[Illustration:
ARISE ✤ PRAY ✤ WORK
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BIOGRAPHICAL CATALOGUE
OF THE PORTRAITS AT LONGLEAT
IN THE COUNTY OF WILTS
THE SEAT OF THE MARQUIS OF BATH
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_BIOGRAPHICAL_
_CATALOGUE_
OF THE PORTRAITS
AT LONGLEAT
IN THE COUNTY
OF WILTS
THE SEAT OF
THE MARQUIS OF BATH
❦
‘A true delineation, even of the smallest
man, and his scene of pilgrimage through
life, is capable of interesting the
greatest man; for all men are to an
unspeakable degree brothers, each man’s
life a strange emblem of every man’s, and
human portraits faithfully drawn are, of
all pictures, the welcomest on human
walls.’ CARLYLE.
_LONDON: ELLIOT STOCK_
1881.
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_DEDICATION_
TO THE OWNERS OF THAT BEAUTIFUL HOME,
ENDEARED TO ME BY THE KINDNESS AND FRIENDSHIP
OF THREE GENERATIONS,
THESE PAGES ARE INSCRIBED
BY THEIR FAITHFUL KINSWOMAN
MARY LOUISA BOYLE.
LONDON, September 1881.
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I FEEL it incumbent upon me to offer a few words of apology for the
shortcomings and inequalities of this small work, and the disproportion
of the length of some notices, and that of others; but I have had many
difficulties to contend with since I began my pleasant labours,—the
absence, for instance, of books of reference when travelling, and still
more, the failure of sight, which has rendered me more than usually
dependent on the kind help of others for description of pictures,
details of dress, and the like.
Being essentially a family record, I have given more especial attention
to the notices of such personages as were connected, even remotely, with
the owners of Longleat, making, as a rule, the records of public,
subservient to those of private, and domestic life, excepting, as in
many cases, where they were closely intertwined. To Kings and Queens I
have usually apportioned but a few lines, deviating from this rule,
however, when treating of the King and Queen of Bohemia, whose lives
read as a romance.
I have consulted history by many hands, and memoirs of all
kinds,—Clarendon, Burnet, Strype, Aubrey, Conway, Granger, Lodge, etc.
etc., and only refrained from quoting my authorities in footnotes from
the fear of swelling a volume already, I fear, too bulky.
To Canon Jackson, for whose invaluable help I can offer no adequate
thanks, I am indebted for stores of information, which his well-known
local knowledge, and love, and power of research, could alone supply.
Neither am I ashamed to own (since I had his permission) how largely I
have helped myself to gifts so freely bestowed.
Mr. Ernest Law kindly came to my assistance in the vexed question of the
portrait of Francis I. and his Queen, for so many years improperly
named, by allowing me to make use of a note belonging to his forthcoming
interesting work on Hampton Court Palace. The picture in question has
been attributed to different painters,—Sir Antonio More, Janet, and a
French artist, Maître Amboise, little known to fame. A similar portrait
was painted, and has been engraved, of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk,
and his wife, Mary, widow of Louis XII., King of France, but the
position of the figures is transposed, the Queen (doubtless in deference
to her rank) being on the right hand.
Many delightful hours, both at Longleat itself, and in manifold, and
devious wanderings, have been passed, in compiling this brief memorial
of the portraits in ‘the most august house in England.’
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[Illustration]
_ENTRANCE HALL_
_Contains large pictures by John Wootton,
representing the second Lord Weymouth,
several gentlemen, members of the hunt,
attendants, horses, hounds, etc. etc._
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[Illustration]
_LIBRARY._
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_LIBRARY._
-------
No. 1.
FIRST VISCOUNT WEYMOUTH.
_Oval. Brown coat. Wig._
----------
No. 2.
_BISHOP KEN_.
BY SIR PETER LELY.
BORN 1637, DIED 1711.
_Oval. In Canonicals. Black skull-cap._
HE was the youngest son of Thomas Ken, of Furnival’s Inn. Born at
Berkhampstead, county Herts. The Kens were a family of great antiquity
in Somersetshire. The future Bishop was educated at Winchester and New
College, Oxford, and entered the University, about the year 1656, at the
same time as Mr. Thynne (afterwards Lord Weymouth), who became the
faithful friend of his whole (subsequent) life.
Oxford was at that time in a state of great disorder;—the Book of Common
Prayer forbidden; ‘the Proctor a boisterous fellow at cudgelling, and
foot-ball playing; the Vice-Chancellor in Spanish leather boots, huge
ribbons at the knee, and his hat mostly cocked.’
But such examples were lost on Ken. He pursued his studies with
sobriety, and diligence, and took his Degree. In 1666 he became a Fellow
of Winchester College, and was made chaplain to Morley, Bishop of the
diocese, who gave him a living in the Isle of Wight.
Here he was most zealous in his duties, allowing himself but little
sleep, and (in the words of a near relation and friend) ‘so lively and
cheerful was his temper that he would be very facetious to his friends
of an evening, though he could scarce keep his eyes open, and he used to
sing his morning hymn to his lute before he dressed.’ In 1669 he was
appointed Prebendary of Winchester, and travelled to Italy with his
nephew, who was also the nephew and namesake of the celebrated Izaak
Walton; and in 1682 we hear of him on board the Tangiers fleet, with
Lord Dartmouth.
