It was usual, in the reign of James the First, when they compared it
with the preceding glorious one, to distinguish him by the title of
_Queen James_, and his illustrious predecessor by that of _King
Elizabeth_! Sir Anthony Weldon informs us, "That when James the First
sent Sir Roger Aston as his messenger to Elizabeth, Sir Roger was always
placed in the lobby: the hangings being turned so that he might see the
Queen dancing to a little fiddle, which was to no other end than that he
should tell his master, by her youthful disposition, how likely he was
to come to the crown he so much thirsted after;"--and, indeed, when at
her death this same knight, whose origin was low, and whose language was
suitable to that origin, appeared before the English council, he could
not conceal his Scottish rapture, for, asked how the king did? he
replied, "Even, my lords, like a poore man wandering about forty years
in a wildernesse and barren soyle, and now arrived at the _Land of
Promise_." A curious anecdote, respecting the economy of the court in
these reigns, is noticed in some manuscript memoirs written in James's
reign, preserved in a family of distinction. The lady, who wrote these
memoirs, tells us that a great change had taken place in _cleanliness_,
since the last reign; for, having rose from her chair, she found, on her
departure, that she had the honour of carrying _upon_ her some
companions who must have been inhabitants of the palace. The court of
Elizabeth was celebrated occasionally for its magnificence, and always
for its nicety. James was singularly effeminate; he could not behold a
drawn sword without shuddering; was much too partial to handsome men;
and appears to merit the bitter satire of Churchill. If wanting other
proofs, we should only read the second volume of "Royal Letters," 6987,
in the Harleian collections, which contains Stenie's correspondence with
James. The gross familiarity of Buckingham's address is couched in such
terms as these:--he calls his majesty "Dere dad and Gossope!" and
concludes his letters with "your humble slaue and dogge, Stenie."[121]
He was a most weak, but not quite a vicious man; yet his expertness in
the art of dissimulation was very great indeed. He called this
_King-Craft_. Sir Anthony Weldon gives a lively anecdote of this
dissimulation in the king's behaviour to the Earl of Somerset at the
very moment he had prepared to disgrace him. The earl accompanied the
king to Royston, and, to his apprehension, never parted from him with
more seeming affection, though the king well knew he should never see
him more. "The earl, when he kissed his hand, the king hung about his
neck, slabbering his cheeks, saying--'For God's sake, when shall I see
thee again? On my soul I shall neither eat nor sleep until you come
again.' The earl told him on Monday (this being on the Friday). 'For
God's sake let me,' said the king:--'Shall I, shall I?'--then lolled
about his neck; 'then for God's sake give thy lady this kisse for me, in
the same manner at the stayre's head, at the middle of the stayres, and
at the stayre's foot.' The earl was not in his coach when the king used
these very words (in the hearing of four servants, one of whom reported
it instantly to the author of this history), 'I shall never see his face
more.'"
He displayed great imbecility in his amusements, which are characterised
by the following one, related by Arthur Wilson:--When James became
melancholy in consequence of various disappointments in state matters,
Buckingham and his mother used several means of diverting him. Amongst
the most ludicrous was the present. They had a young lady, who brought a
pig in the dress of a new-born infant: the countess carried it to the
king, wrapped in a rich mantle. One Turpin, on this occasion, was
dressed like a bishop in all his pontifical ornaments. He began the
rites of baptism with the common prayer-book in his hand; a silver ewer
with water was held by another. The marquis stood as godfather. When
James turned to look at the infant, the pig squeaked: an animal which he
greatly abhorred. At this, highly displeased, he exclaimed,--"Out! Away
for shame! What blasphemy is this!"
This ridiculous joke did not accord with the feelings of James at that
moment; he was not "i' the vein." Yet we may observe, that had not such
artful politicians as Buckingham and his mother been strongly persuaded
of the success of this puerile fancy, they would not have ventured on
such "blasphemies." They certainly had witnessed amusements heretofore
not less trivial which had gratified his majesty. The account which Sir
Anthony Weldon gives, in his Court of King James, exhibits a curious
scene of James's amusements. "After the king supped, he would come
forth to see pastimes and fooleries; in which Sir Ed. Zouch, Sir George
Goring, and Sir John Finit, were the chiefe and master fools, and surely
this fooling got them more than any others wisdome; Zouch's part was to
sing bawdy songs, and tell bawdy tales; Finit's to compose these songs:
there was a set of fiddlers brought to court on purpose for this
fooling, and Goring was master of the game for fooleries, sometimes
presenting David Droman and Archee Armstrong, the kings foole, on the
back of the other fools, to tilt one at another, till they fell together
by the eares; sometimes they performed antick dances. But Sir John
Millicent (who was never known before) was commended for notable
fooling; and was indeed the best _extemporary foole_ of them all."
