handsome person soon caught
the eye of James, and honours were heaped on
him with almost unexampled rapidity. Within a
few years, he was made Knight of the Bath,
gentleman of the bedchamber to the Prince of
Wales, captain of the King's Guard, and created

398 HENRY RICH,
Viscount Fenton in Scotland in 1615, Baron Ken
sington in Middlesex 8th March 1622, and 24th
September 1624, Earl of Holland in Lincolnshire.
He was also made a Privy Counsellor and a
Knight of the Garter. Holland was employed
in Spain at the period of Prince Charles's matri
monial visit; and the following year was sent
to Paris, with Hay, Earl of Carlisle, (two as ac
complished courtiers, we are told, " as were
to be found in the palaces of all the Princes of
Europe,") to negotiate the marriage between the
Prince and Henrietta Maria. Here, according to
some writers, he gained the affections of that
Princess. Holland, on his first introduction to the royal
favour, had encountered a dangerous rival in the
Duke of Buckingham. Perceiving, however, the
improbability of his superseding that great fa
vourite, and unwilling to risk the chances of a
hazardous competition, he wisely contented himself
with occupying the second place in the royal affec
tions. His politic conduct on this occasion is
dwelt upon by Lord Clarendon. " He took all
the ways he could to endear himself to the Duke,
and to his confidence, and wisely declined the re
ceiving any grace or favour but as his donation ;
above all, avoided the suspicion that the King had
any kindness for him, upon any account but of
the Duke, whose creature he desired to be esteem
ed, though the Earl of Carlisle's friend : and he

EARL OF HOLLAND. 399
prospered so well in that pretence, that the King
scarcely made more haste to advance the Duke,
than the Duke did to promote the other." It was
suspected by his contemporaries, that Holland's
attachment to the sumptuous Carlisle had origi
nated in interested motives, and that he too fre
quently availed himself of the purse 6f his friend.
In whatever manner their intimacy may have com
menced, it certainly outlasted the period when
such surmises were at all probable, and only
ceased with their lives.
King James is said to have conferred on Hol
land, within a few years, nearly 150,000/.* On his
first coming to Court he presented him with
3,000/. at a single gift. In addition to these
favours, he exercised the royal prerogative, by
uniting his handsome favourite to one of the
richest heiresses in England. This lady was Isa
bella, daughter and heiress of Sir Walter Cope,
and by his marriage with her the manor and
seat of Kensington came into his possession. The
family residence of the Copes, which, from this
period, has borne the title of Holland-house, had
been built by the father of his bride in 1607. It
was afterwards purchased by Henry Fox, who
from this circumstance assumed the title of Baron
Holland, on his elevation to the peerage in 1762.
The advantages of wealth and beauty rendered
Holland in an eminent degree the idol of the fair
* Peyton, Divine Catastrophe.

400 HENRY RICH,
sex. He was perhaps the handsomest man of his
time, and even some fulsome verses, addressed to
him by Mercer, appear scarcely to exaggerate his
>ersonal advantages :
IV ^Thy beauty too exceeds the sex of men ;
r Jw )/Thy courtly presence, and thy princely grace,
A^ fj Add to the splendour of thy royal race.
^«n early life his manners were gay and joyous,
and his conversation extremely fascinating ; while
a love of magnificence formed a prominent feature
in his character. The world was naturally capti
vated by so brilliant a combination of shining qua
lities, and from the Queen to the maid of honour
there were too many who confessed his influence
over their hearts. Arthur Wilson speaks of his
" features and pleasant aspect as equalling the
most beautiful women ;" to which he adds, that
he had excellent natural parts, but was " youth
fully expensive." Lord Clarendon mentions his
" lovely and winning presence," and does credit
to his courage ; though, according to Sir Philip
Warwick, he was far more fitted for the show
than for the field.
In 1639 Holland was employed as Lord General
of the horse under the Earl of Arundel in the ex
pedition against the Scots. From his conduct on
this occasion, either his loyalty or his valour may
be reasonably called in question. Subsequently,
in 1641, having been denied a trifling boon by his
Sovereign, which it was extremely inexpedient to

EARL OF HOLLAND. 401
grant, he turned rebel, betrayed the secrets of
his benefactor, and joined, as cordially as was in
his nature, with the opposite party. Probably he
had other reasons for this scandalous defection.
The tide of royalty was beginning to ebb^'" arid •
the sun, in which he had long basked, was'neces^
sarily withdrawing his beams. " Whilst the\ wea
ther was fair," says Lord Clarendon, " he continu-,-
ed to flourish, but the storm no sooner arose than-
he changed as quickly, and declined from that
character of honour of which he was formerly
supposed to be master."
If the Queen's attachment to Holland had ever
amounted to tenderness, it was shortly converted
into anger and contempt. In 1642, at her express
desire, he was dismissed from his post of first gen
tleman of the bed-chamber ; Henrietta affirming
that she would never live in the court as long
as he continued to keep his place. From this
period his conduct was so vacillating, that he
was trusted by no party and despised by all.
In 1643, the King's affairs presenting a more
favourable aspect, Holland seceded from his new
friends, and renewed his professions of duty and
allegiance to his sovereign. He presented himself
to Charles at the siege of Gloucester, and, notwith
standing the coldness of his reception, persisted in
following him to the battle of Newbury, where he
behaved himself with much credit. The Queen,
after these circumstances, not only restored him
VOL. II. 2 D

402 HENRY RICH,
to her favour, but showed a strong inclination to
trust him as before.
After the battle of Newbury, the Earl again
hastened to the King, who was then at Oxford.
He had imagined that the services he had so
recently performed for his sovereign, the renewed
confidence of the Queen, his return to his alle
giance, and the fact that he had induced many
influential persons to follow his example, would
have been sufficient to obliterate all recollection
of his former misconduct. He had flattered him
self that the King would have opened his arms
to receive him ; that all unkindness would have
been forgotten; and that he should have been
honourably restored to the royal confidence and
his former places and honours. So confident in
deed was he that he had fairly earned not only
his pardon, but the gratitude of his Sovereign, that
he attempted not the least excuse for his apostacy,
nor condescended to make the slightest apology for
his past conduct..
Charles might have pardoned a rebel, but his
notions of friendship were too sacred ever to have
restored Holland to familiarity and esteem. He re
ceived him indeed with all proper civility, and even
admitted him to his private parties ; but his in
tercourse was reserved, and his manner undis-
guisedly cold and dignified. The Queen had ex
erted herself in Holland's favour, and had he made
a proper concession and admitted his fault, he

EARL OF HOLLAND. 403
might have been restored to his former posts, and
ostensibly have been reinstated in the royal favour.
But he foolishly fancied himself aggrieved, and
adopted so high a ground that Charles complained
of it to his friends. The spirit of the King's com
plaints is given by Lord Clarendon. " His Majesty,"
he says, " observed, that the Earl behaved himself
with the same confidence and assurance as he had
done when he was most in his favour ; and that
he retained still the old artifice at court, to be seen
to whisper in the King's and Queen's ear, by which
people thought there was some secret, when the
matter of those whispers was nothing but what
might be said in the open court ; and that the
Earl of Holland had several times seemed to say
somewhat in private to him, upon which he had
withdrawn from the company to the end or corner
of the room, and, at first, expected and apprehend
ed that he would say somewhat in his own ex
cuse ; but that he had never then said one word,
but what he might have spoke in the circle ; with
which, the King said, he was the better pleased,
and that he believed he had not been more par
ticular in his discourse with the Queen, save that
he used to entertain her with the wisdom and
power of the Parliament, and what great things
they would be able to do, and how much they
were respected in foreign parts ; which, his Ma
jesty said, was a strange discourse for a man to
make, who had so lately left them because he
2d 2

404 HENRY RICH,
thought the King's condition to be the better of
the two." Lord Clarendon himself sought out the
Earl, and endeavoured to persuade him to confess
his fault and sue for the King's pardon. Holland
indignantly refused to make the first advances ; in
sisting that his faults were extremely venial ; that
he had committed no crime which could call for
the formality of a humble submission ; but adding,
that should the King in the first instance confer
on him any public mark of his favour, his own
inclination would then induce him to make the
apology required. Charles, though anxious to se
cure his services, would of course reject such an
arrangement ; and Holland, whether imagining
the King's affairs to be in a worse posture than
before, or disliking the cold looks which he every
where encountered in the court at Oxford, again
deserted to the Parliament.
He seems to have met with some difficulty in
effecting his escape. Having, however, in the first
instance retired to a small village in the neigh
bourhood of Oxford, he contrived to take advan
tage of a dark night, and sought refuge in the
quarters of the enemy. His reception was dif
ferent from what he had anticipated. The Par
liament committed him to prison and seques
trated his estate. After a short confinement, his
liberty and property were restored to him, and
he was allowed to retire to his own house. He
published a defence of his conduct, which was

EARL OF HOLLAND. 405
chiefly conspicuous for its want of truth, and was
only productive of contempt. By both parties
Holland was regarded as one whose services
could do them no good, and whose enmity no
harm. His rising in favour of the King, in 1648, ap
pears to have been a last effort to wipe away
the infamy which attached to him, and to re
trieve his character and fortunes. Doubtless in
his heart he had ever preferred royalty to repub
licanism, and if praise can decently be conferred
on so weak and vacillating a person, his last
effort for his sovereign, entailing a bloody cam
paign in an almost hopeless cause, may claim
some slight commiseration for the apostate. The
defeat at Nonsuch ; the hurried pursuit into
Kingston on Thames ; the romantic death of the
beautiful Francis Villiers, and the flight of the
young Duke of Buckingham and of Holland
himself, are tolerably well known. Holland fled
into Huntingdonshire, and was seized at an inn,
near St. Neots, by the Parliamentary horse. He
delivered himself to the officer of the troop with
out a struggle, and was carried as a prisoner to
Warwick Castle.
The last scenes of his life did little credit to
his character. Bishop Warburton says, " that he
lived like a knave and died like a fool." But
Holland was in extremely bad health, and under
such circumstances, a public trial and execution

408 HENRY RICH,
him by his prince, nor his former more tender
connections with the Queen could preserve from
betraying, and engaging against both. He now
appeared sunk beneath the indignities and cruelty
he received from men, to whom and from whom
he had deserted, — while the brave Capel, who,
having shunned the splendour of Charles's for
tunes, had stood forth to guard them on their
decline, trod the fatal stage with all the dignity
of valour and conscious integrity." That memor
able scaffold was erected in front of Westminster-
Hall. On the 9th of March 1649, not six weeks
after the murder of the King, the three prisoners
were conducted from St. James's to the residence
of Sir Robert Cotton, at the upper end of the
hall, — a house of some note, from so many great
and unfortunate men having at different times par
taken of its melancholy hospitality, in their last
step to the grave.
The Duke of Hamilton was the first who was
brought forth to execution. The judges were sit
ting when he passed into the hall, and from their
places beheld the fatal scene. Hamilton, who to
the last had entertained hopes of a reprieve, lin
gered for some time in the hall ; but the Earl of
Denbigh coming up to him, and whispering in his
ear that there was no hope, he forthwith mounted
the scaffold, and, after an address to the people,
submitted himself to the executioner with decent
courage.

EARL OF HOLLAND. 409
Holland came next. He was so exhausted by his
long illness that it was with extreme difficulty he
could harangue the crowd. Walker, in his " His
tory of Independency," supplies some interesting
particulars relating to his last moments : — " After
some divine conference with Mr. Bolton for near
a quarter of an hour, and having spoken to a
soldier that took him prisoner, and others, he
embraced Lieutenant-Colonel Beecher, and took
his leave of him. After which he came to Mr.
Bolton, and having embraced him, and returned
him many thanks for his great pains and affection
to his soul, he prepared himself to the block ;
whereupon, turning to the executioner, he said :
' Here, my friend, let my clothes and my body
alone ; there is ten pounds for thee ; that is better
than my clothes. I am now fit. And when you
take up my head, do not take off my cap.' Then
taking farewell of his servants, he kneeled down
and prayed for a pretty space with much earnest
ness. Then going to the front of the scaffold, he
said to the people — ' God bless you all ; God give
all happiness to this kingdom, to this people, to
this nation.' Then laying himself down, he seemed
to pray with much affection for a short space ; and
then lifting up his head, seeing the executioner by
him, he said, ' Stay while I give the sign ;' and
presently after, stretching out his hand, and saying,
' Now ! now !' Just as the words were coming out
of his mouth the executioner at one blow severed

406 HENRY EICII,
are little calculated to throw romance or dignity
over human suffering. At his trial he said but
little in his defence; his manner being rather
as if he would have received life as a favour,
than as claiming it from the goodness of his
cause. Heath tells us that he was so extremely
weak, that when he made his defence a spoonful
of cordial was handed to him at the end of
every sentence.
Having been found guilty of treason by the
court, of which, it may be remarked, the presi
dent was the famous Bradshaw, whom Walker
styles " the horse-leech of hell."* the question of
reprieve or execution was put to the vote of the
Commons ; when " this unfortunate fine gentle
man" (as he is styled by Echard) was condemn
ed to death, though by a majority only of three
or four votes.f Much interest was used to save
his life. His brother, the Earl of Warwick, ex
erted his powerful influence, and the Presbyterian
members were favourable to him to a man. He
* Hist, of Independency, part iv. p. 2.
f At the same time with the Duke of Hamilton, the Earl of
Holland, and Lord Capel, Sir John Owen, a gallant and loyal
Welshman, was also condemned to the block. When the latter
heard his sentence, he made a bow to the Court, and returned
them his most grateful thanks : " It was a very great honour,"
he said, to a poor gentleman of Wales, " to lose his head in
such noble company," — and making use of a great oath, — " he
was afraid," he added, "they would have hanged him." Owen,
however, at the intercession of Ireton, was afterwards pardoned.
— Echard, vol. ii. p. 655.