The Princess of Orange (afterwards Queen Mary of England), whose
chaplain he became, appreciated Ken’s straightforward and uncompromising
character. But the Prince was very wroth with him on one occasion, when
the Englishman stood forward as champion of a young lady, at the Dutch
Court, who had been wronged.
Ken insisted that her seducer should marry her, and he carried his
point, but William (with whom he had not been on friendly terms, before
this event) resented the interference, and threatened to deprive his
wife’s chaplain of his post.
The Princess was in despair when she found her favourite on the eve of
departure, and endeavoured to compromise matters; but Ken would brook no
half measures, and told his royal mistress roundly, that he would not
remain in Holland unless requested to do so by the Prince, and that in
person.
The matter was soon settled according to Ken’s own stipulations; but
shortly afterwards he was back in England, and appointed to a royal
chaplaincy by Charles II.
It seemed his fate, however, to fall out with his royal patrons, for the
Court repairing to Winchester for the summer, Ken’s prebendal house was
pitched on as a suitable residence for Madam Eleanor Gwynne; but the
merry monarch had reckoned without his host, in every sense of the word,
and no power on earth could persuade the Churchman to admit the siren.
It speaks well for Charles that he bore Ken no ill-will for his
resistance, as he preferred him not long after to the See of Bath and
Wells. But before the new Bishop entered on his Episcopal duties, the
King fell sick, and Burnet bears testimony to the zeal with which Ken
attended Charles’s deathbed, striving ‘to awaken his conscience, and
speaking with great elevation, as of a man inspired.’
On the King’s death, the Bishop devoted himself to his Episcopal duties;
he published several works, chiefly on divinity, and, disgusted with the
ignorance of the people in his diocese, he founded several schools,
trying, as he said, ‘to lay a foundation to make the next generation
better.’
He was invariably courteous in his demeanour to all men, so much so, as
to give some members of the Roman Catholic faith, a hope of his
conversion; but he was a staunch Protestant, and withstood and denounced
Popery, regardless of Court favour. Indeed, he spoke boldly from his own
pulpit, but, more daring still, he admonished the Court on the subject,
calling on them to hold fast by the reformed religion, and rebuking them
for unmanly policy. James II. bore with Ken for a time, and was said to
have done all in his power to gain over one, who was indeed a staunch
champion of the creed, or opinion he professed; but Bath and Wells would
listen to no overtures, and took his way to the Tower with the six other
prelates. In spite of all these religious differences, Ken was loyal to
the house of Stuart, and when William and the Revolution appeared, he
refused to take the oath of allegiance, and was in consequence deprived
of his bishopric—William perhaps not unwilling to pay off old scores.
Ken was much beloved in his diocese, and when he took his departure he
was followed by the prayers and good wishes of all men; and now that the
horizon had clouded over for him, there rose up a noble and faithful
friend, ‘even like unto a brother, who was born for adversity.’
Lord Weymouth, who had been his fellow-collegian at Oxford, gladly
availed himself of the plea that Longleat was in the diocese, and
cordially bade the outcast welcome. In that beautiful home did the
ex-Bishop reside for twenty years, treated with the greatest kindness
and consideration, his own apartments assigned him (near the old
library), allowed to come and go at his own free will, to enjoy perfect
leisure, to choose and receive his friends, and pursue his literary
labours in peace. Lord Weymouth’s only son, who died before his father,
was of a studious and scholarly turn of mind, and he and Ken had friends
in common, among others the celebrated Elizabeth Rowe, daughter of a
Nonconformist minister at Frome of the name of Singer. She showed great
talent at an early age, and Mr. Thynne took much pleasure in giving her
lessons in Latin and French, when she came over to Longleat.
Dr. Harbin, Lord Weymouth’s chaplain, and the Rev. Izaak Walton of
Poulshot, Ken’s nephew, were also members of this pleasant society. Had
it not been for the failure of his health, the learned divine might have
spent the evening of his days in peace and rest.
Perhaps we may say he did so, in spite of his sufferings, for he
accepted every trial in a truly Christian spirit, and in a collection of
hymns he called ‘Anodynes’ (seeing that their composition afforded him
solace when unable to prosecute works which required more research and
continuity of work), there is a most pathetic poem on pain, in which he
blesses the pangs that bring him nearer his God. He says—
‘One day of pain improves me more
Than years of ease could do before.
By pain God me instructs;
By pain to endless bliss conducts.’
And many such passages indicating his entire submission to the Divine
will. His descriptions also of his sleepless nights show us, we were
indebted to that very sleeplessness for his hymns for morning, evening,
and midnight.
There is a tradition that he composed one of these sacred songs at least
while reposing on the beautiful hill which overlooks the house, and is
familiarly and fondly called ‘Heaven’s Gate.’ In truth, it is a spot to
inspire a poet as well as a painter, more especially when radiant with
autumnal tints.
Ken had had enough to do with political troubles, and wisely abstained
from interference in public affairs, from the moment of his retirement.
He refused to acknowledge his first successor to the see, Dr. Kidder;
but on that prelate’s death in 1703, he requested Dr. Hooper to accept
his congratulations, signing himself ‘Late Bishop of Bath and Wells.’
