CHAPTER VII.

THE SPANISH TREATY—NEGOTIATIONS BETWEEN THE DUKE OF LERMA AND LORD

DIGBY—THE INFANTA DESCRIBED BY LORD DIGBY—HER GREAT BEAUTY, PIETY,

AND SWEETNESS—THE DESCRIPTION OF HER BY TOBY MATHEW—SHE IS DISPOSED

TO RECEIVE CHARLES’S ADDRESSES—GONDOMAR—ATTENTIONS SHOWN TO HIM IN

ENGLAND—ELY HOUSE ALLOTTED FOR HIS RECEPTION—JEALOUSY OF THE

PROTESTANTS AT THE FAVOUR SHOWN HIM—FIRST NOTION OF CHARLES’S

JOURNEY TO SPAIN SUGGESTED BY BUCKINGHAM—HIS ARGUMENTS IN FAVOUR OF

IT—OBSTACLES TO THE PRINCE’S MARRIAGE WITH THE INFANTA—BUCKINGHAM’S

DEBTS AND DIFFICULTIES—INTERVIEW BETWEEN GONDOMAR AND THE DUKE OF

LENNOX—JOURNEY OF CHARLES AND BUCKINGHAM INTO SPAIN—THEY STOP IN

PARIS—LOUIS XIII.—ANNE OF AUSTRIA—HENRIETTA MARIA—THEY PROCEED TO

MADRID—RECEPTION THERE—ENTRANCE IN STATE INTO THAT CITY—COUNTESS OF

PHILIP IV.—FESTIVITIES IN HONOUR OF THE PRINCE—THE KING’S LETTERS TO

HIM.

=CHAPTER VII.=

1622.

In the midst of all the difficulties and differences of opinion which

embarrassed the question of assisting the Palatinate, or of leaving the

darling of her country, Elizabeth of Bohemia, to her fate, that

cherished project, known at the time as the Spanish treaty, was brought

under consideration.

Little more than two years had elapsed after the death of James’s

first-born, Prince Henry,[382] when the Duke of Lerma, the minister of

Philip the Third of Spain, opened a negotiation with Digby, then

ambassador at Madrid, the object of which was to arrange a marriage

between Prince Charles and Donna Maria. This princess was the sister of

Philip the Fourth of Spain, and her elder sister being married, was

styled the Infanta.

Footnote 382:

Hacket’s Life of Williams, p. 114.

In June, 1622, Charles wrote to Lord Digby, desiring to hear speedily

upon the subject which the young prince had nearest his heart—whether

the King of Spain were really affected to the marriage or not, and

intended to proceed in it; in which case, Digby’s instructions were to

perfect all the capitulations, and to agree that the journey of the

Infanta to England should take place during the ensuing spring.[383]

Footnote 383:

Letter from Lord Digby to Charles, dated Madrid, 30th June,

1622.—Inedited State Papers.

Lord Digby, as he now informed Charles, had first availed himself of all

the secret means he could devise, of discovering the wishes of his

Spanish Majesty; and on conversing with his ministers afterwards, had

received from them every possible encouragement. In the long and

interesting letter in which he replied to the young Prince’s inquiries,

Digby described an interview with the Infanta, to whom he begged to

address himself in the name of her young and royal suitor, and to

deliver to her a message. The King gave him permission to see the

Infanta, and with his own lips to enter on the subject; Digby having

represented to that Monarch, that Charles, being now twenty-one years of

age, was desirous of bringing matters to a conclusion, and that His

Majesty, King James, having but one son, was anxious “not to delay

longer the bestowing of him.” The King of Spain, in return, assured his

British Majesty that there was no less affection to the match in him,

than there had been in his father. “I can frame,” writes Digby to the

Prince, “no opinion but upon these exterior things, and men that do

negotiate with great princes must rely upon the honour and truth of

their words and propositions, especially in a case of this nature.”[384]

Much was expected from the return of Count Gondomar from England to

Spain; his coming was, as Digby declared, to be of great use, “for he

holds,” adds that nobleman, “great credit here, and will be able to

clear away all difficulties, being extremely affectionate to the

business.” Gondomar, it appears, had then already landed at Bayonne.

Footnote 384:

Letter from Lord Digby to Charles, dated Madrid, 30th June,

1622.—Inedited State Papers.

Digby next expatiated at length upon the perfection of the Infanta. This

princess appears to have presented a rare instance of great personal

attraction, combined with sweetness of disposition, sensibility, and

piety. That she was not eventually united to Charles must, in spite of

the calculations of politicians, ever be a subject of regret. Her good

sense might have acted beneficially upon the well-intentioned but

mistaken Monarch, who was fatally swayed by the counsels of Henrietta

Maria.

Lord Digby, experienced in courts, thus expressed himself with regard to

Donna Maria.

“For the person of the Infanta, this much:—I will presume to say unto

your highness, that I have seen many ladies attending when I had my

audience with the Queen and Infanta, but she is by much the handsomest

young lady I saw since I came into Spain; and for her goodness and

sweetness of her disposition, she is by the whole Court generally

commended.”

In subsequent letters, Lord Digby was still more explicit, although he

knew, he said, that expectations generally exceed reality; yet should

the Prince, on seeing the Infanta, not “judge her to be a beautiful and

dainty lady, he shall be single in his opinions and from all who have

ever seen her.[385]”

Footnote 385:

Dated Madrid, February 22, 1622-23.—Inedited State Papers.

These praises of Lord Digby’s are borne out by other testimonies; that,

more especially, of Toby Mathew, who followed the Prince into Spain, and

who calls the Infanta, then in her eighteenth year, as “fair in all

perfection;” her face without one “ill feature,” presenting that contour

which “shews her to be highly born.” The expression of her countenance

peculiarly sweet; and her figure, concealed as it was by the close ruffs

and cuffs then worn by the Spanish ladies, was declared to be perfect;

her head was well set upon her neck; “and so,” adds the minute observer,

“are her hands to her arms; and they say that before she is dressed, she

is incomparably better than after.”[386]

Footnote 386:

Description of the Infanta of Spain, by Toby Mathew. Dated June, 28,

1623.—Inedited State Papers.

Lord Digby protested also to Charles that his future bride, as she was

then esteemed, had “the fairest hand that he had ever seen, that she was

very straight and well-bodied, and a likely lady to make the Prince

happy.”

This portraiture was calculated to increase the ardour of the thoughtful

and enthusiastic Charles; whilst the character drawn of the Infanta

tended to raise the sentiment of admiration into one of respect. Brought

up, as Lord Digby relates, with great care, and in retirement, there

might be more gravity and reserve than were usual in English ladies, in

her deportment; but this was a “fault easy mended.” Having asked every

possible question of her childhood and youth, the ambassador protested

that “never heard he so much good of any one as of the Infanta.” To this

testimony may be again added that of Toby Mathew, who portrays her so

free from pride and worldliness, “that she seemed to shine from her soul

through her body;” the beauty of her mind very far exceeding that of her

person. Everyday this young Princess passed in prayer three or four

hours, and then occupied herself in making something which might be sold

for the benefit of the sick and wounded in the hospitals, or busied

herself in drawing lint out of linen for their use. She spent, in her

charities, a hundred pounds a month, appropriating what was allowed her

for recreation to these good deeds. Each returning Wednesday and

Saturday found her in the confessional, or communicating, “for she

carrieth,” relates Toby Mathew, “in particular, a most tender devotion

to the Blessed Sacrament, and the Immaculate Conception of our Blessed

Lady.” This deep sense of her responsibilities, this earnest piety,

alarmed the English Puritans, who forgot that whilst no one was more

steadfast to her faith than Katharine of Arragon, there existed not a

more tolerant being, as far as we have the means of judging, nor sat

upon the throne of the Queen’s-Consort of England, one more beloved by

all sects and classes of the people than that ill-used and ill-fated

foreigner. They remembered, perhaps, that whilst the Romish persuasion

acted benignantly on her mind, on that of her daughter it engendered

bigotry, and caused persecution.

Professing this earnest piety, Donna Maria appears also to have been

free from the imprudence of giddy coquetry, to which her sister, Anne of

Austria, was prone. “She was of few words, but free and affable with her

ladies,” and though at first sight she gave no indications of quickness

of mind, those who knew her well respected her judgment, while they

admired that freedom from personal vanity, so rare in the young and

flattered. “Of her person, and beauty, and dressing,” writes Toby

Mathew, “she is careless, and takes what they bring her without much

ado.” Her courage and calmness under trying circumstances were also

commended—the annalist thought it worth while to specify that “thunder

and lightning affrighted her not,” “and when, at Aranjuez, the Queen had

made a public entertainment for the King, and the scaffolding fell, and

boughs fell in and caught fire, and all the company fled, Donna Maria

remained calm and collected, only calling for the Condé di Olivarez to

keep her from the crushing of the people: retiring at her usual pace,

without any sign of agitation.” This happened when she was only sixteen

years of age.

Between the Infanta and her royal brother, Philip IV., the greatest

affection subsisted. Not a morning passed that he did not visit her in

her apartments, and wait whilst she prepared to go abroad. Yet, in spite

of this partiality, she made a point of never interfering in public

business. In one respect she resembled Katharine of Arragon; although

deeply sensible of any unkindness, she was one who would never

expostulate with the unkind, but grieved in secret. Here was true

heroism: the power to suffer, the wisdom to forbear: the greatness of

mind, not, in family disputes, to challenge sympathy, is a quality of

inestimable importance, both in private and public life.

A portion only of the careful eulogium passed on the Infanta reached

Charles, whilst he was as yet contemplating a journey to see the rare

being upon whom his hopes of felicity were placed: but a description was

sent by Digby of the interview which took place between him and the

Infanta. “After I had secluded her from His Majesty,” wrote the

ambassador, “I told her that I had likewise a message to deliver her,

with her permission, from another cavalier, the Prince of Wales. She

blushed, and told me, ‘I might;’ whereupon” Digby said, “that in regard

to the desire which King James had to unite these kingdoms in nearer

friendship, by way of marriage, there was nothing the Prince had so much

at heart.” “So you hoped,” he added, addressing Charles, “it was

agreeable unto her, and that she likewise wished well, and would aid in

the effecting of it.”

At this interrogation the Infanta “blushed extremely, and asked

particularly of the Prince’s health, and how,” adds Digby, “I had left

you; and told me she gave me great thanks for the favour you did her. I

will set down the very words in Spanish, for I think your Highness

should be angry with me for the omission of any word in this

particular:—‘Agradesco mucho al Principe de Inglatierra, la merced que

me hazo.’”

Lord Digby inclosed also letters in Spanish, addressed to Charles. The

Infanta having heard that her suitor was studying her native language

spoke to Digby on the subject. “He doth it,” was the reply, “whereby to

use with you a style of more familiarity.”[387]

Footnote 387:

Letter of Lord Digby, before quoted.

These particulars are interesting, as proving that it was not without

some inquiry and deliberation that Charles undertook to procure, in

person, a knowledge of the young Princess to whom his hand was destined.

The Condé de Gondomar, one of the most astute diplomatists of his time,

had now been accredited to England for the last three years. His object

in coming was to give satisfaction to the King and Court on the subject

of the marriage, but the feeling of the people was against him. It was

his arrival that had precipitated the fall of Ralegh. It was from his

influence that any toleration to the oppressed Catholics would be dated.

Ely House, once the residence of the Bishop of Ely, but given by Queen

Elizabeth to her favourite, Hatton, was the tenement destined to receive

the ambassadors of Spain; although the envoys from the Palatinate were

then in England, and “no one knew,” as it was said, “how two buckets

could go down into the well at once.”[388] But it was soon seen which

“bucket was to go down;” for, whilst he was waiting in expectation of

Gondomar’s arrival, James had coldly dismissed Baron Dona, the Prince

Palatine’s envoy, saying that he disapproved of his son-in-law’s

election to the throne of Bohemia as factious; and refusing to embark

his subjects, “who were as dear to him as his children,” in a war. This

indifference to his daughter’s condition, and the outrage offered to

public opinion in allowing mass to be celebrated in what had once been

the private chapel of the Bishop of Ely, scandalized all staunch

Protestants, and Gondomar was constrained to open a back door in Ely

House to let in Catholics to worship. Nevertheless, the virago, Lady

Hatton, who lived almost next door to the Spaniard, threw every

hindrance in her power in the way of that arrangement; yet, in the very

face of honest Protestant scruples, the Ladies of the Court were invited

to witness the ceremonies at Ely House; and, doubtless, found it not

inconsistent with their conscience to comply.[389]

Footnote 388:

Letter from Dr. Joseph Hall to Carleton.

Footnote 389:

State Papers, vol. cxxviii., p. 96.

