which he was advertised, that Rochelle had relieved itself; upon which
he directed that his breakfast might be speedily made ready, and he
would make haste to acquaint the King with the good news, the court
being then at Southwick, about five miles from Portsmouth. The chamber
in which he was dressing himself was full of company, and of officers
in the fleet and army. There was Monsieur de Soubize, brother to the
duke de Rohan, and other French gentlemen, who were very sollicitous
for the embarkation of the army, and for the departure of the fleet
for the relief of Rochelle; and they were at that time in much trouble
and and perplexity, out of apprehension that the news the duke had
received that morning might slacken the preparations of the voyage,
which their impatience and interest, persuaded them was not advanced
with expedition; and so they held much discourse with the duke of the
impossibility that his intelligence could be true, and that it was
contrived by the artifice and dexterity of their enemies, in order to
abate the warmth and zeal that was used for their relief, the arrival
of which relief, those enemies had much reason to apprehend; and a
longer delay in sending it, would ease them of that terrible
apprehension; their forts and works towards the sea, and in the
harbour being almost finished.
'This discourse, according to the natural custom of that nation, and
by the usual dialect of that language, was held with such passion and
vehemence, that the standers-by who understood not French, did believe
they were angry, and that they used the duke rudely. He being ready,
and informed that his breakfast was ready, drew towards the door,
where the hangings were held up; and in that very passage turning
himself to speak with Sir Thomas Fryer, a colonel of the army, who was
then speaking near his ear, he was on a sudden struck over his
shoulder upon the breast with a knife; upon which, without using any
other words, than that the villain has killed me, and in the same
moment pulling out the knife himself, he fell down dead, the knife
having pierced his heart. No man had ever seen the blow, or the man
who gave it; but in the confusion they were in, every man made his own
conjecture, and declared it as a thing known, most agreeing, that it
was done by the French, from the angry discourse they thought they had
heard from them, and it was a kind of miracle, that they were not all
killed that instant: The sober sort that preserved them from it,
having the same opinion of their guilt, and only reserving them for a
more judicial examination, and proceeding.
'In the crowd near the door, there was found upon the ground a hat, in
the inside whereof, there was sewed upon the crown a paper, in which
were writ four or five lines of that declaration made by the House of
Commons, in which they had stiled the duke an enemy to the kingdom;
and under it a short ejaculation towards a prayer. It was easily
enough concluded, that the hat belonged to the person who had
committed the murder, but the difficulty remained still as great, who
that person should be; for the writing discovered nothing of the name;
and whosoever it was, it was very natural to believe, that he was gone
far enough not to be found without a hat. In this hurry, one running
one way, another another way, a man was seen walking before the door
very composedly without a hat; whereupon one crying out, here's the
fellow that killed the duke, upon which others run thither, every body
asking which was he; to which the man without the hat very composedly
answered, I am he. Thereupon some of those who were most furious
suddenly run upon the man with their drawn swords to kill him; but
others, who were at least equally concerned in the loss and in the
sense of it, defended him; himself with open arms very calmly and
chearfully exposing himself to the fury and swords of the most
enraged, as being very willing to fall a sacrifice to their sudden
anger, rather than be kept for deliberate justice, which he knew must
be executed upon him.
'He was now enough known, and easily discovered to be that Felton,
whom we mentioned before, who had been a lieutenant in the army; he
was quickly carried into a private room by the persons of the best
condition, some whereof were in authority, who first thought fit, so
far to dissemble, as to mention the duke only grievously wounded, but
not without hopes of recovery. Upon which Felton smiled, and said, he
knew well enough he had given him a blow that had determined all their
hopes. Being then asked at whose instigation he had performed that
horrid, wretched act, he answered them with a wonderful assurance,
That they should not trouble themselves in that enquiry; that no man
living had credit or power enough with him to have engaged or disposed
him, to such an action, that he had never entrusted his purpose or
resolution to any man; that it proceeded from himself, and the impulse
of his own conscience, and that the motives thereunto will appear if
his hat were found. He spoke very frankly of what he had done, and
bore the reproaches of them that spoke to him, with the temper of a
man who thought he had not done amiss. But after he had been in prison
some time, where he was treated without any rigour, and with humanity
enough; and before and at his tryal, which was about four months
after, at the King's Bench, he behaved himself with great modesty, and
wonderful repentance; being as he said convinced in his conscience
that he had done wickedly, and asked pardon of the King and Duchess,
and all the Duke's servants, whom he acknowledged he had offended, and
very earnestly besought the judges that he might have his hand struck
off, with which he had performed that impious act before he should be
put to death.'