The Queen had a great admiration for Ken’s intellectual and moral
reputation, and made him an allowance. But his bodily infirmities
increased; he went to the hot wells at Bristol, and afterwards to pay a
visit to Mrs. Thynne, near Sherborne, where he had a stroke; and wishing
to go to Bath, he set forward, but halted at Longleat, where he died.
Surely no one could be better prepared to meet death, which he called
his final friend. The day before he breathed his last, he told his
friends to look in his portmanteau and they would find his shroud, which
he always carried with him, saying it might as soon be wanted, as any
other of his habiliments.
He was buried, by his own desire, in the nearest parish within his
diocese; and there, in Frome churchyard, under the east window of the
chancel of St. John’s, a quaint tomb covers the mortal remains of Thomas
Ken. Many are the pilgrims who still visit that stone coffin, surmounted
by a mitre and pastoral staff.
Some years after his death, four volumes of miscellaneous works were
published—theological, devotional, secular, in prose and verse. In
consequence of the rumours which had been circulated of a leaning
towards Roman Catholicism, an extract from his will was made public:—‘I
die in the Holy Catholic and Apostolic faith; more particularly, I die
in the communion of the Church of England, as it stands distinguished
from all Papal and Puritanical denominations, as it adheres to the
doctrines of the Cross.’
Professor Keble, in speaking of his forerunner in sacred lyrical
composition, pays a graceful tribute to Thomas Ken when he says:—‘We
shall scarcely find in all ecclesiastical history a greener spot than
the latter years of this courageous and affectionate pastor, persecuted
alternately by both parties, and driven from his station in his
declining age, yet singing on with unabated cheerfulness to the last.’
From all we hear and read indeed of Ken, it would seem as if he had
reached nearer his own ideal than is the lot of most men. In his
description of what a poet should be, he says—
‘Prophets and poets were of old
Made in the same celestial mould;
True poets are a saint-like race,
And with the gift receive the grace,
Of their own songs the virtue feel, etc.
A poet should have heat and light,
Of all things a capacious sight,
Serenity with rapture joined,
Aims noble, eloquence refined,
Strong, modest, sweetness to endear,
Expressions lively, lofty, clear.
Such graces can nowhere be found
Except on consecrated ground,
Where poets fix on God their thought,
By sacred inspiration taught,
Where each poetic votary sings
In heavenly tones of heavenly things.’
--------------
No. 3.
ANTHONY ASHLEY COOPER, FIRST EARL OF
SHAFTESBURY.
BY SIR PETER LELY.
BORN 1621, DIED 1683.
_In coloured Chancellor’s robes._
SON of Sir John Cooper of Rockbourne, county Hants, by Anne, daughter
and sole heir of Sir Anthony Ashley, Bart., of Wimborne St. Giles,
county Dorset, where the future Chancellor was born.
In his autobiography, he describes his mother of ‘low stature,’ as was
also the aforesaid Sir Anthony, ‘a large mind but his person of the
lowest,’ while his own father was ‘lovely and graceful in mind and
person, neither too high nor too low,’ therefore the pigmy body of which
Dryden speaks must have been inherited from the maternal side.
Sir Anthony was delighted with his grandson, and although at the time of
the infant’s birth, the septuagenarian was on the point of espousing a
young wife, his affection was in no wise diminished for his daughter, or
her boy.
Lady Cooper and her father died within six months of each other. Sir
John married again, a daughter of Sir Charles Morrison, of Cassiobury,
county Herts, by whom he had several children. He died in 1631, leaving
the little Anthony bereft of both parents, with large but much
encumbered estates, and law-suits pending.
Many of his own relations being most inimical to his interests, Anthony
went with his brother and sister to reside with Sir Daniel Norton, one
of his trustees, who—we once more quote the autobiography—‘took me to
London, thinking my presence might work some compassion, on those who
ought to have been my friends.’
He refers to the suit in which they were now engaged. The boy must have
had a winning way with him (as the old saying goes), for when only
thirteen, he went of his own accord to Noy, the Solicitor-General, and
entreated his assistance as the friend of his grandfather. Noy was
deeply touched, took up the case warmly, and gained one suit in the
Court of wards, stoutly refusing to take any fee whatever.
After Sir Daniel Norton’s death, Anthony went to live with an uncle, Mr.
Tooker, near Salisbury, though it was supposed Lady Norton would gladly
have kept him under her roof, with a view to a match with one of her
daughters. He says himself,—‘Had it not been for the state of my
litigious fortune, the young lady’s sweet disposition had made me look
no farther for a wife.’
In 1637 he went to Exeter College, Oxford, where he ‘made such rapid
strides in learning as to be accounted the most prodigious youth in the
whole University.’ By his own showing, he was popular with his
companions and well satisfied with himself, indeed a general spirit of
self-complacency pervades these pages. In little more than a year he
went to Lincoln’s Inn, where he appears to have found the theatres,
fencing galleries, and the like, more to his taste than the study of the
law.
An astrologer who was in old Sir Anthony’s house at the time of the
grandson’s birth, cast the horoscope, and to the fulfilment of these
predictions, may probably be attributed young Anthony’s own predilection
for the study of astrology in later days. The horoscope in question
foreboded feuds and trouble at an early age, and some years afterwards
the same magician, foreseeing through the medium of the planets that a
certain Miss Roberts (a neighbour without any apparent prospects of
wealth) would become a great heiress, he endeavoured to persuade his
pupil to marry her. The lady did eventually come into a considerable
fortune; but Mr. Tooker, who was not over-credulous, had other views at
the time for his nephew; and accordingly, at eighteen, Ashley Cooper
became the husband of Margaret, the daughter of my Lord Keeper Coventry,
‘a woman of excellent beauty and incomparable gifts.’
