CHAPTER III.

THE FASCINATION OF VILLIER’S CHARACTER AS OPPOSED TO THE VENALITY

OF SOMERSET—LORD CLARENDON’S OPINION—THE FRIENDSHIP OF

ARCHBISHOP ABBOT—CHARACTER OF THE PRIMATE—HIS AFFECTION FOR

VILLIERS—ANECDOTE OF VILLIERS WHEN CUP-BEARER—HE IS BEFRIENDED

BY ANNE OF DENMARK—BY HER MEANS KNIGHTED—SINGULAR SCENE IN THE

QUEEN’S CHAMBER—JEALOUSY OF SOMERSET—INGRATITUDE AFTERWARDS

SHEWN BY VILLIERS TO ABBOT—ABBOT COMMITS MANSLAUGHTER—IS

PARDONED BY THE KING—THE INCESSANT PLEASURES OF THE

COURT—HORSE-RACING—BEN JONSON’S “GOLDEN AGE RESTORED”—ALLUSION

IN IT TO SOMERSET, AND TO OVERBURY—AN ANGRY INTERVIEW BETWEEN

VILLIERS AND SOMERSET—VILLIERS SUPPLANTS THE FAVOURITE—HE USES

NO UNFAIR MEANS TO DO SO—DISCOVERY OF SOMERSET’S GUILT BY

WINWOOD, WHO FINDS PROOFS OF IT IN AN OLD TRUNK—SOMERSET’S

DOWNFALL—BACON’S LETTER TO VILLIERS—VILLIERS CONTINUES TO

PROFIT BY THE DELINQUENCIES AND DISGRACE OF SOMERSET.

=CHAPTER III.=

Introduced, as he now found himself, into the atmosphere of a Court,

Buckingham retained the free and joyous spirit, the boyish impetuosity,

the incapability of dissimulation which characterised him during the

whole of his life. The combination of “English familiarity and French

vivacity” have in his deportment been happily expressed by Hume. The

carelessness of consequences, which was a part of his variable and

fascinating character, was soon perceived by his friends, soon made the

theme of comment on the part of his enemies.

To those who had long deplored the rapacity of Somerset, and who viewed,

in the depravity of the Court, the degradation of the nation, the very

imprudence of Villiers, coupled, as it was, with great courage, quick

perceptions, energy, and a capability of being aroused to high designs

and “lofty aspirations,”[79] must have been refreshing. “As yet,” says

Lord Clarendon, “he was the most rarely accomplished the Court had ever

beheld; while some that found inconvenience in his nearness, intending

by some affront to discountenance him, perceived he had masked under the

gentleness of a terrible courage as could safely protect all his

sweetness.” The rise of this gifted and fascinating adventurer, rapid as

it undoubtedly was, was obstructed by various obstacles, the details of

which are not to be found in the ordinary narratives of his career.

Footnote 79:

See the Character of Buckingham in Disraeli’s Commentaries on Charles

I., vol. ii., p, 163.

Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, held at this time a supreme influence

both in Church and in State affairs. His great learning, his eloquence,

his moderation, and his indefatigable exertions for the public welfare

procured him at once the confidence of the country and the goodwill of

his sovereign. By his conciliatory deportment, Abbot, when he held the

appointment of chaplain to the Earl of Dunbar, Treasurer of Scotland,

effected such an understanding, as to ensure the establishment of the

Episcopal order in that country. He was also one of the eight divines at

Oxford to whom the charge of translating the New Testament, with the

exception of the Epistles, was entrusted.[80] Thus qualified for the

highest station in his sacred profession, Abbot had attained the rare

art of satisfying all parties. His zeal for the Protestant faith secured

the esteem of the Calvinist, and his devotion to the order to which he

belonged satisfied even the disciples of Laud.

Footnote 80:

Biographia Britannica.

This prelate now became the patron of George Villiers. Perhaps the

fearless, open disposition of the youth interested the Archbishop, who

was by no means an austere churchman, but who mingled to a great extent

in secular affairs, and united a love of popular diversions with his

saintly zeal and real piety of character;—enjoyed a day’s hunting, and

regulated alternately the concerns of foreign nations and the disputes

of controversialists. Archbishop Abbot appears to have fostered Villiers

as a son. A circumstance shortly occurred which showed how necessary to

the well-being of the rash youth such a protector and counsellor must

have proved.

Villiers now held the office of cup-bearer, and, since it was purchased,

as most offices in that reign were, it is probable that those who

promoted his rise, from a hatred of the Earl of Somerset, supplied him

with the means of thus drawing near to his sovereign at the social

board; nor was the office in those days, when James was frequently in a

state of inebriation, a sinecure.

One day, Villiers happened to take by mistake the upper end of the board

instead of another attendant. The person whom he had thus superseded was

a creature of Somerset’s; Villiers was told of his error in an offensive

manner, and removed from his post. Incensed afterwards by a second

instance of incivility, he lost his self-control, and gave his brother

cup-bearer a blow. By the custom of the Court, Villiers thus made

himself liable to have his hand cut off; and Somerset, who was Lord

Chamberlain, was bound by his office to see that penalty inflicted. It

may readily be conceived with what alacrity Somerset would have

fulfilled this part of his duty, but the King interposed, and pardoned

Villiers, “who henceforth,” remarks an historian, “was regarded as a

budding favourite, and appeared like a proper palm beside the discerning

spirit of the King, who first cherished him, through his innate virtue,

that surprised all men.”[81]

Footnote 81:

Sanderson’s Life of James I., pp. 45 and 457.

It was however necessary that the merits of Villiers should be unfolded

to the Queen. Anne of Denmark, although apparently slighted by her royal

husband, exercised so considerable a control over his actions that he

never, according to the testimony of Archbishop Abbot, “would admit

anyone to nearness about himself but such a one as the Queen should

commend unto him, and had made some suit on his behalf.” Nor did this

wholly proceed from a reverence for Her Majesty’s judgment. It was the

result of the mingled weakness of conduct and duplicity which

characterised James, forming a strong contrast with his real ability and

acquirements; the absence of good sense and good taste were equally

conspicuous in all he did in private life; but he was cunning enough to

desire that if he made a false step the blame should rest upon his

Queen. His motive in desiring her approval was that, if she were ill

treated by the favourite, he might have the power of saying to her, “You

were the party that commended him to me.” “Our old master,” remarks

Archbishop Abbot, “took delight in things of this nature.”[82]

Footnote 82:

Rushworth’s Collections, vol. i., pp. 460 and 461.

Queen Anne had previously been solicited in behalf of Villiers, but in

vain; Abbot was, however, successful in his application. For some time,

indeed, the Queen answered him in these terms: “My lord, you and your

friends know not what you ask, for if this young man be brought in, the

first persons that he will plague will be you that labour for him. Yea,

I shall have my part also; the King,” added the wary Queen, “will teach

him to despise and hardly entreat us, that he may seem to be beholden to

no one but himself.”

“Noble Queen,” exclaimed Abbot, when, after experiencing the hollowness

of Court favour and the ingratitude of Buckingham, he wrote the

narrative of these incidents, “how like a prophetess did you speak!”

Upon the compliance of the Queen, it was resolved to introduce Villiers

to the King, for the double honour of being appointed one of His

Majesty’s Gentlemen of the Bedchamber, and of receiving knighthood. The

day was approaching, when Villiers fell ill, not without suspicion of

having taken the small-pox. This happened when all his friends were

“casting about” how to make him a great man. On the twenty-third of

April[83] he was, however, sufficiently recovered for the good offices

of his party to take effect.

Footnote 83:

1615.

The event was accomplished in the following manner:—The Queen and Prince

being in the King’s bedchamber, it was contrived that Villiers,[84] who

was near, should be summoned on some pretext, and when the “Queen saw

her own time, he was asked in.” “Then,” says an historian, “did the

Queen speak to the Prince to draw out the sword and to give it her; and

immediately, with the sword drawn, she kneeled to the King, and humbly

beseeched His Majesty to do her that especial favour as to knight this

noble gentleman, whose name was George, for the honour of St. George,

whose feast was now kept. The King at first seemed to be afraid that the

Queen should come too near him with a naked sword, but then he did it

very joyfully, and it might very well be that it was his own contriving,

for he did much please himself with such inventions.”[85]

Footnote 84:

State Paper, Domestic, 1616. Letter from Mr. Chamberlain to Sir Dudley

Carleton.

Footnote 85:

See Nichols’s Progresses, vol. iii., p. 80. By a page in that work, it

appears that Villiers’ appointment to the Royal Chambers, and his

being knighted, took place on successive days, the ceremony of

knighthood being performed at Somerset House.

It must have been a strange scene, for Somerset, who was at hand,

entreated of the King that his rival might only be made a Groom of the

Chamber; but Abbot, and others whom the Archbishop does not name, stood

at the door and plied the Queen with messages that she would “perfect

her work, and cause him to be made a gentleman,” and Her Majesty, as we

have seen, prevailed. Nor were these honours, in the case of Villiers,

attended with the expense which usually lessened their value; on the

contrary, a pension of a thousand pounds was added to maintain the

dignity of knighthood.[86]

Footnote 86:

Life of Bishop Goodman, vol. i., p. 223.

The termination of this incident, so important in the life of Villiers,

is related by Archbishop Abbot; Villiers at this time called him

“father.” The professions which he made to his reverend patron were then

doubtless sincere; but gratitude was not the only good seed which

political feuds and evil counsels stifled in the breast of Villiers.