This is the account lord Clarendon gives in the first volume of his
history, of the fall of this great favourite, which serves to throw a
melancholy veil over the splendor of his life, and demonstrates the
extreme vanity of exterior pomp, and the danger those are exposed to
who move on the precipice of power. It serve[s] to shew that of all
kind of cruelty, that which is the child of enthusiasm is the word, as
it is founded upon something that has the appearance of principles;
and as it is more stedfast, so does it diffuse more mischief than that
cruelty which flows from the agitations of passion: Felton blindly
imagined he did God service by assassination, and the same unnatural
zeal would perhaps have prompted him to the murder of a thousand more,
who in his opinion were enemies to their country.
The above-mentioned historian remarks, that there were several
prophecies and predictions scattered about, concerning the duke's
death; and then proceeds to the relation of the most astonishing story
we have ever met with.
As this anecdote is countenanced by so great a name, I need make no
apology for inserting it, it has all the evidence the nature of the
thing can admit of, and is curious in itself.
'There was an officer in the King's wardrobe in Windsor-Castle of a
good reputation for honesty and discretion, and then about the age of
fifty years, or more. This man had been bred in his youth in a school
in the parish where Sir George Villiers the father of the Duke lived,
and had been much cherished and obliged in that season of his age, by
the said Sir George, whom afterwards he never saw. About six months
before the miserable end of the duke of Buckingham, about midnight,
this man, being in his bed at Windsor, where his office was, and in
very good health, there appeared to him, on the side of his bed, a man
of very venerable aspect, who fixing his eyes upon him, asked him, if
he knew him; the poor man half dead with fear, and apprehension, being
asked the second time, whether he remembered him, and having in that
time called to his memory, the presence of Sir George Villiers, and
the very cloaths he used to wear, in which at that time he used to be
habited; he answered him, That he thought him to be that person; he
replied, that he was in the right, that he was the same, and that he
expected a service from him; which was, that he should go from him to
his son the duke of Buckingham, and tell him, if he did not somewhat
to ingratiate himself to the people, or at least, to abate the extreme
malice they had against him, he would be suffered to live but a short
time, and after this discourse he disappeared, and the poor man, if he
had been at all waking, slept very well till the morning, when he
believed all this to be a dream, and considered it no otherwise.
'Next night, or shortly after, the same person appeared to him again
in the same place, and about the same time of the night, with an
aspect a little more severe than before; and asking him whether he had
done as he required him? and perceiving he had not, he gave him very
severe reprehensions, and told him, he expected more compliance from
him; and that if he did not perform his commands, he should enjoy no
peace of mind, but should be always pursued by him: Upon which he
promised to obey him.
'But the next morning waking exceedingly perplexed with the lively
representation of all that had passed, he considered that he was a
person at such a distance from the duke, that he knew not how to find
any admittance into his presence, much less any hope to be believed in
what he should say, so with great trouble and unquietness he spent
some time in thinking what he should do. The poor man had by this time
recovered the courage to tell him, That in truth he had deferred the
execution of his commands, upon considering how difficult a thing it
would be for him to get access to the duke, having acquaintance with
no person about him; and if he could obtain admission to him, he would
never be able to persuade him that he was sent in such a manner, but
he should at best be thought to be mad, or to be set on and employed
by his own or the malice of other men to abuse the duke, and so he
should be sure to be undone. The person replied, as he had done
before, that he should never find rest, till he should perform what he
required, and therefore he were better to dispatch it; that the access
to his son was known to be very easy; and that few men waited long for
him, and for the gaining him credit, he would tell him two or three
particulars, which he charged him never to mention to any person
living, but to the duke himself; and he should no sooner hear them,
but he would believe all the rest he should say; and so repeating his
threats he left him.
'In the morning the poor man more confirmed by the last appearance,
made his journey to London, where the court then was. He was very well
known to Sir Ralph Freeman, one of the masters of the requests, who
had married a lady that was nearly allied to the duke, and was himself
well received by him. To him this man went; and tho' he did not
acquaint him with all the particulars, he said enough to him to let
him see there was somewhat extraordinary in it, and the knowledge he
had of the sobriety and discretion of the man, made the more
impression on him. He desired that by his means he might be brought to
the duke, to such a place, and in such a manner as should be thought
fit; affirming, that he had much to say to him; and of such a nature
as would require much privacy, and some time and patience in the
hearing. Sir Ralph promised he would speak first to the duke of him,
and then he should understand his pleasure, and accordingly on the
first opportunity he did inform him of the reputation and honesty of
the man, and then what he desired, and all he knew of the matter. The
duke according to his usual openness and condescension told him, that
he was the next day, early, to hunt with the King; that his horses
should attend him to Lambeth Bridge, where he would land by five
o'Clock in the morning, and if the man attended him there at that
hour, he would walk and speak with him as long as should be necessary.
