CHAPTER VII.
THE SPANISH TREATY—NEGOTIATIONS BETWEEN THE DUKE OF LERMA AND LORD DIGBY—THE INFANTA DESCRIBED BY LORD DIGBY—HER GREAT BEAUTY, PIETY, AND SWEETNESS—THE DESCRIPTION OF HER BY TOBY MATHEW—SHE IS DISPOSED TO RECEIVE CHARLES’S ADDRESSES—GONDOMAR—ATTENTIONS SHOWN TO HIM IN ENGLAND—ELY HOUSE ALLOTTED FOR HIS RECEPTION—JEALOUSY OF THE PROTESTANTS AT THE FAVOUR SHOWN HIM—FIRST NOTION OF CHARLES’S JOURNEY TO SPAIN SUGGESTED BY BUCKINGHAM—HIS ARGUMENTS IN FAVOUR OF IT—OBSTACLES TO THE PRINCE’S MARRIAGE WITH THE INFANTA—BUCKINGHAM’S DEBTS AND DIFFICULTIES—INTERVIEW BETWEEN GONDOMAR AND THE DUKE OF LENNOX—JOURNEY OF CHARLES AND BUCKINGHAM INTO SPAIN—THEY STOP IN PARIS—LOUIS XIII.—ANNE OF AUSTRIA—HENRIETTA MARIA—THEY PROCEED TO MADRID—RECEPTION THERE—ENTRANCE IN STATE INTO THAT CITY—COUNTESS OF PHILIP IV.—FESTIVITIES IN HONOUR OF THE PRINCE—THE KING’S LETTERS TO HIM.
CHAPTER VII.
1622.
In the midst of all the difficulties and differences of opinion which embarrassed the question of assisting the Palatinate, or of leaving the darling of her country, Elizabeth of Bohemia, to her fate, that cherished project, known at the time as the Spanish treaty, was brought under consideration.
Little more than two years had elapsed after the death of James’s first-born, Prince Henry,[[382]] when the Duke of Lerma, the minister of Philip the Third of Spain, opened a negotiation with Digby, then ambassador at Madrid, the object of which was to arrange a marriage between Prince Charles and Donna Maria. This princess was the sister of Philip the Fourth of Spain, and her elder sister being married, was styled the Infanta.
In June, 1622, Charles wrote to Lord Digby, desiring to hear speedily upon the subject which the young prince had nearest his heart—whether the King of Spain were really affected to the marriage or not, and intended to proceed in it; in which case, Digby’s instructions were to perfect all the capitulations, and to agree that the journey of the Infanta to England should take place during the ensuing spring.[[383]]
Lord Digby, as he now informed Charles, had first availed himself of all the secret means he could devise, of discovering the wishes of his Spanish Majesty; and on conversing with his ministers afterwards, had received from them every possible encouragement. In the long and interesting letter in which he replied to the young Prince’s inquiries, Digby described an interview with the Infanta, to whom he begged to address himself in the name of her young and royal suitor, and to deliver to her a message. The King gave him permission to see the Infanta, and with his own lips to enter on the subject; Digby having represented to that Monarch, that Charles, being now twenty-one years of age, was desirous of bringing matters to a conclusion, and that His Majesty, King James, having but one son, was anxious “not to delay longer the bestowing of him.” The King of Spain, in return, assured his British Majesty that there was no less affection to the match in him, than there had been in his father. “I can frame,” writes Digby to the Prince, “no opinion but upon these exterior things, and men that do negotiate with great princes must rely upon the honour and truth of their words and propositions, especially in a case of this nature.”[[384]] Much was expected from the return of Count Gondomar from England to Spain; his coming was, as Digby declared, to be of great use, “for he holds,” adds that nobleman, “great credit here, and will be able to clear away all difficulties, being extremely affectionate to the business.” Gondomar, it appears, had then already landed at Bayonne.
Digby next expatiated at length upon the perfection of the Infanta. This princess appears to have presented a rare instance of great personal attraction, combined with sweetness of disposition, sensibility, and piety. That she was not eventually united to Charles must, in spite of the calculations of politicians, ever be a subject of regret. Her good sense might have acted beneficially upon the well-intentioned but mistaken Monarch, who was fatally swayed by the counsels of Henrietta Maria.
Lord Digby, experienced in courts, thus expressed himself with regard to Donna Maria.
“For the person of the Infanta, this much:—I will presume to say unto your highness, that I have seen many ladies attending when I had my audience with the Queen and Infanta, but she is by much the handsomest young lady I saw since I came into Spain; and for her goodness and sweetness of her disposition, she is by the whole Court generally commended.”
In subsequent letters, Lord Digby was still more explicit, although he knew, he said, that expectations generally exceed reality; yet should the Prince, on seeing the Infanta, not “judge her to be a beautiful and dainty lady, he shall be single in his opinions and from all who have ever seen her.[[385]]”
These praises of Lord Digby’s are borne out by other testimonies; that, more especially, of Toby Mathew, who followed the Prince into Spain, and who calls the Infanta, then in her eighteenth year, as “fair in all perfection;” her face without one “ill feature,” presenting that contour which “shews her to be highly born.” The expression of her countenance peculiarly sweet; and her figure, concealed as it was by the close ruffs and cuffs then worn by the Spanish ladies, was declared to be perfect; her head was well set upon her neck; “and[“and] so,” adds the minute observer, “are her hands to her arms; and they say that before she is dressed, she is incomparably better than after.”[[386]]
Lord Digby protested also to Charles that his future bride, as she was then esteemed, had “the fairest hand that he had ever seen, that she was very straight and well-bodied, and a likely lady to make the Prince happy.”