“George,” relates the prelate, “went in with the King, but no sooner he

got loose but he came forth unto me into the Privy Gallery, and there

embraced me. He professed that he was so infinitely bound unto me, that

all his life long he must honour me as his father; and now he did

beseech me, that I would give him some lessons how he should carry

himself.” These lessons were three in number:—first, to pray daily to

God to bless the King his master, and to give him grace studiously to

serve and please him. The second was, that he should do all good offices

between the King and the Queen, the King and the Prince. The third, that

he should fill his master’s ears with nothing but the truth. These

excellent instructions were afterwards repeated to James, who observed

that they were “instructions worthy of an archbishop to give to a young

man.”

For some time, an affection, on the one hand expressed in parental

terms, and gratitude on the other, continued. “And now, my George,”

wrote the Archbishop, “because, out of your kind affection to me, you

style me your father, I will from this day forward repute and esteem you

for my son, and so hereafter you know yourself to be; and in token

thereof I do now give you my blessing 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 who 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,

“G. CANT.”[87]

Footnote 87:

Extract from a letter quoted in Bishop Goodman’s Life, vol ii., p.

160. This epistle is endorsed “To my very loving son, Sir George

Villiers, Knight,” and dated Lambeth, December 10th, 1615.

The conduct of Villiers on a subsequent occasion made a deep impression

on the mind of the excellent prelate who thus befriended the youth. “The

Roman historian, Tacitus,” he bitterly remarks, “hath somewhere a note,

that benefits while they may be requited, seem courtesies, but when they

are so high that they cannot be repaid, they prove matters of

hatred.”[88] This was a severe reflection on one who ought never to have

forgotten the greatest of all obligations, those bestowed on the

unfriended by one in the height of favour. Villiers may henceforth be

regarded as fairly launched in his career; it was perhaps his misfortune

that so few important obstacles occurred in his progress, and that it

was achieved by an apparent concurrence of lucky events, and not by

patient merit, nor by any of the legitimate sources of success. “The

genius of the man,” observes a modern writer, “was daring and

magnificent, and his elocution was graceful as his manners; but these

were natural talents; he possessed no acquired ones.”[89]

Footnote 88:

Rushworth’s Collections, vol. i., p. 460.

Footnote 89:

See the Character of Buckingham, Disraeli’s Charles I., ii., p. 167.

A true, free-spoken, conscientious friend might have guarded his youth

from peril, and given to his aspiring mind a laudable bias. Abbot would

have been that friend, but Abbot was soon discarded, and an incident

occurred some years afterwards which clouded this excellent prelate’s

days, and produced a temporary, though unmerited, disgrace.

The archbishop, like many churchmen of his time, was an ardent lover of

the chace. In this respect he resembled Cranmer, who was so great a

horseman as to be called the “rough rider,” since no steed came amiss to

his fearless and practised guidance.

Abbot was hunting, in the summer of 1621, in Lord Zouch’s park of

Bramsell, in Hampshire. He aimed at a deer, which, leaping up, evaded

the shot, but a gamekeeper who had hidden himself behind the herd, was

killed by the discharge from the lively primate’s gun. An inquest was

held, and a verdict of death by “misfortune and the keeper’s own fault”

was returned. It appeared that the man had been that very morning warned

not to go in that direction. King James, on first hearing of this

occurrence, declared that none “but a fool or knave would think the

worse of Abbot for that accident, the like of which had once nearly

happened to himself.”

Abbot, it seemed, had gone into Hampshire with the intention of

consecrating a chapel as Lord Zouch’s, and not merely for the purposes

of amusement.[90] On considering the matter, nevertheless, his legal

advisers did not consider the verdict to have been legally drawn up.

Abbot therefore wrote to Lord Zouch, requesting him to have the coroner

and jury re-summoned, and the verdict re-considered, the credit of his

profession being involved, and his enemies ready to slander him.[91] In

a subsequent letter he recalled this request, declaring that it was

unnecessary; that he had a clear conscience, and was anxious to do

everything to give his enemies no advantages over him. In a few days,

nevertheless, he went again to Lord Zouch, declaring that his unhappy

accident had been a bitter potion to him, on account of the conflict

with his conscience, complaining that he was the talk of men, the cause

of rejoicing to the Papist and insult to the Puritan.[92] The King was

still gracious to him, but the primate remained in seclusion, and

misfortune seemed at hand.[93] These letters were written in August. In

the October of the same year, the King appointed an inquiry into the

accidental killing of the keeper in Bramsell Park, and desired three

bishops and others to examine whether there had been scandal brought

upon the Church or not.[94] The commissioners were divided, strange to

say, upon the question of the archbishop’s guilt or innocence, but their

decision, influenced by the strong advocacy of the Bishop of Winchester,

was ultimately in his favour. The King, as the head of the Church, then

absolved him, but all the new bishops were so unwilling to receive

consecration at his hand, that Abbot was obliged to appoint three

prelates to consecrate for him. All forfeitures and penalties for this

offence were remitted, and the archbishop restored to the King’s

presence. There is, however, no proof of what one looks for with

solicitude, the mediation of Buckingham in favour of his friend and

patron, although there is no reason, from the result, to suppose that it

may not have been exerted.

Footnote 90:

State Papers, Domestic, cxxii., No. 28.

Footnote 91:

State Papers, Ibid, No. 61.

Footnote 92:

Ibid, No. 97, vol. ii., 112.

Footnote 93:

Ibid, vol. cxxiii.

Footnote 94:

Ibid, cxxiii. No. 1000.

This attempt to make the archbishop’s mishap a “culpable homicide,”

originated in the Lord Keeper Williams, who had formed a plot for

_depriving_ Abbot. The accusation was based upon the ground that the

primate had been employed in an unlawful act when the accident occurred,

but Coke decreed that “by the laws of the realm, a bishop may lawfully

hunt in a park; hunt he may, because a bishop, when dying, is to leave

his pack of hounds to the King’s free will and disposal.”[95]

Footnote 95:

Lord Campbell’s Life of Coke, p. 314.

Such were the incidents which deprived Villiers, for a time, of the

valuable counsels of Abbot. It must, however, be also remembered, when

the real ignorance of Villiers is considered, and when his deficiencies

and his errors are lamented as constituting in his case a national

misfortune, that in his career as a courtier he wanted the needful

element in all improvement, leisure. The daily existence of James was

made up of toilsome pleasures,—the chase, the drama, the mask,—at which

Villiers, weary, doubtless, at times, of the incessant pageant,

sometimes assisted. He soon imbibed a still greater taste for display

than even his crafty mother had implanted in him for ambitious purposes,

and became, like most persons suddenly raised from poverty and

obscurity, inordinately ostentatious and prodigal.

It is amusing, however, to find him, in the early days of his greatness,

learning horsemanship. James was passionately fond of seeing others

exhibit on horseback. One of his favourite places of resort was

Newmarket. The King generally joined in all country amusements, drawn in

a litter, a mortal inward disease even then making that gentle movement

necessary; whilst the young and noble thronged around him on their

steeds, set off in all the bravery of costly caparisons. Prince Henry

had, during his brief career, set the fashion of a fondness for

horse-racing, and James, who suffered so many of his accomplished son’s

higher objects to become extinct in his grave, maintained in all its

prosperity that diversion. Newmarket, henceforth, was a favourite place

of resort. Amongst the late Prince’s equerries was a Frenchman named St.

Antoine, whose feats are frequently the subject of comment in the

newsletters of the day.

It was in the depth of the winter when James, attended by twenty earls

and barons, repaired to Newmarket. There was little accommodation for

them in that place, and the gay company were obliged to bestow

themselves in the poor villages around. Every morning, whilst at this

resort, Villiers was mounted on horseback, and taught to ride;[96] and

his progress in the King’s favour seemed to be commensurate with his

prowess. This was in the December of the year 1615. On the fourth of

January, 1615-16, Villiers was appointed Master of the Horse, instead of

the Earl of Worcester, who resigned all his posts into the King’s hands,

and was made Lord Privy Seal.[97]

Footnote 96:

Probably by Mons. St. Antoine, the equerry to M. Henry. He was engaged

as a riding-master, as we find by Endymion Porter’s letters, (State

Paper Office, Domestic) to many persons of condition.

Footnote 97:

Nichols’s Progresses, 7, 1, iii., 131.

This mark of royal preference gave a fresh impetus to the decline of

Somerset’s fortunes. In a masque written by Ben Johnson, and performed

at court, a bold allusion was made to the sinking prosperity of the

Earl, and a hint thrown out of his suspected crime. The play was

entitled, “The Golden Age Restored,” and these lines excited

considerable attention and speculation—

“Jove can endure no longer

Your great ones should your less invade:

Or that your weak, _though bad_, be made,

A prey unto the stronger.”

The “weak” was conjectured to be Overbury, and the delicacy of the

allusion has been pronounced by a modern critic[98] “to be above all

praise.” The masque was followed by a banquet, at which the new Master

of the Horse doubtless assisted, attired in all the splendours which his

now adequate means enabled him to assume.

Footnote 98:

Gifford. Ben Jonson’s Works.

Those who viewed, merely as spectators, these various incidents, were

curious to know on what terms Somerset and his young rival stood

together. It was impossible, they knew, for James, always involved, as

he was, in the labyrinths of some crooked policy, not to temporise with

one whose influence over him was fast waning away, not to unite, if

possible, amity to Somerset with partiality to Villiers. Accordingly,

whilst honours were thus showered upon the new favourite, “like main

showers, then sprinkling drops on dews,”[99] it was still thought

necessary to conciliate Somerset, and to make it appear, at all events

to the public, that Villiers owed his elevation to the goodwill of that

offended and resentful nobleman.

