was committed to the care of Sir James Crofts; but her servants were
removed from her side. The Bishop on his way stopped at Royston, where
the Court was, and thought to benefit the prisoner’s cause by most
abject appeals to the King; indeed, the Bishop went so far as to say
‘his cousin would willingly sweep his chamber,’ which we take leave to
suppose was speaking without book. At the termination of the month the
lady was commanded to proceed on her way north; she was still
indisposed, and she made the most of that excuse. Whenever Sir James
Crofts visited her she was stretched on the bed in pain. ‘She
apprehended nothing but fear and anger in the most ugliest forms; the
horrors of her utter ruin drive her to despair; to live out one only
year in some convenient place not so clean out of the world as she
termeth Durham, she could gather to herself some weak hopes of more
gentle times to come.’ Sir James, who like most people seems to have
experienced her fascination, says again, ‘the best and pleasingest
discourse had no effect on her mind, but was met by tears and
lamentations.’ Her faithful Mountford went to London to plead for her
with James, who declared ‘to Durham she should go if he were King,’ but
at length another month’s respite was granted.
Arabella had now a project in her head, and her aunt, Lady Shrewsbury,
(born Cavendish,) had devoted herself to the cause of her unfortunate
niece. She appealed to all the persons whom she believed to have
influence at Court, and finding all other means fail, she contrived a
plan of escape, and forwarded a large sum of money to facilitate the
same.
The money was sent nominally for the payment of Arabella’s debts, and
for the commission of purchasing some needlework of Mary Queen of Scots.
Crompton, her faithful man-servant, deeply attached to his mistress,
managed all these transactions, prepared disguises, and communicated
with William Seymour in some miraculous manner. Arabella now feigned
entire submission to the King’s commands, and expressed her willingness
to proceed to Durham, by which means she threw her keepers off their
guard; moreover, she worked on the compassion of one of her attendants
(a minister’s wife) to assist her.
On the 4th of June the unhappy lady assumed her disguise—‘a pair of
French-fashioned hose, a man’s doublet, a long-locked peruke, black hat
and cloak, white boots with red tops, and a rapier by her side;’ and
thus equipped set forth, with Markham, one of her servants, on foot. But
Arabella was neither as strong of purpose, or of body as Rosalind, and
she ofttimes ‘disgraced her man’s apparel by bearing herself like a
woman.’
She turned faint ere they reached ‘the sorry inne’ where the trusty
Crompton awaited them with saddle-horses, so much so that the hostler
who held the stirrup remarked, as she languidly mounted, ‘The gentleman
will scarcely reach London.’
The fresh air and exercise, however, revived her, and they arrived at
Blackwall in safety. This was the place of rendezvous with her husband,
and some faithful followers, but in vain they waited for Seymour, till
it was counted so dangerous to delay that, leaving one to communicate
with him, when he should appear, she set out in a boat with a female
attendant, the two men, Markham, and Crompton, following in another with
her baggage. At Lee they found a vessel lying at anchor. They hailed
her, and finding she was bound for Berwick, and would not change her
course even for a heavy bribe, they inquired if there were not a French
vessel anywhere near. Alas! these inquiries were calculated to put the
bloodhounds on the track.
In describing the fugitives afterwards, the captain, having spoken of
the men, said there were ‘two women, one bare-faced, in a black riding
safeguard, and a hat; the other was so wrapped in a long cloak, and her
face so closely covered, that he could not see her; but in drawing off
her glove she manifested a marvellous fair white hand.’ Poor Arabella,
to whose beautiful hand so many courtly compliments and sonnets had been
addressed!
They reached the French vessel and embarked, in despair at the
non-appearance of Seymour; yet hoping for his arrival at every moment,
she besought the French captain to remain at anchor at least another
day; but her attendants insisted on his hoisting sail, well aware that
to delay was madness. (Seymour’s adventures will be related in the
notice of his life.) So the French ship got under weigh, having on board
for freight a heart heavy enough to sink her.
The news of her escape filled the King’s mind with rage and
consternation; he pictured Arabella to himself making common cause with
all his enemies on the Continent; the hue and cry became general.
Salisbury, who must surely in his secret heart have prayed for the
escape of his old favourite, was ordered to write to the Governor of
Calais to intercept Seymour and his wife, (who were supposed to be
together,) on their arrival in port. Every ship was to be searched,
every means taken, for the apprehension of the fugitives.