It was at this juncture that Buckingham is said first to have proposed

to Charles to evade open censure by making a journey, incognito, to

Spain. Nor were such expeditions unknown in those times. Buckingham well

knew, in this instance, the tone of argument most appropriate to address

to a prince whose blameless career, untainted by dissipation, had not

seared one of the best safeguards of youth—romance. The Prince was

accessible to the influence of that which Mackenzie calls “a higher

sense of virtue.” A lover of the refined and beautiful, he shrank from

the notion of a mere political union; the suggestions which were thrown

out from motives of Statecraft were received in a spirit of trust and

hope, and sank instantly into a mind of delicacy and feeling.

Buckingham drew a picture, it is stated, of a marriage contracted on

public grounds alone. He pointed out the miseries of such an alliance;

he referred to the indifference, if not loathing, with which a bride so

selected would view the object, not of her own choice, but of that of

the State, for reasons with which she had no sympathy.

He portrayed the misery of one who could deem herself nothing but a

victim, and who could not fail to view with disgust a bond which brought

her from a beloved home to a foreign court, where every early enjoyment

of her youth must be forgotten, every cherished association and

remembrance abandoned.

Buckingham found an attentive auditor. He represented to Charles that by

accomplishing a journey to Madrid, and seeking an interview with his

promised bride, he might create an interest in her affections, and, by

the attentions of a lover, gain even the coldest heart. The delicacy of

the compliment would be felt also in the Court of Madrid; it would

resemble the fictions in which the Spaniards delighted; it would present

him to the young Princess under the aspect of a devoted suitor; it would

expedite the conclusion of those negotiations concerning the Palatinate

which had languished so long. These representations were heightened by

Murray, the Prince’s tutor, who, some insinuated, was instigated by the

cunning Gondomar.[390] Murray reminded his royal pupil that his father

had gone to Denmark to fetch his wife; that his grandfather, “living in

the heart of England,” went into Scotland to marry: especially that his

great grandfather, James V., went into France several times—first, to

woo the daughter of the French King, the Lady Mary of Lorraine: that

interviews between kings and princes were customary; and that no

occasion could be so suitable as a negotiation of marriage. “God,” added

Murray, “had blessed the Prince with an able body, fit for any exercise

and recreation: with great intellectuals, fit to enter into any treaty

himself; God had blessed him with a civil carriage, mild and

temperate—no way passionate, as some princes were;” and thus, being

fitted for the enterprise, the sagacious Scot thought that a journey

would improve the Prince’s abilities, and exhibit them to the

world.[391]

Footnote 390:

This affair, as Mr. Brewer observes, “was something of a counterpart

to his son’s knight-errantry.”—Bishop Goodman’s Life, note, vol. i.,

p. 363.

Footnote 391:

Bishop Goodman, vol. i., p. 364.

The Court, watchful of what was passing, could only guess by certain

indications of the probability of the projected journey into Spain

taking effect. About nine weeks previous to the commencement of the

Spanish journey, Charles was observed to hold a long conference in his

royal father’s bedchamber. The door was closed; but the Prince opened

and closed it at times; as if he were looking into the adjoining

ante-chamber to see if there was anybody there who could listen to what

was going on. James, in the course of that interview, broke into loud

cries of passion. About a month afterwards, a report ran through the

Court that Buckingham was to go to Spain on a solemn embassy. This

rumour, however, was set afloat merely that it might be discovered how

the people stood affected to the Spanish marriage. A dispensation from

the Pope was necessary as a preparatory step; and James was heard to

lament that he could not match his heir without a dispensation from his

enemy, which would be acknowledging the Papal power. Yet he took every

means to compass the marriage treaty; and even Dr. Hakluyt, one of

Prince Charles’s chaplains, who had circulated a pamphlet against the

Spanish marriage, was sent away from Court. Still there were innumerable

difficulties in the way of negotiation. It appears, indeed, from various

petitions, that, though Popery was considered to be on the increase in

England, the recusants founded their strongest hopes on the Spanish

match. In December, 1621, a petition had been presented to the King,

complaining of the printing of Papistical books, the “swarming in of

Jesuits,” and purposing to obviate the impending evils—first, by helping

the King of Bohemia, then by marrying the Prince to one of his own

religion.[392] The King replied, saying that he had heard that his

detention from Parliament, from ill health, “had led some fiery spirits

to meddle with matters far beyond their capacity, and intrenching on the

prerogative.” He forbade any further meddling with state mysteries: such

as the Prince’s match, or attacks on the King of Spain; he resolved to

punish all insolence in Parliament; and would not deign to hear or to

answer the proposed petition, if it touched on the points forbidden. “He

would,” he graciously added, “make this a session, if good laws be

devised.” To this extraordinary answer, which was not published in the

journals,[393] the commons returned a firm but respectful rejoinder; but

were shortly advised that the King was pledged to the Spanish match, and

blamed their interfering with it at all.[394]

Footnote 392:

State Papers, vol. cxxiv., No. 3.

Footnote 393:

Ibid, No. 8.

Footnote 394:

Ibid, No. 27.

So great were the impediments to the Spanish treaty, that, since it

seemed difficult to brave opinion, a means was resorted to of evading

any outbreak of the growing national discontent.

Meantime, about this juncture, the first intimation appears of the

difficulties into which the extravagance of Buckingham had plunged him.

Facts stated by the Court Chronicle speak for themselves. Lord

Mandeville, then Lord President, had, it appears, lent him ten thousand

pounds. In compliance with the venal spirit of the day, the promise of a

payment was made contingent on Lord Mandeville’s consent to the marriage

of his eldest son with Mistress Susan Hill, a relation of Buckingham’s,

and probably an humble relation, since he gave the bride not only

10,000_l._, which was to be considered as discharging his debt, but also

promised to promote the Lord President, and to give him ten dishes at

court. It was rumoured that Buckingham even promised an additional sum

of 5,000_l._ to Mandeville. The marriage seems to have been hastened, in

order that it might take place before the Prince’s secret journey into

Spain, for it was performed in the presence of the King, who was ill,

and in bed, but who showed his delight at the nuptials by blessing the

bride with one of his shoes. The match was said to have been an

indifferent one for the bridegroom, who could have had 25,000_l._ with

Lord Craven’s daughter.[395]

Footnote 395:

State Papers, vol. cxxxviii., No. 23.

The next affair which produced many days of wonder was the Prince’s

journey, a project which had been broached, early in the course of his

diplomatic negotiations, by Gondomar.

He had already sought an interview with the most esteemed personal

friend of the King’s, Ludowick, Duke of Richmond and Lennox, a kinsman

of the Monarch’s.[396]

Footnote 396:

This nobleman died suddenly in 1623, universally respected.—Grainger’s

Peers of James I., chap. ii.

On this occasion, after many compliments on both sides had been

exchanged, the Duke said very earnestly to the ambassador, “My lord, I

pray deal plainly with me, shall we have a match or no?” To this

inquiry, Gondomar replied that the King did his master great wrong if he

doubted his intention, since he had already gone so far in the business;

“and where,” adds the crafty Spaniard, “would my master in all

Christendom match his daughter to greater advantage, either to a greater

prince, or one who may be more helpful or needful to him, or with whom

he should hold more correspondency than with the heir to the English

crown?” He stated, nevertheless, certain objections: the danger there

would be to the Infanta of incurring the penalties of recusancy, for it

was then death for a priest to say mass in England.[397] Toleration

must, therefore, be one stipulation of the treaty. A million of money

was to be bestowed upon the young princess for her dowry; but before

this was given, a certainty must be obtained that the marriage would

prove a source of amity, instead of disunion. These points being

decided, the treaty would be concluded. The Duke of Lennox, on hearing

these proposals, decided in his own mind that the marriage ought never

to take place, for that it could not stand with the laws and safety of

this kingdom to permit a toleration of religion.[398]

Footnote 397:

Life of Bishop Goodman, vol. i., p. 36.

Footnote 398:

Life of Bishop Goodman, vol. i., p. 36.

The journey of the young prince was, meantime, retarded by the

reluctance of the King. James justly considered that continental nations

might impugn his natural affection, as well as his judgment, in

permitting the heir-apparent to quit the kingdom, and to leave his royal

father childless, for Elizabeth of Bohemia had taken refuge in the Dutch

states, and had not then looked to England as her exile. He considered

the danger, writes a contemporary historian, “himself being now aged, if

he should die, what then might befall his children.”[399] How little

could he foresee the extremities to which his princely son, then the

idol of the nation, would be hereafter reduced, owing partly to the

false system and erroneous notions implanted within his mind at this all

important season of his youth. The greatest peril that James feared, was

the journey through France, at that time full of straggling soldiers,

several armies having been recently disbanded. But it was argued by the

eager advocates of the Spanish journey, that in France, although highway

robberies were frequent, banditti in multitudes were rare. The Prince

was to travel with a numerous retinue, he was to keep to the main roads,

and there would be no fear of robbery or violence. Persuaded at length

by these arguments, the King gave way upon a Monday, the seventeenth of

February, 1622-23. He went to Newmarket; “there,” writes Sir Robert

Carey, the Prince’s chamberlain, “the Prince appointed myself and the

rest of his servants to meet him two days after. But the first news we

heard was that the Prince and my Lord Duke were gone to Spain. This made

a great hubbub in our Court, and in all England besides.”

Footnote 399:

Goodman.

It was at first hoped that the Prince had gone anywhere but to Spain,

“but those who so believed,” had, it was said, no ground but

desire.[400] The truth was soon circulated.

Footnote 400:

Letter from Mr. Meade to Sir Martin Stuteville.—Ellis’s Letters

Illustrative of English History, vol. iii., 1st series, p. 216.

There had, it appears, been a formal leave-taking between the Prince and

his father, and this scene was witnessed by the able shipwright, Phineas

Pette.

Phineas had been in the service of Prince Henry, and had constructed a

small vessel for the amusement of that royal youth, and he was now

permitted to be present at the leave-taking between Charles, or, as his

father styled him, “Babie,” and the King. “At their taking horse,” he

related, “I kissed both their hands, and they only gave me an item to

that I should shortly go to sea in the _Prince_.”[401]

Footnote 401:

Nichols, vol. i., p. 807.

The King, after making some stipulations as to the day of the return of

his precious travellers, parted from them composedly; “he did then,”

says Goodman, “express no passion at all, for he was an excellent master

of his own affections, if you would give him a little respite, and not

take him suddenly. He carried himself as though there were no such thing

intended, and so he took his journey through Kingston and Newmarket.”

“For want of better matter,” writes Mr. Chamberlain, “I send you here

certain verses made upon Jack and Tom’s journey (for the Prince and Lord

Marquis went through Kent under the names of Jack and Tom Smith). They

were fathered at first upon the Prince, but, I hear, were only corrected

and amended by him.”[402]

Footnote 402:

Inedited State Papers, Domestic. March 8. 1623.

“They wore fair riding coats,” he continues, “and false beards, one of

which fell off before they arrived at Gravesend, and caused suspicion.”

Messengers were therefore sent after the fugitives; and they were

overtaken near Sittingbourne, where one of their horses failed; they

were detained at Canterbury, but got away; but were again stopped at

Dover by order of the Privy Council, where they gave some “secret

satisfaction” to the authorities of that port.

This enterprise, so consistent with Charles’s character, so agreeable to

Buckingham’s high spirits, had not been made known to the Privy Council.

The King sent a message to them to say it was the Prince’s doing, and

not that of Buckingham; and that the Council was not told of the scheme

because “secrecy was the soul of the business.” The Council was ordered

to “stay,” by a proclamation, the “amazement of the people,” who began

to conclude that the Prince would be married “at a mass.” It appears,

however, without any doubt, that the whole was a plot of James’s; for

the Treasurer of the Household, Lord Brooke, the Chancellor of the

Exchequer, Heriot the jeweller, and others, had been commanded by His

Majesty, when he was at Newmarket, to go to the Tower and select some

fine jewels, suitable to wear in hats, and “the best rope of pearls,”

and some fine jewels, fit for a woman, for His Majesty to choose, which

he will send abroad. They were not all for presents, but some to be lent

to the Prince, and restored on his return home.[403] Buckingham, we hear

from the same authority, took Sir Paul Pindar’s great diamonds,

promising “to talk with him about paying for them.”

Footnote 403:

State Papers, vol. cxxxix., No. 16.

A more detailed account of the commencement of this singular journey

than the preceding may, however, be collected from other services.

The travellers slept one night at Newhall; on the following day[404]

they were accompanied by Sir Richard Graham, Master of the Marquis’s

Horse, and his own earliest friend, adviser, and confidant.[405] They

set off with a very small retinue, some of which they dismissed at

various places, upon some idle pretence or another, but only to get rid

of them. Thus they proceeded towards Gravesend; but, on crossing the

river, a difficulty occurred. They had no small pieces of silver about

them; and for want of them, were obliged to give the boatman, who rowed

them across, a piece of twenty-two shillings; which, as Sir Henry Wotton

relates, “struck the poor fellow into such melting tenderness, that so

good gentlemen should be going (for so he suspected) about some quarrel

beyond seas,” that he thought it right to acquaint the officers of the

town with his suspicions. A message was instantly despatched to detain

the travellers at Rochester; but they had passed through the city before

it arrived.