Footnote 99:

Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, p. 210.

It was deemed, therefore, expedient to take the very first opportunity

that could be available for propitiating Somerset, and, accordingly,

after the completion of the ceremonial of knighting, Sir Humphrey May

was despatched to inform Somerset that “Sir George Villiers, newly

knighted, would desire his protection.” Half an hour afterwards, Sir

George visited the Lord Chamberlain, and paid him this compliment:—

“My lord, I desire to be your servant and creature, and to take my court

preferment under your favour, assuring your lordship that you shall find

me as faithful a servant as ever did serve you.”

He spoke, however, to the inflamed mind of a jealous foe. The Earl is

said to have turned fiercely upon him, and answered impetuously in these

words:—[100]

“I will have none of your service, and you shall have none of my favour.

I will, if I can, break your neck, and of that be confident.” This rash

conduct is declared to have hastened the fall of Somerset, by proving to

the friends of Villiers that one of the two rivals in the royal favour

must retire, and that Somerset would brook no equal in the court.

Footnote 100:

Birch’s MS., British Museum, 4176.

But there were other circumstances palpably concurring to close the

shameless career of Somerset, and abundantly accounting for his fall,

without attributing much importance to the adventitious appearance of

George Villiers at Court. The discovery of his guilt by Secretary

Winwood[101] was preceded by such a long course of public and private

profligacy, that it is no wonder that Somerset should see, in the

prosperity of a young man whose reputation was unstained by a single

crime, an earnest of his own downfall, and that he should employ the

greater precaution to avert the coming storm. His efforts were, however,

unavailing. His sending away the apothecary who administered the poison

to Overbury to France; his disgracing all who spoke of the death of that

unfortunate man, hoping by such arbitrary acts to smother the

remembrance of that crime; his tyrannical investigation, by his warrant

as a privy counsellor, of all trunks, chests, and libraries in which he

suspected that any letters relative to that dark business might be

concealed; all were proofs confirmatory of that dark and foul plot the

recollection of which permitted to the terror-stricken Somerset not one

moment of comfort. He now began to act as a friendless and desperate

man, who, feeling that the ground is slipping from beneath his feet,

tries to hoard up wealth as a resource. He undertook no intercession

with the King without large bribes; and every new occurrence brought him

what is termed by the authors of the tract entitled “The First Fourteen

Years of King James’s Reign,” a fleece of money.[102] Offices about the

Court were all for the highest bidder, and even the King’s letters were

bought and sold; no plunder was obtained without purchase, so that

Somerset was soon known to be as notorious a bribe-taker as his

mother-in-law, the Countess of Suffolk. The high-born and the

highly-principled saw with disgust, now ill-concealed, the minion

leaning on the King’s cushion even in public, and treating their haughty

and influential class with rash scorn, disdaining even that respect

which was imperatively due to the Primate, Abbot, whose popularity was

at that time in its zenith. Many suspected that beneath this arrogant

bearing, stimulating an impolitic cupidity of gain, there lurked secret

fears and a stricken heart, a horror of the past and a dread of the

future; and conjectured, as well they might, that Somerset was never

more to know repose of mind—nor, perhaps, long to enjoy personal

security.[103]

Footnote 101:

Of the mode of this discovery, differing accounts are given. According

to Carte, Winwood derived the information of Somerset’s guilt, from

Archbishop Abbot, who detected it in some papers found in a trunk,

which was brought to the Archbishop by a servant of Overbury’s. See

Carte’s Hist. Eng. vol. ii. p. 43. Sir Symonds D’Ewes declares that

the foul deed was disclosed by Sir Thomas Elwis, Lieutenant of the

Tower, to Secretary Winwood, acknowledging and excusing his own

connivance in the affair, and laying the instigation of it to the

account of Somerset and his wretched wife.—D’Ewes’s MS. Journal in

Bishop Goodman’s Life, vol. iv., p. 144.

Footnote 102:

Published in Somers’s Tracts, vol. ii.

Footnote 103:

Somerset was even accused of having poisoned Prince Henry; but

Coppinger, a former servant of his, who accused him of that crime, was

said to be “cracked in his wits.” State Papers, vol. cxxxvii., p. 27.

By all these circumstances Villiers wisely profited during his early

days of favour; and happy had it been for him had he never forgotten the

lesson thus afforded him in the awful tragedy of Somerset’s career; more

awful, perhaps, than if the secret sins of the wretched Earl had been

visited with a signal retribution from the hand of power. There is

something in this miscreant’s forlorn and protracted existence, after

all that in life is valuable—honour, peace of mind, influence—were gone,

that is more desolate and appalling to the fancy than if the Tower had

for ever enclosed him, or the executioner claimed his life as a penalty

for his sins. The unpunished murderer walking abroad, shunned by all, is

a sort of moral leper; desolate in his freedom, and chastised even by

the silence and avoidance of his fellow men.

That Villiers took any active part in the measures which ensued, his

bitterest foes have not ventured to allege. Young, devoted to pleasure,

indifferent, at this time, to gain, ambitious, but not grasping, he

enjoyed at this period that general esteem, the absence of which he

bitterly felt in after life. Those who hated Somerset turned to

Villiers, and found him full of courtesy and of generous impulses. Those

who were on the point of offering bribes to Somerset discovering that

Villiers had the ear of the King, applied to him, and obtained

gratuitously what they sought. The country, as well as the Court, was

ringing with complaints of the Lord Chamberlain’s extortions, when the

accidental illness and remorse of an apothecary’s boy decided his fate.

That individual, employed by his master to administer the dose to

Overbury, fell ill at Flushing, and the whole mystery, with all its

concomitants, was revealed. “A small breach thus being made, Somerset’s

enemies, like the rush of many waters, rise up against him, following

the stream.” Thus does Arthur Wilson well express the ruin of one who,

for two years, had succeeded in defying curiosity and keeping the secret

of his crime unrevealed.

With the inconsistent conduct of the King during the proceedings against

his rival, Villiers appears to have had no concern, except such as his

situation of private secretary to King James, an office which appears to

have devolved upon him upon the disgrace of Somerset, necessarily

entailed. The alienation of James’s regard from Somerset, and the rising

influence of Villiers, are nevertheless, according to a high authority,

“very necessary to be borne in mind” through the legal proceedings

against the fallen favourite.[104] That Villiers desired the entire

exclusion of Somerset from royal favour is more than probable; that he

took any undue or direct means to ensure it is doubtful, unless we take

as evidence of an under-current of intrigue, the secret negociations

which went on between him and Sir Francis Bacon, to whom the conduct of

the prosecution was consigned before the 15th of February, 1615. Whilst

Footnote 104:

Amos’s Great Oyer of Poisoning, vol i., pp. 31 and 33.

Somerset was awaiting his trial, Bacon addressed to Villiers the

following letter. It is commonly remarked that a postscript is the most

important portion of a letter; but, in this case, the endorsement gives

the greatest insight into the motives of the writer. On the back of the

epistle are these words: “A letter to Sir G. Villiers, touching a

message brought to me by Mr. Shute, of a promise of the chancellor’s

place.” To this the following letter is the reply:—

“In the message I received from you by Mr. Shute, hath bred in me such

belief and confidence, as I will now wholly rely on your excellent and

happy self. When persons of greatness and quality begin speech with me

of the matter, and offer me their good offices, I can but answer them

civilly. But these things are but toys. I am yours, surer to you than my

own life. For, as they speak of a torquoise-stone in a ring, I will

break into twenty pieces before you fall. God keep you for ever.

“Your truest servant,

“FRANCIS BACON.”

“P. S.—My Lord Chancellor is prettily amended. I was with him yesterday

for half an hour; we both wept, which I do not do very often.”[105]

Footnote 105:

Bacon’s Works, vol. ii., p. 183.

That the fortunes of Villiers were ensured by the awful disclosures of

guilt which ensued, there can be no doubt. It is worthy of remark, how

vitiated must have been the state of that society, the highest in rank,

the foremost in fashion, in which crimes so fearful, compassed and aided

by associates of the lowest and most infamous description, could be

ascribed to individuals, and yet those individuals continue to hold

their position in society. It is true that, during that interval which

must have been to the guilty Earl and Countess of Somerset a season of

incessant fear and anguish, reports had been “buzzing about Somerset’s

ears, like a rising storm upon a well-spread oak;” but he had considered

himself to be too firmly planted in the King’s regard ever to be

up-rooted. And perhaps, had Villiers not come forward opportunely to

redeem the national credit, and to save a remnant of the King’s

character from utter reprobation and contempt, England might have been

still enslaved, until the close of James’s reign, by the extortionate

Earl and his haughty and murderous Countess.

Meantime, Villiers continued to profit by the delinquencies of his

rival. He profited in the way most gratifying to an honourable mind. No

intrigues to supplant, no efforts to hasten the ruin of the Earl, are

recorded to his discredit. He set, at this period of his career, a

bright, though unhappily a transient, example of what a royal favorite

might prove. He repudiated, not only the avarice, but the over-bearing

of Somerset.