The young couple resided with the bride’s father in London, Anthony
paying flying visits to Dorsetshire. He was subject to fits, but even
this infirmity redounded to his advantage according to his own version;
how that being in Gloucestershire on one occasion, and taken suddenly
ill, ‘the women admired his courage and patience under suffering,’ and
he contrived to ingratiate himself with the electors of Tewkesbury to
some purpose.
He gives us an amusing and characteristic description of how he won the
favour of the electors and bailiffs of this town by his conduct at a
public dinner, where he and a certain Sir Henry Spiller were guests, and
sat opposite each other. The knight, a crafty, perverse, rich man, a
Privy Councillor, had rendered himself very obnoxious in the
hunting-field, and at the banquet aforementioned, began the dinner with
all the affronts and dislikes he could possibly put on the bailiffs and
their entertainment, which enraged and disgusted them, and this rough
raillery he continued. ‘At length I thought it my duty to defend the
cause of those whose bread I was eating, which I did with so good
success, sparing not the bitterest retorts, that I had a complete
victory. This gained the townsmen’s hearts, and their wives’ to boot. I
was made free of the town, and at the next Parliament (though absent at
the time), was chosen burgess by an unanimous vote, and that without a
penny charge.’
Sir Anthony had strange humours: he loved a frolic dearly. He had a
confidential servant who resembled him so much that, when dressed in his
master’s left-offs, the lackey was often mistaken for his better. This
worthy was a clever man-milliner, and had many small accomplishments
which made him popular in country houses, and his master confesses that
he often listened to the valet’s gossip, and made use of it, in the
exercise of palmistry and fortune-telling, which produced great jollity,
and ‘of which I did not make so bad a use as many would have done.’ With
this account he finishes the record of his youth. A time of business
followed, ‘and the rest of my life is not without great mixture of
public concerns, and intermingled with the history of the times.’
Sir Anthony sat for Tewkesbury in 1639, but that Parliament was hastily
dissolved. He raised a regiment of horse for the king’s service, and
occupied places of trust in his own county; but believing himself
unjustly treated and slighted by the Court, he listened to the overtures
of the Parliament, and returned to Dorsetshire as colonel of a regiment
in their army.
In 1649 he lost the wife he dearly loved, to whose memory he pays a most
touching tribute in his diary. But she left no living child, and before
the expiration of the year the widower had espoused Lady Frances Cecil,
daughter of the Earl of Exeter, a royalist.
The friendship of the Protector and Sir Anthony was of a most fitful and
spasmodic nature,—now fast allies, now at daggers drawn. Some writers
affirm that, on the death of his second wife, he asked the hand of one
of Cromwell’s daughters; others, that he advised the Protector to assume
the Crown, who offered it to him in turn!
He held many appointments under the reigning Government, and continued
to sit in Parliament; but having, with many other Members, withstood the
encroachments of the great man, Oliver endeavoured to prevent his
return, and not being able to do so, forbade him to enter the House of
Commons. (See the history of the times.) The Members, with Ashley Cooper
at their head, insisted on readmittance. Again ousted, again readmitted;
nothing but quarrels and reconciliations. The fact was, that Sir Anthony
was too great a card to lose hold of, entirely. He had still a
commission in the Parliamentary army, and a seat at the Privy Council,
circumstances that in no wise prevented him carrying on a correspondence
with the King ‘over the water.’ Indeed, he was accused of levying men
for the Royal service; arrested, acquitted, sat again in Parliament
under Richard Cromwell, joined the Presbyterian party to bring back
Charles, and when the Parliament declared for the King, Sir Anthony was
one of the twelve Members sent over to Breda, to invite his return. When
in Holland Ashley Cooper had a fall from his carriage, and a narrow
escape of being killed. Clarendon (there was no love lost between them)
says it was hoped that by his alliance (as his third wife) with a
daughter of Lord Spencer of Wormleighton, a niece of the Earl of
Southampton, ‘his slippery humour would be restrained by his uncle.’
He now took a leading part in politics, was appointed one of the Judges
of the Regicides, created Baron Ashley at the coronation, and afterwards
became Chancellor of the Exchequer, Under-Treasurer, and further high
offices, and in 1672 Lord Cooper of Pawlett, county Somerset, and Earl
of Shaftesbury; and so quickly did honours rain on him, that the same
year saw him Lord High Chancellor of England. He appears to have given
great umbrage to many of the law officers, by his haughty bearing. We
are told ‘he was the gloriousest man alive; he said he would teach the
bar that a man of sense was above all their forms; and that he was
impatient to show them he was a superior judge to all who had ever sat
before on the marble chair.’
He maddened the gentlemen of the long robe by his vagaries, and
innovations, and defiance of precedents. He wore an ash-coloured gown
instead of the regulation black, assigning as his reason, that black was
distinctive of the barrister-at-law, and he had never been called to the
bar.
He went to keep Hilary term ‘on a horse richly caparisoned, his grooms
walking beside him,’ all his officers ordered to ride on horseback, ‘as
in the olden time.’