Sir Ralph carried the man with him next morning, and presented him to
the duke at his landing, who received him courteously, and walked
aside in conference near an hour, none but his own servants being at
that hour near the place, and they and Sir Ralph at such a distance,
that they could not hear a word, though the duke sometimes spoke, and
with great commotion, which Sir Ralph the more easily perceived,
because he kept his eyes always fixed upon the duke; having procured
the conference, upon somewhat he knew, there was of extraordinary; and
the man told him in his return over the water, that when he mentioned
those particulars, which were to gain him credit, the substance
whereof he said he durst not impart to him, the duke's colour changed,
and he swore he could come by that knowledge only by the devil, for
that those particulars were known only to himself, and to one person
more, who, he was sure, would never speak of it.
'The duke pursued his purpose of hunting, but was observed to ride all
the morning with great pensiveness, and in deep thoughts, without any
delight in the exercise he was upon, and before the morning was spent,
left the field, and alighted at his mother's lodgings at Whitehall,
with whom he was shut up for the space of two or three hours, the
noise of their discourse frequently reaching the ears of those who
attended in the next rooms and when the duke left her, his countenance
appeared full of trouble, with a mixture of anger: a countenance that
was never before observed in him in any conversation with her, towards
whom he had a profound reverence, and the countess herself was, at the
duke's leaving her, found overwhelmed in tears, and in the highest
agony imaginable; whatever there was of all this, it is a notorious
truth, that when the news of the duke's murder (which happened within
a few months) was brought to his mother, she seemed not in the least
degree surprized, but received it as if she had foreseen it, nor did
afterwards express such a degree of sorrow, as was expected from such
a mother, for the loss of such a son.'
This is the representation which lord Clarendon gives of this
extraordinary circumstance, upon which I shall not presume to make any
comment; but if ever departed spirits were permitted to interest
themselves with human affairs, and as Shakespear expresses it, revisit
the glimpses of the moon, it seems to have been upon this occasion: at
least there seems to be such rational evidence of it, as no man,
however fortified against superstition, can well resist.
But let us now enter upon the life of the son of this great man; who,
if he was inferior to his father as a statesman, was superior in wit,
and wanted only application to have made a very great figure, even in
the senate, but his love of pleasure was immoderate, which embarrassed
him in the pursuit of any thing solid or praise-worthy.
He was an infant when his father's murder was perpetrated, and
received his early education from several domestic tutors, and was
afterwards sent to the university of Cambridge: when he had finished
his course there, he travelled with his brother lord Francis, under
the care of William Aylesbury, esquire. Upon his return, which was
after the breaking out of the civil wars, he was conducted to Oxford,
and presented to his Majesty, then there, and entered into Christ
Church. Upon the decline of the King's cause, the young duke of
Buckingham attended Prince Charles into Scotland, and was present in
the year 1651 at the battle of Worcester, where he escaped beyond sea,
and was soon after made knight of the garter. He came afterwards
privately into England, and, November 19, 1657, married Mary, the
daughter and heir of Thomas lord Fairfax, by whose interest he
recovered all or most of his estate, which he had lost before. After
the restoration, at which time he is said to have possessed an estate
of 20,000 l. per annum, he was made one of the lords of the King's
bed-chamber, and of the privy council, lord lieutenant of Yorkshire,
and, at last, master of the horse.
In the year 1666, being discovered to have maintained secret
correspondence by letters, and other transactions, tending to raise
mutinies among some of his Majesty's forces, and stir up sedition
among his people, and to have carried on other traiterous designs and
practices, he absconded, upon which a proclamation was issued the same
year for apprehending him. Mr. Thomas Carte, in his Life of the Duke
of Ormond[1], tells us, 'that the duke's being denied the post of
president of the North, was probably the reason of his disaffection to
the King; and, that just before the recess of the Parliament, one Dr.