He was courteous and affable to all, and seemed to “court men as they

courted him.” Free from all assumption, he still delighted to associate

with the gentlemen in waiting, and to join in their amusements, which

consisted, after supper, in leaping and exercises, in which none was so

active as the young favorite.[106] He thus preserved in health and

agility that noble form which excited the admiration of his country.

Such was his popularity, even with the old and haughty nobility, that

they were proud if they might aid in decking the “handsomest bodied man

of England.”[107] His taste for gorgeous apparel now displaying itself,

he was complimented by the nobles of James’s Court in the following

manner:—one of them would send to “his tailor and his mercer to put good

clothes upon the newly-made knight; another to his sempstress for

curious linen; others took upon them to be his bravos, and all hands

helped to piece up the new minion.”[108] So winning was the deportment

of Villiers, that even his enemies were propitiated to acknowledge “that

he was as inwardly beautiful, as he was outwardly, and that the world

had not a more ingenious gentleman.”[109] He incurred, however, some

risk in his ardour for amusement; and on one occasion over-strained

himself in running, which greatly distressed the King.[110] So rapid was

the rise of Villiers, that Lord Clarendon describes it by the term

“germination.” “Surely had he been a plant,” says that great historian,

“he would have been reckoned among the stoute nascentes, for he sprang

without any help, by a sort of ingenious composure (as we may term it)

to the likeness of our late sovereign and master, of blessed memory,

who, taking him into his regard, taught him more and more to please

himself, and moulded him, as it were, platonically, to his own idea,

delighting first in the choice of his materials, because he found him

susceptible of good form, and afterwards by degrees, as great architects

used to do, in the workmanship of his regal hand.”[111] This flattering

tribute to King James might have been spared, for the monarch, whose

blind and almost wicked partiality emboldened, and perhaps corrupted,

Somerset, can hardly be conceived to have formed the character of

Villiers.

Footnote 106:

I have passed over the dreadful story of Overbury’s murder, and its

concomitant circumstances, because Villiers had no participation in

public affairs until shortly before the arraignment of the two

culprits. A letter written by Lord Bacon immediately previous to that

event is evidently in reply to one addressed to his Lordship by

Villiers, by order of the King. This fixes the date of his acting as

private secretary to James. See Lord Bacon’s Works, vol. ii., p. 173.

Footnote 107:

Carte.

Footnote 108:

Bishop Goodman’s Life, vol i., p. 225.

Footnote 109:

Carte, vol. ii., p. 43, from Weldon’s Court and Character of King

James I.

Footnote 110:

Bishop Goodman’s Life, vol. i., p. 226.

Footnote 111:

Parallel between the Duke of Buckingham and the Earl of Essex.

Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, p. 163.

The testimony of Lord Clarendon that Villiers, like his supposed

prototype, the Earl of Essex, was a “fair-spoken gentleman,” not prone

and eager to detract openly from any man, “is a greater eulogy,” and to

this, the noble historian adds another, which, he affirms, “the

malignant eye could not refuse to Villiers;” “that certainly never man

in his place or power did entertain _greatness more familiarly_,” an

expression singularly felicitous, as conveying a sense of that innate

greatness which exalts its possessor above conventional distinctions.

His looks were “untainted by his felicity.”[112] No conscious

importance, no haughty contempt, none of the littleness of pride,

disgusted his equals or depressed his inferiors. “This, in my judgment,”

remarks Clarendon, “was one of his greatest virtues and victories of

himself.”

Footnote 112:

Ibid.

The elevation of Villiers appears, however, not to have been so

spontaneous as Lord Clarendon supposes. “Once commenced, it ran,” says

Sir Henry Wotton, “as smoothly as numerous verses, till it met with

certain rubs in Parliament.”

Thus, to borrow still from the same author, “the course of royal favour

being uninterrupted, the Duke’s thoughts were free.”[113]

Footnote 113:

Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, p. 166.

Meanwhile, the most fearful disclosures were shocking the public ear,

and rendering more secure than ever the prosperity of Villiers.

In the month of March, 1616, Lady Somerset was committed to the Tower.

So promptly were the measures now resolved upon executed, that she had

“scant leisure,” as a contemporary relates, “to shed a few tears over

her little daughter at the parting.”[114] This was the single touch of

natural affection which is latent in every heart, and was not wholly

extinguished even in the heart of the unhappy woman. Having given way to

that burst of emotion, she bore herself, as the same report states,

“constantly enough,” until she was carried into the enclosure of the

Tower. Then, affrighted and conscience-stricken, she did, according to

the same account, “passionately deprecate, and entreat the Lieutenant,

that she might not be lodged in Sir Thomas Overbury’s lodging, so that

he was fain to remove himself out of his own chamber for two or three

nights, till Sir Walter Raleigh’s lodging might be furnished and made

fit for her.”

Footnote 114:

Letter from Mr. Chamberlain to Sir O. Carleton; March 6, 1616. State

Papers. Also given in the “Grand Oyer of Poisoning,” by Andrew Amos,

Esq.

To this gloomy apartment, the wretched countess was consigned; her trial

was fixed for the fifteenth of May. But when that day drew near, when

the stage in the middle of Westminster Hall was completed, the

scaffolding around it finished, and when seats had been purchased at the

rate of four or five pieces each—that being an ordinary price—and when

even a lawyer and his wife, as Mr. Chamberlain, the writer of the letter

from whom these details are collected, states, agreed to give two pounds

for himself and his wife for ten days, and fifty pounds was given for a

corner that “would scarcely contain a dozen,” the eager public was

disappointed. The trial was put off till the twenty-second of the same

month.[115]

Footnote 115:

See State Paper Office. Domestic, 1616. This letter is printed in

Nichols’s Progresses.

Lady Somerset’s sudden illness was assigned as the cause of this delay.

Upon warning being given her that her trial was to come on on Wednesday,

“she fell to casting and scouring, and so continued the next day very

sick,” her illness being ascribed partly to trepidation, partly to the

suspicion of her having taken poison. But she recovered to make, as the

same eye-witness remarks, shorter work of it, by confessing the

indictment; and “to win pity by her sober demeanour,” “more curious and

confident than was fit for a lady in such distress; and yet she shed, or

made shew of, some tears divers times.” Contrary to the usual practice

in criminal trials, no invectives were urged against her, it being the

King’s pleasure that no “odious nor uncivil speeches” should be given.

The general opinion was, that in spite of her manifest guilt, this

miserable culprit would not suffer the penalty of the law. It must have

been a singular sight to have beheld the Earl of Essex, her former

husband, a spectator among the titled crowd at the arraignment; the

first day, privately—the second “full in Somerset’s face.”

Lady Somerset was sentenced “to be hanged by the neck till she was stark

dead.” When the fatal cap was assumed, and the decree uttered, she bore

herself with more calmness than her husband; who, upon sentence of death

being passed upon him, was so appalled that, when asked what he should

say to avert that decree, he would “stand still upon his own innocence,”

and could hardly be brought to refer himself to the King’s mercy. He was

afterwards induced to rest upon that point; to write to the King,

entreating that the judgment of “hanging should be changed to that of

heading;” “and that his daughter might have such lands as the King did

not resume.”[116]

Footnote 116:

Ibid; printed in Nichols’s Progresses, vol. iii., p. 169.

Villiers, no doubt, witnessed this memorable trial, and beheld the utter

degradation of his rival. The contrast which his own brilliant fortunes

presented to the disgrace and ruin of others, is shewn by the rapid

succession of honours which were conferred upon him.

The spectacle, which must have harrowed a mind not corrupted by the

ambition of a court, was diversified by a grand ceremonial, and a new

honour. This was the election of Villiers into the order of the Garter,

which took place on the 24th of April, on St. George’s day, whilst

Somerset and his wife lay trembling in the Tower.

Francis, Earl of Rutland, was admitted to a similar honour on the same

day. The world cavilled at this nobleman’s good fortune; for his wife

was an open and known recusant, and the Earl himself was thought to have

many disaffected persons about him. It was soon, however, discovered

that there was a design to improve the fortunes of Villiers by marrying

him to the young heiress of the house of Rutland. Meantime, to enable

his favourite to maintain the honours thus lavished upon him, and more

especially to support the dignities required by the express articles of

the Order in which he was installed, James bestowed upon Villiers “lands

and means;” and it was reported that estates, then belonging to the Earl

of Somerset, were to be added to those gifts, should that delinquent

“sink under his present trial.”[117]

Footnote 117:

Biographia Britannica, Art. Villiers.

Hitherto, Sir George Villiers appears to have figured alone amid the gay

and envying crowds of Whitehall, or among the equestrians at Newmarket.

But one of the greater proofs of his extending influence was the favour

shewn at this time to his mother.

The condition of Lady Villiers was wholly changed since her son had left

her a widow in the seclusion of Goadby. Having allied herself, by a

second marriage, to a rich and potent family—the Comptons—she had shared

in their prosperity. Compton had married Elizabeth, the daughter of Sir

John Spencer, Mayor of London, who had died some years previously,[118]

first leaving a fortune of three hundred thousand pounds, according to

some authors; to others, of eight hundred thousand pounds. The bequest

of this money to his wife completely upset Lord Compton’s reason; and it

seems to have benefited his family more than himself. For though he

appears to have recovered his intellect, he did not live long to enjoy

his great wealth, which went to enrich his brother.

Footnote 118:

The celebrated letter written by Lady Compton on this occasion, is

inserted in the Life of Bishop Goodman, vol. ii., p. 127, and affords

a fair specimen of the expectations of ladies of rank and fortune in

those days.