EARL OF HOLLAND. 407
owed his death, it is said, to the animosity of
Cromwell, of whom he had formerly spoken con
temptuously, but who must otherwise have de
spised and detested him for his mean and vacil
lating conduct.
After his condemnation, Holland was sent to
St. James's Palace, where he remained till his
execution. Previously to his case being submit
ted to the Commons, his friends had frequently
sent assurances to him that they had obtained
a sufficient number of votes to ensure his life.
But ill health had generated superstition, and
he invariably expressed his belief that a few
days would terminate his career. On the other
hand, G o ng, the reprobate Earl of Norwich,
who had no friends in the Parliament, and whose
case appeared entirely hopeless, had expressed a
similar conviction that he should escape. They
were both right in their superstitious conjectures.
The one was condemned by an extremely small
majority, and the other saved by the single vote
of the Speaker.
It was decided that the Duke of Hamilton,
the Earl of Holland, and the gallant Lord Capel,
should be executed on the same day, and on the
same stage. Horace Walpole writes : " It was a
remarkable scene exhibited on the scaffold on
which Lord Capel fell. At the same time was
executed the once gay, beautiful, gallant Earl of
Holland, whom neither the honours showered on

408 HENRY RICH,
him by his prince, nor his former more tender
connections with the Queen could preserve from
betraying, and engaging against both. He now
appeared sunk beneath the indignities and cruelty
he received from men, to whom and from whom
he had deserted, — while the brave Capel, who,
having shunned the splendour of Charles's for
tunes, had stood forth to guard them on their
decline, trod the fatal stage with all the dignity
of valour and conscious integrity." That memor
able scaffold was erected in front of Westminster-
Hall. On the 9th of March 1649, not six weeks
after the murder of the King, the three prisoners
were conducted from St. James's to the residence
of Sir Robert Cotton, at the upper end of the
hall, — a house of some note, from so many great
and unfortunate men having at different times par
taken of its melancholy hospitality, in their last
step to the grave.
The Duke of Hamilton was the first who was
brought forth to execution. The judges were sit
ting when he passed into the hall, and from their
places beheld the fatal scene. Hamilton, who to
the last had entertained hopes of a reprieve, lin
gered for some time in the hall ; but the Earl of
Denbigh coming up to him, and whispering in his
ear that there was no hope, he forthwith mounted
the scaffold, and, after an address to the people,
submitted himself to the executioner with decent
courage.

EARL OF HOLLAND. 409
Holland came next. He was so exhausted by his
long illness that it was with extreme difficulty he
could harangue the crowd. Walker, in his " His
tory of Independency," supplies some interesting
particulars relating to his last moments :— " After
some divine conference with Mr. Bolton for near
a quarter of an hour, and having spoken to a
soldier that took him prisoner, and others, he
embraced Lieutenant-Colonel Beecher, and took
his leave of him. After which he came to Mr.
Bolton, and having embraced him, and returned
him many thanks for his great pains and affection
to his soul, he prepared himself to the block ;
whereupon, turning to the executioner, he said :
' Here, my friend, let my clothes and my body
alone ; there is ten pounds for thee ; that is better
than my clothes. I am now fit. And when you
take up my head, do not take off my cap.' Then
taking farewell of his servants, he kneeled down
and prayed for a pretty space with much earnest
ness. Then going to the front of the scaffold, he
said to the people — ' God bless you all ; God give
all happiness to this kingdom, to this people, to
this nation.' Then laying himself down, he seemed
to pray with much affection for a short space ; and
then lifting up his head, seeing the executioner by
him, he said, ' Stay while I give the sign ;' and
presently after, stretching out his hand, and saying,
' Now ! now !' Just as the words were coming out
of his mouth the executioner at one blow severed

410 HENRY RICH,
his head from his body." In his last moments he
had expressed deep regret for the desertion of his
master, and died penitent and a Christian. When
his head was struck off, his bodily weakness was
rendered sufficiently apparent by the little blood
which flowed.
Lord Capel was the last summoned. He passed
through Westminster Hall with a serene counte
nance, greeting his friends and acquaintances as he
went along. Having ascended the scaffold, he in
quired whether the other lords had addressed the
people bare-headed. Being assured that they had,
he took off his hat, and delivered that fine and
effective appeal which, more than any other cir
cumstance, elevated the character of monarchy,
and disgusted the people with their fanatical and
republican leaders. " Like Samson," says Heath,
" he did the Philistines more harm by his death
than he had done by his life." His demeanour at the
last afforded a beautiful picture of dignified virtue
and Christian courage. Even Cromwell, though
he refused to save his life, did honour to the
talents which he feared, and the probity, which it
would have been well if he had imitated.
On the other hand, the meanness and tergiver
sation of the unfortunate Holland, as it had en
tailed only contempt in his lifetime, so it excluded
all commiseration for his fate. It was no argument,
that he had laid down his life for his sovereign, for
had he lived longer, who could tell but that he

EARL OF HOLLAND. 411
might again have proved a traitor. With the ex
ception of his numerous family, there was perhaps
not a single person who felt regret for his loss. It
is said, that he had ever anticipated poverty as the
most intolerable of human evils ; and when the
hour of trial came, when it was found imperative
to forfeit either his honour on the one hand, or his
ease on the other, he unfortunately made choice
of the former. The end was answerable to the
means. Misconduct was followed by misfortune,
and his last hours were embittered by that deepest
curse of wickedness, the memory of a crime com
mitted in vain.

412

LUCIUS CARY,
VISCOUNT FALKLAND.
Summary of the Character of this Nobleman — his early Life —
Large Property bequeathed to him by his Grandmother —
his imprudent Marriage, and the implacable Resentment of
his Father— his Retirement to a Country Life, and Devotion
to Literature — his Hospitality at Burford to Men of Letters —
his reasoning Powers — Compliment paid him by Suckling. —
Panegyrics by Cowley and Waller. — Falkland's Connexion
with the Popular Party — his Appointment as Secretary of
State — his personal Appearance — Anecdotes of his Wife —
his Sons — his mental Distress at the breaking out ofthe Civil
War — his Attachment to a Military Life — his Magnani
mity at Edgehill — Voluntary Sacrifice of his Life at New
bury. — Aubrey's Account of Falkland's Motives for his
rash Act — Clarendon's Explanation. — Manner of Falkland's
Death. — Clarendon's Eulogy.
Lord Clarendon has drawn the character of
this nobleman, as it developed itself to him during
a friendship of more than twenty years. Nothing
can be more exquisite than the portraiture, or
apparently more admirable than the person, whom
he introduces. The historian dwells fondly on
the virtues of his friend, till admiration warms into
enthusiasm, and we distrust the truth of the co
louring almost from its very beauty. Wit, learn-

LUCIUS CARY, VISCOUNT FALKLAND. 413
ing, eloquence, and generosity ; the highest sense
of honour, and a feminine tenderness of heart ;
transcendant parts, and the most admirable virtue,
added to the sweetest Christian humility : — such is
the assemblage of excellences with which Lord Cla
rendon has invested his friend. " There never,"
says Horace Walpole, " was a stronger instance of
what the magic of words, and the art of an histo
rian, can effect, than in the character of this lord ;
who seems to have been a virtuous well-meaning
man, with a moderate understanding, who got
knocked on the head early in the civil war be
cause it boded ill ; and yet, by the happy solemnity
of my Lord Clarendon's diction, Lord Falkland is
the favourite personage of that noble work." Be
tween the sneer of Walpole, and the somewhat
exaggerated encomiums of Clarendon, it is not
difficult to form a proper estimate of his character.
The conduct indeed of Lord Falkland, both in
public and private life, appears almost faultless.
He was possessed of deep scholastic knowledge ; his
memory was extraordinary, and his eloquence, if
not first-rate, was considerable. He was superior
to the passions and artifices of vulgar minds ; was
favourable to religious toleration ; was most exem
plary in his private conduct, and loved truth and
justice for their own sake. On the other hand,
his genius has undoubtedly been greatly exag
gerated ; and there was a weakness of mind, aris
ing, it may be, from too scrupulous notions of

414 LUCIUS CARY,
probity, which, though they detract not from the
amiability of his character, divest it to a certain
degree of its power.
Lucius Cary, eldest son of Henry, Lord Falk
land, is supposed to have been born at Burford
in Oxfordshire, about the year 1610.* His father
being Lord Deputy of Ireland, his boyhood was
passed in that country, and he was for some time
a student of Trinity College, Dublin. He was
afterwards removed to St. John's College, Cam
bridge. In early life, the future statesman and moralist
appears only remarkable for wildness and frolic.
Aubrey says : — " My Lord in his youth was very
wild, and also mischievous, as being apt to state
and do bloody mischiefs ; but it was not long be
fore he took up to be serious, and then grew to be
an extraordinary hard student." For one of his
indiscretions he was confined in the Fleet. There
is extant a moving petition, addressed by his father
to the King, in which he prays for the release
and pardon of his offending son. Shortly after
this period, accompanied by a suitable tutor, he
departed on his travels ; and from this time we
* Anthony Wood says : " Whether this Lucius was born at
Burford, as some think he was, the public register of that
place, which commences about the beginning of the reign of
King James I, takes no notice of it. However, that he was
mostly nursed there by a wet and dry nurse, the ancients of
that town, who remember their names, have some years since
informed me." — Aih. Oxon. vol. i. p. 586.

VISCOUNT FALKLAND. 415
hear nothing more of the profligacy or extrava
gance of Lord Falkland.
He was not of age when his grandmother, heiress
of Lord Chief Baron Tanfield, bequeathed him a
large property, independent of his parents, who
were both alive. He had scarcely come into pos
session of the estate, when he unfortunately offend
ed his father by an imprudent marriage ; the cir
cumstances, as related by Lord Clarendon in his
" Life of Himself," are, however, far from discredit
able to Lord Falkland's heart. " Before he was of
age, he committed a fault against his father, in
marrying a young lady whom he passionately loved,
without any considerable portion, which exceed
ingly offended him, and disappointed all his rea
sonable 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 Cary was very conscious to
himself of his offence and transgression, and the
consequence of it, which though he could not re
pent, having married a lady of a most extraordi
nary 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 confessed it
with the most dutiful and sincere applications to
his father for his pardon, that could be made ; and,
for the prejudice he had brought upon his fortune

416 LUCIUS CARY,
by bringing no portion 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 by counsel,
which he brought, ready engrossed, to his father,
and was willing to seal and execute them, that
they might be valid. 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 were
made him of the estate ; so that his son remained
still in possession of his estate against his will, for
which he found great reason afterwards to rejoice.
But he was for the present so much afflicted with
his father's displeasure that he transported himself
and his wife into Holland, resolving to buy some
military command, and to spend the remainder of
his life in that profession ; but being disappointed
in the treaty he expected, and finding no oppor
tunity to accommodate himself with such a com
mand, he returned again into England, resolving
to retire to a country life, and to his books, that,
since he was not like to improve himself in arms,
he might advance in letters."
Lord Falkland persevered in his resolution ; and
though extremely attached to the society of Lon
don, determined to absent himself from the capital
for some years, and to devote himself entirely to
study. The death of his father compelled him to

VISCOUNT FALKLAND. 417
visit the metropolis before the period of his self-
exile had expired ; however, as soon as was practi
cable, he returned to his house in the country, and
to the severe course of study which he had pre
scribed for himself. Before he was twenty-three,
he had obtained a profound knowledge of the
Greek and Latin tongues, and was deeply con
versant with all theological controversies. His
house at Burford, within twelve miles of Oxford,
was resorted to by the principal persons of the
University, and frequently by the most learned
scholars of the metropolis. Lord Clarendon says,
" They found their lodgings there as ready as in
the colleges ; nor did the lord of the house know
of their coming or going, nor who were in his
house, till he came to dinner or supper, where
all still met ; otherwise there was no troublesome
ceremony or constraint to forbid men to come to
the house, or to make them weary of staying
there ; so that many came there to study in a
better air, finding all the books they could desire
in his library, and all the persons together whose
company they could wish, and not find in any
other society." According to Wood, such was the
opinion entertained by the University of Oxford
of Lord Falkland's reasoning powers, that it was
a common remark at the time, that if the Devil
or the Grand Turk were to be converted, his lord
ship and Chillingworth would be able to effect it.
Lord Falkland was, at this time, a gay and cheerful
VOL. II. 2 E

418 LUCIUS CARY,
man, and his delightful conversation was not the
least attraction to this happy academical retreat.
He continued this laudable course of life for a few
years, and when he again entered the world at
twenty-six, was acknowledged to be one of the
deepest scholars of his time.
It would be useless to dwell on the writings of
Lord Falkland, which have doubtless their merit,
but are now either forgotten, or remembered only
by name. In early life he had been an ardent ad
mirer of the Muses, and of the lighter literature
of the times : indeed, he was himself a poet.
Suckling pays him a beautiful compliment in his
Session of the Poets. Apollo has summoned Falk
land to his presence, but,
He was of late so gone with divinity,
That he had almost forgot his poetry ;
Though to say the truth, and Apollo did know it,
He might have been both, his priest and his poet.
Swift tells us (it is doubtful on what authority)
that Lord Falkland, in his writings, whenever he
entertained any doubts as to the intelligibility of
a sentence, " used to consult one of his lady's
chambermaids (not the waiting woman, because
it was possible she might be conversant in ro
mances), and by her judgment was guided, whe
ther to receive or to reject it."* Lord Falkland
* " Letter to a young gentleman, lately entered into Holy
Orders." Something of the same story is related of Rousseau.