Alas! alas! the measures were too well taken (the details are needless);
suffice it to say that the train was but too well laid, the track but
too well followed. ‘The Adventure,’ one of the vessels sent in pursuit,
standing for Calais, was in mid-channel when a sail was sighted. A boat
was immediately lowered, as there was but little wind, and six armed men
made way for the French vessel. They challenged her in vain, and fired a
broadside and several volleys of musketry, giving time for the advance
of ‘The Adventure.’
The Frenchman stood thirteen shots before he surrendered, and then
Arabella, anxious to avoid bloodshed, came on deck, discovered herself
to the captain, and acknowledged there was no use in further resistance.
The crew of the boat boarded the French ship, and arrested Arabella, at
the same time demanding her husband. She made them a brave and noble
answer, saying she had not seen him; she hoped and believed he was safe,
and the joy she experienced at his escape far outweighed the sorrow she
felt at her own capture.
She was then taken as a close prisoner on board ‘The Adventure,’ with
all the rest of the passengers. The King, overjoyed at the news, lost no
time; Arabella and her aunt and confidante, Lady Shrewsbury, were sent
to the Tower, with several of their adherents, and others, lodged in
different prisons—her faithful Crompton, Markham, the minister’s wife,
Sir James Crofts, and no end of arrests.
Lord Shrewsbury was kept a prisoner in his house, and the aged Earl of
Hertford summoned to London, to Court. ‘If he be found healthful enough
to travel, he must not delay.’
The two ladies were examined before the Privy Council, and we are told
that Arabella answered the Lords ‘with good judgment and discretion,’
while the Countess is said ‘to be utterly without reason, crying out
that all is but tricks and giggs, that she will answer nothing in
private, and if she have offended in law she will answer in public.’ A
reply by no means unreasonable, although it would appear that the
younger lady was calm and dignified under provocation and persecution,
and the elder excited and indignant. The chief count against Lady
Shrewsbury was the ready money she had advanced for her niece’s escape,
by which she was accused of intending to bribe the Catholic party.
The Scotch and English faction, we are informed by the same authority,
were at great issue on this subject. Seymour was safe beyond seas, and
James was at rest on that score, as long as the unhappy pair were
separated.
In vain were appeals made in Arabella’s behalf to the hard-hearted
tyrant. Bishop Goodman says of her: ‘She is a virtuous and good lady, of
great intellectuals, and harmless, and gives no offence.’ She was in all
things gentle, and showed gratitude for the slightest kindness, but she
was treated with great indignity,—the money and jewels found on her
person seized by the King’s orders, her servants denied access to her,
and Lady Shrewsbury was not even allowed to have an attendant of any
kind. What a contrast to the sumptuous life at Hardwicke, Chatsworth,
and all the other palaces to which she had been accustomed in her
mother’s lifetime!
Lord Shrewsbury wrote a most pitiful appeal respecting the dilapidated
state of his wife’s apartments in the Tower, to Lord Salisbury, and
after a time some mercy was shown her, and a servant appointed to wait
on her, and, crowning grace! a copy of verses, written by Charles
Cavendish for the poor prisoner’s delectation, was allowed to be placed
in her hands. The wretched Arabella spent her hours in weeping and
mourning. Sometimes she roused herself to embroider a gift for the King,
which he would not accept. Her pen was seldom idle; ‘in all humility, in
most humble wise,’ she wrote to James, ‘the most wretched, and
unfortunate creature that ever lived, prostrates herself at the feet of
the most merciful King that ever was.’ She wrote to Lord Northampton to
complain of how badly she is nourished in sickness, of how others,
however poor and unfortunate, are preserved alive for charity. ‘I can
neither get clothes nor posset at all, nor any complement fit for a sick
body in any case, when I call for it.’
Body and mind at last gave way, beneath constant suffering. Arabella
showed signs of aberration of intellect, and was now moody, now
despairing, now prone to fits of forced gaiety. Hearing of the marriage
of her former friend and pupil, the Princess Elizabeth, the unhappy
captive contrived to procure a new gown, in which she decked herself
with much care. But little effect was produced at Court by the poor
prisoner’s gala dress, and the betrothed was too happy to waste much
thought on her favourite of other days.
In the same letter, quoted above, she says ‘that help will come too
late,’ and declares ‘I do not fear to die, so I be not guilty of my own
death, and oppress others with my ruin.’