This portraiture was calculated to increase the ardour of the thoughtful and enthusiastic Charles; whilst the character drawn of the Infanta tended to raise the sentiment of admiration into one of respect. Brought up, as Lord Digby relates, with great care, and in retirement, there might be more gravity and reserve than were usual in English ladies, in her deportment; but this was a “fault easy mended.” Having asked every possible question of her childhood and youth, the ambassador protested that “never heard he so much good of any one as of the Infanta.” To this testimony may be again added that of Toby Mathew, who portrays her so free from pride and worldliness, “that she seemed to shine from her soul through her body;” the beauty of her mind very far exceeding that of her person. Everyday this young Princess passed in prayer three or four hours, and then occupied herself in making something which might be sold for the benefit of the sick and wounded in the hospitals, or busied herself in drawing lint out of linen for their use. She spent, in her charities, a hundred pounds a month, appropriating what was allowed her for recreation to these good deeds. Each returning Wednesday and Saturday found her in the confessional, or communicating, “for she carrieth,” relates Toby Mathew, “in particular, a most tender devotion to the Blessed Sacrament, and the Immaculate Conception of our Blessed Lady.” This deep sense of her responsibilities, this earnest piety, alarmed the English Puritans, who forgot that whilst no one was more steadfast to her faith than Katharine of Arragon, there existed not a more tolerant being, as far as we have the means of judging, nor sat upon the throne of the Queen’s-Consort of England, one more beloved by all sects and classes of the people than that ill-used and ill-fated foreigner. They remembered, perhaps, that whilst the Romish persuasion acted benignantly on her mind, on that of her daughter it engendered bigotry, and caused persecution.
Professing this earnest piety, Donna Maria appears also to have been free from the imprudence of giddy coquetry, to which her sister, Anne of Austria, was prone. “She was of few words, but free and affable with her ladies,” and though at first sight she gave no indications of quickness of mind, those who knew her well respected her judgment, while they admired that freedom from personal vanity, so rare in the young and flattered. “Of her person, and beauty, and dressing,” writes Toby Mathew, “she is careless, and takes what they bring her without much ado.” Her courage and calmness under trying circumstances were also commended—the annalist thought it worth while to specify that “thunder and lightning affrighted her not,” “and when, at Aranjuez, the Queen had made a public entertainment for the King, and the scaffolding fell, and boughs fell in and caught fire, and all the company fled, Donna Maria remained calm and collected, only calling for the Condé di Olivarez to keep her from the crushing of the people: retiring at her usual pace, without any sign of agitation.”[agitation.”] This happened when she was only sixteen years of age.
Between the Infanta and her royal brother, Philip IV., the greatest affection subsisted. Not a morning passed that he did not visit her in her apartments, and wait whilst she prepared to go abroad. Yet, in spite of this partiality, she made a point of never interfering in public business. In one respect she resembled Katharine of Arragon; although deeply sensible of any unkindness, she was one who would never expostulate with the unkind, but grieved in secret. Here was true heroism: the power to suffer, the wisdom to forbear: the greatness of mind, not, in family disputes, to challenge sympathy, is a quality of inestimable importance, both in private and public life.
A portion only of the careful eulogium passed on the Infanta reached Charles, whilst he was as yet contemplating a journey to see the rare being upon whom his hopes of felicity were placed: but a description was sent by Digby of the interview which took place between him and the Infanta. “After I had secluded her from His Majesty,” wrote the ambassador, “I told her that I had likewise a message to deliver her, with her permission, from another cavalier, the Prince of Wales. She blushed, and told me, ‘I might;’ whereupon” Digby said, “that in regard to the desire which King James had to unite these kingdoms in nearer friendship, by way of marriage, there was nothing the Prince had so much at heart.” “So you hoped,” he added, addressing Charles, “it was agreeable unto her, and that she likewise wished well, and would aid in the effecting of it.”
At this interrogation the Infanta “blushed extremely, and asked particularly of the Prince’s health, and how,” adds Digby, “I had left you; and told me she gave me great thanks for the favour you did her. I will set down the very words in Spanish, for I think your Highness should be angry with me for the omission of any word in this particular:—‘Agradesco mucho al Principe de Inglatierra, la merced que me hazo.’”
Lord Digby inclosed also letters in Spanish, addressed to Charles. The Infanta having heard that her suitor was studying her native language spoke to Digby on the subject. “He doth it,” was the reply, “whereby to use with you a style of more familiarity.”[[387]]
These particulars are interesting, as proving that it was not without some inquiry and deliberation that Charles undertook to procure, in person, a knowledge of the young Princess to whom his hand was destined.
The Condé de Gondomar, one of the most astute diplomatists of his time, had now been accredited to England for the last three years. His object in coming was to give satisfaction to the King and Court on the subject of the marriage, but the feeling of the people was against him. It was his arrival that had precipitated the fall of Ralegh. It was from his influence that any toleration to the oppressed Catholics would be dated.