VISCOUNT FALKLAND. 419
used to remark, that "he pitied unlearned gen
tlemen on a wet day."
Not a few of his contemporaries have paid a
grateful tribute to his genius and social qualities.
Cowley addressed a poem to him, on his return
from the expedition against the Scots. It com
mences, Great is thy charge, O North ! be wise and just ;
England commits her Falkland to thy trust ;
Return 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.
There all the sciences together meet,
And every art does all her kindred greet.

ject,

Waller, also, in a poem on the same subj
thus panegyrizes him :
Brave Holland leads, and with him Falkland goes ;
Who hears this told, and does not straight suppose
We send the Graces and the Muses forth,
To civilise and to instruct the North ?
Lord Falkland's reverence for Parliaments, and
a representative form of Government ; a precon
ceived distaste to the manners and practices of
a Court ; and an especial admiration of the cha
racter of Hampden, had early induced him to
connect himself with the-» popular party. Even
when he had come fully to comprehend the dan
gerous lengths to which the patriots were proceed
ing, and had entirely seceded from his former

2 e 2

420 LUCIUS CARY,
friends, it was with extreme difficulty that he could
be induced to declare himself an adherent of the
Court. So jealous was he, lest his conduct should
be attributed to interested motives, that although
Charles openly courted his friendship, and invited
him to several personal interviews, his manners
to his sovereign, to say the least, were far from
conciliatory, while, to the hangers-on at Court,
they were morose and almost insulting. When
disinclination at length yielded to duty, and he
accepted the appointment of Secretary of State,
he carried his high sense of probity to a laudable,
though unfortunate weakness. At a period when
the meanest advantages were seized upon by the
republicans, his chivalrous notions of honour pre
vented him either from employing spies, or opening
a suspected letter. A statesman may be a man of
sense, without being a Machiavelli. Lord Falk
land was too pure for his generation, and became
the dupe of knaves and hypocrites.
His personal advantages were not considerable.
Lord Clarendon says in his autobiography, " His
person and presence were in no degree attractive or
promising. His stature was low, and smaller than
most men ; his motion not graceful, and his aspect
so far from inviting, that it had somewhat in it
of simplicity ; and his voice, the worst of the
three, so untuned, that instead of reconciling, it
offended the ear, so that nobody would have ex
pected music from that tongue ; and sure no man

VISCOUNT FALKLAND. 421
was less beholden to Nature for its recommenda
tion into the world." Such a description adds
little to our romantic notions of Lord Falkland.
Anthony Wood tells us "that he had no great
strength ; that his hair was black and somewhat
naggy> and his eye black and lively."
Lord Falkland's marriage, imprudent as it was
considered by the votaries of the world, was pro
ductive, as far as can be ascertained, of no un-
happiness to himself. Wood informs us that "her
Christian name was Lettice, and that she was
daughter of Sir Richard Morison, Knight, of Too
ley Park, in Leicestershire." Lord Clarendon styles
her "a lady of most extraordinary wit and judg
ment, and of the most signal virtue and exemplary
life." Aubrey, however, affords us a more amusing
insight into Lord Falkland's domestic history. "I
will tell you," he says, " a pretty story from Will
Hawes, of Trinity College, who told me that my
lady was, after the manner of women, much go
verned by, and indulgent to, the nursery. When
she had a mind to beg anything of my lord, for
one of her maids, women, nurses, &c, she would
not do it of herself, if she could help it, but put
this gentleman, Lord Falkland's former tutor, upon
it, to move it to my lord. My lord had but a
small estate to his title, and the old gentleman
would say, ' Madam, this is so unreasonable a mo
tion to propose to my lord, that I am certain he
will never grant it ;' e. g. one time to let a bargain,

422 LUCIUS CARY,
a farm, twenty pounds per annum under value.
At length, when she could not prevail on him, she
would say, ' I warrant you, for all this, I will ob
tain it of my lord ; it will cost me but the expense
of a few tears.' Now she would make her words
good, and this great wit, the greatest master of
reason and judgment of his time, at the long run
being stormed by her tears (I presume there were
kisses and secret embraces that were also ingre
dients), would this pious lady obtain her unreason
able desires of her poor lord."
Wood speaks of Lady Falkland as "a discon
solate widow, and the most devout, pious, and
virtuous lady of the time she lived in." Granger
also remarks, " When that great and amiable man
was no more, she fixed her eyes on Heaven, and,
though sunk in the deepest affliction, she soon found
that relief from acts of piety and devotion, which
nothing else could have administered." It appears,
that the greatest portion of her time was spent
in religious worship, in family prayer, "singing
psalms," and catechising her children and her ser
vants. She visited her poor neighbours, and read
aloud from religious books while they employed
themselves in spinning. Lord Falkland bequeath
ed her the whole of his property, and committed
his three sons to her care.
Of these sons, Lucius, Lord Falkland, a young
man of great parts, died at an early age at Paris.
Henry, who succeeded to the title, appears to have

VISCOUNT FALKLAND. 423
been principally remarkable for the mildness of
his disposition, and an early taste for dissipation.
He is even said to have parted with his father's
splendid library for " a horse and a mare." He
afterwards reformed, and, like his father, by his
great diligence, made up for time misspent, and
talents misapplied. He was elected member for
Oxfordshire, and was afterwards Lord Lieutenant
for that county. When he first took his seat in
the House of Commons, an old senator objected
to his youthful appearance, and questioned whe
ther he had yet sown his " wild oats" — " Then,"
said the young lord, " I am come to the properest
place, where there are so many geese to pick them
up." The youngest son, who also became Lord
Falkland, was a lord of the Admiralty, and died
in 1693.
To return to the subject of the present memoir.
The breaking out of the civil war and the mise
ries which threatened his country, embittered
more and more the happiness of his life. In
moments of mental anguish he was frequently
heard to exclaim, peace, peace; and he himself
remarked, " that the calamities of the kingdom
robbed him of his sleep, and would shortly break
his heart." Depressed as his spirits usually were,
on the morning of a battle he appeared invariably
cheerful, and his spirits rose with the increasing
excitement. According to his own statement in
clination led him to be a soldier, and the camp

424 LUCIUS CARY,
had especial charms for the philosopher. Though
merely a volunteer, he ever took his share in the
hour of danger, and attached himself to the most
daring and reckless commander who was likely to
lead his followers into the thickest of the fight. At
Edgehill he incurred considerable risk, by inter
posing in favour of the flying and defenceless
wretches, who had thrown down their arms.
" Some thought," says Lord Clarendon, " that
he had come into the field out of curiosity to see
the face of danger, and out of charity to prevent
the shedding of blood."
There can be no doubt but that Lord Falkland
voluntarily threw away his life at the battle of
Newbury. He flung himself into the middle of
the fight, and opened his breast to the weapons
of his foes. Whitelock tells us, that on the morn
ing of the battle, he asked for a clean shirt, and
being asked the reason of it,* " If I am slain,"
he said, " they shall not find my body in foul
linen." When his friends would have dissuaded
him risking his life, on the ground that he filled
no ostensible post, and could not be considered
as a military officer : " I am weary," he said,
" of the times, and forsee the misery of my coun
try : I believe I shall be out of it before night."
At another time, when remonstrated with by a
* It is amusing to find so daily an act of cleanliness requiring
an explanation. If the days of chivalry are over, the days of
comfort are at least improved.

VISCOUNT FALKLAND. 425
friend, he replied, " that he had made himself
so conspicuous from his desire of peace, that it
was necessary to show how little he dreaded the
worst hazards of war." It has been generally
supposed that grief for the impending miseries
of his country was Lord Falkland's inducement in
sacrificing his life. Aubrey, however, who is in
some degree borne out by other authority, attri
butes his rashness to his private sorrows. " At
Newbury," he says, " my Lord Falkland being
there, and having nothing to do but to charge as
the two armies were engaging, rode in, like a
madman as he was, between them, and was, as he
needs must be, shot. Some would attribute it to
the unfortunate advice which he had given Charles,
but I have been well informed by those that best
knew him and knew intrigues behind the curtain,
that it was the grief of the death of Mrs. Moray, a
handsome lady at Court, who was his mistress, and
whom he loved above all creatures, was the true
cause of his being so madly guilty of his own
death. The next day, when they went to bury
the dead, they could not find his lordship's body :
it was stripped, and trod upon, and mangled.
So there was one that waited on him in his
chamber, would undertake to know it from all
other bodies, by a certain mole his lordship had
in his neck, and by that mark did find it."
There is a passage in Clarendon's Life of him
self, which evidently bears on the scandal of Au-

428

LUCY,
COUNTESS OF CARLISLE.
Summary of this Lady's Character — • her Marriage to James
Hay, afterwards Earl of Carlisle — her Intimacy with Straf
ford. — Death of her Husband. — Homage to her Charms
by Waller, Davenant, and Voiture. — Character of her by
Sir Toby Matthews. — Suckling's Poem " On the Lady Car
lisle's walking in Hampton Court Gardens " — her Desertion
of the Court and Betrayal of its Secrets to the Republi
cans — her second Change of Politics at the Restoration —
her sudden Death.
This " Erinnys of her time," as she is styled by
Bishop Warburton, was undoubtedly the most en
chanting woman at the Court of Charles. Next to
the far-famed Sacharissa, she was the goddess of
Waller's idolatry ; the mistress of the high-minded
Strafford, and of the demagogue Pym ; celebrated
by Voiture, Suckling, and half the poets of the
day, it would nevertheless have been better for
her had she courted respect more, and admira
tion less. Such, however, were her wit and
loveliness, and such was the fascination of her
address, that her very foibles rendered her more
charming. Though she never understood her own
mind, she imagined that she had a deep insight

LUCY, COUNTESS OF CARLISLE. 429
into that of others. Dissatisfied with the influ
ence which a combination of wit, youth, and beau
ty, are able to confer, and with an unhappy dis
taste to the duties and pleasures of domestic life,
it was her object to become the queen of a poli
tical party; and though disqualified both by her
sex and her incapacity from attaining that object,
yet her accomplishments and talents for intrigue
rendered her an acquisition to her own friends,
and frequently caused embarrassments to the Court.
However, had she quite deserved the strong epithet
of Warburton, it is probable that her admirers
would have been fewer, and their praises less warm.
The Lady Lucy Percy was the youngest daugh
ter of Henry eighth Earl of Northumberland. On
the 6th of November 1617, she was married, with
out her father's consent, to James Hay, the fan
tastic spendthrift, afterwards created Earl of Car
lisle. We know little of the terms on which they
lived together ; but it appears certain that her
intimacy with Strafford commenced during the
lifetime of her husband. The name of Lady Car
lisle is frequently mentioned with interest in the
Strafford Letters. On the 9th of January 1633,
Mr. Garrard writes to the Earl in Ireland : " My
Lady Carlisle hath not been well of late, looks
well, but hath utterly lost her stomach, insomuch
that she is forced to leave the court for awhile,
and be at Mr. Thomas Cary's house in the
Strand, for the taking of physic and recovery of

430 LUCY,
her health ; which house her lord hath taken at
150/. a year rent, ever since Mr. Cary was de
signed Ambassador for Venice." The fact of her
intrigue with Strafford has been questioned, but
their intimacy is sufficiently established by more
than one letter among the Sidney papers.
In 1636 her husband left her a young and beau
tiful widow. It was on this occasion that Waller
composed his fine verses, " To the Countess of
Carlisle in mourning ; " when he addresses her so
happily, as —
A Venus rising from a sea of jet.
Perhaps she did not mourn deeply for her eccen
tric lord, for the poet proceeds in his consolation
in rather a singular strain ;
We find not that the laughter-loving dame
Mourned for Anchises ; 'twas enough she came
To grace the mortal with her deathless bed,
And that his living eyes such beauty fed ;
Had she been there, untimely joy through all
Men's hearts diffused, had marred the funeral.
Sir William Davenant, also, addressed a copy
of verses to her on the same melancholy occasion.
They commence with some elegance ;
This cypress folded here, instead of lawn !
These tapers winking, and these curtains drawn I
What may they mean ?
Voiture, who was probably acquainted with her
when he was in England, has also celebrated her
charms.

COUNTESS OF CARLISLE. 431
There is a character of Lady Carlisle, drawn by
Sir Toby Matthews, which, notwithstanding its
bombastic solemnity, obtained considerable note at
the time. It is scarcely of sufficient importance
to be transcribed at length, but an extract may
not be unacceptable. Though intended for a pane
gyric, it leaves an impression as little favourable to
the lady's character as to the author's sense. Sir
Toby proceeds, — " She will freely discourse of love,
and hear both the fancies and powers of it ; but
if you will needs bring it within knowledge, and
boldly direct it to herself, she is likely to divert
the discourse ; or at least seem not to understand
it. By which you may know her humour and her
justice ; for since she cannot love in earnest, she
would have nothing from love ; so contenteth her
self to play with love as with a child. She hath
too great a heart to have naturally any strong
inclination to others. Though she be observed not
to be very careful in the public exercises of our
religion ; yet I agree not with their opinion who
hold her likely to abandon and change it. She
is in disposition inclined to be choleric, which she
suppresses, not perhaps in consideration of the
persons who occasion it, but upon a belief that it
is unhandsome towards herself; which yet, being
thus covered, doth so kindle and fire her wit, as
that in very few words, it says somewhat so ex
tracted, as that it hath a sharpness, and strength,
and taste, to disrelish if npt to kill, the proudest

432 LUCY,
hopes which you can have of her value of you.
She more willingly allows of the conversation of
men than of women ; yet when she is amongst
those of her own sex, her discourse is of fashions
and dresses, which she hath ever so perfect upon
herself, as she likewise teaches them by seeing
her." Sir Toby attributes to her another, and
more rare accomplishment of her sex. He tells
us that she said what she had to say in the fewest
words. It is to this " Character," that Suckling alludes
in his Session of the Poets. In introducing Sir
Toby to Apollo's notice as one of the candi
dates for the laurel, he proceeds with much plea
santness, — f
Toby Matthews (plague on him !) how came he there ?
Was whispering nothing in somebody's ear ;
When he had the honour to be named in court,
But, sir, you may thank my Lady Carlisle for 't.
For had not her character furnished you out
With something of handsome, beyond all doubt
You and your sorry lady-muse had been
In the number of those that were not let in.
Another poem of Suckling's, entitled " On the
Lady Carlisle's walking in Hampton Court gar
dens," consists of an amusing dialogue between
Suckling and his friend Thomas Carew. The lat
ter appears to have been deeply smitten, and apos
trophizes the lady's charms in the following exqui
site verse.

COUNTESS OF CARLISLE. 433
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 rare perfumes all about,
Such as bean-blossoms newly out,
Or chafed spices give ? —
Suckling naturally amuses himself with the ro
mance of his friend, on which the latter breaks out
passionately, —
'Twas well for thee she left the place,
There is great danger in that face.
But Carew's praises grow far too glowing and en
thusiastic for further insertion.
A poem of Waller's, on Lady's Carlisle's bed
chamber, commences with the following happy
couplet : —
They taste of death that do at Heaven arrive,
But we this paradise approach alive.
How strange are the anomalies of the human
mind ! This frivolous lady, worldly, beautiful, and
unprincipled, deserted the gay and refined society
in which she had basked from her childhood, to
become the companion of gloomy enthusiasts and
sanctimonious hypocrites. Her panegyrist tells us
that ambition often led her into extremes, and that
notoriety was as dear to her as life. Probably the
Court had grown unusually dull ; her charms might
VOL. II. 2 F

434 LUCY,
have become less attractive, or the death of Lord
Strafford might have weakened her influence.
Weariness, disgust, vanity, such are too often the
real motives of human actions.
Lady Carlisle had been under many obligations
to Queen Henrietta Maria, and had been trusted
by her in her most private affairs. Moreover her
intimacy with Strafford, and her acquaintance with
the leading politicians of the time, had initiated
her in many of the secrets of the council-table, and
with the projects and sentiments of the Court ;*
the defection of the fair renegade was therefore
hailed with delight by the republicans. She dis
covered to them whatever she had been intrusted
with, and zealously plotted and intrigued against
her former friends ; indeed, if we are to credit Sir
Philip Warwick, she, who had won the affection,
and listened to the eloquence of the lofty Strafford,
became the mistress of his most deadly enemy, Pym.
Probably the Puritan was really dazzled with her
charms. However, it is certain that she attended
the worship of the enthusiasts ; affected to listen to
their sermons, and even took notes of their dis
course.! At the Restoration, the politics of this volatile
lady appear to have undergone another change,
and to have hurried her into fresh intrigues. In
a letter from Ignatius White to Sir G. Lane, dated
* ' Clarendon, Rebellion, vol. ii. p. 603, Appendix.
t Sir P. Warwick's Memoirs, p. 204.