Footnote 404:

Feb. 18th.

Footnote 405:

Reliquiæ Wottonianæ.

The peril of discovery had not yet passed. As the Prince and his

companion ascended the hill above Rochester, they beheld, to their great

consternation, the equipage of the French ambassador, attended by one of

the royal carriages, approaching them in state. “This,” says Wotton,

“made them baulk the beaten road, and teach post hackneys to leap

hedges.” “It seemed, however,” says the same writer, “as if a voice had

run before them; for at Canterbury, as they were preparing to take fresh

horses, the Mayor of the town came up, and declared, with very little

ceremony, first, that he had an order from the Privy Council to arrest

them; next, on finding them incredulous, from Sir Lewis Lewkners, Master

of the Ceremonies; and, thirdly, from Sir Richard Mainwaring, then

Lieutenant of Dover Castle.” Buckingham had no leisure “to laugh” at

this occurrence; but, taking off his disguise, he told the Mayor that he

was going “covertly with such slight company,” to take a survey of the

fleet of the narrow seas, which was then in preparation. Thus, this

obstacle was with some difficulty overcome; but the disguise still

puzzled the worthy man in office. The travellers journeyed onwards, but

met with a fresh recognition from the boy who carried their baggage, and

who had been at Court, and had a suspicion who the party were; but it

was not difficult to ensure his silence. Owing to bad horses, and these

hindrances, it was six in the evening before the party reached Dover.

Here they met the two gentlemen who were alone in their confidence. One

of them was Sir Francis Cottington, who was selected not only for his

intimate knowledge of Prince Charles’s affairs, but from his

acquaintance with the Spanish Court, “where he had,” says Sir Henry

Wotton, “gotten singular credit, even with that cautious nation, by the

temper of his carriage.” He was, indeed, a prudent man, well acquainted

with business, and conversant with Spanish and French. He had been

created a baronet only two days before this journey, his family holding

a respectable rank at Godmanstown, Somersetshire.

At his first entrance into the world, Cottington had only fulfilled the

post of Gentleman of the Horse to Sir Philip Stafford, Vice-Chamberlain

to Queen Elizabeth; but he was afterwards attached to the embassy in

Spain, and in 1621, was made secretary to Prince Charles. He was

considered to know the politics of the Spanish Court “to a hair.”

Charles, in spite of the jealousy afterwards manifested by Buckingham

towards this gentleman, who had protested strongly against the Spanish

journey, never forgot his early companionship in an undertaking of some

risk. He promoted him in various ways, and, in 1631, created him Baron

Cottington, of Hanworth, and Lord Cottington enjoyed several high

offices, from which he was driven when the troubles began in 1640.

Charles, however, trusted him to the last, and, when his failing cause

detained him at Oxford, made Cottington High Treasurer of his diminished

resources.

It was the fate of this loyal man to follow the fortunes of Charles

the Second into exile: thus performing, faithfully, two high, but

different functions—the one to attend a youth in the height of power

and prosperity on his chivalric enterprise; the other to solace

privation, and to console the young and wandering exile under his

difficulties.[406]

Footnote 406:

Nichols, iv., p. 806.

The other chosen attendant was Endymion Porter, who had been bred up in

Spain from a boy, and was familiar with the language. From Spain he was

taken into the service of Edward Villiers, was brought to England, and

introduced before the time when Buckingham or his family was acceptable

at Whitehall.

These five persons composed, in the first instance, the whole of the

party, Porter fulfilling the office of Bedchamber-man to the

Prince.[407]

Footnote 407:

Porter, as it appears by a letter in the State Paper Office, addressed

by him to his wife, was at this time a married man, and his wife,

Olivia Porter, was a relation of the Marchioness of Buckingham.

For some time after the departure of the Prince, no precise news of his

movement was received at Court.

“We have little certainty of the Prince’s journey since his going

hence,” writes Mr. Chamberlain, “but only that they landed at Boulogne

the Wednesday, and rode three posts that night. On Friday they came to

Paris, very weary, and, resting there on Saturday, went away early on

Sunday morning. Some gave out that during their abode there, they saw

the King[408] at supper, and the Queen[409] practising a ball, with

divers other ladies. Which, though it be somewhat confidentially

affirmed, yet I think it not probable, by reason it was their first

Saturday in Lent. We have had since many rumours that they were stayed,

but now they say a post should come yesternight, with news that they are

past Bayonne, and that my Lords Digby and Gondomar, with I know not how

many litters and coaches, were ready at the frontiers to receive them,

which sounds as unlikely as most of the rest. Sir Edward Herbert, our

ambassador, knew nothing of their being at Paris till the Lord of

Carlisle’s coming. All in a manner agree that either the French King had

notice of it before their arrival, or time enough to have detained him,

had he been so disposed. Divers of their servants and followers are gone

after them by land, and more preparing to go by sea.”

Footnote 408:

Louis XIII.

Footnote 409:

Anne of Austria.

It appeared afterwards that the passage to Boulogne was stormy,

nevertheless, the Prince and his followers landed there two hours after,

in the afternoon of the nineteenth of February. They reached Montreuil

on the same night, “like men of dispatch,” and Paris on the second day

afterwards.

Up to this time they escaped detection; although, three posts before

they entered Paris, they encountered some German gentlemen, whom they

had met at Newmarket, who suspected that the disguised and hurried

travellers were no less important personages than the Prince and the

Favourite; but these Germans were “outfaced by Sir Richard Graham, who

would needs persuade them that they were mistaken.”[410]

Footnote 410:

Reliquiæ Wottonianæ.

At Paris the travellers passed one day only; but that day was the

forerunner of signal events, and pregnant with important consequence,

both to Buckingham and to his royal charge.

Meantime, King James, in spite of his fears at home, was madly jealous

of any surmise respecting Spain, or the Catholic religion.

On the Sunday after the Prince’s departure, we are told by Mr.

Chamberlain, “that all the Council about the town came to Paul’s Cross,

when it was expected somewhat would have been said; but the preacher had

his lesson in _hæc verba_, only to pray for the Prince’s prosperous

journey and safe return, and the next day the Bishop, convening all his

clergy, gave them the same charge; but some of them had anticipated the

commandment and proceeded further, whereof one desired God to be

merciful unto him now that he was going to the House of Rimmon.” But all

were not so careful; old Dr White, Prebend of St. Paul’s, was dismissed

for praying that the King and Prince might be preserved from any that

should “go about to withdraw them from their first love, and natural

religion.” This was interpreted as a sort of libel.[411]

Footnote 411:

Inedited Letter in the State Paper Office, from Mr. Chamberlain to Sir

D. Carleton, 1623.

And now Buckingham was, for the second time, in the great centre of all

civilization. Paris was probably unchanged; but few persons who had

known the Court of France in the days of the great Henry could have

recognized it during the weak rule of his successor. Henry IV., adding

another instance in corroboration of the remark, that during five

hundred years not one of the French monarchs had attained the age of

sixty, had now been dead twelve years.[412] To that manly and powerful

monarch, bred up in the house of a peasant, his iron nerves braced by

hazards almost incredible; his courage proved in battles a hundred and

twenty-five in number; his hardihood so great that for two years he was

never seen unbooted; being perpetually in the exercise of war and

hunting—to this hero, as prudent and sagacious as he was brave, had

succeeded a dull and heavy boy, slow in speech, yet quick to avenge, on

any of his young companions, petty or imagined slights. Timid and even

dastardly by nature, the early pusillanimity of Louis the Thirteenth had

attracted the notice of his father. “Faut-il donc que je sois père d’un

poltron!” was the involuntary exclamation of Henry of Navarre. Such was,

however, his successor, who had, in truth, far more of his mother’s

disposition than of his father’s frank and princely nature. He had the

Medicean fierceness and imperiousness of character, coupled with an

abject spirit, which was fostered, whilst cramped, by the potent

dominion of his mother over his mind.[413]

Footnote 412:

He was killed on May 10th, 1610.—See Sir George Carew’s Relation of

the State of France under Henry IV., in Birch’s Negotiations, p. 481.

Footnote 413:

Birch’s Negotiations, p. 492.

Marie de Medici, the queen-mother, had obtained the highest reputation

for sanctity, charity, and prudence. Of her beauty, those charms which

could rival the attractions of the famed Gabrielle d’Estrées, the

chroniclers of the day speak loudly. In the affections of her royal

husband she had, however, suffered, not so much from the influence of

her rival’s comeliness, as from the wit and vivacity of Gabrielle’s

conversation. Like her son, Marie de Medici was slow in speech, and the

French accounted her dull and uninteresting; but, for the “main grounds

of attending to her profit or her power,” she was, writes an eye-witness

of her career for four years,[414] “provident enough, and her commanding

and high spirit, caused her to be obeyed in all in which she was

permitted to meddle.”[415] And the event justified this opinion. Her

daughter-in-law, Anne of Austria, daughter of Philip the Third of Spain,

had been several years the wife of Louis the Thirteenth, when Charles

and Buckingham saw her in all the perfection of her youthful loveliness

at Paris. Born in the year 1602, Anne must have been at this time in her

twenty-second year. She is described as having been, at the age of

fifteen, when (having been married the year previously by proxy) she was

first introduced to her royal consort, singularly attractive. An ancient

lady of the court drew a lively picture of her appearance to Madame de

Motteville. “The first time that she saw the Queen,” said that

chronicler of other days, “she was seated upon cushions, after the

Spanish fashion, surrounded by a number of ladies; she was dressed in

green satin, embroidered with gold and silver; her sleeves hanging, but

caught up on the arm with immense diamonds, serving as buttons. She had

on a close ruff; and on her head a small hat, of the same colour as her

gown, from which hung a plume of Heron’s feathers, adding, by their dark

hue, to the beauty of her hair, which was extremely light, and frizzed

in large curls.”[416] Such, in early youth, was the appearance of that

Princess whose attractions proved eventually a source of peril and

discredit to Buckingham. Her portraits give us no idea of a beauty so

commanding as that which is implied by the extraordinary influence of

her attractions; but it is probable that, like that of most Spanish

women, it faded prematurely, and that her great charm consisted in the

gaiety of her temper; in her sweetness and generosity of character; and

in a certain sentimental turn of gallantry, which she conceived not to

be incompatible with female virtue. At the period of Charles’s first

visit to Paris, Marie de Medici still ruled paramount over the weak

character of her son. It had been her aim, even before the death of

Henry the Fourth, to win the cold affections of her only offspring, as

well as those of the son of her rival, the Marquis de Verneuil, to

herself. At the time when Anne of Austria, a child, gave her hand to

Louis, a child also—for their ages tallied—there was an evident

disposition on the part of the former to attach herself to the partner

to whom the decree of state policy had joined her compulsorily. She felt

no disgust at his appearance, for, though greatly inferior to the Duc de

Vendome and the Marquis de Verneuil in manly beauty, the young King was

tall and well-formed; and the darkness of his countenance was no

disparagement in the eyes of a Princess who had been accustomed to the

rich tint of Moorish and Spanish complexions.[417] Upon the death of the

Duc de Luisnes, the favourite of Louis, in 1621, Marie de Medici was

left with no other rival in her maternal influence over her son, than

his young wife. By a fatality such as too often attends royal marriages,

it was henceforth decreed that the young couple were not to love each

other. Anne, it appears plainly from her own confession, might have done

so, had she been left to herself;[418] and the young King, it was also

alleged, admired the beauty of his wife and respected her amiable

qualities; but it was not the policy of Marie de Medici, nor afterwards

that of Cardinal de Richelieu, that these natural affections should have

their course. The King was known to avow to a confidant, that whilst he

was attracted to his wife, he dared not avow it either to his mother or

to Richelieu, whose counsels and services, he added, were of far more

importance to him than the affection of his wife.[419]

Footnote 414:

Sir George Carew.

Footnote 415:

Birch’s Negotiations.

Footnote 416:

Memoirs of Madame de Motteville, vol. i., p. 8.

Footnote 417:

Madame de Motteville.

Footnote 418:

Ibid, p. 8.

Footnote 419:

Madame de Motteville, p. 32.

Such was the state of domestic affairs at the court of Louis, when the

Prince and Buckingham beheld, for the first time, those who were

destined to awaken in the one an honourable and enduring attachment, in

the other a mad and criminal passion.

They still maintained their disguise, nor was it difficult, for, as Sir

Henry Wotton observes, “the impossibility to conceive so great a Prince

and favourite suddenly metamorphosed into travellers, with no greater

train, was enough to make any man living unbelieve his five senses.” In

order to add to their disguise, Buckingham bought periwigs, to

overshadow their foreheads; and thus provided, they spent a day in

viewing the city and the court, which Buckingham had visited before,

when in training for his courtier destiny, but which to Charles was an

object of novel and peculiar interest, France being “neighbour to his

future estates.”[420]

Footnote 420:

Madame de Motteville, p. 32.