Lady Villiers, or as she was henceforth called, Lady Villiers Compton,

was now admitted into the circles of the exclusive and lordly inmates of

one of the King’s favourite resorts, Hatfield, and in June, 1616, she

met His Majesty there.

Some awkwardness attended this visit to the Earl and Countess of

Salisbury. The Countess of Suffolk, the mother of Lady Somerset, was

there; and fears might be entertained in what manner King James would

meet the mother of so great a culprit; but the imperturbable

insensibility of the monarch, or perhaps his lingering regard for

Somerset, obviated all difficulties. He kissed the Countess of Suffolk

twice; and performed the office of sponsor conjointly with her husband,

with whom, relates an eye witness, “the King is grown as great and as

far in grace as ever he was, which sudden invitations, without any

intermedience, made the Spanish Ambassador cry out, ‘Volo a dios que la

Corte d’Inglatiérra es com uno libró di Cavalleros andantes.’“ Upon this

stately occasion, the Countess of Suffolk “kept a table alone, save that

the Lady Villiers Compton only was admitted, and all the entertainment

was chiefly intended and directed to her and her children and

followers.” Nor was it only empty civility that marked the royal favour:

shortly afterwards the elder brother of George Villiers, John, was

knighted at Oatlands, in Surrey, that ceremonial being a prelude to the

titles of Baron Villiers of Stoke and Viscount Purbeck, which were

conferred upon him three years afterwards. On the sixth of July, the

instalment of the new Knights of the Garter, the Earl of Rutland and Sir

George Villiers, and of Robert Sydney, Viscount Lisle, took place; the

ceremonial was performed on a Sunday, and on the same afternoon, a

chapter was held to consider the point whether the Earl of Somerset’s

arms were to be taken away or left as they were. So closely did the

elevation of Villiers follow on the downfall of his rival.[119]

Footnote 119:

Nichols, iii., p. 175. His arms were, after a long dispute, removed

higher, in the same manner as when new arms and banners were

introduced. According to Camden, “the King ordered that felony should

not be reckoned amongst the disgraces of those who were to be excluded

from the Order of St. George,” “_which, was without precedent_.”

Nichols, iii., p. 177.

Somerset, however, still displayed, even in his prison in the Tower, his

Garter and his George; whilst the public were scandalized by repeated

messages carried by Lord Hay, between the King and the condemned Earl;

and the result of these was soon perceived. Somerset had the liberty of

the Tower granted to him; he was seen walking about, and talking to the

Earl of Northumberland, who was still in prison on account of the

Gunpowder Plot; and at other times saluting his lady at the window. “It

is much spoken of,” writes Mr. Chamberlain to Sir Dudley Carleton, “how

Princes of that Order, to let our own pass, can digest to be coupled

with a man civilly dead, and corrupt in blood, and so no gentleman,

should continue a Knight of the Garter.” Lady Somerset’s pardon had been

signed the foregoing week, and, as matters now stood, Villiers might

still tremble lest his advancement should be delayed, and the noble

miscreants be restored to favour.

His success, nevertheless, continued, for Anne of Denmark was in the

interests of the young favourite. During the month of August the Queen

addressed a letter to Villiers, who was then attending on the King,

couched in these familiar terms:—

“MY KIND DOG,

“Your letter hath been acceptable to me. I rest allreadie assured of

your carefulnesse. You may tell your maister that the King of Dennemark

hath sent me twelf faire mares, and, as the drivers of them assures, all

great with foles, which I intend to put into Byefield[120] Parke, where

being the other day a-hunting, I could finde but vere few deare, but

great store of other cattle, as I shall tell your maister myself when I

see him. I hope to meet you all at Woodstock at the time appointed, till

when I wish you all happiness and contentment,

“ANNA R.

Footnote 120:

Byfleet, in Surrey.

“I thank you for your paines taken In remembering the King for the

pailing of me parke. I will doe you any service I can.”

This characteristic letter was the prelude to the elevation of Villiers

to the peerage. At first, it was determined that he should be created

Viscount Beaumont, in compliment to his mother’s family; and the coronet

and robes were sent down to Woodstock; but that decision was changed for

an obvious reason, and the title of Baron Whaddon was conferred upon

Villiers, Whaddon being the estate of the unfortunate Lord Grey, who had

expired in the Tower in 1614, being implicated in the supposed attempt

to place Arabella Stuart on the throne.

On the twenty-seventh of August, 1616, the ceremony of this double

creation took place.

On this occasion, the preface to the patent was composed by Lord Bacon,

who, on sending it to the King, observed that he had not used in it

“glaring terms,” but drawn it according to His Majesty’s instructions.

It was determined that the two creations, those of Baron Whaddon and

Viscount Villiers, should take place at the same time, the former being

intended to secure the estates of Whaddon, the latter, to preserve the

name of Villiers in the appellation of the favourite. This appears to

have been the especial will of James. “For the name,” writes Bacon to

Villiers, on sending him his patent for the title of Viscount, “His

Majesty’s will is law in these things; and to speak truth, it is a

well-sounding name both here and abroad, and being even a proper name, I

will take it for a good sign that you shall give honour to your dignity,

and not your dignity to you. Therefore, I have made it ‘Viscount

Villiers;’ and as for your Barony, I will keep it for an Earldom, for

though the latter had been more orderly, yet that is as usual, and both

alike good in law.”

The patent, however, was again altered. It is possible that Bacon may

have imagined that the associations connected with Whaddon, and relating

to a nobleman generally compassionated,[121] might have rendered

Villiers unpopular: at all events he changed it to Blechly; and Villiers

received the patent of Lord Blechly, of Blechly.[122]

Footnote 121:

According to Carte, Villiers was obliged to pay 11,000_l._ to Sir

Rowland Egerton, who had married Lord Grey’s sister, and also to

procure Sir Rowland the patent of Baronetcy. But this is discredited

by Sir Egerton Brydges. See Men of Fame, vol. i., p. 79.

Footnote 122:

Bacon’s letters, vol. ii., p. 35.

“I have sent you,” Bacon thus wrote, “now, your patent of creation of

Lord Blechly of Blechly, and of Viscount Villiers. Blechly is your own,

and I like the sound of the name better than Whaddon; but the name will

be laid aside, for you wish to be called Viscount Villiers. I have put

them both in a patent, after the manner of the patent of arms where

baronies are joined; but the chief reason was, because I would avoid

double prefaces, which had not been fit; nevertheless, the ceremony of

robing, and otherwise, must be double.”[123]

Footnote 123:

Bacon’s Letters.

Sir George Villiers was introduced to the royal presence, on this

occasion, by his relative, Lord Compton, and by Lord Norris, the Lord

Carew carrying the robe of state before him, when his new honour of

Baron Blechly of Blechly was conferred. He was afterwards created

Viscount Villiers, when he appeared in a surcoat of scarlet velvet, and

was brought in by the Earl of Suffolk and Viscount Lisle, Lord Norris

carrying the robe of state of the same coloured velvet, and Lord Compton

the crown. The King was seated on his throne, and the Queen, and

Charles, Prince of Wales, were present, and all the company “seemed

jolly, and well afraid.”

The advice which Bacon proffered to Villiers, upon his elevation to the

peerage, is couched in noble terms, and wants nothing but the

indefinable charm of supposed sincerity to perfect it:—

“And after that the King shall have watered your new dignities with his

bounty of the lands which he intends you, and that some other things

concerning your means, which are now likewise in intention, shall be

settled upon you, I do not see but you may think your private fortunes

established; and, therefore, it is now time that you should refer your

actions chiefly to the good of your sovereign and your country. It is

the life of an ox or a beast, always to eat and never to exercise; but

men are born, especially Christian men, not to cram in their fortunes,

but to exercise their virtues; and yet the others have been the

unworthy, and sometimes the humour of great persons in our time; neither

will your further fortune be the farther off; for assure yourself that

fortune is of a woman’s nature, that will sooner follow you by slighting

than by too much moving.”[124]

Footnote 124:

Bacon’s Letters, vol. ii., p. 85.

He recommends the young peer, in this “dedication of himself to the

public, to countenance, encourage, and advance able and virtuous men, in

all degrees, kinds, and professions.” And in places of moment, “rather,”

he says, “make able and honest men yours, than advance those that are

otherwise because they are yours.”

“The time is,” he adds, in conclusion, “that you think goodness the best

part of greatness: and that you remember whence your rising comes, and

make return accordingly, God ever keep you.”

Some time afterwards, another characteristic epistle from the Queen

denoted the secret terms upon which Anne of Denmark stood with the young

favourite:—

“MY KIND DOG,

“I have received your letter, which is verie welcom to me; you doe verie

well in lugging the sowes (the King’s) ears, and I thank you for it, and

whould have you do so still, upon condition that you continue a watchful

dog to him, and be alwayes true to him. So wishing you all happines.

“ANNA R.”[125]

Footnote 125:

Nichols, vol. iii., p. 187.

It is not a matter of surprise that, thus caressed by both the King and

Queen, marks of favour should have followed in continual succession.

According to Lord Clarendon, the rapid rise of Villiers might be imputed

to a certain innate “wisdom and virtue that was in him, with which he

surprised, and even fascinated, all the faculties of his incomparable

master.”

And this was no matter of surprise, if we may believe in the truth of

the following remarks:—“That Villiers was no sooner admitted to stand

there in his own right, but the eyes of all such as look’d out of

judgement, or gazed out of curiosity, were quickly directed towards him;

as a man, in the delicacy and beauty of his colour, decency and grace of

his motion, the most rarely accomplished they had ever beheld.”