Gradually but surely her intellect became undermined. She made some
incoherent accusations against Lady Shrewsbury, which proved very
disadvantageous to that lady, the rigour of whose captivity had been
lately mitigated; but was again summoned before the Council, charged
with contempt towards the King in refusing to answer questions, again
replied scornfully, and pleaded the privilege of her person and
nobility, and a rash vow she had made to be silent. She was remanded to
the Tower, but the evident signs of insanity evinced by her unfortunate
niece nullified the charges brought against her. Early in March 1613
Arabella was attacked with convulsions, and declared insane by a
physician. Her humble friend Crompton had laid a second plan for her
escape, but deliverance was to come in another guise.
Her husband and his father were currying favour with James, but seemed
to have troubled themselves little about the poor prisoner, though by
some it was believed Seymour wrote to her constantly, and that his
letters were intercepted. She grew weaker in body and more feeble in
mind, until on the 25th of September, says Nichols, ‘that ill-fated and
persecuted lady, Arabella Seymour, daughter of Charles Earl of Lennox,
and cousin-german of Henry Darnley, father of King James, died in the
Tower of London.’
In the dead of night the daughter of a line of kings was carried along
the black river to Westminster Abbey, and there deposited in the royal
vault beneath the coffin of Mary Queen of Scots. All pomp and ceremony
were forbidden, the Burial Service was read by stealth as over some
felon’s grave, not for any fault of her own, but because ‘to have a
great funeral for one dying out of the King’s favour would have
reflected upon the King’s honour.’
A sadder page can scarcely be found in England’s history, and among many
crimes which blacken the fame of James Stuart, perhaps the slow murder
of his unhappy kinswoman is the worst.
The terrible traces of suffering and unmistakable signs of imbecility
exhibited in this portrait, lead to the conjecture that it must have
been painted during her confinement in the Tower.
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No. 88.
JAMES DUKE OF YORK, AFTERWARDS
JAMES II., KING OF ENGLAND.
BY SIR PETER LELY.
BORN 1633, DEPOSED 1688, DIED 1701.
_Full length. Crimson robes. Mantle. Collar and Order of Garter._
THE second son of Charles I. by Henrietta Maria. Married, first, Anne
Hyde, daughter of the Earl of Clarendon, and, secondly, Maria d’Este of
Modena. By his first marriage he had Mary, married to the Prince of
Orange, afterward William III., and Anne, married to the Prince of
Denmark, who succeeded her sister as Queen. By Mary of Modena he had
Charles, who died young, James, called the Chevalier de St. George, or
the Old Pretender, and three daughters.
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No. 89.
ELIZABETH LADY NOTT.
_Full length. Grey satin dress. Ringlets. Hand resting on table._
SHE was the sister of Sir Henry Frederick Thynne and married Sir William
Nott of Richmond, in the county of Surrey.
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No. 90.
ROBERT DUDLEY, EARL OF LEICESTER.
BY ZUCCHERO.
BORN CIRCA 1532, DIED 1588.
_Full length. Gold and white dress. Gorget. George and Garter. Page
holding a helmet and tilting lance. Tent in background._
HE was the fifth son of John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, afterwards Duke of
Northumberland, by the daughter and heir of Sir Henry Guildford. He
began life early. In 1551 he was named Gentleman of the Bedchamber and
Master of the Buckhounds to King Edward VI., by whom he was much
esteemed. But it would appear that before, or shortly after, his
appointment he fell in love with Amy, the fair daughter of Sir John
Robsart, over whose sad fate the ‘Wizard of the North’ has thrown so
dazzling a glamour, though, contrary to his version of the story, it
would appear that the marriage was public and took place at Court. On
the death of Edward, and the failure of the scheme devised by the Duke
of Northumberland to place his daughter-in-law, Lady Jane Grey, on the
throne, Lord Robert Dudley was imprisoned in the Tower on a charge of
high treason, and had sentence of death passed on him, and it was
supposed he only escaped sharing his father’s fate, by pleading guilty.
Any way, he was liberated with a free pardon, and on the marriage of
Queen Mary with Philip of Spain, he ingratiated himself into that
Prince’s favour, and ‘was most serviceable to both King and Queen,’ says
Strype, ‘by carrying messages between them, often riding post to do so.’