Fortune favoured their curiosity. From a gallery in the royal palace,

they were so favoured as to see the King, solacing himself with familiar

pleasures; the queen-mother, at her own table; nor were they discovered

even by Monsieur de Cadenat, who had so lately visited England as

ambassador, and who must well have known their features. Towards the

evening, by an apparent chance, though, as Sir Henry Wotton observes,

“underlined with a Providence,” the travellers had a full view of the

young queen, and of Henrietta Maria, the future queen of England. These

princesses were, with the ladies of the Court, practising a dance and

masque, but the diversion appears to have been held in private. The

travellers, however, hearing two gentlemen talk of going to witness it,

pressed in after them, and were admitted by the Duc de Montbazon, the

Queen’s Chamberlain, from courtesy to strangers, when, at the same time,

many of the French, who wished to be spectators, were rejected. “Note

here,” observes Wotton, “even with the point of a diamond, by what

oblique steps and imaginable preparatives the High Disposer of princes’

affections doth sometimes conceive the secrets of his will.” It was

afterwards found that the young face which Vandyck has so often depicted

on his canvas, surrounded as it was by maturer beauties, made an

impression upon the imagination of Charles which only required certain

circumstances to be heightened into love.[421]

Footnote 421:

Reliquiæ Wottonianæ.

Anne of Austria, nevertheless, bore away the palm in the eyes of

Buckingham, and even of his princely charge. Whilst they remained at

Paris, the King wrote to them to the following effect:—

“Sweett boyes: the newes of youre going is allreaddie so blowin abroade

as I am forced for youre safetie to poste this bearare after you who

will give you his best advyce and attendance in youre journey. God

blesse youe both, my sweete babes, and sende you a safe and happye

returne.

“JAMES.”[422]

Footnote 422:

Harleian MSS., 6987.

On their part, the travellers thus wrote:—

“SIR,

“Since the closing of our last, we have been at Court againe (and, that

we might not nowe hold you in paine, we assure you that we have not been

knowen), where we saw the young queene, littell Monsieure and Madame, at

her practising of a maske that is intended by the Queene to be presented

to the Kinge, and in it there danced the Queene and Madame, with as

mannie as made up nineteen faire dancing ladies, amongst which the

Queene is the handsomest, which hath wrought in me a great desire to see

her sister. So, in haste, going to bed, we humblie take our leaves, and

rest

“Your Majestie’s most humble and obedient

“sone and servant,

“CHARLES;

“and your humble slave and doge,

“STEENIE.”

On the following day, February the twenty-third, the Prince and

Buckingham left Paris at the early hour of three, and proceeded

towards Bayonne. Their journey, meantime, had become the theme of

conversation in England, and even on the day on which the Prince set

sail, it was the theme of general discussion;[423] yet, abroad, so

slowly did tidings travel in those days, they were still able to

preserve their incognito.

Footnote 423:

Nichols, vol. iv., p. 809, note.

At Bordeaux, however, they nearly revealed their secret. Tired,

probably, of their peasant suits, they bought fine riding coats,

“all of one colour and of a noble simplicity,” and the proud

demeanour of Buckingham, and the high-bred grace of the Prince,

could no longer be concealed.

They were invited by the Duc d’Epernon to be his guests, and

Cottington was employed to refuse the invitation, so as to avoid

exciting suspicion. He was therefore obliged to tell the Duke that

he and his party were “gentlemen of mean degree, and formed to

little courtship,” and the excuse was received; otherwise, the Duke,

being, as Sir Henry Wotton observes, “no superficial man in the

practices of the world, might have pierced somewhat deeper than

their outsides.”[424]

Footnote 424:

Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, p. 216.

The season of Lent was now advanced, and the travellers could obtain

no meat in the inns. Sir Henry Wotton relates an anecdote, which, as

he remarks, is characteristic of the Prince, who is the chief hero

of the little incident.

“There was, near Bayonne, a herd of goats with their young ones,

upon which sight, Sir Robert Graham tells the Marquis he would snap

up one of the kids, and make some shift to carry him close to their

lodging; which, the Prince overhearing, ‘Why, Richard,’ says he, ‘do

you think you may practise here your old tricks again upon the

border?’ Upon which words, they first give the goatherd good

contentment, and then, while the Marquis and his servant (being set

on foot) were chasing the kid about the stack, the Prince, from

horseback, killed him in the head with a Scottish pistol.”[425]

Footnote 425:

Reliquiæ Wottonianæ.

The lofty bearing of Buckingham, and courteous demeanour of Charles,

were not unnoticed by the Count de Grammont, the Governor of

Bayonne, that “jealous key,” as Sir Henry Wotton terms it, of

France. He perceived that they were gentlemen of much more

consequence and higher station than their dress implied;

nevertheless, he permitted them, courteously, to pass forward.

Philip IV., at whose court they were soon to present themselves, was

now only in his nineteenth year. Like his weak father, he had thrown

the reins of government, soon after his accession,[426] into the

hands of an unworthy favourite. The Condé de Olivares, who had been

a gentleman of the bed-chamber to Philip, when the Prince of

Asturias was the haughty ruler over the destinies of the Spanish

nation. Corrupt, yet able, he is stated to have increased the

revenues of the crown, and, so far, to have served his sovereign by

several severe but salutary measures. Having, however, acquired some

credit for these reforms, he gave loose to his own rapacity, whilst

he checked that of others. He even surpassed his predecessors in

acts of corruption; his heart was depraved; his selfish ambition

boundless; and his private character was suspected, not without just

cause, to have been stained with the darkest crimes.[427] Such was

the minister to whom Charles and Buckingham were now to bend, as

suppliants and suitors; for Philip,[428] imbecile and indifferent,

and plunged into degrading vices, was wholly a cipher in the profuse

and stately Court over which he was the nominal ruler.

Footnote 426:

In 1621.

Footnote 427:

History of Spain and Portugal.—Cabinet Cyclopædia, vol. i., pp.

91, 92.

Footnote 428:

Of his illegitimate children, the most famous was the celebrated

Don Juan, surnamed of Austria, believed to be the son of an

actress of Madrid. “On this son the choicest favours of the crown

were conferred.”—Ibid, 99.

Throughout the rest of the journey, the travellers did not pass

entirely unknown; but were, as a writer of the day informs us,

“offered great honour, would they have yielded to have been

publickly known,” or in case of their return by the same route.

The Lords Andover and Kensington had gone twelve days previously in

the same direction; and, in short, about two hundred nobles and

gentlemen had set sail at Portsmouth, intending to land at St.

Sebastian’s, and to ride overland to Madrid.[429] Meantime, the King

desired his clergy not to “prejudicate the Prince’s journey, either

in their sermons or prayers; but yet to pray to God to preserve him

in his journey, and grant him a safe return to us”—not in more, he

ordered, “nor in any other words than those.”[430]

Footnote 429:

Ellis’s Letters, vol. iii., p. 132, 1st series.

Footnote 430:

Ibid, 124.

The appearance of these two adventurous travellers at Madrid was far

from agreeable to Lord Digby, who would have prevented it if he had

had the power. One consideration in the mind of that ambassador was

a fear lest the arrival of the lavish favourite should increase the

pecuniary difficulties in which he was himself involved. Twenty

thousand pounds had been allowed for his embassage, but that sum was

already exceeded by some thousands.[431] James chose to say that

much expense would be saved by the Lord Admiral’s dexterous

management, but Bristol answered, “Not one penny.” All, the

ambassador declared, should be done for his royal master’s honour,

but everything was to go on privately until the Papal dispensation

should arrive. Even at this early period, the journey of the Infanta

to England was discussed. By land it would, it was thought, be “very

chargeable,” and extraordinary inconvenient. The Spaniards, too,” as

the Earl stated, “thought the portion demanded by the English very

exorbitant, and only to be expected had the Infanta been either

deformed or of mean birth.”[432]

Footnote 431:

Letter from the Earl of Bristol to King James. Madrid, Feb. 22,

1623-4.—State Papers, Foreign.

Footnote 432:

Letters from the Earl of Bristol to King James. Madrid, Feb. 22,

1623-4. Inedited State Papers.

In the midst of these negotiations, the ill-timed arrival of the

Prince and Buckingham came, not to obviate obstacles, but to

multiply them. Digby, now Earl of Bristol, whose jealousy of

Buckingham may be detected throughout all his correspondence, was

greatly discomposed by their appearance at Madrid. Nor was this a

sentiment confined to Digby. Howell, who perfectly understood

Spanish affairs, observes in his letters:—

“And others were of the same opinion as the ambassador, namely, that

the journey was ill-advised, hazardous, undisguised, and unpopular.”

The King, however, was still delighted with the momentous frolic. On

the twenty-sixth of February he wrote from Newmarket, telling the

Prince and Marquis what lords were to follow them to Spain. “Their

poor old dade,” he added, “was lamer than ever he was, both of his

right hand and foot and wryttes all this out of his naked

bedde.”[433] The King having, in fact, encountered a very serious

accident during the previous year, his health was daily becoming

more feeble. It is, therefore, almost touching to find the

kind-hearted, weak Monarch, prematurely aged as he was, entering

most heartily into all that concerned his two absent treasures, of

whose enjoyment he thought, it is obvious, far more than the welfare

of his subjects. The Prince had left instructions that sixteen of

his suite should follow him, with his jewels and other articles. The

King, however, complains in his letter that the “imperfect note my

babie had left” put him into a great deal of pain, “for ye left,” he

says, “some necessary servants out, in the opinion of all your

principal officers, and ye ken, as I was forced to add those, then

everie man ranne upon me for his freende, so I was torn in peecis

amongst thamme. I have no more to saye,” he thus concludes, “but

that I weare Steenie’s picture in a blew ribben under my wastcoate,

next my hearte.”[434]

Footnote 433:

Nichols, 811.

Footnote 434:

Harl. MSS., 389. Quoted in Nichols’s Progresses, vol. iii., p.

808.

The following letter gives a characteristic account of the Prince

and Steenie:—

“DEAR DAD AND GOSSOPE,

“On Friday last (March seventh) wee arrived here at five

o’clock at night, both in perfect helth. The caus whie wee

advertised you of it no soner, was that wee knew you would be glad

to hear as well of the maner of oure reception as of oure arrivall.

First, wee resolved to discover the woer,[435] becaus upon the

speedie opening of the ports we fond (found) posts making such hast

after us, that we knew it would be discovered within twelve hours

after, and better wee had the thanke of it then a postillion. The

next morning wee sent for Gondamar, who went presentlie to the Condé

of Olivares, and as speedilie gott me your (Doge Steenie) a private

audience of the Kinge.

Footnote 435:

To throw off Charles’s disguise.

“When I was to returne backe to my lodging, the Condé of Olivares,

himself alone, would needs accompanie me backe againe to salute the

Prince in the King’s name.

“The next day (March 9, Sunday, O.S.) wee had a private visit of the

Kinge, the Queene, the Infanta, Don Carolus, and the Cardinal, in

sight of all the world; and I may caule it a private obligation,

hidden from nobodie, for there was the Pope’s Nuntio, the Emperor’s

Imbassador, the French, and alle the streets fild with gards and

other people. Before the King’s coch went the best of his

nobilities; after followed all the Ladies of the Court. Wee sate in

an invisible coch, becaus nobodie was suffered to take notice of it,

though seen by all the world. In this forme they passed three times

by us, but before wee could get away, the Condé of Olivares came

into our coch, and convaied us home, where he tould us the King

longd and died for want of a nere sight of our woer. First he took

me in his coch to goe to the Kinge. We found him walking in the

streets with his cloke throne over his face, and a sword and buckler

by his side. He leped into the coch, and away he came to find the

woer in another place appoynted, where there past much kindnes and

compliment one to another. You may judge by this how sensible the

Kinge is of your sone’s journie, and if wee can eyther judge by

outward shoes (shows) or generall speeches, we have reason to

condeme your Imbassadors for righting tow (writing too) sparinglie

then tow much.

“To conclude, we finde the Condé of Olivares so overvaluing of our

journie, that he is so full of reall courtesie that we can doe no

less than beseech your Majestie to right the kindest letter of

thanks and acknowledgement you can unto him.

“He said no later unto us than this morning, that if the Pope would

not give a dispensation for a wife, they would give the Infanta to

the (thy) son’s Babie as his wench, and has this day righten

(written) to the Cardinall Ludovicio, then Pope’s nephew, that the

Kinge of England hath put such an obligation upon this Kinge in

sending his Sone hether that he intreats him to make hast of the

dispensation, for he can denie him nothing that is in his kingdome.

We must hould you thus much longer to tell you the Pope’s Nuntio

works as maliciouslie and as activelie as he can against us, but

reseves such rude answers that we hoep he will soon werie on’t.

“Wee make this collection of it, that the Pope will be verie loth to

grant a dispensation, which if he will not doe, then wee would

gladlie have your directions how fare wee may ingage you in the

acknowledgement of the Pope’s spirituall power, for we allmost find,

if you will be contented to acknowledge the Pope’s cheefe Hed under

Christ, that the mach will be made without him. So craving your

blessing, wee rest

“Your Ma’ties humble, obedient sone and servant,

”CHARLES.