COUNTESS OF CARLISLE. 435
12th May 1660, it is stated,— " The Queen of Eng
land's party is much dejected, their designs and
projects being totally defeated. They have daily
consultations at the Lady Carlisle's, and some of
them have expressed that they wished things had
not succeeded in this manner, if the Marquess of
Ormond and Sir E. Hyde must govern." This pas
sage evidently refers to the disinclination of the
Parliament to consent to the return of Henrietta
into England. However, Lady Carlisle survived
the date of this letter but a very few months ;
dying on the Sth of November 1660, about the
sixtieth year of her age.
Her death took place suddenly at Little Cashio-
bury-house. She had dined heartily about two
hours before, and having ordered her chair for the
purpose of visiting the Queen-mother, was employ
ed in cutting some ribbon, when she suddenly
fell lifeless without uttering a word. The Earl of
Leicester says in his diary, — " It may be observed
that she died upon the 5th of November, the day
of the powder treason, for which her father was
suspected and imprisoned."* The coincidence loses
its ill-natured point, since Lord Leicester must have
well known, that the stout old Earl was as innocent
of that detestable treason as he was himself.
The Countess was buried near her father at
Petworth. * Journal of the Earl of Leicester ; Blencowe'S' Sydney
Papers, p. 160. 2 f 2

436

SIR KENELM DIGBY.
Inconsistencies in the Character of this Personage — his Father,
Sir Everard Digby. — Sir Kenelm's Inheritance — he pro
ceeds on his Travels — is knighted by King James. — Sir
Kenelm's courtly Qualities. — Venetia Stanley. — Scandal
against her. — Sir Kenelm's Autobiography — his singular
Narrative of his Love for, and Marriage to, Venetia — his
Expedition against the Algerines — his gallant Exploit at
Scanderoon — his marvellous Stories — his Combat with
Monsieur Mount le Ros — his Jealousy of Venetia — Nu
merous Portraits of that Lady — her Husband's strange
Expedients to increase the lustre of her Charms — her
Death. — Report that Digby had poisoned her. — Destruc
tion of her Tomb. — Ben Jonson's Poems on her Death. —
Sir Kenelm's Grief at the Loss of his Wife — he is impri
soned by the Long Parliament — his Release and Sojourn in
France — his Quarrel with the Pope — his Return to Eng
land and Connexion with Cromwell. — ¦ Pursuits of his latter
Years — his Interview with Des Cartes — his Character by
Lord Clarendon — his Death and Burial.
Graceful, eloquent, and chivalrous even for the
age in which he lived, with a genius as diversified
as that of the admirable Crichton, and with the
wonderful promise of a Picus de Mirandola, to
whom he has been happily compared ; with a vast
capacity and amazing knowledge ; how singular that
littleness, vanity, and wrong-headedness, should

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 437
have been the drawbacks of so many accomplish
ments. Changeable in religion, fantastic in his
ideas of virtue, and false in his notions of honour,
the hero turns braggart, the philosopher disre
gards truth, the orator wastes his eloquence in
the drawing-room, the royalist becomes a sup
pliant to republicans, and the metaphysician con
descends to write a cookery-book !
Sir Kenelm was born on the 11th of June, 1603.*
His father was Sir Everard Digby, the handsomest
man of his time, and the misled but conscientious
fanatic, who suffered at the age of twenty-four, for
his share in the gunpowder conspiracy. His mo
ther was Mary, daughter and sole heiress of William
Mulsho, Esq., of Gothurst, in Buckinghamshire.
By the attainder of Sir Everard a portion of their
large property was lost to the Digbys, and his son
complains bitterly that a " foul stain on his blood "
was the whole of his inheritance. At another time
he speaks of the " scanty relics of a shipwrecked
estate." Lord Clarendon, however, informs us, that
he inherited a " fair and plentiful estate ;" and we
are told that so much of Sir Everard's property
as was entailed, and consequently escaped confis
cation by the crown, amounted annually to the
then considerable income of 3000/.
Sir Kenelm was entered at Gloucester-hall, Ox
ford, in his fifteenth year. His tutor was Mr.
* See a heavy discussion on the day of his birth in the Bio-
graphia Britannica, 2nd edition, vol. v. p. 184.

438 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
Thomas Allen, a scholar of great eminence, whom
he ever treated with regard and respect. In 1621,
accompanied by Mr. Aston Cockaine, a person of
graceful character and literary attainments, he pro
ceeded on his travels into France, Italy, and Ger
many. In 1623 we find him at Madrid ; being the
period when Prince Charles and Buckingham were
on their visit to that capital. In October following
he was knighted by King James at Hinchinbroke,
when only in his twenty-first year, the monarch
paying him, in the presence of Prince Charles and
the Court, a very handsome compliment on his
scholastic acquirements. He held, at different
times, the appointments of Gentlem a of the
Bed-chamber, Commissioner of the Navy, and
Governor of the Trinity-house.
Sir Kenelm was exactly formed for a courtier,
and was consequently consulted in all the gay plans
and elegant diversions of the Court of Charles.
The King admired him for his genius, the Queen
for his grace and figure, and the courtiers for his
good-nature, his vivacity, and the delightful powers
of his conversation.
There is a peculiar and universal charm in the
name of Venetia Stanley. Her singular story, her
connection with the eccentric philosopher, her ac
complishments, and the portraits which still bloom
with her unexampled loveliness, will ever excite
an interest in whatever is connected with her
name. It is a strange and undefinable feeling

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 439
which attracts us to the erring beauties of former
times. Jane Shore, the Fair Rosamond, and Nell
Gwynne ; La Belle Gabrielle, La Valiere, and a
hundred others ; how singular, that those who
were shunned and contemned in their life-time,
over whose sorrows and frailties the prude tri
umphed and the virtuous wept, should excite so
deep an interest by the sight of their portraits, or
the tale of their lives ; — that the grave of tainted
beauty should be brightened by the sunshine of
romance and sympathy, while its maligners are
unnoticed or forgotten ! There have been at
tempts to rescue the fair fame of Venetia Stanley
from the attacks of Aubrey and the scandal-mon
gers. It is to be feared, however, after a candid
examination of all the facts, that none but a very
gallant or a very simple-minded person would be
come the champion of such questionable virtue.
Sir Kenelm has written the memoirs of his own
life under the title of Loose Fantasies, in which he
introduces himself under the name of Theagenes,
and Venetia Stanley as Stelliana. They were
written after his marriage, and were never intended
to see the light.* Admiration of Venetia's beauty
appears to have chiefly prompted him to the task,
and perhaps he was desirous of flattering himself
with the purity of his bride ; his apologies for her
* They have been published within the last few years by
Sir Harris Nicolas from the original among the Harleian MSS.
The introductory memoir will be considered by many readers
as more entertaining than the autobiography itself.

440 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
conduct were doubtless received from her own
mouth. Venetia Stanley was daughter of Sir Edward
Stanley of Tongue Castle, in Shropshire, a Knight
of the Bath, and Grandson of Edward, third Earl
of Derby. Her mother, who died when Venetia
was but a few months old, was Lucy, daughter
and co-heiress of Thomas Percy, seventh Earl of
Northumberland. Sir Kenelm may well boast of
the genealogy of his bride.
Sir Edward, Venetia's father, is said to have been
so deeply affected at his wife's death, (whom, how
ever, he had neglected in his life-time,) that he
secluded himself altogether from the world, and
committed his infant to the care of a kinsman.
Aubrey places the scene of her childhood at Euston
Abbey, in Oxfordshire, where he asserts that she
was under the sole charge of the tenant and his ser
vants. It is difficult to authenticate such minute
facts. The residence of Lady Digby, Sir Kenelm's
mother, was in the neighbourhood of Euston, and
consequently the two children were frequently in
each other's society. Their early, indeed almost
infantine attachment, is reverted to in after-life with
considerable pathos by the handsome philosopher.
" The first time," he says, " that ever they had
sight of one another they grew so fond of each
other's company, that all who saw them said as
suredly that something above their tender capacity

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 441
breathed this sweet affection into their hearts,
They would mingle serious kisses among their
innocent sports ; and whereas other children of
like age did delight in fond play and light toys,
these two would spend the day in looking upon
each other's face, and in accompanying these
looks with gentle sighs, which seemed to portend
that much sorrow was laid up for their more un
derstanding years ; and if at any time they hap
pened to use such recreations as were suitable to
their age, they demeaned themselves therein so
prettily and so affectionately, that one would
have said love was grown a child again, and took
delight to play with them. And when the time
of parting came, they would take their leaves
with such abundance of tears and sighs as made
it evident that so deep a sorrow could not be
borne and nursed in children's breasts, without a
nobler cause than the usual fondness in others."
According to Sir Kenelm, the fair Venetia was
still extremely young when she accompanied her
father to London on the occasion of the marriage
of the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of James I,
with the Elector Palatine. " Her beauty and
discretion," he says, " did soon draw the eyes
and thoughts of all men to admiration." Aubrey's
account of her visit is very different. " She was
a most beautiful desirable creature," he says,
" and being matura viro, was left by her father
to live with a tenant and servants at Euston Ab-

442 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
bey, in Oxfordshire ; but as private as that place
was, it seems her beauty could not lie hid. The
young eagles had spied her, and she was sanguine
and tractable, and of much suavity, which to abuse
was great pity. I have now forgot who first
brought her to town, but I have heard my uncle
Danvers say, who was her contemporary, that she
was so commonly courted that it was written over
her lodging one night in Uteris uncialibus,
Pray come not near,
For Dame Venetia Stanley lodgeth here."
Aubrey enters still further into exaggerated
details. " In those days," he says, " Richard,
Earl of Dorset, eldest son and heir to the Lord
Treasurer, lived in the greatest splendour of any
nobleman in England. Among other pleasures
that he enjoyed, Venus was not the least. This
pretty creature's fame came to his lordship's ears,
who made no delay to catch at such an oppor
tunity. He was her greatest gallant, was ex
tremely enamoured of her, and had one or more
children by her. He settled on her an annuity
of five hundred per annum."
How much of this scandal may be true, we will
not now wait to determine, but rather follow Sir
Kenelm in his narrative of his bride. According
to the strange account in the " Loose Fantasies,"
Venetia was wooed about this period by a no
bleman of the court, who is distinguished by
the name of Ursatius. By the Knight's own

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 443
statement it seems, that Ursatius had not the re
motest thoughts of marriage, and that he offered
an indignity to her, which, considering her proud
connections, it was impossible he could have been
guilty of had her conduct been previously irre
proachable. Faithful to her old lover, Venetia
rejects Ursatius. Ursatius, however, bribes her
attendant, who, by persuading her mistress that
she has made an appointment for her with Digby,
contrives to decoy Venetia into the hands of Ursa
tius. Sir Kenelm thus describes what follows : —
" She was scarce gone half way to the appointed,
place, when five or six horsemen, well mounted
overtook the coach ; who, speaking to the coach
man that was instructed what to do, he stayed his
horses, and two of them alighting, came into the
coach to her, and drawing their poignards, threat
ened her with death if she cried out or made any
noise, assuring her withal, that from them she
should receive no violence if she would sit quietly :
and there withal drew the curtains, that none
might see who was in the coach as they passed by."
Venetia is hurried to a house in the country, and,
overcome with fatigue and distress, retires to her
bed. She is awoke shortly afterwards by a per
son stumbling at her chamber-door, and rising
half upright in her bed, perceives that she is
alone with Ursatius. The intruder falls on his
knees, and after a long conversation, the house
keeper enters with supper. The meal being over,

444 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
they take a long walk in the garden ; till the eve
ning drawing on, they again return to Venetia's
bed-chamber, which, " by this time being dressed
up, and the bed made to receive her," Ursatius
leaves her to her rest. During the whole of this
scene, as is justly observed by Sir Kenelm's bio
grapher, there is no notice as to what time Vene
tia rose, or whether her admirer quitted the room
while she made her toilet. And yet all this is
related by her own husband.
Ursatius having retired, Venetia ties her sheets
together and lets herself drop from the window.
In her flight she is attacked by a wolf, from whose
fangs she is rescued by a young nobleman, who
afterwards becomes her lover, and by whom she
is conducted to the house of a female relation,
in the neighbourhood. Here Venetia meets her
old lover Sir Kenelm ; but his mother is so
averse to their union, and they are so closely
watched, that a meeting is rendered almost im
practicable. Fortunately, however, Venetia drops
her glove, and Sir Kenelm picking it up, and
first kissing it, places in it a letter, in which
he points out a very feasible plan for ensuring
an interview. The following day, being out
hunting, and having managed to separate them
selves from the rest of the company, Venetia
turns her horse into a secluded path. She is of
course followed by her lover. Having entered
a thicket they recline themselves on the turf, and

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 445
with their horses grazing beside them, renew their
tender speeches and vows of everlasting attach
ment. Shortly after this period, Sir Kenelm departed
on his travels. His prowess and erudition, his
extraordinary personal strength and his gigantic
stature, rendered him the wonder and admiration
of foreign courts. It was said of him, in allusion
to his address and powers of persuasion, that had
he dropped from the clouds in any part of the
world, he would have made himself respected.
The Jesuits admitted the truth of the flattery :
they added, however, that he must first have re
mained in the place where he fell at least six
weeks,* in order to give time for his accomplish
ments to develope themselves. According to Lloyd,
a certain Italian Prince, who had no children,
considered Sir Kenelm so perfect a standard of
perfection, that he was desirous his wife should
have a son by him.-f Aubrey says, alluding to
his personal advantages, — " He was a person
of extraordinary strength. I remember one at
Shirburne protested to us, that he, being a mid
dling man, being set in a chair, Sir K. took him
up, chair and all, with one arm : he was of an
undaunted courage, yet not apt in the least to
give offence." But we must follow the philoso
pher in his discourse of himself.
* Athen. Oxon. vol. ii. p. 351.
t Loyal Sufferers, p. 580.