No doubt the good Dorsetshire country gentleman, the lover of sport and
of horse-flesh, who had been accused of regaling his four-footed
favourites on wine and cheese-cakes, had a mischievous pleasure in
seeing the uneasy and scared looks of his worshipful brethren, some of
whom perhaps had never sat on a saddle till that day.
At all events, poor Judge Twisden was laid in the dust, and he swore
roundly no Lord Chancellor should ever reduce him to such a plight
again. Shaftesbury lived at this time in great pomp at Exeter House, in
the Strand, and was in high favour with his royal master, who visited
him at Wimborne St. Giles during the Plague, when the Court was at
Salisbury.
At Oxford, when Parliament sat, he made acquaintance with the celebrated
John Locke, who afterwards became an inmate of his patron’s house, his
tried friend, and medical adviser.
The situations of public employment which Shaftesbury obtained for this
eminent man were, unfortunately, in the end, the source of difficulty,
and distress rather than advantage. The history of the Cabal, of which
he was the mainspring, and of which he formed the fourth letter
(Clifford, Arlington, Buckingham, Ashley, Lauderdale), would suffice for
his biography, during the five years of its life. But it must never be
forgotten that to Shaftesbury England owes the passing of the Habeas
Corpus Bill, as likewise one for making judges independent of the Crown.
The reader must seek elsewhere, and elect for himself, whether
Shaftesbury was or was not guilty of all the plots and conspiracies
against King and country of which he has been accused. To the Duke of
York he made himself most obnoxious. He was instrumental in establishing
the Test Act, which made Roman Catholics ineligible for public offices;
he was, moreover, the champion of the Exclusion Bill, and opposed
James’s marriage with Mary of Modena; and there is little doubt that the
Duke did all to undermine Shaftesbury’s favour with the King.
There was always an element of humour mixed up with his doings, even
when fortune frowned on him. Finding that the King meant to unseat him
from the Woolsack, and that his successor was already named, he sought
the royal presence; the King was about to proceed to chapel. The fallen
favourite told Charles he knew what his intentions were, but he trusted
he was not to be dismissed with contempt. ‘Cod’s fish, my lord,’ replied
the easy-going monarch, ‘I will not do it with any circumstances that
may look like a slight,’ upon which the ex-Minister asked permission to
carry the Great Seals of Office for the last time before the King into
chapel, and then to his own house till the evening.
Granted permission, Shaftesbury, with a smiling countenance, entered the
sacred building, and spoiled the devotions of all his enemies, during
that service at least. Lord Keeper Finch, who was to succeed him, was at
his wit’s end, believing Shaftesbury reinstated, and all (and there were
many) who wished his downfall were in despair.
The whole account is most amusing and characteristic, including the
manner in which the Seals were actually resigned, but we have not space
to say more. Shaftesbury was indeed now ‘out of suits with fortune.’ In
1677 he, with other noblemen, was committed to the Tower for contempt of
the authority of Parliament, and although other prisoners were soon
liberated, he was kept in confinement thirteen months. On regaining his
freedom he was made Lord President of the Council, but opposing the Duke
of York’s succession, was dismissed from that post in a few months. In
1681 he was again apprehended, on false testimony, and once more sent to
the Tower on charge of treason, and that without a trial.
His papers were searched, but nothing could be found against him except
one document, ‘neither writ nor signed by his hand.’ The jurors brought
in the bill ‘Ignoramus,’ which pleased the Protestant portion of the
community, who believed the Earl suffered in the cause of religion.
Bonfires were kindled in his honour; one of the witnesses against him
narrowly escaped from the fury of the mob; a medal was struck in his
honour to commemorate his enlargement. Hence the poem of that name from
the pen of Dryden, suggested by the King. On regaining his liberty,
Shaftesbury went to reside at his house in Aldersgate Street, when,
finding his enemies were still working against him, he took the friendly
advice of Lord Mordaunt, and after lying _perdu_ in another part of
London, for a night or two, he set off for Harwich _en route_ for
Holland with a young relative, both disguised as Presbyterian ministers,
with long black perukes. Adverse winds detained them at a small inn,
when one day the landlady entered the elder gentleman’s room, and
carefully shutting the door, told him that the chambermaid had just been
into his companion’s apartment, and instead of a swarthy sour-faced
dominie, had found a beautiful fair-haired youth. ‘Be assured, sir,’
said the good woman, ‘that I will neither ask questions, nor tell tales,
but I cannot answer for a young girl’s discretion.’
The man who had been so hunted of late, was touched, thanked the good
soul, and bade his handsome young friend make love to the maid, till the
wind changed.
The fugitives, however, had an extra run for it, as it was, for the
hounds were on their track. Fortunately the capture of one of
Shaftesbury’s servants, dressed like his master, gave them time to
embark.
They arrived at Amsterdam after a stormy passage, where Shaftesbury
hired a large house, with the intention of remaining some time, and all
the more that he found himself treated with great respect, by all the
principal inhabitants. But misfortune pursued him. He was seized with
gout in the stomach, and expired on the 1st of January 1683. His body
was conveyed to England, and landed at Poole, whither the gentlemen of
his native county flocked, uninvited, to pay a tribute to his memory, by
attending the remains to Wimborne St. Giles.