“Madrill, the 10th of March, 1623.

“Your humble slave and doge,

“STEENIE.

“For the best of Fathers and Masters.”

On another sheet, written at the same time, but signed by “Steenie”

alone, and perhaps written without the Prince’s knowledge, he

says:—“The cheefest advertisment of all wee omitted in oure other

letter, which was to let you know how we like your daughter, his

wife, and my ladie mistris. Without flatterie, I think there is not

a sweeter creature in the world. Babie Charles himself is so touched

at the hart, that he confesses all he ever yett saw is nothinge to

her.”

The King, in his answer to this letter, dated March twenty-fifth,

says:—“I have written a letre to the Condé d’Olivares, as both of

you desired me, as full of thankes and kyndnes as can be desyred, as

indeed he well deserves.“

“I know not,” says the King, in reply, “quhat ye meane by my

acknowledging the Pope’s spirituall supremacie. I am sure ye wolde

not have me to renounce my religion for all the world; but all I can

guess at your meaning is, that it may be ye have an allusion to a

passage in my booke against Bellarmine, quhaire I offer, if the Pope

wold guyte his godheade, and usurping over Kings, to acknowledge him

for the Cheefe Bishoppe, to whom all appeals of churchmen ought to

lye _en dernier ressort_; the verie wordes I sende you heere

inclosed, and that is the furthest my conscience will permit me to

goe upon this pointe, for I am not a Monsieur, quho can shifte his

religion as easilie as he can shifte his shirte quhen he commeth

from tennice.”

The passage in his hook, which the King fancied Buckingham might

allude to (though he more probably had never read it), is thus

written, in the King’s own hand, on a separate slip of paper: “And

for myselfe, if that were yett the question, I wolde with all my

hairte give my consent that the Bishoppe of Rome showlde have the

first seate. I, being a Western king, wolde go with the Patriarche

of the West. And for his temporall principalities over the

seignorie of Rome, I do not quenell it nether, lett him in God’s

name be primus Episcopus inter omnes Episcopos et Princeps

Episcoporum, so it be no other wayes but as St. Peter was

_Princeps Apostolorum_.”[436]

Footnote 436:

Harleian MSS., 6987.—Printed at length in Nichols.

To these letters, Endymion Porter added an account in a letter to

his wife, that the Prince and Duke were “most handsomely received.

The King, Queen, and Infanta,” he adds, “drove out yesterday[437] in

a coach, when the Prince, in another coach, saw his mistress, and

was much stricken with her beauty.”[438]

Footnote 437:

March 10, 1622-23.

Footnote 438:

State Papers.

It was soon found necessary to retrench the numbers that were to go

to Spain, that the ships “might not be pestered;” no lord was to

have had more than four men, no gentleman more than two. Even this

seems to us rather a full complement in the present day; but, when

it is remembered what an extraordinary number of jewels were worn in

the dresses of that day, it will not appear too many to take care of

the valuables conveyed by each peer, or to maintain the dignity and

state so much insisted on at that period.

Amongst other personages who followed Charles, or, as he was called

in Spain, “the wooer to the Spanish Court,” was Archy, King James’s

fool, who must needs also have his attendant, which was at first

refused, but afterwards allowed. By April, the Prince’s household,

jewels, apparel, and the robes for St. George’s Day, were gone;

tilting armour, caparisons, and horses, asked for by Charles and

Buckingham, were also to follow. “The dispensation,” Conway wrote,

from Spain, to Sir Thomas Wentworth, “will soon be there, and

nothing but either the desperately envious, or vile almanack-makers,

arguing from conjunction of planets, now talk of delay.”

It is curious to remark how eager those about the Court, and above

all, those dependant on Buckingham, were for the marriage, and how

little it was wished for by the majority of the people.

Ten ships were to set out in April, to bring back by the end of May

their rich charge; such were the expectations cherished in England.

Digby, a sceptical looker on, did not think that the match would be

advanced by the Prince’s arrival; whilst at home, difficulties arose

as to the condition of the ten ships intended to be sent with the

horses; the _Prince Royal_, built for Prince Henry, was found to be

in so damaged a state that she was not sea-worthy; this vessel was

repaired, in order to bring back Buckingham, who was expected home

before the Prince, and was victualled for the voyage to Spain; but

the King, with characteristic calculation, expected that the “King

of Spain, who so magnificently feasted the Prince, would surely give

the ships fresh victuals for their homeward journey,” which action,

however, seems never to have occurred to his Spanish Majesty.[439]

Lord Carey, chamberlain to the Prince, received a commission to

execute martial law, during the voyage to Spain, over the Prince’s

household, but his powers were not to extend to the captains or to

the crew, nor to be exercised till the vessel was out at sea. No sad

apprehensions were, however, to be allowed during Charles’s absence;

“where philosophy fails,” wrote Sir Thomas Edmondes,[440] “faith

must begin.” All things had been prepared for the Infanta’s

departure from her native country, and June was the latest month

stated for her arrival in this, but still the Earl of Bristol,

whilst protesting that the Spaniards would be the most perfidious

wretches alive if they did not restore the Palatinate, for “they say

that they would rather throw the Infanta into the sea, than marry

her to our Prince, when his sister and her children are deprived of

their patrimony,” still, he feared there was “mischief brewing”

about the Electorship.

Footnote 439:

State Paper Office, vol. cxliii., No. 41.

Footnote 440:

From London. March 18.

Meantime, all was gay, all was gracious, at Madrid. According to a

more detailed account than their own, the Prince and Buckingham rode

into that city about eight o’clock in the evening of the seventh of

March, attended by a postilion only, having previously ridden post

three days; they alighted at the house of the Earl of Bristol,

Buckingham entering first, with a portmanteau under his arm,

announcing himself as “Mr. Thomas Smith;” then “Mr. John Smith” (the

Prince), was sent for; he had remained standing on the other side of

the street. Lord Bristol, in amazement, took the prince to his

bedroom, where Charles called for pen and ink, and despatched a

letter to England, to inform His Majesty how, after a journey of

sixteen days, he had reached Madrid in safety. The next day,

Endymion Porter and Sir Francis Cottington, who had been purposely

left half a day’s journey behind, came also; and it was soon

rumoured that some great man was come from England, and reports were

even circulated that it was the King.[441] The Condé de Gondomar

was, however, soon apprised of the truth. He hastened to present

himself to the Prince, and, falling flat on his face, the artful

Spaniard exclaimed “_Nunc dimittis!_” as if the climax of human

felicity had come to pass. The next day was Sunday, and, since the

forms of the Spanish Court did not admit of an immediate

presentation, it was agreed that the first meeting should take place

by a kind of premeditated chance, so to speak—the Prince retaining

his disguise. Charles, with the ardour of a young and romantic man,

had entreated Gondomar to procure him an immediate “sight of the

Infanta,” which the Condé promised to do; reminding the Prince that

it was Lent, which was, of course, an obstacle to a public

reception. The King afterwards promised Charles that though it were

Lent, it should not be “Lent to him;” and that he should have all he

would, and all that the country should afford.”[442] In the evening

of Saturday, Buckingham went in a close coach to Court, where he had

a private audience of King Philip, and also of the Condé Olivares,

who accompanied him back to the Prince, whose hand he kissed,

kneeling, clasping his arms also round Charles’s legs. Endymion

Porter was the interpreter, on this occasion, between the Prince and

Olivares.[443]

Footnote 441:

Howell’s Letters, p. 116.

Footnote 442:

The account of the Prince’s reception in Spain is chiefly taken

from “A True Relation and Journal of the Arrival and Entertainment

given to the High and Mighty Prince Charles, by the King of

Spain.”—Printed in Nichols’s Progresses, vol. iii., p. 818.

Footnote 443:

Howell.

On Sunday afternoon, Charles, for the first time, saw the young

Princess towards whom he afterwards played so unworthy a part. It

was in the park of Madrid. The Infanta was seated in the boot of the

carriage, with a blue ribbon round her arm, in order that the Prince

might distinguish her. A grand _cortége_, composed of the chief

nobility of that proud Court, followed the royal carriages. Charles,

disguised, with Buckingham by his side, Gondomar and Sir Walter

Aston being in the same carriage, went in the Duke de Cea’s coach.

It had been settled that no recognition should take place. The

Infanta, as her royal suitor passed her, could not conceal her

agitation; the colour came into her face; neither could her brother

and Charles help exchanging salutations, as they drove repeatedly

past each other, both in the town and Prado. Evening drew on, and

the King and the royal party returned home by torch-light, the

effect of which was magnificent.

Still, it was thought due to the observance of Lent, as well as

agreeable to etiquette, that private interviews only should take

place, especially before Charles had made his public entrance. That

same evening, therefore, the King, after many punctilios, in which

the soul of Spanish honour and politeness was displayed, met the

Prince again in the park, taking him into his own coach, and placing

him at his right hand. On parting, there was an embarrassing

ceremonial—the King insisting on conducting Charles back to his

carriage, Charles not suffering it. So they parted midway on the

road.

Charles’s days passed, indeed, in a manner peculiarly agreeable to

one of his disposition. On one occasion, having first seen the King

ride through the streets on horseback to a monastery called La

Merced, where the King had rooms furnished for occasional residence,

he went afterwards to take the air by the fields on the river’s

side; another day, he repaired to the palace, and was conducted by

Olivares through the back way. “Your babie,” Buckingham wrote to the

King, “desired to kiss his (the King’s) hands privatelie in the

pallace, which was granted him, and thus performed. First, the King

would not suffer him to come to his chamber, but met him at the

stare-foote; then entered in the coch, and walked into the parke.

The greatest matter that passed between us at that time was

complements and particular questions of all our journaie; then, by

force, he would needs convaie him half way home; in doing which they

were almost overthrone in brick pits.”[444]

Footnote 444:

Note from Harl. MSS., 6987.—Nichols, p. 823.

Many were the resources to which Charles turned for relaxation

during this interval of expectation. His mornings were spent in his

private affairs, among which we may reckon the cultivation of his

taste for pictures; in the afternoon, accompanied by his beloved

Steenie, he went forth into the fields, where Bristol attended on

him with his hawks; or he visited a country house of the King’s,

called Caso del Campo, where, meeting Philip and his brothers, Don

Carlos and Don Fernando the Cardinal, they diverted themselves by

watching “men placed there to shoot at such kinds of game as were

found in the place;” hares were started, partridges sprang up, and

other fowl, all of which were killed, after the custom of that day,

as they went running or flying by the marksmen. Sometimes the King,

with the old Spanish courtesy, sent the Prince two horses, desiring

him to choose the best for himself, and to leave him the worst to

ride out on; then Charles would order the steeds to be exercised in

a garden near the Earl of Bristol’s house, and, not to be outdone in

politeness, he would himself try them both, and send the best back

for the King’s use.

At length the day arrived when Charles made his solemn entry into

Madrid, under circumstances of interest which almost superseded even

the imposing magnificence of the ceremonial. On the sixteenth of

March, he received the Inquisitor General, and all the different

Councils of the kingdom—the Corregidores and the Regidores of

Madrid—at the Monastery of San Geronimo, whence the Kings of Spain

always make their public entrance. These public functionaries

endeavoured, on being presented to the Prince, to kiss his hand, but

Charles resisted this demonstration, considering that it was due

only to the lawful sovereign of the realm.

The magnificence of the procession that ensued owed much of its

picturesque beauty to its being on horseback. As they approached the

immediate precincts of Madrid—Charles riding on the right of

Philip—they were met by four and twenty Legidores of the town—whose

office it was to carry over the King’s head a canopy of tissue,

lined with crimson cloth of gold. The King then took the Prince

under the canopy, still keeping him on his right hand; before them

rode the Ministers of Justice, next the grandees, sumptuously clad,

for it is an old saying, that no one dresses so plainly every day,

nor so gorgeously on occasions, as the Spaniards.[445] Their

picturesque costumes, their grave and stately bearing, their gallant

steeds—so famed throughout Europe—must have made this band of nobles

one of the fairest spectacles of the time.

Footnote 445:

Howell’s Letters.

They were apparelled, as the chronicler expresses it, “in colours

and great bravery,” their servants, in rich liveries, attending.

After the King and Prince came Buckingham and Olivares, in their

respective offices of Master of the Horse, each of them with a horse

of state, as the ensign of the place he enjoyed. The canopy held

over these two favourites and ministers was afterwards presented to

Buckingham, as well as all other fees belonging to the Master of the

Horse—because he served that day the Prince in whose honour the

procession took place. Then came Lord Bristol, Sir Walter Aston, and

the Council of State, with the gentlemen of the King’s bedchamber;

and a part of that “goodly guard,” called “de los archeros, bravely

clad and arrayed.”

This unrivalled procession passed along through streets hung here

and there with rich draperies, or adorned with curious pictures, and

“sprinkled” with scaffoldings, on which stood the chief magistrates

of Madrid; in some streets, also, there were dancers, comedians, and

musicians, to amuse the royal pair as they rode gracefully onwards.