446 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
Sir Kenelm informs us, that during his stay at
Paris, the Queen of France, Mary de Medicis, not
only fell deeply in love with him at a masque,
but her admiration, he says, increased to such
violence, that in order to preserve his faith to
Venetia, he was compelled to quit the French
court ; and that, further, to avoid the effects of
her jealousy, he caused a report to be spread
of his death. It is singular that, many years af
terwards, Sir Kenelm was released from confine
ment in Winchester-house, (to which he had been
sentenced by the Parliament,) at the express in
tercession of this Princess.
From Paris, Sir Kenelm proceeded to Angers,
and thence into Italy. At Florence, in which
town he fixed his residence, he wrote a letter to
Venetia, cautioning her to place no credence in
the reports of his death, and renewing his pro
testations of unalterable love. Unfortunately his
letters were intercepted by his mother, and Ve
netia continued impressed with the conviction
that he was no more. Overcome with grief, she
excluded herself from all society, with the excep
tion only of the young nobleman who had rescu
ed her from the fangs of the wolf. As they were
known to be constantly in each other's society,
the world soon busied itself with their names ;
and though, according to Sir Kenelm, she persist
ed in rejecting her new lover, and remained con
stant to the memory of their former loves, yet

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 447
he admits that she " so much forgot her wont
ed discretion as to admit his rival to a nearer
familiarity than, in terms of rigour, was fit for
her." He further adds, that she consented to sit
for her picture, which her admirer " used after
wards to show as a glorious trophy of her con
quered affections."
It is impossible to fix with any certainty the
name of this fortunate rival, although there is a
passage in Aubrey which may be considered to
throw some light on the story. " Venetia Stan
ley," says Aubrey,- "was first a miss to Sir Ed
mund Wyld ; so he had her picture, which after
his death, Serjeant Wyld, his executor, had ; and
since the Serjeant's death, hangs now in an en
tertaining-room, at Droitwich, in Worcestershire :
the Serjeant lived at Droitwich." Aubrey repeats
the same story in another place. " Sir Edmund
Wyld," he says, "had her picture, and you may
imagine, was very familiar with her; which pic
ture is now at Droitwich, in Worcestershire, at
an inn." Sir Kenelm, as we shall see presently,
disposes of the picture in a different manner.
According to Sir Kenelm, Venetia, after mourn
ing her early lover for more than a year, at length
gave a cold consent to become the wife of his
rival. Her long silence had for some time plunged
him into a deep melancholy ; but when the news
of her approaching marriage was at length brought
to him at Florence, " coupled," he says, " with

448 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
such circumstances as went much to the prejudice
of her honour," such were his misery and despair,
that not all his philosophical precepts, nor his long
course of study and reflection, proved of the least
avail to mitigate the heart-rending blow. In the
mean time, however, the match had been broken
off. His rival, it seems, while on a visit to his
country-seat, had been captivated by " a new rural
beauty," and Venetia, being informed of his de
fection, disdainfully refused to admit him to an
interview, and encountered all his overtures for
a reconciliation with hatred and scorn.
At this period, Sir Kenelm, ignorant of what
was passing in England, was proceeding on his way
to Madrid, where his relation, the Earl of Bristol,
was then playing so prominent a part in the Spa
nish match ; and whither Charles and the Duke
of Buckingham were also progressing. In his jour
ney he encountered a Brahmin, who not only con
vinced him that Venetia's honour remained unspot
ted, but even conjured up her spirit to his view.
His description of her supernatural appearance,
" seated," he says, " in the attitude of grief, at
the foot of a blasted tree, her long hair hang
ing dishevelled over her white shoulders, and her
head leaning on her hand," is given in the most
poetical language ; but of course, can only be
considered as a beautiful picture.
After more than one singular adventure, in
which it is extremely difficult to draw the exact

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 449
line between truth and fiction, so highly are they
coloured by the vanity of the narrator, Digby
sailed from Spain in company with Prince Charles,
and landed at Portsmouth on the 5th of October,
1625. As he entered London, he accidentally en
countered Venetia. " After so long an absence,"
he says, " her beauty seemed brighter to him than
when he left her : but she sat pensively in one
side of the coach by herself, as Apelles might have
taken her counterfeit to express Venus sorrowing
for her beloved Adonis." He instantly sent his
servant to make inquiries where she lived, and
having respectfully solicited an interview, was
admitted to her presence on the following day.
Though fully convinced of her unworthiness, he
describes their meeting as rapturous in the ex
treme. " It can be conceived," he says, " by no
one, but such as have loved in a divine manner,
and have had their affections suspended by mis
fortunes and mistakes." The interview concludes
by Venetia, like a true woman, convincing her
lover of her purity and faith.
Whoever has studied human nature, or been in
any degree conversant with the dispositions of
women, will discover internal evidence in Sir
Kenelm's own relation, that he himself discredit
ed the purity of his beautiful mistress. There is
indeed, throughout his narrative, an entire want
of candour ; a plausible and manifest apology for
his weak marriage ; and a desire to cloak folly
vol. ii. 2 G

450 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
under the garb of romance. Considering how fre
quent are his allusions to their " high and divine
friendship," it will scarcely be credited that the
philosopher made more than one attempt to induce
her to become his mistress. Such insults to virtue
are impossible. With a name far prouder than his
own, had Venetia Stanley been really as unspot
ted, and his own love as pure and " divine," as he
would make us believe, he would scarcely have
ventured upon such an insult even in thought.
Let us hear the metaphysician's own apology for
his conduct : Her excessive beauty and graceful
ness, he says, did so win upon bis senses, that
after some time, when he thought he had re-esta
blished himself in a good place of her well-liking,
he attempted her to consent to his passion, and
prosecuted his suit with all the vehemence and
subtlety that an earnest and well-experienced lover
could use, without mention of any provision to her
honour ; which she no sooner perceived, but that
her heart swelling with a noble anger and dis
dain, she banished him from her presence ; and
it was a long time before he could take off that
hard sentence, though he daily offered up to her
indignation much sorrow and unfeigned sighs of
deep repentance. Venetia, however, relents, and
their hearts are again joined in a " fraternal
affection." The comedy continues to the end.
Digby is in raptures at her dignified reception
of his lawless overtures, and deduces fresh argu-

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 451
ments in favour of her chastity. And yet, after
a short period he entered her bed-chamber, and
actually stole into bed with her while she was
fast asleep. Venetia awakes, and the same pic
ture of offended virtue is again retouched. Dig-
by eventually consents to withdraw himself, on
condition that she will sing to him while he
dresses himself! *
There must have been much temptation in that
beautiful face. Aubrey says : " She had a most
lovely sweet-turned face, delicate dark-brown hair.
She had a perfect healthy constitution ; strong ;
good skin ; well-proportioned, inclining to bona
roba. Her face, a short oval ; dark brown eye
brow, about which much sweetness, as also in the
opening of her eyelids. The colour of her cheeks
was just that of the damask rose, which is neither
too hot nor too pale. She was of a just stature,
not very tall." No wonder, when Sir Kenelm
quitted her chamber, that he meditated on the
" miraculous perfections" which he had seen.
There are none of her contemporaries who do
not speak of Venetia Stanley as the loveliest
creature they had ever beheld.
Considering the opposition of his mother, his
own doubts as to the purity of his mistress, and
the arguments of his friends, it seems that Digby
would never have made Venetia his wife, but
for an act of feminine generosity which the real
* Private Memoirs, Introd. p. 25.
2 g2

452 SIR KENELM DLGBY.
nobleness of his nature could well enable him
to appreciate. Having been selected to accom
pany the Duke of Buckingham in his splendid
mission to France, to conduct Henrietta Maria
to England, his means scarcely enabled him to
present a proper figure in so illustrious a pa
geant. It was his Venetia who averted the mor
tification. She lost no time in pawning both her
plate and jewels, and at once made him master
of all she possessed in the world. Digby's heart
relented, and, forgetting or scorning the stories
against her honour, he made her the offer of his
hand. But Sir Kenelm says he received from
her an answer much contrary to what he ex
pected ; " the effect of which was a flat refusal,
pronounced with much settledness and a constant
gravity, which yet she could not deliver without
many tears." — ¦" She had consented," she said, " to
marry another man, and had allowed him to pos
sess himself of her picture." — " Hereafter," she
added, " the heat and edge of his passion might
be somewhat abated, and he might give another
interpretation to her past actions than now he
did, and peradventure deem her not so worthy
of his affection and respect." A hint to the most
chivalrous person of his age, was of course suffi
cient. He challenged his former rival to single
combat ; but the latter proved " unworthy to be
his enemy." He returned the picture into Sir
Kenelm's hands ; at the same time proclaiming

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 453
in writing, that he had been guilty of falsehood
if he had ever slandered her honour.
Sir Kenelm's mother continuing strongly op
posed to his union with Venetia, their marriage
took place in private. Their first child was born
in October 1625 ; Lady Digby's confinement hav
ing been hastened by a fall from her horse, and
her labour attended by considerable danger.
We have already referred to the probability
of Sir Kenelm being himself satisfied of the
unworthiness of his bride; and as his notions re
garding the female character were as indelicate as
they were peculiar, the supposition acquires addi
tional weight. — " He would say," observes Aubrey,
" that a handsome lusty man that was discreet,
might make a virtuous wife out of a brothel-house."
Probably he really said as much, for in one of the
suppressed passages of his Memoirs he affirms
that circumstances may possibly occur, when a man
may be justified in consenting to his wife's dis
honour.* Certainly, either his notions of women
were far from refined, or the arguments for his
marriage are most absurdly casuistical.
It is not willingly that we admit the further
scandal of Aubrey. " Much against his mother's
consent," says that writer, " he married that cele
brated beauty and courtezan, Mistress Venetia
Stanley, whom Richard Earl of Dorset kept as
concubine, had children by, and settled an an-
* Introduction, p. 31.

454 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
nuity of five hundred a year upon; which, after Sir
Kenelm Digby married, was unpaid by the Earl.
Sir Kenelm sued the Earl after marriage, and
recovered it." Again adds the same writer : —
" Richard Earl of Dorset invited her and her
husband once a year, when, with much desire
and passion he beheld her, and only kissed her
hand ; Sir Kenelm being still by." Lord Claren
don merely remarks on his friend Digby's union :
" He married a lady of extraordinary beauty, and
of as extraordinary a fame."
Considering all the circumstances of the case,
the purity of Venetia Stanley is undoubtedly a
very questionable matter : the reader, however, has
the facts before him, and will form his own opi
nions of. her immaculacy. He must avoid, how
ever, placing too much reliance either on Digby's
graceful apology or Aubrey's amusing scandal.
The former had an evident object in discolouring
truth, and the latter, though there is no ground
for accusing him of wilful misrepresentation, is
more than once guilty of palpable inconsistencies.
It must be admitted, that scandal seldom fastens
on a woman's character without some cause. If
Venetia Stanley were indeed pure, never was
virtue so infamously maligned. " A wise man,"
says Sir Kenelm, " should not confine himself to
what may be said of the past actions of his wife ;"
and yet he challenged a gentleman of the bed
chamber, who had boasted of the favours which had

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 455
been conferred upon him by Venetia. " His ad
versary," he says, " avoided the combat by admit
ting the falsehood ; proving himself thereby an in
discreet, rash, and dishonest coward."
The activity of Digby's character seems to have
been little impaired by marriage, and, as he himself
informs us, he longed to give proof of it to the
world. At this period, in consequence of some
disputes with the Venetians, and especially from
the frequent piracies of the Algerines, the Eng
lish trade in the Mediterranean had suffered
to a ruinous extent. Accordingly, having suc
ceeded in obtaining the King's commission, and
having fitted out a squadron at his own cost, Sir
Kenelm sailed from England on the 29th of De
cember 1627, in pursuit of fame for himself and
satisfaction for his countrymen. This was about
three years after his marriage ; and his parting
with Venetia is affectingly described. It may be
remarked, that previous to quitting England he
announced his union to the world.
Shortly after sailing, a disease broke out in his
ships, and made great havoc amongst his men.
His officers would have persuaded him to return,
but he was obstinate in pursuing his course. For
tune at length favoured him. After capturing
several armed vessels of the Algerines, and set
ting many English slaves at liberty, he sud
denly fell in with a combined French and
Venetian squadron in the Bay of Scanderoon.

456 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
Though his own force was greatly inferior in point
of numbers, he determined on giving them battle ;
and, setting a gallant example to his followers by
bringing his own vessel alongside the flag-ship of
the enemy, the action was speedily decided in his
favour. Lord Clarendon says : " He encountered
their whole fleet, killed many of their men, and
sunk one of their galleasses ; which, in that drowsy
and inactive time, was looked upon with a general
estimation, though the Crown disavowed it :" Ben
Jonson thus celebrates the engagement : —
Witness thy action done at Scanderoon,
Upon thy birth-day, the eleventh of June.
Owing to the difficulty in fixing the precise day
of Digby's birth, this indifferent couplet has given
rise to far more controversy than it would other
wise have deserved. The merit of such a conceit
can only consist in the truth of the coincidence,
and unfortunately there is a question in both in
stances as to the poet's chronological accuracy.
Both Anthony Wood and Aubrey, the latter on the
authority of Ashmole and Napier, insist that his
birth took place on the 11th of July, and conse
quently, that Jonson altered the month for the sake
of the rhyme. It appears, moreover, by Digby's
own letter, describing the action at Scanderoon,
that the battle was fought on the sixteenth of June.
As the 16th would have served the metre as well
as the 11th, probably Jonson in this instance was

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 457
really misled. In the other case, the merits of his
correctness are not so easily decided*
After all, it is singular that the 11th of June
should have proved the day of Digby's decease.
Ferrar's epitaph, while it echoes the conceit of
Jonson, improves it by this important addition
to the coincidence :
Born on the day he died, the eleventh of June,
And that day bravely fought at Scanderoon ;
It' s rare that one and the same day should be,
His day of birth, of death, and victory I
With the relation of his famous action, Sir Ke
nelm's autobiography concludes. But for the diffi
culty of arriving at plain facts, and the vanity
and hectoring which occasionally sully its pages,
it would be an extremely valuable, as it is cer
tainly an entertaining work. Were we to place
confidence in one half of what the author relates
of his own feelings, the partition between eccen
tricity and madness would indeed be slender.
But it is to be feared (though to have expressed
such an opinion might have been dangerous in the
life-time of the Knight) that truth was not the
golden mean in the code of Sir Kenelm's philoso
phy. Agreeable as his conversation is admitted
to have been, his stories of what he had seen and
heard were received with considerable caution by
his auditors, whom he appears to have astounded,
* See Biog. Brit. vol. v. p. 185, second edition, where the
question is more fully discussed.

458 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
almost as much as he delighted them. Henry
Stubbe, the physician, called him " the Pliny of
his age for lying;"* and Anthony Wood mentions
an especial story of his, which, he adds, " put men
to very great wonder :" — " viz. of a city in Bar
bary, under the King of Tripoli, that was turned
into stone in a very few hours by a petrifying
vapour that fell upon the place, that is, men,
beasts, trees, houses, utensils, &c. ; everything
remaining in the same posture, as children at
their mother's breasts, &c." It is but fair to add
that, although the account was certainly transmit
ted by him to England, Sir Kenelm was not the
originator of this absurd fiction. His authority
was the librarian to the Grand-duke at Florence,
who it appears received it from the Grand-duke
himself.f But a story, almost as strange, is related by the
philosopher himself in his Powder of Sympathy.
A beautiful female relation, he says, who was on
the point of becoming a mother, had not only fal
len into the detestable fashion of wearing patches
on the face, but was conspicuous for the number
which she wore, and the nicety of their arrange
ment. Sir Kenelm had a peculiar abhorrence of
this new and unbecoming mode. " Have you,"
he said to the lady, " no apprehension that the
* Birch, Lives of Illustrious Persons, p. 152.
¦\ See Athen. Oxon. vol. ii. p. 352 ; and Biog. Brit. vol. v.
p. 195. Second Edition.