Ely House, once the residence of the Bishop of Ely, but given by Queen Elizabeth to her favourite, Hatton, was the tenement destined to receive the ambassadors of Spain; although the envoys from the Palatinate were then in England, and “no one knew,” as it was said, “how two buckets could go down into the well at once.”[[388]] But it was soon seen which “bucket was to go down;” for, whilst he was waiting in expectation of Gondomar’s arrival, James had coldly dismissed Baron Dona, the Prince Palatine’s envoy, saying that he disapproved of his son-in-law’s election to the throne of Bohemia as factious; and refusing to embark his subjects, “who were as dear to him as his children,” in a war. This indifference to his daughter’s condition, and the outrage offered to public opinion in allowing mass to be celebrated in what had once been the private chapel of the Bishop of Ely, scandalized all staunch Protestants, and Gondomar was constrained to open a back door in Ely House to let in Catholics to worship. Nevertheless, the virago, Lady Hatton, who lived almost next door to the Spaniard, threw every hindrance in her power in the way of that arrangement; yet, in the very face of honest Protestant scruples, the Ladies of the Court were invited to witness the ceremonies at Ely House; and, doubtless, found it not inconsistent with their conscience to comply.[[389]]
It was at this juncture that Buckingham is said first to have proposed to Charles to evade open censure by making a journey, incognito, to Spain. Nor were such expeditions unknown in those times. Buckingham well knew, in this instance, the tone of argument most appropriate to address to a prince whose blameless career, untainted by dissipation, had not seared one of the best safeguards of youth—romance. The Prince was accessible to the influence of that which Mackenzie calls “a higher sense of virtue.” A lover of the refined and beautiful, he shrank from the notion of a mere political union; the suggestions which were thrown out from motives of Statecraft were received in a spirit of trust and hope, and sank instantly into a mind of delicacy and feeling.
Buckingham drew a picture, it is stated, of a marriage contracted on public grounds alone. He pointed out the miseries of such an alliance; he referred to the indifference, if not loathing, with which a bride so selected would view the object, not of her own choice, but of that of the State, for reasons with which she had no sympathy.
He portrayed the misery of one who could deem herself nothing but a victim, and who could not fail to view with disgust a bond which brought her from a beloved home to a foreign court, where every early enjoyment of her youth must be forgotten, every cherished association and remembrance abandoned.
Buckingham found an attentive auditor. He represented to Charles that by accomplishing a journey to Madrid, and seeking an interview with his promised bride, he might create an interest in her affections, and, by the attentions of a lover, gain even the coldest heart. The delicacy of the compliment would be felt also in the Court of Madrid; it would resemble the fictions in which the Spaniards delighted; it would present him to the young Princess under the aspect of a devoted suitor; it would expedite the conclusion of those negotiations concerning the Palatinate which had languished so long. These representations were heightened by Murray, the Prince’s tutor, who, some insinuated, was instigated by the cunning Gondomar.[[390]] Murray reminded his royal pupil that his father had gone to Denmark to fetch his wife; that his grandfather, “living in the heart of England,” went into Scotland to marry: especially that his great grandfather, James V., went into France several times—first, to woo the daughter of the French King, the Lady Mary of Lorraine: that interviews between kings and princes were customary; and that no occasion could be so suitable as a negotiation of marriage. “God,” added Murray, “had blessed the Prince with an able body, fit for any exercise and recreation: with great intellectuals, fit to enter into any treaty himself; God had blessed him with a civil carriage, mild and temperate—no way passionate, as some princes were;” and thus, being fitted for the enterprise, the sagacious Scot thought that a journey would improve the Prince’s abilities, and exhibit them to the world.[[391]]
The Court, watchful of what was passing, could only guess by certain indications of the probability of the projected journey into Spain taking effect. About nine weeks previous to the commencement of the Spanish journey, Charles was observed to hold a long conference in his royal father’s bedchamber. The door was closed; but the Prince opened and closed it at times; as if he were looking into the adjoining ante-chamber to see if there was anybody there who could listen to what was going on. James, in the course of that interview, broke into loud cries of passion. About a month afterwards, a report ran through the Court that Buckingham was to go to Spain on a solemn embassy. This rumour, however, was set afloat merely that it might be discovered how the people stood affected to the Spanish marriage. A dispensation from the Pope was necessary as a preparatory step; and James was heard to lament that he could not match his heir without a dispensation from his enemy, which would be acknowledging the Papal power. Yet he took every means to compass the marriage treaty; and even Dr. Hakluyt, one of Prince Charles’s chaplains, who had circulated a pamphlet against the Spanish marriage, was sent away from Court. Still there were innumerable difficulties in the way of negotiation. It appears, indeed, from various petitions, that, though Popery was considered to be on the increase in England, the recusants founded their strongest hopes on the Spanish match. In December, 1621, a petition had been presented to the King, complaining of the printing of Papistical books, the “swarming in of Jesuits,” and purposing to obviate the impending evils—first, by helping the King of Bohemia, then by marrying the Prince to one of his own religion.[[392]] The King replied, saying that he had heard that his detention from Parliament, from ill health, “had led some fiery spirits to meddle with matters far beyond their capacity, and intrenching on the prerogative.” He forbade any further meddling with state mysteries: such as the Prince’s match, or attacks on the King of Spain; he resolved to punish all insolence in Parliament; and would not deign to hear or to answer the proposed petition, if it touched on the points forbidden. “He would,” he graciously added, “make this a session, if good laws be devised.” To this extraordinary answer, which was not published in the journals,[[393]] the commons returned a firm but respectful rejoinder; but were shortly advised that the King was pledged to the Spanish match, and blamed their interfering with it at all.[[394]]
So great were the impediments to the Spanish treaty, that, since it seemed difficult to brave opinion, a means was resorted to of evading any outbreak of the growing national discontent.