We leave the sentence to be pronounced on the first Earl of Shaftesbury
to wiser heads than ours, but one remark we feel authorised to
make,—that we are not called on to believe him as black as Dryden has
painted him, since we cannot but question the justice of the pen that
described Charles the Second as the God-like David, in the far-famed
poem of ‘Absalom (the Duke of Monmouth) and Achitophel’ (Shaftesbury).
He loads the latter with invective:—
‘A man to all succeeding nations curst,
For close designs and crooked councils fit,
Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit.
Restless, unfixed in principles and place,
In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace,
A fiery soul, which working out its way,
Fretted the pigmy body to decay.
Great wits are sure to madness close allied;
Oh, had he been content to serve the Crown
With virtues only proper to the gown,’ etc. etc.
There spoke the Poet-Laureate, and woe indeed to the man who had such a
poet as Dryden for his censor! Yet for all this abuse which he had
written to order, Dryden could not help bearing testimony as follows:—
‘Yet fame deserved, no memory can grudge,
The Statesman we abhor, but praise the Judge;
In Israel’s court ne’er sate an Abithin
With more discerning eyes or hands more clean,
Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress,
Swift of despatch, and easy of access.’
Lord Shaftesbury was kind and charitable to the poor in his
neighbourhood, and was very hospitable. In 1669, Cosimo de’ Medici,
being in England, went to St. Giles’s, and was so much pleased with his
reception, that he kept up a correspondence with his English friend, and
sent him annually a present of Tuscan wine. It has been adduced by some,
in evidence of his immorality, that on one occasion, while still in
favour with Charles, the King said to him, ‘I believe, Shaftesbury, you
are the greatest profligate in England.’ The Earl bowed low, and
replied, ‘For a subject, sire, I believe I am.’ It would be hard to
condemn a man on the testimony of a repartee.
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No. 4.
EDWARD SEYMOUR, FIRST DUKE OF SOMERSET,
THE PROTECTOR.
BY HOLBEIN.
EXECUTED IN 1552.
_Black gown, with fur. Black cap, and jewel. Collar of Garter,
and George._
THE second but eldest surviving son of Sir John Seymour, of Wulfhall,
county Wilts, by Margaret, daughter of Sir John Wentworth, of
Nettlested, in Suffolk. Sir John (a distinguished soldier) accompanied
Henry VIII. to France, and when Charles, Emperor of Germany, came over
to England, he was selected to attend on that monarch.
He was in high favour with the King, who appointed him to many places
even before the royal marriage with Jane Seymour, ‘the fairest and most
discreet of his wives.’ The ceremony took place at her paternal home of
Wulfhall in 1536. The old barn, the scene of great festivities, may
still be seen, with hooks dangling from the rafters where the hangings
were attached; Sir John Seymour died the same year.
Many interesting papers relating to this and other subsequent royal
visits, and the domestic economy of Wulfhall, are treasured among the
archives of Longleat, Sir John Thynne having been the Protector’s
confidential agent and secretary, and having conducted the whole of his
private, and personal business when the Duke was occupied in public
matters.
But we are anticipating, and must return to the early years of Edward
Seymour. He was educated both at Oxford and Cambridge; and afterwards
joining his father at Court, entered the army, and also distinguished
himself greatly in France, and was knighted for his services in 1525. On
his return to England he was appointed Esquire to the King, and was one
of the challengers in the tilt-yard of Greenwich, when Henry kept his
Christmas there. On the King’s marriage with his sister Jane, Edward
Seymour was created Viscount Beauchamp, with other grants and honours,
and in 1537, Earl of Hertford. He was sent to France on a mission of
importance, and, returning, was made Knight Companion of the Garter at
Hampton Court.
From this time Seymour’s life became most eventful, he went twice to
Scotland, high in command, likewise again to France, where he did good
service, and was instrumental in concluding peace with that country.
Honours and distinctions too numerous to relate were heaped on the
King’s brother-in-law, even after the death of poor Queen Jane. Nor must
we omit to mention that Henry, shortly before his marriage with Anne of
Cleves, revisited Wulfhall, where he was sumptuously entertained (with
an enormous retinue) for three days, which pleased him so much, that he
returned thither a third time in 1543.
The papers and bills at Longleat testify to the grandeur of these
receptions, showing at the same time how all the family took up their
quarters in the long barn (once used for the ill-fated Jane’s wedding
dance), leaving the rest of the house to the royal party. Could they
have given the King credit for any over-sensibility on the occasion?
Lord Hertford was a gallant soldier; but in some of his expeditions
against the Scots he has been reproached for his ‘heavy hand.’
When Henry VIII. felt his end approaching, he took his brother-in-law
into his confidence, and spent a long time in conferring with him, and
Sir William Paget, on the state of the country, his hopes and fears for
young Prince Edward, etc. They were both with him at his death, and
there were rumours to Hertford’s disadvantage, respecting the royal
will. He was one of the many executors, but he agitated so successfully,
that, as the King’s uncle, he was granted precedency, and appointed his
guardian with many conditions, from which he soon emancipated himself.
He hurried his royal ward to London, where the nephew was proclaimed
King, and the uncle Protector of the realm.