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 459
child may be born with half moons upon its face;
or rather, that all the black patches which you bear
up and down in small portions, may assemble in
one, and appear in the middle of his forehead ? "
His words had the effect of frightening the lady,
and the patches were discarded. Sir Kenelm as
serts, however, that such was the power of imagi
nation, that the child, which proved to be a daugh
ter, had the misfortune of being born with a mark,
" as large as a crown of gold," in the centre of
its forehead.
Lady Fanshawe, in her memoirs, mentions her
having met Sir Kenelm at dinner, at the house of
the Governor of Calais, where several French gen
tlemen were present. She informs us, that he took
the lead in the conversation, and entertained them
with a number of stories, far too marvellous to be
true. " But," she adds, " the concluding one was
that barnacles, a bird in Jersey, was first a shell
fish to appearance, and from that, sticking upon
old wood, became in time a bird : after some con
sideration they unanimously burst out in laughter,
believing it altogether false ; and to say the truth,
it was the only thing true that he had discoursed
with them ; that was his infirmity, though other
wise a person of most excellent parts and a very
fine-bred gentleman."
On another occasion, at the house of a chemist
in France, a question having arisen among the
company respecting the dissolvent of gold, we find

460 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
this strange person relating another of his asto
nishing stories. " One of the royal houses in Eng
land," he said, " having stood covered with lead
for five or six ages, and being sold after that time,
was found to contain three-fourths of silver in the
lead ;" he further said, " that a fixed salt, drawn
out of a certain potter's earth at Areueil in France,
being for sometime exposed to the sun-beams, be
came saltpetre, then vitriol, then lead, tin, copper,
silver, and, at the end of fourteen months, gold ;
which he affirmed to have experienced himself, as
well as another able naturalist."*
Although, as Lady Fanshawe observes, Sir
Kenelm was a " very fine-bred gentleman," and
although he was good-natured in the extreme,
(two circumstances extremely opposed to the ge
neral idea of a bully,) still, his fantastic notions
of honour, and a natural love of a fray, were
constantly leading him into quarrels. There is a
curious tract in the British Museum, entitled,
" Sir Kenelm's Honour Maintained, by a most
courageous combat which he fought with the
Lord Mount le Ros," &c.f It seems that Digby
(then an exile in France, in consequence of some
disgrace, the cause of which it is now fruitless
to inquire into,) received an invitation from a
French nobleman, Monsieur Mount le Ros, to
* Letters from Mr. Oldenberg to Mr. Boyle, dated Paris,
20th March 1660.— Birch, Lives of Must. Persons, p. 152.
+ London, 1641.

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 461
dinner. In the course of the entertainment
several healths were drunk, and among others
the Kings of France, Spain, and Portugal. At
last their host proposed the health of the arrant-
est coward in the world. Sir Kenelm inquired
who was meant. The host replied, that after
the health was drunk he would acquaint him.
Having drained their glasses, — " I mean," he said,
" Sir Kenelm's master, the King of England."*
Digby said nothing at the time, but invited his
host to dine with him on the following day. Dur
ing the evening, he desired his company to fill
their glasses, and drink to the bravest King upon
earth. He then named his own Sovereign, at
which the Frenchman laughed, and repeated his
opinion of the previous day. Sir Kenelm told him,
that though a disgraced man he was still loyal,
and challenged him to single combat with the
sword. Accordingly, dinner being over, they pro
ceeded to a retired spot, and having taken off
their doublets, commenced the encounter. At the
fourth bout, Sir Kenelm ran his rapier through
the Frenchman's breast till it came out at his
throat. Sir Kenelm instantly set off to the French
Court, and, introducing himself to the King, ac
quainted him with the particulars of the quarrel.
His Majesty praised him for what he had done ;
assuring him that the proudest noble in France
should not with impunity revile his brother mon-
* James the First.

462 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
arch. He even sent a guard with Sir Kenelm to
conduct him in safety through Flanders, whence
he shortly afterwards set sail for England ; his
gallant conduct having probably obtained for him
his pardon. The tract ends with the following
doggrel verses : —
Now I conclude, commanding fame to show
Brave Digby's worthy deed, that all may know
He loved his King ; may all so loyal prove,
And like this Digby to their King show love.
But we must conclude the strange story of
Venetia Stanley. After the period of her mar
riage, even her stern stigmatizer Aubrey admits
that her conduct was irreproachable ; and yet Sir
Kenelm appears to have been continually jealous
of her unrivalled loveliness. To his uxorious
adoration we owe many of the beautiful portraits
which remain of her : in the picture at Gothurst,
in Buckinghamshire, once the seat of Sir Kenelm,
she is painted in a Roman habit, a serpent in one
hand, and a pair of white doves resting on the
other. At Windsor she is painted in a different
dress, but with the same emblems. The doves
seem to denote her innocence, and the serpent
her triumph over the envenomed malignancy of
her detractors.* Beneath her is a prostrate
* These emblems, however, may possibly have reference to
the text in the Scriptures, — " Be ye wise as serpents and
harmless as doves :" such at least is the ingenious sugges
tion of a literary friend.

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 463
Cupid, and behind, a figure of Calumny bound
to the earth. These devices were doubtless
invented by her eccentric husband : notwith
standing his professed indifference to female vir
tue, many circumstances denote how gladly he
would have been a believer in the chastity of
his wife.
Sir Kenelm had several portraits painted of
her by Vandyke. In one of these she is repre
sented as treading on Malice and Envy, unhurt
by a serpent which twines round her arm. At
Althorpe there is another picture of her by that
great artist, taken after she was dead.
At Gothurst there are two busts of her in
brass ; and Sir Kenelm had her feet, her hands,
and her face, taken in plaister. Ben Jonson
says, — Sitting and ready to be drawn,
What mean these tiffany, silk, and lawn,
Embroideries, feathers, fringes, lace,
When every limb takes like a face !
It is believed that her husband made use of the
most singular expedients to increase the lustre of
her charms, — that he invented cosmetics with this
object, and among other fantastic experiments,
supplied her with the flesh of capons which had
been fed with vipers. After her death, but little
brains being found in her head, Sir Kenelm at
tributed it to her drinking viper wine; but says
Aubrey, " spiteful women would say it was a

464 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
viper husband who was jealous of her." Pennant
tells us,* that the most northern residence of
the great snail, or pomatia, which is of exotic
origin, is in the woods in the neighbourhood of
Gothurst. He adds, " tradition says it was in
troduced by Sir Kenelm, as a medicine for the
use of his lady."
Digby's jealousy, and the application of these
strange medicaments, gave rise to a report that
he had administered poison to his wife. Probably
her dissolution was in reality hastened by his ex
periments. This beautiful woman was found dead
in her bed, on the lst of May 1633, in her thirty-
third year. She was discovered in the attitude
of sleep, her head resting upon her hand. She
was interred in Christ Church, near Newgate,
under a monument of black marble, which sup
ported her bust in copper gilt. This tomb was
completely destroyed by the great fire, and her
vault partially opened by its fall ; but the bust
escaped and was afterwards seen by Aubrey, ex
posed for sale in a brazier's stall. He neglected
to purchase it, and he afterwards discovered that
it had been melted down.
Ben Jonson composed no less than ten pieces
on the death of Lady Digby. Of her descent he
says : —
I sing the just and uncontrouled descent
Of Dame Venetia Digby, styled the fair ;

* Journey from Chester to London, p. 452.

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 465
For mind and body the most excellent,
That ever nature, or the later Ayre
Gave two such houses as Northumberland,
And Stanley, to the which she was coheir.
Speak it, you bold Penates, you that stand
At either stem, and know the veins of good
Run from your roots ; tell, testify the grand
Meeting of graces, that so swelled the flood
Of virtues in her, as in short, she grew
The wonder of her sex, and of your blood.
But the poet joins still higher praises, —
She was in one a many parts of life ;
A tender mother, a discreeter wife ;
A solemn mistress : and so good a friend,
So charitable to religious end ;
In all her petite actions so devote,
As her whole life was now become one note
Of piety and private holiness.
Jonson called her his muse, and lingers on her
person and character with unbounded admiration.
Sir Kenelm appears to have felt deeply the loss
of his wife. He shut himself up in Gresham Col
lege, where he amused himself with the study of
chemistry, and the conversation of the professor.
His garb at this time was a long mourning cloak
and a high-crowned hat ; and he allowed his beard
to grow in testimony of his grief. His eccentricity,
however, had scarcely been less conspicuous in
happier days. " No man," says Aubrey, " became
grandeur better ; yet sometimes he would live
only with a lackey, and a horse with a foot-cloth."
At the commencement of the civil troubles Sir
VOL. II. 2 H

466 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
Kenelm enlisted on the side of royalty ; and hav
ing made himself obnoxious to the popular party
was confined in Winchester-house,* by order of
the long Parliament, till 1643. Having at length
obtained his release, at the intercession of his old
admirer the Queen-mother of France, he retir
ed to that country, where he divided his time
between his philosophical pursuits and the bril
liant society of the French metropolis. About
the year 1648, he was sent by Henrietta Maria
* Winchester House, one of the most interesting ancient
dwelling-houses left in London, is in the act of being demo
lished (1839) while these sheets are in the press. It
stands, or rather stood, in a street which bears its name,
to the west of Bishopsgate Street. In the windows, within
the few last weeks, was still to be seen the motto of the
Powletts, " Aimez LoyauM." Every one remembers the glo
rious defence of Basing House, from 1643 to 1645, during
which its gallant lord, John fifth Marquis of Winchester,
wrote that famous motto of his family with a diamond in
every window. Winchester House, of which we are now
speaking, stood on the site of a monastery of Augustine
Friars, which had been granted to William Lord St. John, af
terwards Marquis of Winchester, by Henry the Eighth. In
1602, William Powlett, fourth Marquis, was reduced to such
extremities by his magnificent style of living, as to be com
pelled to dispose of it for the payment of his debts. It ap
pears to have been purchased by John Swinnerton, a rich
merchant, and afterwards Lord Mayor, from whom it came
into the family of the present proprietor, who reports it
to have been the property of his forefathers for about two
centuries. When the author recently bade farewell to apart
ments, which had entertained Elizabeth and her courtiers, he
found them the scene of busy trade, and was told that their
occupants were packers !

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 467
as her envoy to the Pope. His profession of the
Catholic religion, his majestic appearance, and his
great learning, caused him to be much admired
by the enthusiastic Romans. His eccentricity,
however, soon led him into scrapes, and the Pope
declared that he was mad. Wood tells us, that
he "grew high and huffed his Holiness," adding,
what is perhaps not exactly true, that having
been trusted with some of the funds of the Ca
tholics, he proved an indifferent steward on the
occasion. It has been asserted that, on one oc
casion, he flatly gave his Holiness the lie.
It is difficult to decide at what period Sir
Kenelm became a Roman Catholic ; or indeed
if he was ever at heart of any other religion.
Later in life, his political conduct also appears
as strange and vacillating as his religious princi
ples. Cromwell had no sooner assumed the Pro
tectorate, than Digby, notwithstanding that he
lay under the ban of the Government, returned
to England. To the astonishment of all men,
he was not only well received by Cromwell, who
is said to have taken great pleasure in his socie
ty, but there was evidently some great design
on foot, of which the Protector had invited him
to the discussion. Probably it was a reconcili
ation of the Papists with the new Government ;
but, whatever may have been the secret of so
strange an intimacy, any inquiry into the subject
would now be in vain. Mysterious as seems to
2 h 2

468 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
have been Digby's conduct at this period, we
must be cautious not to regard it in too harsh a
light. As there is no reason to suppose that
his connexion with Cromwell was productive of
injury to his rightful master, it would be unfair
to brand him with the name of a traitor. Consi
dering also the eccentricity of his character, it is
quite as possible that he may have been actuated
by a regard for his sovereign, and a desire to
promote his interests, as that he should have been
influenced by a selfish expectation of advancing
his own.
The summer of 1656 was passed at Toulouse,
and part of the following year at Montpelier.
He had been suffering for some time under se
vere attacks of the stone, and had sought the
south of France in hopes of relief. At Montpe
lier it was his good fortune to encounter several
learned and scientific persons, who had formed
themselves into a kind of academy, and to whom
he read his famous discourse on the Sympathetic
Powder. Part of 1658 and 1659 was spent in
Lower Germany, where he went by the name
of Count Digby ; and in 1660 we again find him
at Paris. At the Restoration he returned to Eng
land, and at the formation of the Royal Society
was appointed one of the council. The few re
maining years of his life were passed in literary
and scientific pursuits. Chemistry, mathematics,
and philosophy, had severally their charms for

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 469
him ; and from the meetings of the new society
he was but rarely absent. His residence was a
house westward of the north portico of Covent
Garden, where he had his laboratory, and where
Wood informs us that he died.
His admiration of genius, and thirst after know
ledge, induced him to pay rather an interesting
visit to a brother philosopher. The story is re
lated by Des Maizeaux in his " Life of St. Evre-
mond." According to that writer, Sir Kenelm him
self assured St. Evremond that, having perused the
writings of Des Cartes with great interest, he con
ceived so strong a desire to become personally
acquainted with him, as to undertake a journey to
Holland expressly with that object. Having disco
vered the philosopher in his retirement, he engaged
him in conversation, and, without revealing his
name, continued to discourse with him for some
time on philosophical matters. At last, Des Cartes,
who was acquainted with some of Digby's writings,
on a sudden remarked, inquiringly, that " It must
certainly be the celebrated Sir Kenelm Digby with
whom he was conversing ?" — " And if you were
not the celebrated Des Cartes," said the other, " I
should not have quitted England on purpose to
visit you."
Lord Clarendon's character of his friend is too
admirably drawn to be passed over in silence : —
" He was a person," he says, " very eminent and
notorious throughout the whole course of his life,

470 SIR KENELM DIGBY.
from his cradle to his grave ; and inherited a fair
and plentiful fortune, notwithstanding the attain
der of his father. He was a man of a very extra
ordinary person and presence, which drew the eyes
of all men upon him, which were more fixed by a
wonderful graceful behaviour, a flowing courtesy
and civility, and such a volubility of language, as
surprised and delighted ; and though in another
man it might have appeared to have somewhat of
affectation, it was marvellous graceful in him, and
seemed natural to his size and mould of his person,
to the gravity of his motion, and the tune of his
voice and delivery. He had a fair reputation in
arms, of which he gave an early testimony in his
youth, in some encounters in Spain and Italy, and
afterwards in an action in the Mediterranean sea.
In a word, he had all the advantages that nature
and art, and an excellent education, could give
him ; which, with a great confidence and present-
ness of mind, buoyed him up against all those
prejudices and disadvantages, as the attainder and
execution of his father for a crime of the highest
nature ; his own marriage with a lady, though of
an extraordinary beauty, of as extraordinary a
fame ; his changing and re-changing his religion ;
and some personal vices and licences in his life,
which would have suppressed and sunk any other
man, but never clouded and eclipsed him, from
appearing in the best places and the best company,
and with the best estimation and satisfaction."