Meantime, about this juncture, the first intimation appears of the difficulties into which the extravagance of Buckingham had plunged him. Facts stated by the Court Chronicle speak for themselves. Lord Mandeville, then Lord President, had, it appears, lent him ten thousand pounds. In compliance with the venal spirit of the day, the promise of a payment was made contingent on Lord Mandeville’s consent to the marriage of his eldest son with Mistress Susan Hill, a relation of Buckingham’s, and probably an humble relation, since he gave the bride not only 10,000l., which was to be considered as discharging his debt, but also promised to promote the Lord President, and to give him ten dishes at court. It was rumoured that Buckingham even promised an additional sum of 5,000l. to Mandeville. The marriage seems to have been hastened, in order that it might take place before the Prince’s secret journey into Spain, for it was performed in the presence of the King, who was ill, and in bed, but who showed his delight at the nuptials by blessing the bride with one of his shoes. The match was said to have been an indifferent one for the bridegroom, who could have had 25,000l. with Lord Craven’s daughter.[[395]]
The next affair which produced many days of wonder was the Prince’s journey, a project which had been broached, early in the course of his diplomatic negotiations, by Gondomar.
He had already sought an interview with the most esteemed personal friend of the King’s, Ludowick, Duke of Richmond and Lennox, a kinsman of the Monarch’s.[[396]]
On this occasion, after many compliments on both sides had been exchanged, the Duke said very earnestly to the ambassador, “My lord, I pray deal plainly with me, shall we have a match or no?” To this inquiry, Gondomar replied that the King did his master great wrong if he doubted his intention, since he had already gone so far in the business; “and[“and] where,” adds the crafty Spaniard, “would my master in all Christendom match his daughter to greater advantage, either to a greater prince, or one who may be more helpful or needful to him, or with whom he should hold more correspondency than with the heir to the English crown?” He stated, nevertheless, certain objections: the danger there would be to the Infanta of incurring the penalties of recusancy, for it was then death for a priest to say mass in England.[[397]] Toleration must, therefore, be one stipulation of the treaty. A million of money was to be bestowed upon the young princess for her dowry; but before this was given, a certainty must be obtained that the marriage would prove a source of amity, instead of disunion. These points being decided, the treaty would be concluded. The Duke of Lennox, on hearing these proposals, decided in his own mind that the marriage ought never to take place, for that it could not stand with the laws and safety of this kingdom to permit a toleration of religion.[[398]]
The journey of the young prince was, meantime, retarded by the reluctance of the King. James justly considered that continental nations might impugn his natural affection, as well as his judgment, in permitting the heir-apparent to quit the kingdom, and to leave his royal father childless, for Elizabeth of Bohemia had taken refuge in the Dutch states, and had not then looked to England as her exile. He considered the danger, writes a contemporary historian, “himself being now aged, if he should die, what then might befall his children.”[[399]] How little could he foresee the extremities to which his princely son, then the idol of the nation, would be hereafter reduced, owing partly to the false system and erroneous notions implanted within his mind at this all important season of his youth. The greatest peril that James feared, was the journey through France, at that time full of straggling soldiers, several armies having been recently disbanded. But it was argued by the eager advocates of the Spanish journey, that in France, although highway robberies were frequent, banditti in multitudes were rare. The Prince was to travel with a numerous retinue, he was to keep to the main roads, and there would be no fear of robbery or violence. Persuaded at length by these arguments, the King gave way upon a Monday, the seventeenth of February, 1622-23. He went to Newmarket; “there,” writes Sir Robert Carey, the Prince’s chamberlain, “the Prince appointed myself and the rest of his servants to meet him two days after. But the first news we heard was that the Prince and my Lord Duke were gone to Spain. This made a great hubbub in our Court, and in all England besides.”
It was at first hoped that the Prince had gone anywhere but to Spain, “but those who so believed,” had, it was said, no ground but desire.[[400]] The truth was soon circulated.
There had, it appears, been a formal leave-taking between the Prince and his father, and this scene was witnessed by the able shipwright, Phineas Pette.
Phineas had been in the service of Prince Henry, and had constructed a small vessel for the amusement of that royal youth, and he was now permitted to be present at the leave-taking between Charles, or, as his father styled him, “Babie,” and the King. “At their taking horse,” he related, “I kissed both their hands, and they only gave me an item to that I should shortly go to sea in the Prince.”[[401]]
The King, after making some stipulations as to the day of the return of his precious travellers, parted from them composedly; “he did then,” says Goodman, “express no passion at all, for he was an excellent master of his own affections, if you would give him a little respite, and not take him suddenly. He carried himself as though there were no such thing intended, and so he took his journey through Kingston and Newmarket.”
“For want of better matter,” writes Mr. Chamberlain, “I send you here certain verses made upon Jack and Tom’s journey (for the Prince and Lord Marquis went through Kent under the names of Jack and Tom Smith). They were fathered at first upon the Prince, but, I hear, were only corrected and amended by him.”[[402]]
“They wore fair riding coats,” he continues, “and false beards, one of which fell off before they arrived at Gravesend, and caused suspicion.” Messengers were therefore sent after the fugitives; and they were overtaken near Sittingbourne, where one of their horses failed; they were detained at Canterbury, but got away; but were again stopped at Dover by order of the Privy Council, where they gave some “secret satisfaction” to the authorities of that port.
This enterprise, so consistent with Charles’s character, so agreeable to Buckingham’s high spirits, had not been made known to the Privy Council.