At length, the King and Charles reached the palace, where some time

was consumed by ancient ceremonials, each contending for the

hindmost place; but, “in fine,” writes the chronicler, “they went

hand-in-hand, or rather, with their arms round each other, until

they came into the presence of the Queen.”

Her Majesty was seated under a cloth of state, at the extremity of a

large room, where the chairs were placed. This apartment was

superbly furnished; but the chief riches, it is said, consisted in

that “living tapestry of ladies, and of the children of noblemen who

stood near the walls.” The Queen, not awaiting the approach of

Charles, went forward to welcome him; he was then conducted to the

apartments destined for him, the Queen herself, with the King,

seeing him to the very doors, where her royal brothers-in-law stood

to receive him. There was then a courteous dispute, the Prince

wishing to attend His Majesty back to his own part of the palace;

Philip insisting that Charles should only make one step in that

direction. Scarcely an hour had elapsed, before a great basin of

massive gold, carried by two men, and containing an embroidered

nightgown, laid double in it, was brought—a present from the Queen

to Charles; besides which, she sent him two large trunks, bound in

hands of pure gold, and thickly stuck with gold nails—with a gold

lock and key; the coverings of the trunks were of amber leather,

whilst their contents consisted of curious linens and perfumes. In

addition to these, there was also presented a rich desk, every

drawer of which was full of rarities; Buckingham, at the same time,

receiving a “noble present” from the Condessa Olivares. That night

the old town was illuminated both with torches and fireworks, which

were kept up for eight days.

Such was the commencement of Charles’s residence in Spain. It was

decreed that he should be attended only by nobles, and served and

addressed as a King; The Condé de Gondomar and the Condé de Plueba

were to act as Majordomos; the Condé de Monterey, brother-in-law of

Olivares, was to be his chief Majordomo. The most delicate attention

of all was, however, the King’s giving two gilt keys to the Prince,

requesting him to present one of them to those of his attendants

whom he most preferred, in order that the whole of the palace might

be open to him or his retinue. The keys were, of course, given to

Buckingham and Bristol.

Whilst such delicate hospitality was being manifested in Spain,

James, at home, was collecting all the jewels he could with any

propriety send, and some which he had no right to give away, to add

to the grandeur of Babie and Steenie. His letter, on this occasion,

is most characteristic of his infatuation for the Spanish match, and

of his easy conscience on matters connected with religion.[446]

Footnote 446:

Nichols, 832, note.

He writes thus:—

“MY SWEETE BOYES,

“I wrytte nou this sevint (seventh) letre unto you upon the

sevinteent of March,[447] sent in my ship called the Adventure, to

my tuo boyes, adventurers, quhom God ever blesse! And now to

beguinne with Him:—A Jove principium—I have sent you, my babie, two

of youre Chaplains, fitted for this purpose, Mawe and Wrenne,

together with all ornaments and stuffe fit for the service of God. I

have fullie instructed them in all theyre behavioure, and theyre

service shall, I hoape, prove decent and agreeable to the puritie of

the Primitive Churche, and yett as near the Romane forme as can

lawfullie be done, for it hath ever been my way to goe with the

Church of Rome, _usque et aras_. All the particulars hereof I

remitte to the relation of youre before-named chaplens.”

Footnote 447:

17th March, 1622-23.

The King then mentions that he sent the robes of the Order of the

Garter. “Quhache,” he says, “you must not forgette to wear on St.

George’s Day, and dine together in thaime,” if they arrived in time,

which he hoped to God would be the case, for it would be “a goodlie

sight for the Spaniards to see my two boyes dine in thaime.”

The King next enumerates the jewels he despatched:—

“For my babies’ presenting his mistresse, I sende an olde double

crosse of Lorraine, not so rich as anciente, yet not contemtible for

the valewe: a goodly looking-glasse, with my picture in it, to be

hung at her girdle, quhiche ye must tell her ye have caused it so to

be enchawnted by a vile magike, as, quhensoever she shall be pleased

to look into it, she shall see the fairest ladie that ather her

brother’s or youre father’s dominions can afforde.[448] Ye shall

present her also,” James continues, “two faire long dyamonts, sett

lyke an anker, and a faire pendant dyamont hanging at thaime; a

goodlie roape of pearles,” a collar, or carcanet, of thirteen great

ballas rubies, and thirteen knots or cinques of pearls; together

with a “head-dressing, and two-and-twentie great pear pearls;” also,

three pear-shaped diamonds, the largest of which was to be worn “at

a needle,” in the middle of her forehead, and one in each ear.

Footnote 448:

Thus described in the list:—“A looking-glasse set in goulde, the

backside richly garnished with faire dyamondes, and six peeces of

chayne to hange it, garnished with dyamondes on both sydes.”

His “babie,” the King decreed, was to have his own round brooch of

diamonds, and he sent also a famous jewel called the “Three

Brethren,” consisting of a great pointed diamond, with three great

pearls attached to it, and a large pendent pearl; also, the “Mirror

of France,” “the fellowe of the Portugal Dyamont,” which, says the

King, “I would wishe you to weare alone in your hatte, with a little

blakke feather. Ye have also,” he adds, “goode dyamont buttons, of

your own, to be sett to a doublett or jerkin. As for your =Ｔ=, it

maye serve for a present to a Don.”[449]

Footnote 449:

A jewel in the form of a =Ｔ=.

Steenie was furnished with a fair table diamond, which the King

wanted to have given him before, but Buckingham had refused it; to

this a “faire pewre pearl” was now suspended, “for wearing,” said

the thoughtful monarch, more occupied with these details than with

the good of England, “in thy hatte, or quhaire thow plessis; and if

my babie will spaire thee the two long dyamonts in form of an anker,

with the pendant dyamont, it were fitt for an admirall to weare, and

he hath enough better jewels for his mistresse.”

Then follows a trait of the gentle Marchioness, quite in keeping

with the whole of her character:

“Thow hes of thyne owne thy goode olde jewell, thy three pindars

dyamonts, the picture-cace I gave Kate, and the greate dyamont

chaine I gave her, quho wolde have sent thee the best paire she

hadde, if I hadde not stayed her.”

Divers other jewels were to be sent with the fleet for presents,

“for saving of chairges quhair have too much nede.” These were to be

presents to Spanish grandees.

The King then concludes:—

“Thus ye see how, as long as I want the sweete comfort of my boyes’

conversation, I ame forced, yea, and delytes, to converse with

thaime by long letres. God bless you both, my sweete boyes; and

sende you, after a successful journey, a joyful and happie returne

in the armes of your dear dad,

“JAMES R.

“Dated from Newmarket, on Saint Patrick’s Day, quho of olde was too

well patronized in the cuntrey ye are in.”

A few kind and amiable expressions from the Marchioness of

Buckingham to her husband reached him too at this time.[450] “I

thanke you for sending me so good nuse of our younge mistres. I am

very glad she is so delicat a creaturr, and of so sweett a

disposicion. Indeed, my Lady Bristol sent me word she was a very

fine lady, and as good as fine. I am very glad of it, and that the

Prince liks her so well, for the King ses (says) he is wonderfully

taken with her. It is a wonderfull good hairing, for it were great

pettye but the Prince should have on (one) he can love; because I

thinke he’ll make a very honest husband, which is the greatest

comfort in this world, to have man and wife love truly. I tould the

King of the private message the Infanta sent to the Prince, to wear

a great rouffe (ruff). He laft heartely, and seed (said) it was a

very good sign.”

Footnote 450:

Nichols, 817, note.

The Prince and Buckingham adopted a practice of writing joint

letters; for which Charles, in the next dispatch, apologized. “I

hope in writing jointly as we doe,” the Prince wrote, “we plase you

best, for I assure your Majesty it is not for saving paines.”[451]

To which James answers:—“I wonder quhy ye shoulde aske me the

question if ye should send me any more jointe letters or not. Alace!

sweet hairts, it is all my comforte in your absence that ye wrytte

jointe unto me, besides the great ease it is both to me, and ye

neede not doubte but I will be wairie enough in not acquainting my

counsel with any secrete in your letres. But I have been troubled

with Hamilton,[452] quho, being presente by chawnce at my ressaving

both of your firste and seconde paquette out of Madrid, wold needs

peere over my shoulder quhen I was reading them, ofring ever to help

me to reade any harde words, and, in good faith, he is in this

busynesse, as in all things else, as variable and uncertaine as the

Moone.”

Footnote 451:

Nichols, 835. Note from Harleian MSS., 6987.

Footnote 452:

James Hamilton, second Marquis of Hamilton, in Scotland, upon whom

James had conferred, in 1619, the Earldom of Cambridge, a title

formerly borne by King Edward IV., before his accession to the

Throne. The Marquis was Steward of the Royal Household.—Burke’s

Extinct Peerage.

A hint from Charles showed that he both feared his father’s

indiscretion, and also apprehended opposition from the Council. “I

beseech your Majesty,” he now wrote, “advyse as little with your

counsel in these busineses as you can.”

James, indeed, had the unthankful task of extorting, from unwilling

hands at home, money for those abroad.[453]

Footnote 453:

Nichols, p. 840.

“But, in earniste, my babie,” he afterwards wrote, “ye must be as

spairing as ye can in your spending thaires, for youres.”

Amongst the jewels transmitted to Spain was a collar of gold,

weighing thirteen great ballaces, and thirteen pieces of gold, with

thirteen links of pearl between them. This valuable was, in 1606,

annexed to the crown of England, or, as it was stated in the deed,

“to the kingdoms of this realm.” It is evident that James had

incurred some censure for sending what was not his own property

away, for he seems to have exercised greater caution afterwards. The

demands from Spain were, indeed, insatiable. Charles modestly wrote

to his father thus:—[454]

“Sir,—I confess that ye have sent more jewels than at my departure I

thought to have had use of; but, since my coming, seeing manie

jewels worne heere, and that my braverie can consist of nothing else

besydes;—that sume of them which ye have appointed me to give the

Infanta, in Steenie’s oppinion and myne, ar nott fitt to be given to

her; therefore I have taken this bouldness to intreate your Majesty

to send more for my owen wearing and for giving to my mistress; in

which I thinke your Majestie shall not doe amiss to take

Carlile’s[455] advyce.”

Footnote 454:

Ibid, p. 845.

Footnote 455:

The Earl of Carlisle.

This letter was in the Prince’s hand-writing.

Buckingham’s less humble spirit was shown in the following

postscript, which was in his own hand, and forms a singular contrast

with the respectful tone of that of the Prince on the same topic:—

“I, doge; ye sayes you have manie jewels neyther fit for your one

(own), your sone’s, nor your daughter’s[456] wearing; but verie fitt

to bestow of those here, who must necessarilie have presents, and

this way will be least chargeable to your Majestie in my poore

opinione.”[457]

Footnote 456:

Referring not to Elizabeth of Bohemia, but to the Infanta.

Footnote 457:

Nichols, p. 846.

Three days after, the Duke wrote again in a still more insolent

tone; and gave His Majesty his “poore and sausie opinion of what

would be fittest to send.”

Hitherto, the Marquis said, the King had been so sparing, that when

he thought to have sent the Prince sufficient for his own use, and

for presents to the Infanta, and to lend to himself, he, on the

contrary, had been forced to lend jewels to the Prince.[458]

Footnote 458:

Nichols, vol. ii., p. 847, dated March 25, 1623.

“You neede not aske,” Buckingham continued, “who made me able to do

it. Sir, he hath neither chaine nor hat-band, and I beseech you

consider how rich they are in jewells here. Then what a poore

equipage he came in, how he hath no other meanes to appear as a

King’s sonne, how they are usefullest at such a tyme as this, when

they may doe yourselfe, your sonne, and the nation’s honor: and

lastlie, how it will neyther caust nor hasard you anie thinge. These

resons, I hope, since you have ventured allreadie your chiefest

jewel, your sonne, will serve to persuade you to let louse theese

more after him: first, your best hat-band; the Portingall diamond;

the rest of the pendant diamonds to make up a necklace to give his

mistress; and the best roape of pearls, with a rich chaine or tow,

for himselfe to waire, or else your doge must want a collar,[459]

which is the readie way to put him into it. There are manie other

jewells which are of no mean qualitie, as they deserve not that

name, but will save much in your purs, and serve very well for

presents. They had never so good and great an occasion to take the

aire out of their boxes as at this time. God knowes when they shall

have such another, and they had need sometimes to get near the

sonne, to continue them in there perfection.

“Madrid, 25th of Aprill, 1623.”

Footnote 459:

Alluding to having lent the Prince his own jewels.

In a postscript, Buckingham announced that he had sent the King four

asses, five camels, and one elephant, “which,” he adds, “is worth

your seeing, and a Barbarie horse from Walter Aston.” The animals

Buckingham sent he had “imprudentlie begged for:” and he promised

“to lay waitte for all the rare color birds” that could be heard of.