To the Princess Elizabeth he had been playfellow in childhood, and
fellow-prisoner in the Tower, and when she came to the throne she did
not forget old days.
She made him Master of the Horse, Knight of the Garter, and Privy
Councillor, showering upon him grants and estates without number.
Indeed, his influence with her was so great that Secretary Cecil (if we
may credit that arch gossip, De Quadra, the Spanish Ambassador at the
Court of London) wished Lord Robert Dudley in Paradise. The same writer
says that the Queen told him that Lady Robert was very ill, and some
time afterwards ‘che si ha rotto il collo.’ It certainly was rumoured at
Court that but for the slight obstacle of a wife, the Queen would throw
over all her foreign and royal suitors in favour of this handsome
polished minion, as Froude calls him. The tragedy of Cumnor Hall will
ever remain a mystery; but all these reports which preceded it, and the
fact that Lord and Lady Robert had scarcely ever appeared together in
public since their marriage, all went to strengthen suspicion against
the husband.
On the other hand, no sooner did Dudley hear of his wife’s death, which
he said was ‘the most unfortunate thing that could have happened to
him,’ than he caused a searching inquiry to be made, and he sent down
poor Amy’s half-brother to investigate the matter. On the inquest, these
facts transpired: The Lady had insisted on the household leaving her to
go to Abingdon Fair, and on their return she was found dead at the
bottom of a staircase, without any marks of violence. By some it was
suggested she might have been first suffocated and then placed in that
position; others again were of opinion that she had committed suicide,
seeing she had been overheard to say she prayed God to preserve her from
desperation. But one of her attendants would not tolerate the idea,
saying she was a good and virtuous gentlewoman. The verdict was
accidental death, but the country was full of strange mutterings, the
echoes of which have never died away. A few contemporaneous documents
have lately been found at Longleat which throw some fresh light on the
circumstances of her marriage and domestic life. It does not appear to
have been one of constrained seclusion, as commonly supposed, nor is
there, in the papers alluded to, any indication of estrangement on the
part of her husband, still less anything to implicate him, as accessory
to her violent death, if it really were such.
In forming opinions on Dudley’s moral character, it is only fair to
remember that many of the stories which were spread to his prejudice
have their origin in a notorious book entitled _Leicester’s
Commonwealth_, written by men who were his deadliest enemies in politics
and religion, especially ‘Parsons the Jesuit.’ This was circulated in
MS. for many years, a copy being extant at Longleat; but the Queen and
Privy Council published a protest against its slanders. A gorgeous
funeral was decreed to the unhappy Amy at Oxford, and Dudley was free.
We need not recapitulate the well-known story of Elizabeth’s vacillating
conduct with regard to him and her numerous suitors; how all England
believed she was on the point of selecting him as her husband; of how
Mary Queen of Scots mildly remarked that the Queen of England was about
to marry her horsekeeper, who had murdered his wife to make room for
her; of how Elizabeth turned round and proposed he should marry Mary,
saying that if she herself intended to marry, she should prefer him to
all the Princes in the world; and contrasting him with his brother Lord
Warwick, she said, ‘He is rough, and lacks the delicacy of Robert.’
As far as she ever was in earnest in her constantly fluctuating
matrimonial speculations, Bess really did appear to be so about the
Scotch marriage, as she created her favourite Earl of Leicester
apparently to fit him for a higher position; and she remarked
querulously to Melville, (Mary’s confidential envoy to England,) ‘You
like better yon long lad,’ pointing to Darnley, who bore the sword of
State at the ceremony of Dudley’s elevation to the peerage, and the poor
‘long lad,’ unfortunately for himself, became Mary’s choice; and
Elizabeth returned to the game of fast-and-loose with Leicester. His
suit, says Froude, was never listened to more favourably than when it
served to interfere with another man’s, but on a sudden she was informed
he was already secretly married to the widow of Walter Devereux, Earl of
Essex.
Already during the lifetime of her noble husband this lady’s name had
been whispered in conjunction with that of Leicester, in no creditable
manner, and their hasty marriage, after the sudden and mysterious death
of Lord Essex, gave rise to many dark suspicions. Another scandal, too,
was afloat; another secret, or pretended marriage was spoken of between
Leicester and the daughter of Lord Effingham, widow of Lord Sheffield.