SIR KENELM DIGBY. 471
We must each form our own opinions of so re
markable a man. Whatever may be Sir Kenelm's
merit as an author, his magnificent donation of
books to the Bodleian Library at Oxford, will
ever procure for him the gratitude of the learned.
His death took place on the 11th of June 1665, at
the age of sixty-two. He desired, by his will, to
be buried in the same vault with his wife, and that
no inscription should be placed on his tomb.

472

SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
Summary of Sir John's Character — his Precocity — his Mili
tary Service under Gustavus Adolphus — his Wit and showy
Person. — Costliness of his Entertainments — his Conduct as
a Gambler — his Fondness forthe Game of Bowls. — The
Goddess of his Poetry. — Affray between Suckling and Sir
John Digby. — Suckling's Cowardice. — One of his Frolics
in company with D'Avenant and Jacob Young. — Suckling's
Merit as a Poet — his Prose — his splendid Troopers —
their dastardly Flight from the Enemy. — Lampoons on the
Occasion. — Suckling accused of Treason — his Flight into
France. — Singular Circumstances attending his Death.
The delight of the Court and the darling of
the Muses ; at least, such are the encomiums of
his contemporaries. He was the sweetest poet, the
most refined gentleman, and perhaps the wildest
and most reckless cavalier of the age in which he
lived. There were many among the younger of.
Charles's followers who, in proportion as the Pu
ritans cropped their hair closer, and affected an
increased sourness in their looks, considered it
imperative on their part to add to the gaudiness
of their attire, and to startle by the dissipation
of their lives. Such may have been, in some
degree, the case with Suckling ; but, on the other

SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 473
hand, he had faults of the heart as well as of
the age. There is fortunately some interest in
the memoir of his life, though his reputation as
a poet has faded in the eyes of posterity.
He was the son of Sir John Suckling, one of
the principal Secretaries of State in the reign of
James, and who was afterwards a Privy Councillor,
and Comptroller of the Household, in the reign of
Charles. The father is spoken of as a person of
great gravity, though Aubrey passes him over as a
" dull fellow."
His son, the poet, according to Lloyd, was born
at Witham, in Middlesex, in April 1613. The
writers, however, of the " Biographia Dramatica,"
without stating their authority, place his birth at
Twickenham in February 1608-9. As his death
is generally stated to have taken place either in
his twenty-ninth or thirtieth year, the period to
which Lloyd ascribes his birth is probably cor
rect.* When only eleven years of age he was
sent to Cambridge, where he remained three or
four years, though, like most persons of a viva
cious genius, he appears never to have taken a
degree. He is said to have conversed in Latin
when only five years old.
Shortly after leaving Cambridge, he set out on
his travels over Europe, and eventually made a
* However, Anthony Wood states, that at the decease of his
father, in March 1627, he was nineteen, which would place
his birth in 1608.

474 SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
campaign under the celebrated Gustavus Adolphus,
during which he was present in three battles and
five sieges. He returned to England with some
what of foreign effeminacy in his manners, but
with an openness of heart, a sprightliness of con
versation, and an utter recklessness of conduct,
which distinguished him to the close of his career.
His agreeable discourse, and showy person, ren
dered him a great favourite at Court. Aubrey
styles him an "extraordinary and accomplished
gentleman;" and adds, that "he was incomparably
ready at reparteeing ; and his wit was most spark
ling when set upon and provoked." As long as his
finances lasted, he presented a splendid figure at
the court of Charles. His entertainments were
costly in the extreme ; and one of them is espe
cially mentioned, to which only the young and the
beautiful appear to have been invited, and where
every rarity that gold could purchase met the eye,
and gratified the taste, of his guest. The last
service was fantastic enough : it consisted of silk
stockings, gloves, and garters. When his play
of "Aglaura" was acted at Court, he thought
proper to provide the splendid dresses of the actors
out of his own purse. There was no tinsel, we are
told, but all was " pure gold and silver." Such
lavish expenditure would naturally reduce a mo
derate fortune to its lowest ebb ; and after a time,
we are informed, that there was not a single shop
keeper who would trust him with sixpence.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 475
Probably he practised gaming, or rather the foul
arts which insure success, to a greater extent than
had hitherto been known in England. Sheffield,
Duke of Buckingham, declared to Pope, on the
authority of Lady Dorset, that Suckling had
contrived certain marks, known only to himself,
to be affixed to all the cards that came from
the principal makers in Paris.* Like all who fol
low that most unhappy vice, he was affluent at
one time and a beggar at another. However, he
always affected the most splendour when in the
greatest distress. He contended, that it raised his
spirits. He used to practise cards in bed.
He was a skilful player at bowls, at that time
the most fashionable game in England. The great
resort of the bowlers, and indeed of all the gay so
ciety of London, was the Peccadillo, a place then
far removed from the bustle of the metropolis, but
which has given a name to one of our principal
streets, Piccadilly. On one occasion, we are told,
his sisters followed him to this place, and, finding
him engaged in his favourite pastime, entreated
him, with tears in their eyes, not to risk their all.
In his " Session of the Poets" Suckling himself
alludes to his delight in the game : —
Suckling next was called, but did not appear ;
But strait one whispered Apollo i' the ear,
That of all men living he cared not for 't,
He loved not the Muses so well as his sport ;

* Spence's Anecdotes, p. 89.

476 SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
And prized black eyes, and a lucky hit
At bowls, above all the trophies of wit.
And Apollo was angry, and publicly said —
'Twere fit that a fine were set on his head.
The goddess of his poetry was Lady Frances
Cranfield, daughter of Lionel first Earl of Mid
dlesex, and wife of Richard Sackville fifth Earl of
Dorset. As she was only seventeen at the time
of her marriage, it is probable that her intimacy
with Suckling commenced after that event ; she
was, indeed, scarcely twenty-one when Suckling
died. As Lady Dorset survived till 1692, (at which
period she must have been in her seventy-third
year,) she became the contemporary of Sheffield,
Duke of Buckingham, to whom she related some
of the scandal of former times. The Duke told
Pope, that so vain was she of her intimacy with
Suckling that she used herself to send to the
printer the verses which he had addressed to her.
He added, that she took a singular pride in boast
ing of the familiarities which had passed between
them.* Aubrey mentions a Countess of Middlesex, with
whom Suckling had been in love, and on whom he
had squandered several thousand pounds. This
must be a mistake. There was only one Countess
of Middlesex, a contemporary of Suckling, and, un
happily, that lady was the mother of his idol. As
Lady Dorset, however, afterwards became sole
* Spence, p. 90.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 477
heiress of her brother Lionel, third Earl of Mid
dlesex, and as her son Charles eventually united
the titles of Dorset and Middlesex in his own
person, this close connexion of names probably
led Aubrey into the error. Lady Middlesex and
Lady Dorset are undoubtedly the same person.
Notwithstanding his campaign under the great
Gustavus, Suckling was but little formed for a
soldier. A quarrel is recorded to have taken place
between the Poet and Sir John Digby, brother to
Sir Kenelm, of which the origin was either a mis
tress or a dispute at a gaming-table. Suckling,
supported by two or three friends, set upon Digby
as he was leaving the theatre ; a dastardly mode
of revenge not unfrequently resorted to at the pe
riod. The Poet was of a slight figure, while
Digby was one of the most powerful men, and
one of the best swordsmen in England. The
latter, with only the- aid of his servant, gallantly
flew at his assailants, and the affray ended by
his putting them to a disreputable flight.
In a letter from Mr. Garrard to the Earl of
Strafford, dated 10th November 1634, the story
of Suckling's adventure with Digby is differently
related, but the circumstances are scarcely less
discreditable to the unfortunate poet. The nar
ration is a curious one, as throwing a light on the
manners of the time. " I come now to a rodomon-
tado of such a nature as is scarce credible. Sir
John Suckling, a young man, son to him that was

478 SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
Comptroller, famous for nothing before, but that
he was a great gamester, was a suitor to a daugh
ter of Sir Henry Willoughby's in Derbyshire, heir
to a thousand a year. By some friend he had in
court, he got the King to write for him to Sir
Henry Willoughby, by which means he hoped to
get her ; for he thought he had interest enough in
the affections of the young woman, so her father's
consent could be got. He spoke somewhat boldly
that way, which coming to her knowledge, she
entreated a young gentleman, who also was her
suitor, a brother of Sir Kenelm Digby's, to draw
a paper in writing which she dictated, and to get
Sir John Suckling's hand unto it ; therein he must
disavow any interest he hath in her, either by pro
mise or other ways. If he would undertake this,
she said, it was the readiest way he could use to
express his affection to her. He willingly under
takes it, gets another young man, a Digby, into his
company, and having each of them a man, goes
out upon this adventure, intending to come to
London where he thought to find him ; but meet
ing Suckling on the way, he saluted him, and
asked him whither he was going ; he said on the
King's business, but would not tell him whither,
though he pressed him, if not to Sir Henry Wil
loughby's ? He then drew forth his paper and read
it to him, and pressed him to underwrite it ; he
would not, and with oaths confirms his denial. He
told him he must force him to it. He answers, no-

SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 479
thing could force him. Then he asked him, whe
ther he had any such promise from her as he gave
out : in that he said he would not satisfy him. Mr.
Digby then falls upon him with a cudgel, which
being a yard long, he beat out upon him almost
to an handful, he never offering to draw his sword;
Suckling's two men standing by and looking on.
Then comes in Philip Willoughby with his man,
a proper gentleman, a man held stout, and of a
very fair reputation, who was assistant to this
Suckling in all his wooing business. Mr. Digby
presses him also to avow by word of mouth, that
Suckling had no such interest in his kinswoman
as he pretended. He denies to do it ; whereupon
he struck him three or four blows on the face with
his fist. They then cried out that they were the
King's messengers, and that they should have some
other time to speak with them. This report comes
quickly to London ; Sir Kenelm Digby comes to
Hampton Court before the King comes up ; to his
friends there avows every particle of this business.
Since, Suckling and Philip Willoughby are both
in London, but they stir not. Also Sir Henry
Willoughby and his daughter are come hither,
Lawrence Whitaker being sent by the King for
them. One affront he did them more, for finding
them the next day after he had so used them, in
a great chamber at Sir Henry Willoughby's, he
asked the young gentlewoman, what she did with
such baffled fellows in her company ? Incredible

480 SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
things to be suffered by flesh and blood, but that
England is*the land of peace."*
The world laughed at the Poet, and the ill-
natured were delighted at his discomfiture. At an
entertainment, given shortly afterwards by Lady
Moray, he was taxed by his mistress Lady Dorset
with having run away, and, we are told, " some
other ladies had their flirts." His hostess perceiv
ing his discomposure, kindly drew towards him :
" Well," she said, " I am a merry wench, and will
never forsake an old friend in disgrace, so come
and sit down by me, Sir John." He of course
obeyed her. His spirits rose, and he again became
the delight of the company, and his wit and good-
humour sparkled as before.-}-
What man is there of so little taste or imagina
tion, with whom the romance of the past has not
at times predominated over the reality of the pre
sent ! Who is there that has not dreamed himself
into the society of former days ! There is in the
retrospect of every age a kind of literary oasis,
a particular knot of gifted beings, to whose elo
quence it would have been rapture to listen, or in
whose social mirth it would have been delight to
join. To have drunk sack with Shakspeare and
his brother actors ; to have made a third with Ben
Jonson and Drummond of Hawthornden ; to have
listened to the wild wit of Charles, Buckingham,
* Strafford Letters, vol. i. p. 337.
f Aubrey's Letters of Eminent Men, vol. ii. p. 551.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 481
Rochester, and Killegrew ; to have dived into
Will's and Button's ; to have been with Pope,
Swift, Bolingbroke and Atterbury, or in later times
with Johnson, Burke, Reynolds and Garrick ; who
is there that has not imagined some such intellec
tual treat, and perhaps improved himself by the
contemplation ?
There are some who will consider it an affront
to such names as the above, to speak of Suckling,
D'Avenant, Lovelace, and Carew. But wit will
always have its charms ; and at a period when
there was a more universal religious as well as
political gloom than perhaps ever pervaded a
country, when the people were sad because it
was the fashion, and the Court because it was in
danger ; the gay meetings, the wild humour and
jollity of the cavalier poets, must have been in
strong contrast to the moroseness of the age.
One of their frolics is related by the gossiping
Aubrey. Suckling, D'Avenant, and Jacob Young
had agreed on a journey of pleasure to Bath. They
had provided themselves with a handsome carriage,
a good supply of books, and several packs of cards,
and travelled by easy stages. They passed the
first night at Marlborough. As they were walking
on the Downs they came upon some country girls,
who were drying clothes upon bushes. Young was
struck with the beauty of the prettiest of them,
and persuaded her to an assignation at midnight.
The agreement, however, was overheard by his
VOL. II. 2 I

482 SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
friends from the other side of the hedge, and they
laid their plans accordingly.
It was their custom every evening to play at
cards : this night, however, Young pretended fa
tigue and retired to his chamber. The landlady
entering shortly afterwards with supper, Suckling
and D'Avenant put on very long faces. Their
poor friend, they told her, had his mad fit coming
on him, and about twelve he would become out
rageous. They beseeched her to lock the doors
of his apartment and to have a powerful ostler
ready, to prevent him from destroying himself.
About midnight they heard a tremendous noise.
Young, finding himself locked in, had managed to
break the door open, and was proceeding down
stairs to his appointment when the ostler encoun
tered him. The fellow, prepared at all hazard to
prevent his egress, told him to bear God in mind
and not to think of self-destruction. A good deal
of bewilderment followed, which ended by the ost
ler actually forcing back Young into his room. In
the mean time, the kind-hearted landlady, imagin
ing him weak and dispirited, had brought a " por
ringer of cawdle" to comfort him ; Young, how
ever, was so exasperated at his disappointment, and
at the ill-timed attention of the landlady, that
he threw the porridge in her face. Suckling and
D'Avenant are described as dying with laughter
at the success of their joke.
Considering that his literary productions consist

SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 483
of the scattered and careless verses of a fine gen
tleman, Suckling has great merit as a poet. With
the exception of the beautiful love-verses of Sedley,
and the general and undoubted claims of Waller,
there are none of his school that can compete with
him. He has as much wit and poetry as either
Rochester, Carew, Dorset or Lansdowne, and he
has more nature than any one of them. Though
much of his Session of the Poets has lost its
point with modern readers, it is still rich in wit
and humour. His verses on Lady Carlisle are as
smoothly versified, and have as much real beauty,
as anything in the language ; and his ballad on
a wedding, supposed to be Lord Orrery's, has
great merit : —
I tell thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen, &c.
But what can exceed the description of the bride,
as she is supposed to be represented by a gaping
rustic to his friend ? —
The maid, and thereby hangs a tale,
For such a maid no Whitson-ale
Could ever yet produce ;
No grape that's kindly ripe could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,
Nor half so full of juice.
Her finger was so small, the ring
Would not stay on which they did bring,
It was too wide a peck.
And, to say truth, for out it must,
It looked like the great collar, just,
About our young colt's neck. 2 i 2

484 SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice stole in and out,
As if they feared the light.
But oh ! she dances such a way
No sun upon an Easter day,
Is half so fine a sight.
He would have kissed her once or twice,
But she would not, she was so nice,
She would not do it in sight ;
And then she looked as who should say,
I will do what I list to-day,
And you shall do it at night.
Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
No daisy makes comparison,
Who sees them is undone ;
For streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Katherine pear,
The side that 's next the sun.
Her lips were red and one was thin ;
Compared to that was next her chin,
Some bee had stung it newly ;
But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face,
I durst no more upon them gaze,
Than on the sun in July.
Her mouth so small when she does speak,
Thoud'st swear her teeth her words did break,
That they might passage get ;
But she so handled still the matter,
They came as good as ours or better,
And are not spent a whit.
His " Dream," besides possessing considerable
merit as a poem, is perhaps the origin of a con
ceit which has since become extremely popular.
The song, " Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? "

SIR JOHN SUCKLING, 485
is still a universal favourite. Of Suckling's prose,
his " Account of Religion by Reason," addressed
to Lord Dorset, is an extraordinary production.
It will prove to the philosopher, that the most
dissipated have their moments of reflection, and
that the gamester, the drunkard, and the de
bauchee, have at least their conceptions of right
and wrong. The letters, published as Suckling's,
are without merit. The wit is over-strained, and
the sentiment frequently unnatural.
At the expedition against the rebellious Scots,
Suckling raised a splendid troop, at the expense of
twelve thousand pounds, for the service of the King.
We are told that it was one of the most gallant
sights of the period. Their dress is described as
" white doublets and scarlet breeches, scarlet
coats, hats and feathers." They were well armed
and horsed. But, alas ! in an encounter with the
enemy on the English border, in 1639, it was not
their lace alone that was tarnished. Poor Sir
John ! the darling of the wits and the ladies —
at whose departure from London casements had
been thrown open and white handkerchiefs had
waved, — the hour of danger no sooner came,
than he and his glittering troopers took to their
heels. His former friend, Sir John Mennes, (the
poetical admiral,) wrote his once celebrated bal
lad on this occasion. It was adapted to a gay
tune ; and not only became popular with the re
publicans, but for many years afterwards was sung

486 SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
by those, who had, perhaps, never so much as heard
of Suckling or his disaster. The following is an
other song on the same subject. It is less known,
but is not without its merit :* —
Sir John got on a bonny brown beast,
To Scotland for to ride-a ;
A brave buff coat upon his back,
A short sword by his side-a :
Alas, young man, we Sucklings can
Pull down the Scottish pride-a.
He danced and pranced and pranked about,
Till people him espied-a ;
With pye-ball'd apparel, he did so quarrel,
As none durst come him nigh-a.
But soft, Sir John, e'er you' come home,
You will not look so high-a.
Both wife and maid and widow prayed,
To the Scots he would be kind-a ;
He stor.med the more, and deeply swore,
They should no favour find-a.
But if you had been at Berwick and seen,
He was in another mind-a.
His men and he, in their jollity,
Did quarrel, drink, and quaff-a ;
Till away he went like a Jack of Lent ;
But it would have made you laugh-a,
How away they did creep like so many sheep,
And he like an Essex calf-a.
When he came to the camp he was in a damp,
To see the Scots in sight-a,
And all his brave troops, like so many droops,
They had no heart to fight-a;
And when the alarm called all to arm,
Sir John he went to  a.

* Vox Borealis, or the Northern Discoverie, 4to. 1641.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 487
They prayed him to mount and ride in the front,
To try his courage good-a ;
He told them the Scots had dangerous plots,
As he well understood-a ;
Which they denied, but he replied,
It's shame for to shed blood-a.
He did repent the money he spent,
Got by unlawful game-a,
His curled locks could endure no knocks,
Then let none go again-a :
Such a carpet knight as durst not fight,
For fear he should be slain-a.
The lampoon of Sir John Mennes commences, —
Sir John he got on an ambling nag,
To Scotland for to go,
With a hundred horse, without remorse,
To keep ye from the foe.
No carpet knight ever went to fight,
With half so much bravado :
Had you seen but his look, you would swear on a book,
He'd conquered a whole armado.
About two years from this event, we find Suck
ling taking a very active part in Lord Strafford's
projected escape from the Tower. The plot
reached the ears of the Commons, who, after an
investigation of the circumstances, voted him
guilty of treason.* Suckling fled into France and
survived his escape but a few days. According
to Spence, who quotes Pope as his authority, his
* Rushworth, Trial of Strafford, pp. 746 to 755. For Suck
ling's share in Strafford's projected escape from the Tower, see
Maseres's Select Tracts, vol. i. p. 28.

488 SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
death was attended by some singular circum
stances : — " Sir John Suckling died about the
beginning of the civil war. He entered warmly
into the King's interests, and was sent over to
the Continent by him, with some letters of great
importance to the Queen.* He arrived late at
Calais, and in the night his servant ran away
with his portmanteau, in which were his mo
ney and papers. When he was told of this
in the morning, he immediately inquired which
way his servant had taken; ordered his horses
to be got ready instantly ; and in putting on his
boots, found one of them extremely uneasy to
him ; but as the horses were at the door, he
leaped into his saddle, and forgot his pain. He
pursued his servant so eagerly, that he overtook
him two or three posts off; recovered his port
manteau, and soon after complained of a vast
pain in one of his feet, and fainted away with it.
When they came to pull off his boots, to fling
him into bed, they found one of them full of
blood. It seems, his servant, who knew his mas
ter's temper well, and was sure he would pursue
him as soon as his villany should be discovered,
had driven a nail up into one of his boots in
hopes of disabling him from pursuing him. Sir
* This is a mistake : — The Queen did not quit England till
the 23rd of February 1642, more than rjine months afterwards.
According to May, in his History of the Parliamept, Suckling
left London on the 5th of May 1641.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 489
John's impetuosity, made him regard the pain
only just at first, and his pursuit hurried him
from the thoughts of it for some time after : how
ever, the wound was so bad, and so much in
flamed, that it flung him into a violent fever,
which ended his life in a very few days. This
incident, strange as it may seem, might be prov
ed from some original letters in Lord Oxford's
collection." Oldys had the same story from Lord Oxford
himself. In his MS. notes on Langbaine, in the
British Museum, there is the following insertion :
— " Recollect where I have got down the story my
Lord told me he had from Dean Chetwood, who
had it from Lord Roscommon, of Sir John's being
robbed of a casket of gold and jewels, when he
was going to France, by his valet, who, I think,
poisoned him, and so stuck the blade of a pen
knife in Sir John's boot to prevent his pursuit of
him, as wounded him incurably in the heel be
sides. 'Tis in one of my pocket-books ; white
vellum cover, I think ; the white journal that is
not gilt." Aubrey's account differs materially
from those both of Pope and Oldys. He says,
that Suckling went into France, and being in the
most destitute condition, destroyed himself by tak
ing poison. He adds, that he died " miserably
with vomiting," and that he was buried in the
Protestant church-yard at Paris. In how deep a
mine is truth concealed ! From these conflicting

490 SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
accounts we can glean little more, than that the
once brilliant Suckling died under peculiar cir
cumstances of distress in a foreign land. His
death is generally placed on the 7th of May
1641, only two days after his flight from Eng
land. There is a portrait of him by Vandyke.

491

SIR JEFFERY HUDSON.
Parentage of this Dwarf — he is presented by his Father to
the Duchess of Buckingham, who commends him to the Ser
vice of Queen Henrietta — his absurd Pride — he is sent
by the Queen on an Errand to Paris — his Reception by the
Ladies of the French Court — he is seized by the Dunkirk
ers on his Return to England. — Sir Jeffery's Irritability —
his Challenge to Mr. Crofts, and its fatal Result. — Sir Jeffery
taken Prisoner, and sold as a Slave — he is implicated in the
Popish Plot — his Death in Prison.
Sir Jeffery Hudson, whose name has been im
mortalized by the great genius of modern times,
was born in 1619, at Oakham, in Rutlandshire, —
" the least man in the least county." His father
was a broad-shouldered, broad-chested person of
the common height. Jeffery himself was only
eighteen inches high in his eighth year, and is
said to have grown no taller till he was past thir
ty, when he shot up to be three feet nine inches.
Notwithstanding his inferiority in stature, he was
well proportioned and not ungraceful.
His father, who had charge of the "baiting-
bulls" of George Villiers, first Duke of Bucking
ham, presented his son to the Duchess when he
was in his ninth year, and about his nineteenth
inch. The Duchess dressed him in satin, and

492 SIR JEFFERY HUDSON.
had two tall men to attend him. Charles the First
and Henrietta, soon after their marriage, paid a
visit to the Duke of Buckingham, at his seat,
Burghley on the hill. At one of the entertain
ments, the little fellow was served up to table in
a cold pie. As soon as he stepped forward, the
Duchess presented him to Henrietta, in whose ser
vice he ever afterwards remained. He was twice
painted by Vandyke in attendance on the Queen,
Fuller says, — " It was not long before he was
presented in a cold baked pye 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." At one of the Court masques, the
King's gigantic porter drew him from his pocket,
to the astonishment of the guests.
Sir Jeffery, as he grew older, forgot that it
was merely his deformity which had brought him
into notice. As Fuller tells us, he despised
his father, the bull-baiter, and began to consider
himself a personage of importance. Probably
he was really clever, and he was undoubtedly
trustworthy. Previous to one of her accouche-
ments, Henrietta despatched him to Paris for a
* Henrietta Maria.

SIR JEFFERY HUDSON. 493
midwife. He was much petted by the Queen
Mother of France, and the ladies of her Court,
who heaped presents on him to the amount of
2500/. On his return to England, in company
with the midwife and the Queen's dancing-master,
he was seized by the Dunkirkers, and stripped of
all he possessed. Sir William D'Avenant wrote a
poem called Jeffreidos, or the Captivity of Jeffery,
on the occasion. The scene is laid at Dunkirk,
and describes a fight between the little gentle
man and a ferocious turkey-cock, from whose fury
Sir Jeffery is snatched by the midwife. The poem
is protracted to a considerable length, and is not
conceived in the happiest style of the poet. The
actual encounter between Jeffery and his feathered
foe affords, perhaps, the best specimen of the
merits of the poem.
 Jeffery strait 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 Iearn'd 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.
There is in the British Museum a little work

494 SIR JEFFERY HUDSON.
entitled, " The New Year's Gift, presented at
Court from the Lady Parvula to the Lord Mini
mus, commonly called Little Jeffery." It was
printed in London in 1636. The volume is one
of remarkably small dimensions, with a view of
adapting it to the subject. After a number of in
different jokes and some wretched pedantry, it
concludes with some slight humour : — " In short,
who desireth not in debt to be as little as may be,
and what a rare temper is it in men of descent not
to be ambitious of greatness, even in the high
est matters which men attempt, how commonly
the most do come short, and in their greatest
business effect but little. And, therefore, as it
was said of Scipio, that he was nunquam minus
solus quam cum solus, never less alone than when
alone ; so it may be said of you, excellent abstract
of greatness, that you are nunquam minus parvus
quam cum parvus, never less little than when little.
I hope you will pardon me if in my style I have
used a little boldness and familiarity, you knowing
it to be so commendable, and that it is nimia fa-
miliaritas, great boldness only, which breedeth con
tempt ; especially since you are no stranger, but
of my own country ; though some, judging by
your stature, have taken you to be a /ow-country-
man. Many merry new years are wished unto
you by, The sworn servant of your
Honour's perfections,
Parvula."

SIR JEFFERY HUDSON. 495
At the commencement of the civil troubles, Sir
Jeffery accompanied his royal mistress into France.
He had long been the butt of the Court, and even
of the servants of the royal household. The gi
gantic porter was his especial horror. But whether
he had acquired an accession of dignity from his
important mission to bring back the midwife, or
whether he particularly disliked being laughed at
in the presence of foreigners, his irritability at this
period was productive of fatal consequences to one
of his tormentors. Mr. Crofts, a young man of
good family, having teased the little gentleman
beyond bearing, Sir Jeffery sent him a challenge.
Crofts appeared at the place of appointment with
as quirt in his hand. Sir Jeffery was so extremely
enraged that a real meeting was agreed upon, at
which both parties were to appear on horseback,
armed with pistols. At the first shot, this Elzevir
Achilles shot his persecutor dead. He was im
prisoned in consequence, but probably escaped
with a short incarceration.
Soon after this he was taken prisoner by a
Turkish vessel, and sold as a slave among the
Moors. His captivity must have been of brief
duration, for we find him a captain of horse in
the civil wars. When the royal cause became hope
less, he again followed the Queen into France,
where he remained till the Restoration. He had
probably embraced the religion of his royal mis
tress, for in 1682, in the decline of life, he was

496 SIR JEFFERY HUDSON.
implicated in the absurd Popish plot, and was com
mitted to prison. He died shortly afterwards, in
the sixty-third year of his age, a prisoner in the
Gate-house, Westminster.* In Newgate-street, over
the entrance to a small court, on the north side
of the street, may still be seen (1839) a small
sculpture in stone, on which are engraved the
figures of William Evans, the King's gigantic'
porter, and by his side the redoubtable Sir
Jeffery. There is an engraving of the sculpture
in Pennant's London, and, at Hampton Court, an
original picture of Sir Jeffery by Mytens.
* Fuller's Worthies, vol. ii. p. 243 ; Walpole's Works, vol. iii.
pp. 152, &c. &c.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

LONDON :
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY, BANGOR HOUSE, SHOE LANE.

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