The King sent a message to them to say it was the Prince’s doing, and not that of Buckingham; and that the Council was not told of the scheme because “secrecy was the soul of the business.” The Council was ordered to “stay,” by a proclamation, the “amazement of the people,” who began to conclude that the Prince would be married “at a mass.” It appears, however, without any doubt, that the whole was a plot of James’s; for the Treasurer of the Household, Lord Brooke, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Heriot the jeweller, and others, had been commanded by His Majesty, when he was at Newmarket, to go to the Tower and select some fine jewels, suitable to wear in hats, and “the best rope of pearls,” and some fine jewels, fit for a woman, for His Majesty to choose, which he will send abroad. They were not all for presents, but some to be lent to the Prince, and restored on his return home.[home.][[403]] Buckingham, we hear from the same authority, took Sir Paul Pindar’s great diamonds, promising “to talk with him about paying for them.”
A more detailed account of the commencement of this singular journey than the preceding may, however, be collected from other services.
The travellers slept one night at Newhall; on the following day[[404]] they were accompanied by Sir Richard Graham, Master of the Marquis’s Horse, and his own earliest friend, adviser, and confidant.[[405]] They set off with a very small retinue, some of which they dismissed at various places, upon some idle pretence or another, but only to get rid of them. Thus they proceeded towards Gravesend; but, on crossing the river, a difficulty occurred. They had no small pieces of silver about them; and for want of them, were obliged to give the boatman, who rowed them across, a piece of twenty-two shillings; which, as Sir Henry Wotton relates, “struck the poor fellow into such melting tenderness, that so good gentlemen should be going (for so he suspected) about some quarrel beyond seas,” that he thought it right to acquaint the officers of the town with his suspicions. A message was instantly despatched to detain the travellers at Rochester; but they had passed through the city before it arrived.
The peril of discovery had not yet passed. As the Prince and his companion ascended the hill above Rochester, they beheld, to their great consternation, the equipage of the French ambassador, attended by one of the royal carriages, approaching them in state. “This,” says Wotton, “made them baulk the beaten road, and teach post hackneys to leap hedges.” “It[“It] seemed, however,” says the same writer, “as if a voice had run before them; for at Canterbury, as they were preparing to take fresh horses, the Mayor of the town came up, and declared, with very little ceremony, first, that he had an order from the Privy Council to arrest them; next, on finding them incredulous, from Sir Lewis Lewkners, Master of the Ceremonies; and, thirdly, from Sir Richard Mainwaring, then Lieutenant of Dover Castle.”[Castle.”] Buckingham had no leisure “to laugh” at this occurrence; but, taking off his disguise, he told the Mayor that he was going “covertly with such slight company,” to take a survey of the fleet of the narrow seas, which was then in preparation. Thus, this obstacle was with some difficulty overcome; but the disguise still puzzled the worthy man in office. The travellers journeyed onwards, but met with a fresh recognition from the boy who carried their baggage, and who had been at Court, and had a suspicion who the party were; but it was not difficult to ensure his silence. Owing to bad horses, and these hindrances, it was six in the evening before the party reached Dover.
Here they met the two gentlemen who were alone in their confidence. One of them was Sir Francis Cottington, who was selected not only for his intimate knowledge of Prince Charles’s affairs, but from his acquaintance with the Spanish Court, “where he had,” says Sir Henry Wotton, “gotten[“gotten] singular credit, even with that cautious nation, by the temper of his carriage.” He was, indeed, a prudent man, well acquainted with business, and conversant with Spanish and French. He had been created a baronet only two days before this journey, his family holding a respectable rank at Godmanstown, Somersetshire.
At his first entrance into the world, Cottington had only fulfilled the post of Gentleman of the Horse to Sir Philip Stafford, Vice-Chamberlain to Queen Elizabeth; but he was afterwards attached to the embassy in Spain, and in 1621, was made secretary to Prince Charles. He was considered to know the politics of the Spanish Court “to a hair.” Charles, in spite of the jealousy afterwards manifested by Buckingham towards this gentleman, who had protested strongly against the Spanish journey, never forgot his early companionship in an undertaking of some risk. He promoted him in various ways, and, in 1631, created him Baron Cottington, of Hanworth, and Lord Cottington enjoyed several high offices, from which he was driven when the troubles began in 1640. Charles, however, trusted him to the last, and, when his failing cause detained him at Oxford, made Cottington High Treasurer of his diminished resources.
It was the fate of this loyal man to follow the fortunes of Charles the Second into exile: thus performing, faithfully, two high, but different functions—the one to attend a youth in the height of power and prosperity on his chivalric enterprise; the other to solace privation, and to console the young and wandering exile under his difficulties.[[406]]
The other chosen attendant was Endymion Porter, who had been bred up in Spain from a boy, and was familiar with the language. From Spain he was taken into the service of Edward Villiers, was brought to England, and introduced before the time when Buckingham or his family was acceptable at Whitehall.
These five persons composed, in the first instance, the whole of the party, Porter fulfilling the office of Bedchamber-man to the Prince.[[407]]
For some time after the departure of the Prince, no precise news of his movement was received at Court.
“We have little certainty of the Prince’s journey since his going hence,” writes Mr. Chamberlain, “but only that they landed at Boulogne the Wednesday, and rode three posts that night. On Friday they came to Paris, very weary, and, resting there on Saturday, went away early on Sunday morning. Some gave out that during their abode there, they saw the King[[408]] at supper, and the Queen[[409]] practising a ball, with divers other ladies. Which, though it be somewhat confidentially affirmed, yet I think it not probable, by reason it was their first Saturday in Lent. We have had since many rumours that they were stayed, but now they say a post should come yesternight, with news that they are past Bayonne, and that my Lords Digby and Gondomar, with I know not how many litters and coaches, were ready at the frontiers to receive them, which sounds as unlikely as most of the rest. Sir Edward Herbert, our ambassador, knew nothing of their being at Paris till the Lord of Carlisle’s coming. All in a manner agree that either the French King had notice of it before their arrival, or time enough to have detained him, had he been so disposed. Divers of their servants and followers are gone after them by land, and more preparing to go by sea.”