Lodge tells us that when Dudley wished to marry Lady Essex, he compelled
the unhappy woman to renounce all claim to the title of his lawful wife,
by publicly espousing Sir Edward Stafford. All this transpired at a
later period, when she came forward in behalf of her son, whom Lady
Leicester persecuted with law-suits after his father’s death. It would
appear that Dudley entertained much affection for the child whom he had
injured, whose legitimacy he now affirmed, now denied, and at his death
bequeathed to him the estates of Kenilworth, which the bad woman who had
supplanted his mother would not allow him to enjoy in peace. Lettice,
Lady Leicester, survived her husband nearly half a century. Elizabeth
always hated her, and would never be reconciled to her, although she was
the mother of Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, who succeeded his
stepfather in the royal favour. The Queen stormed and raved on first
hearing of the marriage, wept profusely, and behaved as was her wont. In
1584 she sent Leicester to the Low Countries in command of the auxiliary
forces, and he joined his gallant nephew, Sir Philip Sidney, at
Flushing. He lived in such state, and took so much upon himself, as to
expose him to a severe reprimand from home. He returned, and went out
again to Zealand with fresh levies, and was restored to greater favour
than ever. In the famous speech she addressed to the troops at Tilbury,
Elizabeth extolled her favourite to the skies, having already named him
to the command of the army raised to oppose the expected Spanish
invasion. It was reported she intended to make him Viceregent of
England, but the mighty solver of many a vexed question arrested his
progress. He died of fever at his house at Cornbury, county Oxford, on
his way to Kenilworth, September 1588.
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No. 91.
THOMAS THYNNE (TOM O’ TEN THOUSAND).
BY SIR PETER LELY.
SHOT IN HIS COACH, 1682.
_Tawny coat. Blue mantle. Full wig. Lace collar._
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No. 92.
THE HONOURABLE JAMES THYNNE.
BY KERSEBOOM.
BORN 1701, DIED 1705.
_Full length. A child seated by a fountain, pouring water from a shell.
Loose white shirt. Pink and blue drapery._
A YOUNGER son of the first Lord Weymouth. He died at an early age.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
_DRAWING ROOM_.
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
DRAWING ROOM.
TWO PORTRAITS OF CHILDREN OF SIR
JOHN THYNNE.
ATTRIBUTED TO HOLBEIN.
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No. 93.
_Dressed in a dark brown frock. Sleeves of a lighter material. White
pinafore. Holding in one hand a jewelled cross, in the other, two
cherries. Inscription in background, ‘xv. Maii MDLXXII. ætatis mens.
x.’_
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No. 94.
_An infant in a white dress, richly brocaded. Close cap and bourlet or
pudding. Jewelled chain and cross round the neck. Rattle in the left
hand. Inscription, ‘viii. Octob. MDLXIIII., ætat. mens. vi.’_
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No. 95_.
FRANCIS THE FIRST, KING OF FRANCE, AND
HIS QUEEN, ELEANOR OF AUSTRIA.
PAINTER DOUBTFUL.
FRANCIS, BORN 1494, DIED 1547. ELEANOR, DIED 1558.
KING:—_Red and white slashed dress. Feathers and jewels in his cap._
ELEANOR:—_Blue and white embroidered dress. Slashed cap with jewels and
feathers. Holding the King’s hand, and in her other a Caduceus with
bells, issuing from an artichoke or pine cone. A jester in the
background._
HE was the son of Charles d’Orleans, Duke of Angoulême, by Louise de
Savoie. He married, first, the Princess Claude, daughter of Louis XII.,
and succeeded his father-in-law on the throne of France. His second wife
was Eleanor of Austria, sister to Charles V., Emperor of Germany. For
many years this picture has been erroneously named Francis I. and his
mistress, but late researches prove the female portrait to be that of
his second wife, Eleanor of Austria, and that it was painted as a
commemoration picture, at the time of the marriage,—the Caduceus, the
emblem of peace, recording that of Cambray, ‘La Paix des Dames.’
Eleanor of Austria was the daughter of Philip, Archduke of Austria, by
‘Mad Joan,’ as she was called, (the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella
of Spain,) and consequently sister to Charles V., Emperor of Germany.
She was much admired at the Imperial Court, and Frederick, brother to
the Elector Palatine, no sooner saw than he fell in love with her, and
the affection was reciprocal; but Charles, discovering their intimacy,
exiled Frederick, and hastened to give his sister in marriage.