John Heydon was taken up for treasonable practices, in sowing a
sedition in the navy, and engaging persons in a conspiracy to seize
the Tower. The man was a pretender to great skill in astrology, but
had lost much of his reputation, by prognosticating the hanging of
Oliver to his son Richard Cromwel and Thurloe, who came to him in
disguise, for the calculation of nativities, being dressed like
distressed cavaliers. He was for that put into prison, and continued
in confinement sixteen months, whilst Cromwel outlived the prediction
four years. This insignificant fellow was mighty great with the duke
of Buckingham, who, notwithstanding the vanity of the art, and the
notorious ignorance of the professor of it, made him cast not only his
own, but the King's nativity; a matter of dangerous curiosity, and
condemned by a statute which could only be said to be antiquated,
because it had not for a long time been put in execution. This fellow
he had likewise employed, among others, to excite the seamen to
mutiny, as he had given money to other rogues to put on jackets to
personate seamen, and to go about the country begging in that garb,
and exclaiming for want of pay, while the people oppressed with taxes,
were cheated of their money by the great officers of the crown. Heydon
pretended to have been in all the duke's secrets, for near four years
past, and that he had been all that time designing against the King
and his government, that his grace thought the present reason
favourable for the execution of his design, and had his agents at work
in the navy and in the kingdom, to ripen the general discontents of
the people, and dispose them to action, that he had been importuned by
him to head the first party he could get together, and engage in an
insurrection, the duke declaring his readiness to appear and join in
the undertaking, as soon as the affair was begun. Some to whom Heydon
unbosomed himself, and had been employed by him to carry letters to
the duke of Buckingham, discovered the design. Heydon was taken up,
and a serjeant at arms sent with a warrant by his Majesty's express
order to take up the duke, who, having defended his house by force,
for some time at least, found means to escape. The King knew
Buckingham to be capable of the blackest designs, and was highly
incensed at him for his conduct last sessions, and insinuating that
spirit into the Commons, which had been so much to the detriment of
the public service. He could not forbear expressing himself with more
bitterness against the duke, than was ever dropped from him upon any
other occasion. When he was sollicited in his behalf, he frankly said,
that he had been the cause of continuing the war, for the Dutch would
have made a very low submission, had the Parliament continued their
first vigorous vote of supplying him, but the duke's cabals had
lessened his interest both abroad and at home, with regard to the
support of the war. In consequence of this resentment, the King put
him out of the privy council, bedchamber, and lieutenancy of York,
ordering him likewise to be struck out of all commissions. His grace
absconding, a proclamation was issued out, requiring his appearance,
and surrender of himself by a certain day.'
Notwithstanding this appearance of resentment against him, yet
Charles, who was far from being of an implacable temper, took
Buckingham again into favour, after he had made an humble submission;
he was restored to his place in the council, and in the bedchamber in
1667, and seemed perfectly confirmed in the good graces of the King,
who was, perhaps, too much charmed with his wit to consider him as an
enemy.
In the year 1670, the duke was supposed to be concerned in Blood's
attempt on the life of the duke of Ormond. This scheme was to have
conveyed that nobleman to Tyburn, and there to have hanged him; for
which purpose he was taken out of his coach in St. James's Street, and
carried away by Blood and his son beyond Devonshire House, Piccadilly,
but then rescued. Blood afterwards endeavoured to steal the crown out
of the Tower, but was seized; however, he was not only pardoned, but
had an estate of five hundred pounds a year given him in Ireland, and
admitted into an intimacy with the King. The reason of Blood's malice
against the duke of Ormond was, because his estate at Sorney was
forfeited for his treason in the course of government, and must have
been done by any lord lieutenant whatever. This, together with the
instigation of some enemy of the duke of Ormond's at court, wrought
upon him so, that he undertook the assassination. Mr. Carte supposes,
that no man was more likely to encourage Blood in this attempt, than
the duke of Buckingham, who, he says was the most profligate man of
his time, and had so little honour in him, that he would engage in any
scheme to gratify an irregular passion. The duke of Ormond had acted
with some severity against him, when he was detected in the attempt of
unhinging the government, which had excited so much resentment, as to
vent itself in this manner. Mr. Carte likewise charges the duchess of
Cleveland with conspiring against Ormond, but has given no reasons why
he thinks she instigated the attempt. The duchess was cousin to the
duke of Buckingham, but it appears in the Annals of Gallantry of those
times, that she never loved him, nor is it probable she engaged with
him in so dangerous a scheme.
That Buckingham was a conspirator against Ormond, Mr. Carte says,
there is not the least doubt; and he mentions a circumstance of his
guilt too strong to be resisted. That there were reasons to think him
the person who put Blood upon the attempt of the duke of Ormond, (says
he) 'cannot well be questioned, after the following relation, which I
had from a gentleman (Robert Lesly of Glaslough, in the county of
Monaghan, esquire) whose veracity and memory, none that knew him, will
ever doubt, who received it from the mouth of Dr. Turner, bishop of
Ely. The earl of Ossory came in one day, not long after the affair,
and seeing the duke of Buckingham standing by the King, his colour
rose, and he spoke to this effect; My lord, I know well, that you are
at the bottom of this late attempt of Blood's upon my father, and
therefore I give you fair warning, if my father comes to a violent end
by sword or pistol, or the more secret way of poison, I shall not be
at a loss to know the first author of it; I shall consider you as the
assassin; I shall treat you as such, and wherever I meet you, I shall
pistol you, though you stood behind the King's chair, and I tell it
you in his Majesty's presence, that you may be sure I shall keep my
word.' I know not whether this will be deemed any breach of decorum to
the King, in whose presence it was said, but, in my opinion, it was an
act of spirit and resentment worthy of a son, when his father's life
was menaced, and the villain (Blood) who failed in the attempt, was so
much courted, caressed, and in high favour immediately afterwards.