It appeared afterwards that the passage to Boulogne was stormy, nevertheless, the Prince and his followers landed there two hours after, in the afternoon of the nineteenth of February. They reached Montreuil on the same night, “like men of dispatch,” and Paris on the second day afterwards.
Up to this time they escaped detection; although, three posts before they entered Paris, they encountered some German gentlemen, whom they had met at Newmarket, who suspected that the disguised and hurried travellers were no less important personages than the Prince and the Favourite; but these Germans were “outfaced by Sir Richard Graham, who would needs persuade them that they were mistaken.”[[410]]
At Paris the travellers passed one day only; but that day was the forerunner of signal events, and pregnant with important consequence, both to Buckingham and to his royal charge.
Meantime, King James, in spite of his fears at home, was madly jealous of any surmise respecting Spain, or the Catholic religion.
On the Sunday after the Prince’s departure, we are told by Mr. Chamberlain, “that all the Council about the town came to Paul’s Cross, when it was expected somewhat would have been said; but the preacher had his lesson in hæc verba, only to pray for the Prince’s prosperous journey and safe return, and the next day the Bishop, convening all his clergy, gave them the same charge; but some of them had anticipated the commandment and proceeded further, whereof one desired God to be merciful unto him now that he was going to the House of Rimmon.” But all were not so careful; old Dr White, Prebend of St. Paul’s, was dismissed for praying that the King and Prince might be preserved from any that should “go about to withdraw them from their first love, and natural religion.” This was interpreted as a sort of libel.[[411]]
And now Buckingham was, for the second time, in the great centre of all civilization. Paris was probably unchanged; but few persons who had known the Court of France in the days of the great Henry could have recognized it during the weak rule of his successor. Henry IV., adding another instance in corroboration of the remark, that during five hundred years not one of the French monarchs had attained the age of sixty, had now been dead twelve years.[[412]] To that manly and powerful monarch, bred up in the house of a peasant, his iron nerves braced by hazards almost incredible; his courage proved in battles a hundred and twenty-five in number; his hardihood so great that for two years he was never seen unbooted; being perpetually in the exercise of war and hunting—to this hero, as prudent and sagacious as he was brave, had succeeded a dull and heavy boy, slow in speech, yet quick to avenge, on any of his young companions, petty or imagined slights. Timid and even dastardly by nature, the early pusillanimity of Louis the Thirteenth had attracted the notice of his father. “Faut-il donc que je sois père d’un poltron!” was the involuntary exclamation of Henry of Navarre. Such was, however, his successor, who had, in truth, far more of his mother’s disposition than of his father’s frank and princely nature. He had the Medicean fierceness and imperiousness of character, coupled with an abject spirit, which was fostered, whilst cramped, by the potent dominion of his mother over his mind.[[413]]
Marie de Medici, the queen-mother, had obtained the highest reputation for sanctity, charity, and prudence. Of her beauty, those charms which could rival the attractions of the famed Gabrielle d’Estrées, the chroniclers of the day speak loudly. In the affections of her royal husband she had, however, suffered, not so much from the influence of her rival’s comeliness, as from the wit and vivacity of Gabrielle’s conversation. Like her son, Marie de Medici was slow in speech, and the French accounted her dull and uninteresting; but, for the “main grounds of attending to her profit or her power,” she was, writes an eye-witness of her career for four years,[[414]] “provident enough, and her commanding and high spirit, caused her to be obeyed in all in which she was permitted to meddle.”[[415]] And the event justified this opinion. Her daughter-in-law, Anne of Austria, daughter of Philip the Third of Spain, had been several years the wife of Louis the Thirteenth, when Charles and Buckingham saw her in all the perfection of her youthful loveliness at Paris. Born in the year 1602, Anne must have been at this time in her twenty-second year. She is described as having been, at the age of fifteen, when (having been married the year previously by proxy) she was first introduced to her royal consort, singularly attractive. An ancient lady of the court drew a lively picture of her appearance to Madame de Motteville. “The first time that she saw the Queen,” said that chronicler of other days, “she was seated upon cushions, after the Spanish fashion, surrounded by a number of ladies; she was dressed in green satin, embroidered with gold and silver; her sleeves hanging, but caught up on the arm with immense diamonds, serving as buttons. She had on a close ruff; and on her head a small hat, of the same colour as her gown, from which hung a plume of Heron’s feathers, adding, by their dark hue, to the beauty of her hair, which was extremely light, and frizzed in large curls.”[[416]] Such, in early youth, was the appearance of that Princess whose attractions proved eventually a source of peril and discredit to Buckingham. Her portraits give us no idea of a beauty so commanding as that which is implied by the extraordinary influence of her attractions; but it is probable that, like that of most Spanish women, it faded prematurely, and that her great charm consisted in the gaiety of her temper; in her sweetness and generosity of character; and in a certain sentimental turn of gallantry, which she conceived not to be incompatible with female virtue. At the period of Charles’s first visit to Paris, Marie de Medici still ruled paramount over the weak character of her son. It had been her aim, even before the death of Henry the Fourth, to win the cold affections of her only offspring, as well as those of the son of her rival, the Marquis de Verneuil, to herself. At the time when Anne of Austria, a child, gave her hand to Louis, a child also—for their ages tallied—there was an evident disposition on the part of the former to attach herself to the partner to whom the decree of state policy had joined her compulsorily. She felt no disgust at his appearance, for, though greatly inferior to the Duc de Vendome and the Marquis de Verneuil in manly beauty, the young King was tall and well-formed; and the darkness of his countenance was no disparagement in the eyes of a Princess who had been accustomed to the rich tint of Moorish and Spanish complexions.[[417]] Upon the death of the Duc de Luisnes, the favourite of Louis, in 1621, Marie de Medici was left with no other rival in her maternal influence over her son, than his young wife. By a fatality such as too often attends royal marriages, it was henceforth decreed that the young couple were not to love each other. Anne, it appears plainly from her own confession, might have done so, had she been left to herself;[[418]] and the young King, it was also alleged, admired the beauty of his wife and respected her amiable qualities; but it was not the policy of Marie de Medici, nor afterwards that of Cardinal de Richelieu, that these natural affections should have their course. The King was known to avow to a confidant, that whilst he was attracted to his wife, he dared not avow it either to his mother or to Richelieu, whose counsels and services, he added, were of far more importance to him than the affection of his wife.[[419]]
Such was the state of domestic affairs at the court of Louis, when the Prince and Buckingham beheld, for the first time, those who were destined to awaken in the one an honourable and enduring attachment, in the other a mad and criminal passion.