The latter already bore the title of Earl and Viscount, and the King
further bestowed on him that of Baron, and next day the ducal coronet
was awarded him, with the title of Somerset, the royal patent setting
forth ‘that the name of that family, from which our most beloved mother,
Jane, late Queen of England, drew her beginning, might not be clouded by
any higher title, or colour of dignity.’ On the Duke of Norfolk being
attainted, the Duke of Somerset was made Earl Marshal for life. His
power seemed almost absolute, and Edward, who delighted to do him
honour, both publicly and privately, appointed him to sit on the right
hand of the throne. Nor was the Duke any way loath to enjoy such
dignities; the first years of the reign of Edward the King contain the
biography of Edward the Protector, and are recorded elsewhere. But he
climbed too fast; he was King in all but name. He surrounded himself
with regal pomp, and his enemies accused him of aspiring to the throne
in good earnest, in proof of which it was adduced that he used the royal
pronoun ‘we,’ and signed himself, ‘Protector, by the grace of God.’ True
it is that he wrote in former times to his well-beloved Mr. Thynne, ‘I
bid you heartily farewell,’ while later documents, amid Longleat’s
varied stores, are couched in grander terms, such as ‘we greet you
well,’ ‘it is our intention,’ and the like.
For all the vicissitudes of his eventful life, for his deeds of military
glory, his ambition that ‘o’erselled itself,’ the plots in which he was
accused of taking part, and the factions which rose up against him, at
the head of which were the Earl of Warwick, and his own ungrateful
brother, Thomas Lord Seymour of Sudeley, see the Chronicles of the Kings
of England.
A majority of the Privy Council, with his deadly foe, Warwick, as
leader, was now united against him, and though hitherto a favourite with
the people, they were at last (for the most part) persuaded that ‘the
royal person was not safe in the Duke’s hands, whose doings were
treacherous, and his proceedings devilish.’ Somerset submitted; he
resigned the authority his enemies were bent on wresting from him, and
was committed to the Tower.
The circumstances attending his downfall were most humiliating. Deprived
of all his great offices, save that of Privy Councillor, he was
compelled to own the justice of his sentence, and that on his bended
knees. His first imprisonment did not last long, and his loving nephew
contrived to restore several forfeited estates, and to make up to the
ex-Protector, at least for pecuniary losses, as far as in him lay,—for
the Earl of Warwick, though there was no love lost between them, was yet
in no wise averse to the union of his eldest son, Lord Lisle, with Lady
Mary Seymour, Somerset’s daughter.
The Duke was occasionally called upon to take part in public affairs,
and on the reassembling of Parliament, the Commons, with whom he was
still popular, agitated for his re-election to the Protectorate, but
Warwick was bent on his destruction.
He went so far as to accuse Somerset of a design to murder him, on
which, and many other counts, the Duke was once more sent to the Tower,
together with many other noblemen, and the next day was followed thither
by his Duchess, Sir John Thynne, and several more.
Wearied, exposed to constant examinations, and arraigned at Westminster
Hall, he demanded a trial of his peers, was acquitted of high treason,
but found guilty of felony, and re-conducted to the Tower.
On his road thither there was a demonstration in his favour, for he
still stood high with the people; he remained two months in prison, and
was then brought out, and, in spite of the poor young King, condemned to
die on the scaffold.
On the 22d of January 1552 every householder in London was forbidden to
stir abroad, (a rescue being feared,) nevertheless Tower Hill was
crowded long before the Duke appeared, surrounded by guards and
officials.
On reaching the platform, he kneeled on both knees, and fervently
commended his soul to God, then, rising, ‘with great alacrity, and
cheerfulness,’ he addressed the people in quiet, measured terms. He
declared his innocence, his loyalty to the King, his love of his
country, and of the reformed religion, to which he admonished his
hearers to be faithful. Here he was interrupted by a strange kind of
tumult, and Sir Anthony Browne appearing on horseback in the crowd, the
people cried aloud, ‘A pardon! a pardon! God save the King!’ But he told
them there was no hope, and all the time his arch-enemy, Lord Warwick
(or rather Northumberland, as he then was), stood untouched, shaking his
cap, and making signs to the people to be quiet.
The Duke of Somerset resumed his discourse, exhorting his hearers to be
loyal to the King, and submissive to the laws, concluding with, ‘I wish
you all to bear witness that I die in the faith of Jesus Christ,
desiring you to help me with your prayers.’
We have not space to make more extracts from a dying speech which for
manliness, forbearance, and piety could scarcely be surpassed.
Unbuckling his sword, he presented it to the Lieutenant of the Tower,
gave the executioner money and rings, bade all near him graciously
farewell, then, kneeling down, arranged his collar, and covered his
face, which showed ‘no signs of trouble,’ with his handkerchief.
He was required to rise up, once more, to remove his doublet, and again
laying his head on the block, and calling thrice, ‘Lord Jesu save me!’
received the death-stroke.
The head and body were both interred in the north side of St. Peter’s
Church in the Tower.
There is a story told of a fair enthusiast, who dipped her handkerchief
in the ‘martyr’s’ blood, and afterwards flourished it in the face of the
Duke of Northumberland, when he, two years later, was led captive
through the City, for his opposition to Queen Mary. Varying as have been
the verdicts on the character of the Protector Somerset, surely no one
can deny him the attributes of courage, energy, and piety. He had
enthusiastic friends, and bitter enemies, among the last his own
brother. Edward, first Duke of Somerset, was remarkably handsome,
majestic, and naturally of a melancholy aspect, ‘every inch a
gentleman.’ His extravagance, both in public and private matters, was
undeniable, and he affected great splendour in dress, not only on State
occasions. During his imprisonment he employed himself in works of a
religious character. He was twice married—first to Catherine, daughter
and co-heir of Sir William Fillol of Woodlands, county Dorset.