“But if you doe not send your Babie jewells eneugh,” thus his letter

concludes, “ile stope all other presents; therefore, looke to it.”

The King, taking this impertinence as a joke, thanked his “sweet

Steenie gossip” for his “kind, drolling letter,” and suggested that

should Babie not think it fit to present all the jewels to the

Infanta, they should be brought home again; and ventured to propose

also that with regard to a present to the Condé Olivares, horses,

dogs and hawks, and such like stuff sent out of England, “by the

sweete boyes, would be a far more acceptable present than a jewel.”

He began, perhaps, to feel some remorse at his lavish folly. Prince

Henry’s sword—which another father would have valued, independently

of the costly diamonds with which the handle was set—had been given

to the King of Spain. It was considered next in value to the

Prince’s crown, and bestowed on Prince Henry by his royal mother at

his creation as Prince of Wales; and had been sent in a masque, in

the fanciful fashion of the day, as from Tethys to one of the

Meliades.[460] All these jewels were, however, honourably returned

during the year the Spanish match was broken off.[461]

Footnote 460:

Nichols, 848. Note from Archæologia, vol. xv. p. 18.

Footnote 461:

Ibid, 249.

After the important matter of the jewels had been discussed, Charles

received from his father a few lines, protesting, on the word of a

King, that whatsoever his son should promise in his name should be

punctually performed. Charles had asked for something explicit under

His Majesty’s own hand,[462] to show that he had full powers; the

request was presumptuous, but Charles, who wrote it, and Buckingham,

who advised it, knew to whom they applied. “It were a strange

trust,” the King answered, “that I wold refuse to putte upon my owne

son, and upon my best servante.”

Footnote 462:

Ibid, 857.

This servant he was now resolved to honour above all other great

ones of the land, by creating him a Duke. Buckingham had probably

been desirous of obtaining this honour ever since his being created

Marquis, and had been employing every means of compassing his ends,

by the aid of his dependents and partisans at home. Through the

exertions of Secretary Conway, he had been addressed as “your

Excellency.” Since that distinction is only applied to ambassadors,

it is possible that Bristol may have considered it an infringement

on his province to give it to Buckingham.

It was, however, one of Buckingham’s most cherished objects of

ambition to assert a pre-eminence over Bristol at the Court of

Spain.

There was, at this time, no English dukedom; that of York having

merged into the title of Prince of Wales. The Duke of Lennox, the

King’s near relation, was the only Scottish nobleman who bore the

title; and he had, for forty years, held this distinction. In order

to avoid placing the new duke above this nobleman, Lennox was

created Earl of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and Duke of Richmond, on the

seventeenth of May, and Buckingham was raised to the dukedom on the

eighteenth. It was at the same time in contemplation to create two

more Dukes; the Marquis of Hamilton was to be Duke of Cambridge; the

Earl of Arundel, Duke of Norfolk, that nobleman refusing anything

less than the restitution of that title. These creations did not

take place, partly owing to the pride of the Duchess of Lennox, who

wished to stand alone, and partly to that of Buckingham, whose

letter to the King, on this occasion, shows his great ambition, and

proves his audacity and influence.

It had been at first proposed to make him Duke of Buckingham and

Clarence, thus reviving in his person a title used hitherto only by

the Princes of the blood.

“DEAR DAD AND GOSSOPE,[463]

“It cannot but have bine an infinite trouble to have written so

longe a letter, and so sone, especiallie at this painfull time of

your armes; yet wish I not a word omitted, though the reading forsed

blouses (blushes), deserving them no better; neyther is it fitt I

should dissemble with my master, wherefore I confess I am not a gott

(jot) sorie for the paines you have taken. This might argue I love

myselfe better than my master: but my disobedience in all my future

actions shall witnes the contrarie; and I can trulie say it is not

in the power of your large bountiful hand and hart, ever hereafter,

eyther to increase my dutie and love to you, or to overvalue myselfe

as you doe by thinking it fitt I should be set so farre above my

fellows. There is this difference betwixt that noble hand and hart:

one may surfitt by the one, but not by the other, and soner by yours

than his one (own). Therefore give me leave to stope with mine that

hand which hath bine but too redie to execute the motions and

affections of that kind obliging hart to me. As for that argument,

that this can be no leading case to others, give me leave to say

it’s trew onele in one (but that’s a greate and the maine) poynt,

for I grant that I am more than confident you will never love moree

of your servants (I will pausie here) better than Steenie.

Footnote 463:

Harl. MSS., 6987. In Buckingham’s own Autograph, quoted by

Nichols, note, p. 854.

“Thus it will be no leadeing, but you can not denie but it may be a

president of emulation hereafter to those that shall succeed you, to

expres as much love as you have done to me, and I am sure they may

easelie find better subjects. So, if it be unfit in respect of the

number (of Dukes that may be created), this way it will be

increased; but I mayntaine it’s unfitt in respect there is not here

(in Spain), as in other places, a distinction between Duckes’ and

Kings’ children, and before I make a gape or a stepe to that paritie

between them, I’le disobey you—which is the most I can say or doe. I

have not so much unthankfulness to denie what your Majesty sayeth,

that my former excus of the disproportion of my estate is taken

away, for you have filled a consuming purse, given me faire howses,

more land than I am worthie, and to maintain both me and them,

filled my coffers as full with patents of honer that my shoulders

cannot bare more. This, I say, is a still great argument for me to

refuse; but have not bine contented to rest here, when I thought you

had done more than enough, and as much as you could; but hath found

out a way which, to my heart’s satisfaction, is far above all, for

with this letter you have furnished and enriched my cabinett with so

precious a witnes of your valuation of me, as in future tymes it

cannot be sayde that I rise, as most courtiers doe, through

importunitie, for which caracter of me, and incomparable favor from,

I will sine (sign) with as contented, nay, as proud a hart, from

your poare Steenie, as Duke of Buckingham.”

Meantime, festivities were carried on in Spain which rivalled the

most brilliant spectacles witnessed in that age of pageantry, during

which chivalric manners and chivalric sports were for the last time

seen in England, since they were never revived after the Rebellion.

On Easter Sunday a masque was performed in honour of the strangers.

The Queen, clad in white, in remembrance of the Resurrection, and

decked in jewels, dined in public, first having duly observed the

solemn religious services of the festival.

Prince Charles also dined in public; the gentlemen-tasters, it is

especially noted, attended, and the Earl of Bristol gave them the

towel.

After vespers, the Court assembled, and the palace was thronged with

strangers from the various provinces, all eager to see the “wooer.”

Charles was then in the full vigour of his youth; he is depicted by

Velasquez, at or about this period, as possessing that bloom which

care so early destroys; his face was ever rather interesting and

picturesque than handsome; but it may easily be imagined how, set

off by the charm of manner, the graces of his person may have been

exaggerated by those who now welcomed him as a suitor to the young

princess. He had, on this occasion, adopted, for the first time, the

Spanish national costume, and was in a black dress, “richly garded,”

after the Spanish fashion, with the George about his neck, hanging

by a watchet ribbon. “The enamelled garter,” so states the Spanish

chroniclers, “exceeded that colour” (the watchet) “in brightness,

and his Majesty might as clearly be discerned as a sun amid the

stars. This being not the meanest action and demonstration of his

prudence, that being a travelling guest, who came by the post, not

being able to shine with equal lustre, he came to participate of the

Spanish sun.”[464]

Footnote 464:

Narrative of Andres of Mendoza. This tract was entered at

Stationer’s Hall, July 5, 1623. There is a copy in the British

Museum, and also in the Bodleian Library. Only two others are

known.—Nichols, 856.

From this observation it appears that the jewels promised by James

had not then arrived. The Prince must, therefore, have acted as a

contrast, though not a foil, to King Philip, who was resplendent in

a dress of ash colour, with an immense Golden Fleece, and a huge

chain, baudrick-wise, around his neck, “robbing,” as the annalist

declared, in his girdle, and other jewels, the “glory of Phœbus’

beams;” in his hat he displayed a large waving plume. Then came

Buckingham, whom the chroniclers of the day style the Admiral, and

Olivares, and they repaired to the Queen’s apartments, where the

Infanta, with her Majesty, came out to receive them. At the

interview which then took place, Sir Walter Aston acted as

interpreter; in that capacity he wished the Queen a happy Easter;

the young and blushing Infanta, standing by, received these

compliments, which were presumed to come direct from Charles, with a

modesty and gravity far beyond her years. Then their Majesties went

to the window of the south gallery to see the trial of arms in the

Court of the Palace.

The whole beauty, rank, and splendour of Spain were assembled in

this gallery, but none were more remarkable for grace, and for the

knowledge of the Court, than the Condessa Olivares—whose name was

afterwards coupled with Buckingham’s in scandalous terms. She is

expressively said to have given “a life to all actions of greatness

and courtship.” She was only exceeded in address by her husband,

between whom and Buckingham a coolness soon afterwards commenced. A

trial of arms, the champions and their attendants being masked, then

took place, beginning from the house occupied by Buckingham, near

the Royal Hospital of Misericordia, and extending to the palace,

upon which were set the cartels of challenge, to which the Marquis

de Alcanizas, on the part of the Spaniards, and Buckingham, on that

of the English, were respondents.

Buckinghams’s “livery,” on this occasion, was very costly. It

consisted of hoods of orange, tawny, and silver cloth, set with

flowers and Romaine devices of black cloth, edged with silver in

circles, with turbans in Moorish fashion, and white plumes. Two

courses were run in the palace-court, the chief masker being the

flattered favourite of King James. Amid the gallant throng, four

maskers, in Turkish costume, attracted especial notice. One of them

was discovered, by the brightness of his hair, and his stateliness

in running at the ring, to be the King, who thus testified the

honour he wished to pay to Buckingham by joining in the same

sport.[465]

Footnote 465:

Nichols, p. 864.

The Bull-fight, or Panaderia, followed the trial of arms, and took

place during Pentecost. This cruel diversion had been repeatedly

prohibited by Papal bulls, but to no purpose. So common was it to

have several men killed during a bull-fight, that priests were

always on the spot, ready to confess the dying; and according to

Howell, who was present on this occasion, it was not unusual to see

a man dangling on each horn of the bull, with his entrails hanging

from him.[466]

Footnote 466:

Howell’s Letters.

The bull-fight at which Charles and Buckingham were present, was

held on the first of June; and scarcely had the day dawned, when a

concourse of nobility rushed to the Panaderia or Bullangerie, as it

is called in the old chronicle; where, in the centre of a space

encircled by twelve arches of unpolished stone, a gilded scaffolding

was erected, the lower part of which was covered with cloth of gold

and silver, mingled with crimson. On either side were smaller

scaffoldings, divided from the principal one by partitions of

crimson cloth, spotted with gold. This erection had only been once

used, when the Duc de Maine had visited Madrid for the espousals, by

proxy, with Anne of Austria. On the left hand there was a portal by

which persons seated on the scaffolding might go in and out of the

scaffolding; and on the summit of all were two canopies of Florence

cloth, of carnation-colour, interspersed with gold rays, with chairs

of cloth of gold and silver underneath them, and hung with rich

tapestry. On these various stages stood the nobility of Spain and

the Council; whilst, beneath the canopy, their Majesties were

seated, the Pope’s Nuncio standing on the right hand, and the

several ambassadors on the left. The Corregidores of Madrid, with

their eight servants and four lacqueys, in “glorious liveries” of

plain black velvet, with embroidered skirts, cloaks of black cloth,

and doublets of black lace, and feathers of a colour “which all the

place admired and wondered at,” received the Council,—“that high

senate,” so writes the chronicler, entering with a wonderful

majesty, and so taking their places.

All the ladies of the Court, the nobility and Council and

Corregidores, being placed according to degree, the Queen and the

Infanta made their appearance, driving to the Panaderia in their

coaches. These two Princesses were dressed in dark grey, embroidered

with _lentils_ of gold, and wore plumes and jewels in their hair.

The Queen’s _carroche_, as it was called in the old language of the

day, was followed by numerous other coaches, in which sat the flower

of the Court, all ladies of the highest rank, who, how sombre soever

the fashion of their dresses, displayed in their equipages the

gayest colours, according well with the rich hues which nature, at

that season, produced. This procession was escorted by the Alcaldes

on horseback, whose troop was augmented by a number of English and

Spanish knights, officers, and grandees. As the Queen and Infanta

alighted, they were conducted by the captain of the guard, clad “in

a brave livery of dark yellow,” and wearing a plume, to their seats.

Amid the escort who did honour to the Queen that day, appeared most

conspicuously the then gay and sanguine Charles the First, in the

brief may-day of his life. He rode on a parti-coloured horse, curbed

with no bit, which seemed, beneath its royal burden, to have laid

aside its high spirit, and to submit to the skilful management of

the young equestrian. The Prince, it is specified, looked “relucent

in black and white plumes;” he accompanied the King, mounted on a

dapple grey, also without the bit. Philip wore the dark-coloured

suit of his country. Then came Buckingham, with the Condé Olivares,

the Master of the Horse, preceding the band of English gentry, and

riding with the Council of State and Chamber of Spain.