They still maintained their disguise, nor was it difficult, for, as Sir Henry Wotton observes, “the impossibility to conceive so great a Prince and favourite suddenly metamorphosed into travellers, with no greater train, was enough to make any man living unbelieve his five senses.” In order to add to their disguise, Buckingham bought periwigs, to overshadow their foreheads; and thus provided, they spent a day in viewing the city and the court, which Buckingham had visited before, when in training for his courtier destiny, but which to Charles was an object of novel and peculiar interest, France being “neighbour to his future estates.”[[420]]
Fortune favoured their curiosity. From a gallery in the royal palace, they were so favoured as to see the King, solacing himself with familiar pleasures; the queen-mother, at her own table; nor were they discovered even by Monsieur de Cadenat, who had so lately visited England as ambassador, and who must well have known their features. Towards the evening, by an apparent chance, though, as Sir Henry Wotton observes, “underlined with a Providence,” the travellers had a full view of the young queen, and of Henrietta Maria, the future queen of England. These princesses were, with the ladies of the Court, practising a dance and masque, but the diversion appears to have been held in private. The travellers, however, hearing two gentlemen talk of going to witness it, pressed in after them, and were admitted by the Duc de Montbazon, the Queen’s Chamberlain, from courtesy to strangers, when, at the same time, many of the French, who wished to be spectators, were rejected. “Note here,” observes Wotton, “even with the point of a diamond, by what oblique steps and imaginable preparatives the High Disposer of princes’ affections doth sometimes conceive the secrets of his will.” It was afterwards found that the young face which Vandyck has so often depicted on his canvas, surrounded as it was by maturer beauties, made an impression upon the imagination of Charles which only required certain circumstances to be heightened into love.[[421]]
Anne of Austria, nevertheless, bore away the palm in the eyes of Buckingham, and even of his princely charge. Whilst they remained at Paris, the King wrote to them to the following effect:—
“Sweett boyes: the newes of youre going is allreaddie so blowin abroade as I am forced for youre safetie to poste this bearare after you who will give you his best advyce and attendance in youre journey. God blesse youe both, my sweete babes, and sende you a safe and happye returne.
“James.”[[422]]
On their part, the travellers thus wrote:—
“Sir,
“Since the closing of our last, we have been at Court againe (and, that we might not nowe hold you in paine, we assure you that we have not been knowen), where we saw the young queene, littell Monsieure and Madame, at her practising of a maske that is intended by the Queene to be presented to the Kinge, and in it there danced the Queene and Madame, with as mannie as made up nineteen faire dancing ladies, amongst which the Queene is the handsomest, which hath wrought in me a great desire to see her sister. So, in haste, going to bed, we humblie take our leaves, and rest
“Your Majestie’s most humble and obedient
“sone and servant,
“Charles;
“and your humble slave and doge,
“Steenie.”
On the following day, February the twenty-third, the Prince and Buckingham left Paris at the early hour of three, and proceeded towards Bayonne. Their journey, meantime, had become the theme of conversation in England, and even on the day on which the Prince set sail, it was the theme of general discussion;[[423]] yet, abroad, so slowly did tidings travel in those days, they were still able to preserve their incognito.
At Bordeaux, however, they nearly revealed their secret. Tired, probably, of their peasant suits, they bought fine riding coats, “all of one colour and of a noble simplicity,” and the proud demeanour of Buckingham, and the high-bred grace of the Prince, could no longer be concealed.
They were invited by the Duc d’Epernon to be his guests, and Cottington was employed to refuse the invitation, so as to avoid exciting suspicion. He was therefore obliged to tell the Duke that he and his party were “gentlemen of mean degree, and formed to little courtship,” and the excuse was received; otherwise, the Duke, being, as Sir Henry Wotton observes, “no superficial man in the practices of the world, might have pierced somewhat deeper than their outsides.”[[424]]
The season of Lent was now advanced, and the travellers could obtain no meat in the inns. Sir Henry Wotton relates an anecdote, which, as he remarks, is characteristic of the Prince, who is the chief hero of the little incident.