The emotions experienced by Villiers, as he gradually ascended higher

and higher towards the eminence of worldly grandeur, are well described

by Lord Clarendon, in the following words:—

“His swiftness and nimbleness in rising, may be with less injury

ascribed to a vivacity than any ambition in his nature; since, it is

certain the King’s eagerness to advance him, so surprised his youth,

that he seemed only to be held up by the violent inclinations of the

King, than to climb up by any art or industry of his own.”[126] It is

not to be marvelled at, that the character of Villiers should suffer in

this ordeal, fiercer than that of the most depressing vicissitude and

adversity; and soon, therefore, indications are to be found, in the

annals of the day, of a dawning selfishness and imperiousness, foreign

to the simple and courteous nature of Villiers.[127] Still there were

noble traits of a lingering greatness of spirit, which justify the

partiality which every one who analyses his character must necessarily

entertain for it; sometimes at variance with his better judgment. Whilst

by watchful bystanders it was remarked that Villiers, the new made

Viscount, “will hardly suffer any one to leap over his head,” nor would

he allow the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere to be made an Earl; by others, a

sacrifice of interest, proceeding from a generous scruple, is recorded.

Footnote 126:

Disparity, p. 194.

Footnote 127:

Nichols, vol. iii., p. 191.

It will be remembered by historical readers, that Sherborne Castle, the

forfeited estate of Sir Walter Ralegh, had been bestowed by James upon

the Earl of Somerset. When supplicated by Lady Ralegh to restore that

property to her children, the monarch’s answer was, “I mean to have it

for Carr;” a reply, which, as Mr. Amos justly observes, “cannot be read

in the present day without indignation;” “what impressions,” he adds,

“must it have produced on the contemporaries of Ralegh and Carr?”[128]

At the trial of Somerset, this luckless possession, upon which a curse

has been supposed to rest, was highly prejudicial to him; and many there

were, who regarded his calamities as a judgment for this detested

acquisition.

Footnote 128:

Great Oyer of Poisoning, p. 29, by Andrew Amos, Esq.

When the Earl of Somerset’s lands were given away, after his forfeiture,

the estate of Sherborne was offered to Villiers; he might, perhaps, have

accepted it without odium, for upon Prince Charles had been bestowed all

Somerset’s estates in the north. But he refused the offer of Sherborne,

according to a passage in Birch’s MSS., “in a most noble fashion;

praying the King that the building of his fortunes might not be founded

on the ruin of another.”[129] Sherborne, the value of which was at this

time about eight hundred pounds yearly, but was expected to be shortly

double that sum, was given to Sir John Digby, upon the payment of ten

thousand pounds, and has remained ever since in the same family. The

respect of Villiers towards the memory of an unfortunate man was much

appreciated; already had public opinion visited with its bitterest

curse, the traitor, Sir Lewis Stukeley, who was afterwards a prisoner in

that very “chamber in the Tower, in which Ralegh, whom he had betrayed,

had spent twelve years of misery.”[130]

Footnote 129:

Birch’s MSS. 4176. This anecdote, so creditable to Buckingham, is

confirmed by a grant in the State Paper Office. S. P. O. vol. cv., No.

20, see Calendar, 1616-17, March 12, the grant to the Earl of

Buckingham, fee-simple of the manors of Beaumont, Oldhall and Newhall

de Beaumont, Mose, Okeley Magna, Okeley Parva, Sligghawe, Okeley Park,

Mose Park, Essex, together with all timbers and advowsons belonging to

them, which the Lord Darcie of Chiche holdeth for terme of his life.

Manor of Fleete, marshes of Trewdales, Fleetehouse Hall Hills, in

Lincolne, in lieu of the manor of Teynton Magna, Gloucester, _part of

value for Sherborne_, escheated to the Crown by Somerset’s attainder.

Inedited MSS. Domestic, 1616-17.

Footnote 130:

Hutchins’s History of Dorsetshire, vol. iv., p. 83.

Sir Henry Wotton compares the repetition of benefits conferred upon

Villiers, to a kind of embroidering, or listing of one favour upon

another. But all these preferments were, he adds, but the “faceings or

fringeings of his greatness,” compared with that trust which the King

shortly reposed in his favourite, when he made him “the chief

concomitant of his heir apparent.”[131]

Footnote 131:

Reliquiæ Wottonianæ.

This important mark of respect and confidence had never been extended to

the ill-fated predecessor in James’s favour, the Earl of Somerset. If

Villiers were at that period of his life unworthy of the trust, James,

endowed as he was with all the experience which his own vicious Court

could bestow, was criminal beyond measure to place his only son, on whom

the hopes of the nation rested, in contaminated society. James must, in

that case, have been either grossly deceived, or immeasurably culpable.

The friendship, thus commenced between the prince and the favourite, in

youth, was fraught with consequences so important to this country, that

few points of historical biography can offer greater domestic interest

than the early intimacy between Charles and Villiers.

Charles, Prince of Wales, was eight years younger than the man whom he

afterwards admitted to an intimacy such as has been rarely permitted

between a monarch and a subject, and which ceased only when Villiers

expired. The superstitious, when they remembered, in aftertimes, the

perils of the young prince’s infancy, saw in them a type of his fate.

“He was born,” says the historian Kennet, “and baptized, in somewhat of

surprise and confusion, as it were beginning the world in a sort of

presage how he was to end it.”[132] So feeble was he, that even

afterwards, although in process of time there were many great ladies

suitors for the keeping of the infant Prince, yet when they saw how

sickly and fragile he was, their hearts failed, and none of them

consented to undertake so important a charge.[133] Little, indeed, could

it have been anticipated that the delicate boy was fated, not only to

outlive his energetic and robust brother, Henry, but even to become, in

times of danger, one of the hardiest and healthiest of those who fought

on Edgehill, and at Naseby. The constitution of Charles was invigorated

in his vicissitudes, and perfected by the toils of a soldier’s life.

Footnote 132:

Kennet’s Hist. England, p. 1.

Footnote 133:

Sir Robert Carey’s Memoirs, p. 201.

That he should reign over this country was foretold by second sight.

When James the First was preparing to remove from Scotland, there came

to the Court an aged Highland chief, to take a solemn leave of his

sovereign. The Queen and her children were present. The old man, after

addressing a great deal of affectionate and sage advice to the King,

turned to the children, and passing by Henry, he kissed with great

ardour and deep respect the hands of his younger brother, the Duke

Charles, as then he was called.

The King strove to correct what he fancied was a mistake on the part of

the chief, and to direct his attention to the heir apparent, the fit

object of such homage. But the Highlander heeded not those hints; he

continued to gaze upon and to address the infant Charles; saying that he

knew to whom he addressed himself. “This child,” he exclaimed, “will be

greater than his elder brother, and will convey his father’s name and

title to succeeding generations.” “This,” said Dr. Pernichief, Charles’s

tutor, “was conceived to be dotage; but the event gave it the credit of

a prophecy, and confirmed that some long experienced souls in the world,

before their dislodging, arrive to the height of prophetical

spirits.”[134] A long period of fragility seemed to throw doubt upon the

gratuitous prophecy of the aged chief. Fortunately, Sir Robert Carey, to

whom the charge of the drooping child was entrusted, was an estimable

person, incapable of anything deceitful, or unjust—a “plain, honest

gentleman.”[135] Those who wished ill to him and to his wife rejoiced at

this selection, for they were certain that the prince would never be

reared.

Footnote 134:

Kennet’s Hist. England.

Footnote 135:

Goodman’s Life, vol. i., p. 7.

The weakly Charles was four years of age when consigned to the care of

Sir Robert Carey. He could not, at this age even, stand alone; his

ancles appeared to be out of joint. The King, with his characteristic

conceit and want of gentle feeling, was disposed to use the most violent

remedies and measures to cure the defects at which his pride was

offended. The nostrums which he recommended were worthy of Martinus

Scriblerus. But he found a champion of the helpless child in Lady Carey.

“Many a battle my wife had with the King, but she still prevailed,”

writes Sir Robert Carey.[136] The King, nevertheless, wished that the

string under the young prince’s tongue might be cut; for the child, it

was thought, would never speak. Then he proposed wire boots for his

sinews and feet, but Lady Carey stood firm, and the Monarch was obliged

to yield to a woman’s arguments.

Footnote 136:

Carey’s Memoirs, p. 200.

The boy grew daily stronger, and repaying Lady Carey’s good care, gained

health under her mild auspices, “both in body and mind.”[137] Still the

impediment in his voice continued; his countenance exhibited that

mournful expression which was doubtless the natural consequence of a

weakly childhood, and of the consciousness of bodily defects, which is

the most likely of any circumstances to depress the buoyancy of the

young.

Footnote 137:

Carey’s Memoirs.

To the inevitable solitude of ill-health, Charles probably owed his

prudence, his early piety, and his taste for elegant pursuits. Villiers,

in after life, found his love of pictures and medals one road to

Charles’s affections, by producing a sympathy between himself and the

young prince. Charles was also, for his age, an accomplished theologian,

and notwithstanding the impediment in his utterance, he could discourse

to the admiration of all who heard him, on topics of general interest.