Respecting this lady there exists a mystery: there were rumours of
misconduct, and certain it is her son was disinherited.
There seems little doubt that the Duke’s second wife (the daughter of
Sir Edward Stanhope of Rampton, county Notts), a proud, ambitious, and
violent woman, worked on her husband’s mind, to the detriment of her
predecessor’s children, but in spite of it all, the coveted titles
devolved, after some generations, on Catherine Fillol’s descendants,
ancestors in the direct line to the present Duke of Somerset. Anne
Stanhope brought her husband three sons and six daughters.
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No. 5.
LUCIUS CAREY, SECOND VISCOUNT FALKLAND.
BY VANDYCK.
BORN IN 1610, KILLED IN BATTLE 1643.
_Half length. Black and white slashed dress._
OF the family of Careys of Cockington, county Devon, eldest son of Henry
Carey, first Viscount Falkland, by Elizabeth, daughter and heir of Sir
Laurence Tanfield, Chief Baron of Exchequer. Lucius was born at Burton,
county Oxford, one of the estates his mother brought into the family.
Studied at Trinity College, Dublin, and St. John’s, Cambridge.
Before attaining his majority he inherited a large fortune from his
grandfather, while both parents were still living. With the hope of
procuring some command, he went into the Low Countries; but being
disappointed, he returned to England, and devoted himself to study. Lord
Clarendon says that all the men of note and learning flocked from Oxford
to his house, in the neighbourhood, ‘where they found a University in a
less volume.’
The historian praises the young host for the solidity of his judgment,
knowledge, wit, fancy, and extreme humility,—a rare combination of
qualities and attainments.
Before Lucius was twenty-three he had read all the Latin and Greek
Fathers, and studied diligently all the books he had collected from all
parts.
About 1633, the time of his father’s death, he became attached to the
Court of Charles I.; in 1639 he went with the expedition against the
Scots, and afterwards volunteered under the Earl of Essex.
In April 1640 he sat for Newport, Isle of Wight, and after the
dissolution was re-elected for the same place, in the same year. He made
strenuous opposition in the House to the exorbitancies of the Court, and
was a rigid observer of the laws, denouncing those Ministers who, on the
plea of expediency, deviated from them. For this reason he withstood
Lords Strafford and Finch with a boldness and vehemence at variance with
his usual gentleness.
His concurrence in the first Bill, that was passed to deprive the
Bishops of their votes, caused him to be suspected of lukewarmness to
the Established Church. He maintained his belief in the good faith of
Parliament, until he found how far the so-called popular party were
carrying their measures, and then he came to a check, voted differently
on the second Bishops’ Bill, and opposed the Commons on so many
occasions as to be accused by them of truckling to the Court.
On this point he was so sensitive of suspicion that he was said to have
refused the King’s offer of a place about his person, more than once, in
a morose and curt manner, although in reality much attached to his royal
master. He required persuasion to induce him to accept the office of
Privy Councillor, and the positive command of the King, who at length
also prevailed on him, to become his secretary. But in these offices
Falkland maintained his own strict notions of honour and integrity, and
he absolutely refused ever to employ a spy, or open a letter, however
important the knowledge he might thus have gained. From this time he was
most loyal in his adherence to Charles, and fell in consequence into the
displeasure of the Parliament.
The anecdote of his visiting the library at Oxford is well known, and
yet we cannot omit alluding to it. Taking down a copy of Virgil,
Falkland invited the King to read his destiny therein, by opening the
book at random. The passage was, alas! too soon verified:—
‘Oppressed with numbers, in the unequal field,
His men discouraged, and himself expelled,
Let him for succour sue, from place to place,
Torn from his subjects and his son’s embrace,’ etc. etc.
It is a part of Dido’s curse. The King was very much impressed by the
boding passage, and Lord Falkland tried his fortune. This was quite as
prophetic as the last, being the lament of Evander over his son, who was
killed in battle:—
‘Well I knew,
What perils youthful ardour would pursue,
That boiling blood would carry thee too far,
Young as thou wert in danger, raw to war.
O curst essay of arms, disastrous doom,
Prelude of bloody fields, and fights to come.’
Such predictions were not calculated to cheer the spirits of the
inquirers.
As time passed on, and all hope of peace between the Royalists and the
Parliamentarians seemed lost, Lord Falkland, to whom his King and
countrymen were alike dear, became a prey to profound melancholy.
That worst of all misfortunes, a civil war, affected him deeply; all his
efforts at pacification were ineffectual; he would sit often silent when
in company, for a long time, and then break forth in shrill
accents—‘Peace! peace! peace!’
Pale, dejected, negligent of his dress, of which in former days he had
been proverbially careful, he passed sleepless nights, and often said
his heart was breaking. In battle he exposed himself to so much danger,
that a friend expostulated with him, upon which he replied, among other
reasons, that it behoved him to be more hazardous than others, lest any
one should say that his desire for peace proceeded from pusillanimity.
On the morning of the battle of Newbury ‘he appeared more cheerful, put
on a clean shirt in case he should be killed, and said he was weary of
the times, and did think he would be out of it, before night.’