Weldon's "Court of James" is a scandalous chronicle of the times.
His dispositions were, however, generally grave and studious. He seems
to have possessed a real love of letters, but attended with that
mediocrity of talent which in a private person had never raised him into
notice. "While there was a chance," writes the author of the Catalogue
of Noble Authors, "that the dyer's son, Vorstius, might be
divinity-professor at Leyden, instead of being burnt, as his majesty
hinted _to the Christian prudence_ of the Dutch that he deserved to be,
our ambassadors could not receive instructions, and consequently could
not treat on any other business. The king, who did not resent the
massacre at Amboyna, was on the point of breaking with the States for
supporting a man who professed the heresies of Enjedius, Ostodorus, &c.,
points of extreme consequence to Great Britain! Sir Dudley Carleton was
forced to threaten the Dutch, not only with the hatred of King James,
but also with his pen."
This royal pedant is forcibly characterised by the following
observations of the same writer:--
"Among his majesty's works is a small collection of poetry. Like several
of his subjects, our royal author has condescended to apologise for its
imperfections, as having been written in his youth, and his maturer age
being otherwise occupied. So that (to employ his own language) 'when his
ingyne and age could, his affaires and fascherie would not permit him to
correct them, scarslie but at stolen moments, he having the leisure to
blenk upon any paper.' When James sent a present of his harangues,
turned into Latin, to the Protestant princes in Europe, it is not
unentertaining to observe in their answers of compliments and thanks,
how each endeavoured to insinuate that he had read them, without
positively asserting it! Buchanan, when asked how he came to make a
pedant of his royal pupil, answered that it was the best he could make
of him. Sir George Mackenzie relates a story of his tutelage, which
shows Buchanan's humour, and the veneration of others for royalty. The
young king being one day at play with his fellow-pupil, the master of
Erskine, Buchanan was reading, and desired them to make less noise. As
they disregarded his admonition, he told his majesty, if he did not hold
his tongue, he would certainly whip his breech. The king replied, he
would be glad to see who would _bell the cat_, alluding to the fable.
Buchanan lost his temper, and throwing his book from him, gave his
majesty a sound flogging. The old countess of Mar rushed into the room,
and taking the king in her arms, asked how he dared to lay his hands on
the Lord's anointed? Madam, replied the elegant and immortal historian,
I have whipped his a----, you may kiss it if you please!"
Many years after this was published, I discovered a curious
anecdote:--Even so late as when James I. was seated on the throne of
England, once the appearance of his _frowning tutor in a dream_ greatly
agitated the king, who in vain attempted to pacify his illustrious
pedagogue in this portentous vision. Such was the terror which the
remembrance of this inexorable republican tutor had left on the
imagination of his royal pupil.
James I. was certainly a zealous votary of literature; his wish was
sincere, when at viewing the Bodleian Library at Oxford, he exclaimed,
"Were I not a king I would be an university man; and if it were so that
I must be a prisoner, if I might have my wish, I would have no other
prison than this library, and be chained together with these good
authors."
Hume has informed us, that "his death was decent." The following are the
minute particulars: I have drawn them from an imperfect manuscript
collection, made by the celebrated Sir Thomas Browne.
"The lord keeper, on March 22, received a letter from the court, that it
was feared his majesty's sickness was dangerous to death; which fear was
more confirmed, for he, meeting Dr. Harvey in the road, was told by him
that the king used to have a beneficial evacuation of nature, a
sweating in his left arm, as helpful to him as any fontenel could be,
which of late failed.
"When the lord keeper presented himself before him, he moved to cheerful
discourse, but it would not do. He stayed by his bedside until midnight.
Upon the consultations of the physicians in the morning he was out of
comfort, and by the prince's leave told him, kneeling by his pallet,
that his days to come would be but few in this world. '_I am
satisfied_,' said the king; 'but pray you assist me to make me ready for
the next world, to go away hence for Christ, whose mercies I call for,
and hope to find.'
"From that time the keeper never left him, or put off his clothes to go
to bed. The king took the communion, and professed he died in the bosom
of the Church of England, whose doctrine he had defended with his pen,
being persuaded it was according to the mind of Christ, as he should
shortly answer it before him.
"He stayed in the chamber to take notice of everything the king said,
and to repulse those who crept much about the chamber door, and into the
chamber; they were for the most addicted to the Church of Rome. Being
rid of them, he continued in prayer, while the king lingered on, and at
last _shut his eyes with his own hands_."