With the traveller, the mechanic, and the scholar, he was equally

fluent, meeting them on their own subjects, and imparting knowledge to

the learned. He improved, too, in those diversions, and exercises which

were then considered indispensable to the character of a gentleman. “He

rid,” says his tutor, Dr. Pernichief, “the great horse very well; and on

the little saddle he was not only adroit, but a laborious hunter or

fieldman.”[138]

Footnote 138:

Inedited MS. in the State Paper Office. Domestic, Nov. 1616.

The temper of Charles is said to have been tinctured with obstinacy; and

his old Scottish nurse reported him to have been of a very evil nature,

even in his infancy; whilst another attendant taxes him with being,

“beyond measure, wilful and unthankful.”[139] How far, in these uncured

qualities, “springing like rank weeds in the heart,” we may trace some

of the fatal errors in Charles’s career—his pertinacious adherence,

especially when King, to Villiers, whether his favourite was right or

wrong, is a matter of curious speculation.

Footnote 139:

Miss Aikins’ Life of Charles I., vol. i., p. 55, 56., from Sir Philip

Warwick’s; also Lilly’s Observations, p. 60.

But Dr. Pernichief, who knew Charles well, only allows that his

“childhood was blemished with supposed obstinacy, for the weakness of

his body inclining him to retirement, and the imperfections of his

speech rendering discourse tedious and unpleasant, he was suspected to

be somewhat perverse,” a construction often put upon the deportment of a

bashful, sad child. Such were his defects; and, as far as his royal

father was concerned, they were more offensive to the pride of the king,

than painful to the tenderness of a parent. All, however, acknowledged

that the youth of the accomplished Charles had hitherto been

irreproachable, and that, if he manifested not the powerful intellect

and extended views of his late brother, he resembled him in his love of

virtue, his sense of honour, and in the difficult task of being dutiful

and respectful to parents who were frequently at variance.

He now came, at the age of sixteen, before his future subjects, with

this singular disadvantage, that the death of his elder brother was

still a subject of lamentation. The clergy, especially, could not forget

one whose staunch Protestantism gave them the assurance of a steady

friend.

“Henry, Prince of Wales, was still,” says a contemporary writer, “so

much in men’s minds, that Andrews, Bishop of Ely, preaching at court,

prayed solemnly for him, without recalling himself.”[140] The Queen,

too, refused to be comforted, and upon the first public occasion on

which Charles appeared, declined being present, lest the ceremonial

should revive her grief.

Footnote 140:

Inedited MS. in the State Paper Office. Domestic, Nov. 1616.

Many could remember that at his installation into the Order of the Bath,

at four years of age, Charles, unable to walk, was carried in the arms

of the Lord High Admiral to the rites which, referring to chivalric

observances and martial deeds, seemed a sort of mockery to the infant

Prince. Those who recalled that hour, now beheld in the royal youth, who

at his creation as Prince of Wales appeared before them, a graceful and

manly figure set off to advantage by dress, and other circumstances.

In an old print, engraved by Renold Estraake, he is represented, as

Prince of Wales, in a slouched hat with a long falling feather; his

juvenile, and very slender form clad in a tight vest; a sash over the

right shoulder is tied with a large bow under the left arm, and the ends

are fringed with jewels. Around his waist is a scarf, also edged with a

fringe of pearls and jewels. A stuffed skirt, richly embroidered and

adorned, descends almost to the knee. His boots are apparently of some

soft material, being creased; the tops richly decorated with jewels.

Thus attired, and mounted on a superb horse, the head of which was

adorned with a Phœnix in flames, emblematically complimentary,

Charles presented himself to the people. Such was his costume before he

visited Spain, and imbibed a love of the graceful cloak, the Spanish

hat, and Vandyke collar.

His manners, serious though courteous, were highly acceptable to the

majority of those who gazed upon him, when, on the eve of All Saints’

day, October 31st, 1616, Charles was created Prince of Wales. His very

stammering began to be approved as a mark of wisdom; and “obloquy, it

was said, never played the fool so much as in imputing folly to the heir

apparent.”

Buckingham, although twenty-four years of age, seems by the earliest

portrait that there is of him—the engraving by Simon Pass, in 1617—to

have had a most youthful appearance. In that picture, taken when he was

made an Earl, and therefore during the ensuing year, he is depicted in a

tight doublet, with a small white collar edged with Vandyke lace, and

closed with one row of rich pearls down the centre. A cloak hangs over

one shoulder, but the other displays a short sleeve, or epaulet, opening

above the elbow, and having underneath a richly-worked sleeve, confined

at the wrist by a deep cuff, fringed, and turned back; his doublet is

richly guarded with lace. At this period, a very slight moustache is

seen upon his upper lip, and the pointed beard, which is afterwards to

be found in all his portraits, is not observable.

The ceremonials performed on this occasion were such as the people of

this country have ever dearly loved; and, without considering that they

emptied the royal coffers, and compelled James to resort to expedients

for raising money which rendered him a continual debtor to the bounty

and loyalty of his subjects, eventually taxing too far their liberality,

they loudly extolled them on this occasion. It must, however, have been

a cheering sight when the young Prince came in state from Barn Elms to

Whitehall, accompanied by a retinue of lords and gentlemen of honourable

rank. At Chelsea he was met by the Lord Mayor and citizens, in separate

barges; and the sounds of martial music, or, as the chronicler of the

day terms it, “the royal sound of drum and trumpet,” the sight of a

crowd of people on the shore and in boats, the rich banners and

streamers, with many trophies and ingenious devices which met him on the

water, must have presented as festive a scene as ever was enacted on the

bosom of the river Thames.

The speeches addressed were, of course, in verse. They were proffered by

a female figure, representing London, seated upon a sea unicorn, with

six Tritons supporting her, accompanied by Neptune and the two rivers,

Thames and Dee. This personage addressed the young prince in the

following terms:—

Treasures of hope and jewel of mankind,

Richer no kingdome’s head did ever see;

Adorn’d in titles, but much more in mind,

The love of many thousands speake in thee;

The ode went on to enumerate the blessings to be anticipated from the

promising virtues of Charles, and concluded:—

Welcome, oh, welcome—all faire joyes attend thee,

Glorie of life, to safety we commend thee.

After this address, the young Prince was wafted down to Whitehall

Stairs, where he landed. Passing on to the palace, he saluted the King,

who stood on the palace stairs. The ceremony of creation, which took

place on the following Monday, was performed in the hall of Whitehall

Palace; and at night, “to crown it with more heroical honour, fortie

worthy gentlemen of the ten noble societies of Innes of Court, and every

way qualified by birth to break three staves, three swords, and exchange

ten blows a-piece,” encountered each other. The delicate health of the

Prince, and the late season of the year, prevented any great procession

at the creation, but it was commemorated by tilting at the ring, to give

great lustre and honour to the occasion, and among fourteen names of

high degree, is found, among the challengers, that of Viscount Villiers,

his first appearance in the tilt yard. Among the gallants who flaunted

it out with the greatest bravery, are to be found many famous in

successive times.[141]

Footnote 141:

The Lord Seymour, who had married the Lady Arabella Stuart, was among

a set of newly-created Knights of the Bath; and Tom Carew and Phil

Lytton, third son of Sir Rowland Lytton, of Knebworth, Herts., “were

squires of high degree, for cast and bravery;” the one being esquire

to Lord Beauchamp, the other to his cousin, Rowland St. John.—Letter

from Mr. Chamberlain to Sir Dudley Carleton. State Paper Office,

November 4th.

Notwithstanding the sanction which James gave to a growing intimacy

between the heir apparent and his favourite, there had been various

early disagreements between them, which delayed the reciprocal affection

which the King strove to promote between Charles and Buckingham. Their

confidence was, in truth, the growth of years, and was impeded by

several incidents, which those who were adverse to Villiers were eager

to notice and to record. It was generally expected that a jealousy

between them would defeat the King’s wishes, and divide the court into

two parties; and the following letter imparts one of those incidents

upon which such anticipations were founded:—

_Letter of Edward Sherburn to Lord Holland._

“_March 14, 1615._

“There is a speech in court of the distaste Sir George Villiers hath

given the Prince about a ring. The manner, as I have heard it, is thus:

The Prince coming one afternoon into the Presence at Newmarket, with Sir

George Villiers, and discoursing with him, fixed his eyes upon a ring

which Sir George Villiers had upon his finger, which, taking from him,

put it upon one of his own; and having occasion to pull out his

pocket-handkerchief, the ring, being too large for the Prince’s finger,

fell into his pocket. The Prince parting from him, not thinking of the

ring, the next morning, Sir George Villiers, meeting the Prince in His

Majesty’s presence again, and finding the Prince to take no notice of

his ring, asked His Highness for it; to which he answered, that in good

faith he knew not what he had done with it; whereat Sir George Villiers

flew into such a passion, whether it was in regard of the value, or of

the piece, as he left the Prince, and went immediately to the King,

exceedingly disconcerted. The King, observing some distemper in him,

demanded the occasion. Expressing the same with some earnestness, Sir

George told the King that the Prince had lost a ring of his, which did

much trouble him. The King, moved thereat, sent for the Prince, and used

such bitter language to him, as forced His Highness to shed tears,

telling him also not to return to His Majesty until he had found it, and

restored the ring to Sir George Villiers. The Prince, after he came from

the King, gave commandment to Sir Robert Carey to search in the pockets

of his breeches which he wore that day, when by good fortune the ring

was found, and by Sir Robert Carey delivered to Sir George Villiers. By

this a man may see the force of the King’s affection, which is

boundless, and so likewise may be seen how far beyond reason presumption

may transport a man. What the consequence of this and the like will be,

time must produce. Only this much is conceived, that the favour of the

King on this particular cannot continue, because there wants a sound

foundation to uphold so great a building. Thus much I adventure to write

unto your lordship, whom I beseech to keep this in your own custody, or

else to commit it to the fire.”[142]

Footnote 142:

Inedited State Papers. Domestic, 1616, 1617.