Having taken their appointed seats, Charles and his countrymen

beheld, first, fifty lacqueys in high-Dutch costume of cloth of

silver, with caps of wrought silver, follow the Duke de Cea, into

the enclosure. Behind the Duke rode the combatants, distinguished by

great tawny plumes, and hose of tawny cloth, laced with silver. They

were scrupulously alike. Scarcely had this gallant Spanish noble

paid his homage to the royal personages present than the Duke de

Maqueda, looking, says the enthusiastic chronicler, “like one of the

Roman Cæsars,” and followed by many noblemen, attended by a hundred

lacqueys in dark-coloured serge, banded with lace, and relieved with

silver belts and white garters, rode gallantly into the palace.

Next appeared the Condé de Villamor, with his fifty lacqueys in

white printed satin, with doublets of azure, silk, and gold, set out

with tufts of gold and silver lace, with white plumes on their hats;

and amid this gorgeous throng, on a chestnut horse, rode the Condé,

his horse’s main and tail being drawn out with silver twist,

“surpassing even the horses of Phœbus’ chariot.” Such was the

waving of feathers, that it was, says the beholder, like “a moving

garden, or an army of Indians.”

And now came the two combatants—Gaviria and Bonifaz; or, as they

were called, Kill-bulls. They, too, had their lacqueys—Bonifaz in

white plumes, whilst those of Gaviria were distinguished by dark

green suits. Lastly, appeared the Cavalier de la Morzilla, who came

to “try his fortune with lance and target.”

Although by right the office of Marshal, on this occasion, belonged

to the Condé Olivares, it was surrendered to Buckingham, Charles

giving precedence to his favourite; so that it was the proud office

of the once lowly Villiers to appear chief in the court of Spain, as

he had often done in that of England. He stood, therefore, behind

the Infanta, Don Carlos, and by the side of Olivares, who acted not

only as an adviser, but also as interpreter—the Duke, it seems,

having never acquired Spanish. The part thus allotted to Olivares,

though a subordinate one, was performed with due punctilio and

courtesy; and as one sensible of the honour which James had done him

in the “letters, full of wisdom and gravity,” with which he had

honoured him.

Then the lacqueys drew back, and looking in their blue and red

colours like a harvest in June blown about by the breeze, left their

lords to the perilous encounter. The bull-fight witnessed by Charles

and Buckingham differed little from that still unhappily the chief

delight of the Spaniards in our own times, except that, to pay the

more refined tribute to the Prince and his favourite, the combatants

were of high rank. As the Condé de Villamor, to whom the first

encounter was allotted, rode to the assault, his retainers showered

darts on the bull; whose hide resembled, according to the flowery

narrative of Mendoza, a quiver, or recalled “the thorny hedges of

Helvetia;” but the bystanders, seeing the poor animal’s agonies,

took out the arrows with great velocity, although, in so doing, they

were in imminent danger of their lives. De Magueda signalised

himself by many brave attempts; but it was the glory of a combatant

named Cantillana that he killed a bull. Bonifaz and Gaviria made

such desperate attacks on the poor animals, that their assaults

could not be counted; but the greatest praise was due to De Velada;

who overthrew two or three hulls by “dint of sword and gore of

lance,” but having wounded one of these infuriated creatures between

the eyes, ran so great a risk that the King; would not suffer him to

enter a second time into the lists. Numerous, indeed, were the feats

that might incite to poetry, or to song, had not the conflict been

of so cruel and so debasing a nature; so that the valour which was

so largely displayed might even be said to verge upon brutality.

Mendoza enumerates them with a savage enthusiasm. Amid the most

successful of the bull-killers appeared the famous Montezuma, who

did credit to his royal blood and established bravery by putting a

bull to flight, the animal having unaccountably showed signs of

fear; he was pursued by Montezuma, and, struck by a cleaving blow of

the sword, was left for dead. As the fight drew near its close,

Antonio Gamio, the Duke de Cea’s second, made one of the bravest

assaults of the day upon a furious bull, upon which he rushed,

leaving half of his lance within him, whilst cries of delight and

shouts of exultation rang through the air, and the bull fell down

dead by the side of the fearless combatant; the horse stood

perfectly still, showing to what a degree of perfection management

had brought the courser; so intrepid when urged onward, so docile

when occasion required.

The bull-fight being ended, the Queen and Infanta returned, beneath

a shower of rain, which surprised them in that season, to the

palace, where they sought repose after the exciting scenes, in which

even the young and gentle Infanta took a delight apparently

inconsistent with her character. Nothing, indeed, can exceed the

raptures of Andres de Mendoza, from whose animated pages this

narrative is drawn. “Since the report is Festival,” he says,

referring to his own exaggerated descriptions, “it is but like to

that which was to be seen with the eye. You would have said as much

if you had but seen them fight with those furious beasts, showing

themselves the more valiant, in that they were undaunted and

resolved Spaniards.”[467]

Footnote 467:

Narrative of Andres de Mendoza, Nichols, p. 869.

END OF VOL I.

R. BORN, PRINTER, GLOUCESTER STREET, REGENT’S PARK.

ERRATA.

----------

VOL. I.

Page 12, lines 5 and 16—_for_ Brokesby _read_ Brookesby.

” 13, ” 1—_for_ Brokesby, _read_ Brookesby.

” 43, ” 21—_for_ Lord de Ross, _read_ Lord de Roos.

” 87, —_note_.—_for_ Endysmoir Porter, _read_ Endymion

Porter.

” 92, line 6—_for_ Abbo, _read_ Abbot.

” 97, _delete_ first line.

” 108, line 6—_for_ favours _read_ favour.

” 155, ” 17—_for_ King James’s room; though, _read_

King James’s room, where.

” 163, ” 13—_for_ pours out of contention, _read_ comes

out of contention.

” 172, ” 18—_for_ a young lady of the seven, _read_ a

young lady of the seventeenth

century.

” 186, ” 27—_for_ of his succession, _read_ of his successor.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Transcriber’s Note

There are several anomolies in the footnoting. In the original,

there is a single footnote 1 in the Preface, and the numbering

begins again at the opening of the first chapter. The sequence

continues to 99, and then restarts with 1. This is repeated several

times. There are also several notes which are denoted only with a

traditional asterisk. On occasion, footnotes appear out of order.

There is no apparent reason for the dual system, and it seems most

likely that the non-numeric references were added later, after the

numbering had been completed, and were used to avoid the need to

re-sequence work already done.

For this text, all footnotes have been re-sequenced numerically

across the whole volume, to assure uniqueness. They will appear in

the correct order.

p. 99 Footnote 112 (‘_Ibid._’) had no anchor in the text, but,

based on the passages in Reliquiæ Wottonianæ referred to in

the prior note, the quoted text would seem to end near the

bottom of the page, and has been added there.

p. 105 There is a anchor to a footnote 119 at ‘benefited his family

more than himself.[119]’ which does not appear on the page.

The same anchor appears on p. 107 along with a footnote

using the same number. The dubious anchor has been removed.

p. 152 Footnote 169 had no anchor in the text, but refers to the

quoted passage. An anchor (169)has been added at that point.

The two spellings of the modern Hurstpierpoint, ‘Hurst-pierre-point’

and ‘Hurst-per-point’, are retained, though the second hyphen in the

latter occurs on a line break.

The text ends with a list of _errata_ which covers many of the

issues listed at the end of this note. The intent of this list has

been honored, and the indicated changes made. Links are provided to

the corresponding item in that list.

The first items of the _errata_ would seem to correct the spelling

of the home of the Villiers from ‘Brokesby’ to ‘Brookesby’. There

are two more instances that were not mentioned, which have been

corrected as well.

Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected,

and are noted here. Given the frequent quotations, it was inevitable

that opening and closing quotation marks would sometimes be lost.

They are placed here where the context or voice makes their position

obvious, or where an inspection of the original sources was possible

and allowed for the proper punctuation.

The paragraph beginning on p. 147 ends with a closing quotation

mark. There is no obvious point at which that quotation might begin.

The mark is retained, in any case.

On p. 338, the sentence ending with a reference to note 403 includes

a closing quotation mark, which has no corresponding open. The note

references _State Papers, vol. cxxxix, No. 16_, which seems to be an

error. The topic can be found discussed in _State Papers, vol.

cxliv, No. 16,_, but only the phrases quoted earlier can be found

there. The closing quotation marks seems an error.

On p. 339, continuing on p. 340 there is an long paraphrased passage

from _Reliquiæ Wottonianæ._, p. 213, which would seem to end at

‘Lieutenant of Dover Castle’. The closing quotation mark has been

added there.

The references are to the page and line in the original. Where three

numbers are referenced, the second refers to a note on that page,

and the third to the line therein.

1.17 BRO[O]KESBY, THE NATIVE PLACE OF GEORGE Added.

VILLIERS

12.5 adding to his name the designation of Added.

“Bro[o]kesby;”

12.16 At Bro[o]kesby, the manorial residence Added.

12.26 now owns the name of Bro[o]kesby. Added.

13.1 The town of Bro[o]kesby has, of late years Added.

13.23 From the retirement of Bro[o]kesby Added.

18.10 On the fourth of January, 1[5/6]05-6, Sir Replaced.

George Villiers died.

22.15 “the conservative qualities and ornaments Added.

of youth.[”]

26.34.7 de survivre trop long tem[p]s a ce bon Added.

roi.

28.3 was Ravaillac[s]’s fatal opportunity Removed.

43.21 to the Lord de Ro[s/o]s Replaced.

46.18 this was Burleigh-on-the[ /-]Hill which Replaced.

she sold

47.54.1 Art[.] Lucy Harrington. Added.

63.21 and to bring Villiers in.[’/”] Replaced.

87.93.3 Endy[smoir/mion] Porter’s letters. Replaced.

90.101.11 D’Ewe[s]’s MS. Journal in Bishop Added.

Goodman’s Life

92.6 which was imperatively due to the Primate, Added.

Abbo[t]

97.1 [way most gratifying to an honourable Removed.

mind.]

107.119.6 who were to be excluded from the Order of Added.

St. George,[”]

108.6 and the noble miscreants be restored to Removed.

favour[s].

126.21 the rich banners and streamers,[”] Removed. No

opening.

128.141.5 “were squires of high degree, for cast and Added. No

bravery;[”] closing.

144.7 the “most commended for notable Replaced.

fooling[,/.]”

146.18 he conceived that the partition of the Added. Probable.

kingdom placed him.[”]

147.6 had not public business interfered.[”] _sic_: opening

quote?

150.18 and so was apprehended near Carlisle.[”] Added.

154.15 the most curious combat of world[l]y Added.

passions

155.17 called King James’s room; [though/where] Replaced.

the monarch is said

163.13 [pours/comes] out of contention Replaced.

166.11 to hang him with a silken halter.[”] Added.

167.20 a partner violent, litigious, and Added.

un[s]crupulous.

167.5 without [bans] or licence _sic_: banns

172.18 a young lady of the seven[teenth century] Added.

175.3 Bacon “took to be the worst of his Added.

enemies.[”]

177.12 will set all on fire when he is in.[”] Added.

186.27 would have had the nomination of his Replaced.

success[ion/or]

188.2 for her own good, or her friends.[”] Removed.

202.4 writes Mr. Chamberlain, merrily, [“]at Added.

Newmarket

232.15 but Harvey, “sick and surfeited[”], Added. Probable.

declined attendance

238.275.6 to infatuate him in Sir Thomas Lake’s Replaced.

business[,/.]

248.9 on the site of the ancient Monast[e]ry of Added.

Crutched Friars

279.22 more than at their own interest;[”] Removed.

286.337.6 [5/6]. Peace and war, both foreign and Replaced.

civil

308.26 than he had done as Dean of Added.

Westminster,[”] “which,” he adds,

321.3 [“]and so,” adds the minute observer Added.

323.23 without any sign of agitation.[”] Added.

333.16 [“]and where,” adds the crafty Spaniard Added.

338.13 restored on his return home.[”] Removed.

339.27 [“]It seemed, however,” says the same Added.

writer

340.6 then Lieutenant of Dover Castle.[”] Added.

340.27 says Sir Henry Wotton, [‘/“]singular Replaced.

credit

357.15 the pecuniary difficult[i]es Added.

358.4 [“]The Spaniards, too,” as the Earl stated Added.

359.14 “imperfect note my babie had[’/”] Replaced.

368.23 The King afterwards promised Charles that Added.

[“]though it were Lent

369.1 In the eve[n]ing of Saturday Added.

369.442.4 by the King of Spain.[”] Added.

372.21 at the Monastery of San Gero[min/nim]o Transposed.

381.8 [“]To which James answers:—“I wonder quhy Removed

ye shoulde

393.17 “a life to all actions of greatness and Added.

courtship.[”]

398.6 his horse’s [main] and tail _sic_: mane