Another occurrence, trivial under other circumstances, seemed to

indicate that no harmony was likely to exist between Charles and

Villiers. One day, as they were walking in the gardens of Greenwich

Palace, they approached a fountain, near which was a statue of Bacchus:

this figure was so constructed, after the fashion of ancient waterworks,

that, by touching a spring, the water was emitted. The Prince, grave as

he usually appeared, was that day in high spirits. He touched the

spring, the water spouted forth, and suffused the face of the favourite.

Villiers was greatly offended. The King took his part, not only

reproving severely his son, but adding the father’s correction of two

boxes on the ears. Those who stood by were certain that this boyish

frolic and its termination would ruin Villiers with the Prince. That it

did not, is a proof of the good disposition of Charles, who, perhaps,

did not the less admire Villiers because he had resented an act of

impertinence even from an heir apparent.[143]

Footnote 143:

Inedited letter in the State Paper Office, March 8, 1616, addressed to

Sir Dudley Carleton.

The partiality which James now openly manifested for Villiers drew down

upon him the animadversions of the world; and when he trusted him as the

associate of his son, invectives were loud and frequent. Although it was

the fashion of the day to impute to the sovereign the wisdom of Solomon,

lamentations were poured forth upon the unworthiness of those in whom he

confided. “Is it not prodigious,” writes one historian, “that a Prince,

who was as wise as the beloved son of David, should commit the reins of

government to a callow youth, of no more capacity than is enough to

qualify a modern beau?”[144] “For an old king,” observes Roger Coke, “he

having reigned in England and Scotland fifty-one years, to doat upon a

young favourite scarce of age, yet younger in understanding, though old

in vice as any of his time, and to commit the whole ship of the

commonwealth by sea and land to such a Phaeton, is a precedent without

any example.”[145] Not only Villiers, it is added, but even his mother,

began now to influence all matters of public concern; no places were

disposed of without her consent, and as much court was paid to her as to

her son.[146]

Footnote 144:

Oldmixon’s History of England, p. 31.

Footnote 145:

Roger Coke’s Delection.

Footnote 146:

Oldmixon.

Many of the animadversions thus thrown upon Villiers proceeded from the

laxity of his moral code. On this point, the accusations brought forward

are vague, and therefore difficult to be repelled. They were, in some

instances, the effect of a general impression that Villiers was a friend

of Laud and a favourer of Armenianism; and originated with the Puritans.

No instance of great dereliction from propriety being recorded, it may

be safely inferred that at this time public decorum was, at all events,

not outraged by Villiers, whatever the private course of his existence

may have been; and however humiliating it is to reflect that a character

so noble, so incapable of baseness, of such fair promise, may yet have

been tinged with vices that infallibly brush away much of the finest

attributes of virtuous youth, it must, at the same time, be allowed,

that to remain incorrupt in the reign of James, would have argued almost

super-human strength of character.

“Nothing,” relates Arthur Wilson, “but bravery and feasting, the parents

of debauchery and rioting, flourished among us. There is no theme for

history where men spill more drink than blood.” And he justly remarks

that the boasted Halcyon days of peace cease to be a blessing when they

“bring a curse” with them; the curse of licentious pleasures and

disgraceful idleness; and that thus war is more happy in its effects

than peace, “if it takes the distemper that grows by long surfeit

without destroying the body.”[147]

Footnote 147:

Wilson’s History of the Reign of James I.

In spite, however, of the animadversions of foes, and the still more

injurious temptations proffered by unworthy friends, the public

character of Buckingham maintained for some time its integrity. His

errors, real or imputed, were not at first such as to lower him in the

eyes of society. He appeared, as Lord Clarendon observes, “the most

glorious star that ever shined in any court; insomuch that all nations

persecuted him with love and wonder, as fast as the King with fancy; and

to his last he never lost any of his lustre.”[148]

Footnote 148:

Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, p. 194.

His mother assisted in the aggrandizement of her favourite son. It was

her office to teach his kindred, as fast as they came up to the

metropolis, “to put on a court dress and air.” The King, who had

hitherto hated women, soon began to have his palace crowded with the

female relations of Villiers; “little children did run up and down the

royal apartments like rabbit-starters about their burrows.” And the

monarch, who could never endure his queen or his own family near him,

made no remonstrance at this inconvenience, whilst the censorious, who

decided that the favourite had no merit except that “he looked well,

dressed well, and danced well,” were outrageous in their wrath. So well,

indeed, did he “look,” that James, more and more enchanted with that

open and beaming countenance, gave him the name of “Steenie,” in

allusion to one of the pictures in Whitehall, by an Italian master,

representing the first martyr, Stephen.

Villiers now enjoyed the different dignities and offices of Viscount

Villiers, Baron of Whaddon, Justice in Oire of all the forests and parks

beyond Trent, Master of the Horse, and Knight of the Garter. But these

were not sufficient in the sight of James. On the seventh of January,

the favourite was created Earl of Buckingham, upon such short notice,

that the drums and trumpets which should have been in the Chamber of

Presence, at Whitehall (but not have sounded), were not in attendance.

Villiers, in his surcote and hood, in an ordinary hat, and with his

rapier, passed from the Council Chamber, over the terrace, through the

great gateway, into the Chamber of Presence. He was assisted by the Earl

of Suffolk, Lord Treasurer, and the Earl of Worcester, afterwards the

gallant defender of Raglan Castle, all in robes and coronets. The Lord

Chamberlain met them at the door of the Presence Chamber, where Villiers

was duly presented to the King and Queen. The ceremonial, at which he

figured alone, no other peer being created, was not followed by a

supper, and therefore, adds Camden, “no style with largess

proclaimed.”[149]

Footnote 149:

From an autograph MS.—Camden, quoted by Nichols, vol. iii., p. 233.

This new honour enabled its object to appear

with still greater splendour and importance, at the performance of the

new masque of Christmas, by Ben Jonson; it was represented on Twelfth

night, and amongst the performers were Richard Barbadge, an original

performer in several of Shakespeare’s plays, and John Heminge, who

signed the “address to the reader” of Shakespeare’s folio works. In the

course of the masque, the Earl of Buckingham danced with the Queen; and

soon afterwards the society of the Middle Temple strove to conciliate

him by entertaining him with a supper and a masque.[150] At the end of

the month Buckingham was made a Privy Councillor, the youngest man that

had ever received that honour. He also contrived to get his brother

Christopher made either one of the Grooms or one of the Gentlemen of the

Bedchamber, upon which creation the following rhyme was circulated:—

“Above the skies shall Gemini rise,

And twins the Court shall pester;

George shall back his brother Jack,

And Jack his brother Kester.”[151]

Footnote 150:

It was suggested that Villiers might have been entered at the Middle

Temple, but of that circumstance there is no evidence. “Not knowing

the sacred antiquitie of anie of their houses, the chronicler set

downe their names in the same order as that in which they were

presented to his Majestie.” See Nichols, iii. 213, from Howe’s

Chronicle. It is well known that in former times only men of gentle

birth were entitled to be entered as students of law in the Temple—a

relic of the statutes maintained in strict force by the Knights’

Templars.

Footnote 151:

Nichols, 244.

It was about this time, probably, that Buckingham was first beheld drawn

about in that coach with six horses, which was not only wondered at as a

novelty, but “imputed to him as a mastering pride.” He had already

excited the indignation of the English public by his appearance in a

sedan chair; and when seen carried upon men’s shoulders, the populace

raised an outcry against him in the streets, “loathing,” says Arthur

Wilson, “that men should be brought to as servile a condition as

horses.” The chair was, however, forgiven, and soon sedans came into

general use. But the coach was the theme of every tongue; it was not

that the vehicle was strange to the people, for it had been introduced

in the late reign, but then only two horses were used; and when

Buckingham, in all his bravery of attire, was beheld drawn by six

prancing steeds, acclamations were general. The old Earl of

Northumberland heard those murmurs in his prison in the Tower, and

resolved that, should he ever recover his liberty, he would outvie the

favourite. Accordingly, when in 1621 he was set at liberty, he appeared

in the city of London, and at Bath, with eight horses; as much to the

amusement, probably, of him whom he strove to outvie, as to the

amazement of the admiring public.[152] It required, indeed, no ordinary

fortune to keep up this state; and the King so much disapproved of

expensive equipages in any but the great, that he subsequently

entertained a notion of imposing a tax of 40_l._ per annum, on all who,

below a certain degree, kept a coach, and of bestowing the proceeds of

the tax on decayed captains.[153]

Footnote 152:

Brydges’s Peers of James I.

Footnote 153:

State Papers, vol. cix., 26. See Calendars of State Papers, edited by

Mrs. Everett Green.

No clamours affected Buckingham long during this period of his life;

for, although there were occasionally some boisterous demonstrations of

disapproval, the affections of the majority of the people returned to

him shortly after a temporary unpopularity. And here, observes Lord

Clarendon, in his parallel between the Earl of Essex and Buckingham,

“the fortunes of our great personages met when they were both the

favourites of the princes, and of the people. But their affections to

the Duke of Buckingham were very short lived.”[154]

Footnote 154:

Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, 195.