“There was, near Bayonne, a herd of goats with their young ones, upon which sight, Sir Robert Graham tells the Marquis he would snap up one of the kids, and make some shift to carry him close to their lodging; which, the Prince overhearing, ‘Why, Richard,’ says he, ‘do you think you may practise here your old tricks again upon the border?’ Upon which words, they first give the goatherd good contentment, and then, while the Marquis and his servant (being set on foot) were chasing the kid about the stack, the Prince, from horseback, killed him in the head with a Scottish pistol.”[[425]]
The lofty bearing of Buckingham, and courteous demeanour of Charles, were not unnoticed by the Count de Grammont, the Governor of Bayonne, that “jealous key,” as Sir Henry Wotton terms it, of France. He perceived that they were gentlemen of much more consequence and higher station than their dress implied; nevertheless, he permitted them, courteously, to pass forward.
Philip IV., at whose court they were soon to present themselves, was now only in his nineteenth year. Like his weak father, he had thrown the reins of government, soon after his accession,[[426]] into the hands of an unworthy favourite. The Condé de Olivares, who had been a gentleman of the bed-chamber to Philip, when the Prince of Asturias was the haughty ruler over the destinies of the Spanish nation. Corrupt, yet able, he is stated to have increased the revenues of the crown, and, so far, to have served his sovereign by several severe but salutary measures. Having, however, acquired some credit for these reforms, he gave loose to his own rapacity, whilst he checked that of others. He even surpassed his predecessors in acts of corruption; his heart was depraved; his selfish ambition boundless; and his private character was suspected, not without just cause, to have been stained with the darkest crimes.[[427]] Such was the minister to whom Charles and Buckingham were now to bend, as suppliants and suitors; for Philip,[[428]] imbecile and indifferent, and plunged into degrading vices, was wholly a cipher in the profuse and stately Court over which he was the nominal ruler.
Throughout the rest of the journey, the travellers did not pass entirely unknown; but were, as a writer of the day informs us, “offered great honour, would they have yielded to have been publickly known,” or in case of their return by the same route.
The Lords Andover and Kensington had gone twelve days previously in the same direction; and, in short, about two hundred nobles and gentlemen had set sail at Portsmouth, intending to land at St. Sebastian’s, and to ride overland to Madrid.[[429]] Meantime, the King desired his clergy not to “prejudicate the Prince’s journey, either in their sermons or prayers; but yet to pray to God to preserve him in his journey, and grant him a safe return to us”—not in more, he ordered, “nor in any other words than those.”[[430]]
The appearance of these two adventurous travellers at Madrid was far from agreeable to Lord Digby, who would have prevented it if he had had the power. One consideration in the mind of that ambassador was a fear lest the arrival of the lavish favourite should increase the pecuniary difficulties[difficulties] in which he was himself involved. Twenty thousand pounds had been allowed for his embassage, but that sum was already exceeded by some thousands.[[431]] James chose to say that much expense would be saved by the Lord Admiral’s dexterous management, but Bristol answered, “Not one penny.” All, the ambassador declared, should be done for his royal master’s honour, but everything was to go on privately until the Papal dispensation should arrive. Even at this early period, the journey of the Infanta to England was discussed. By land it would, it was thought, be “very chargeable,” and extraordinary inconvenient. The[The] Spaniards, too,” as the Earl stated, “thought the portion demanded by the English very exorbitant, and only to be expected had the Infanta been either deformed or of mean birth.”[[432]]
In the midst of these negotiations, the ill-timed arrival of the Prince and Buckingham came, not to obviate obstacles, but to multiply them. Digby, now Earl of Bristol, whose jealousy of Buckingham may be detected throughout all his correspondence, was greatly discomposed by their appearance at Madrid. Nor was this a sentiment confined to Digby. Howell, who perfectly understood Spanish affairs, observes in his letters:—
“And others were of the same opinion as the ambassador, namely, that the journey was ill-advised, hazardous, undisguised, and unpopular.”
The King, however, was still delighted with the momentous frolic. On the twenty-sixth of February he wrote from Newmarket, telling the Prince and Marquis what lords were to follow them to Spain. “Their poor old dade,” he added, “was lamer than ever he was, both of his right hand and foot and wryttes all this out of his naked bedde.”[[433]] The King having, in fact, encountered a very serious accident during the previous year, his health was daily becoming more feeble. It is, therefore, almost touching to find the kind-hearted, weak Monarch, prematurely aged as he was, entering most heartily into all that concerned his two absent treasures, of whose enjoyment he thought, it is obvious, far more than the welfare of his subjects. The Prince had left instructions that sixteen of his suite should follow him, with his jewels and other articles. The King, however, complains in his letter that the “imperfect note my babie had left”[left”] put him into a great deal of pain, “for ye left,” he says, “some necessary servants out, in the opinion of all your principal officers, and ye ken, as I was forced to add those, then everie man ranne upon me for his freende, so I was torn in peecis amongst thamme. I have no more to saye,” he thus concludes, “but that I weare Steenie’s picture in a blew ribben under my wastcoate, next my hearte.”[[434]]
The following letter gives a characteristic account of the Prince and Steenie:—
“Dear Dad and Gossope,
“On Friday last (March seventh) wee arrived here at five o’clock at night, both in perfect helth. The caus whie wee advertised you of it no soner, was that wee knew you would be glad to hear as well of the maner of oure reception as of oure arrivall. First, wee resolved to discover the woer,[[435]] becaus upon the speedie opening of the ports we fond (found) posts making such hast after us, that we knew it would be discovered within twelve hours after, and better wee had the thanke of it then a postillion. The next morning wee sent for Gondamar, who went presentlie to the Condé of Olivares, and as speedilie gott me your (Doge Steenie) a private audience of the Kinge.
“When I was to returne backe to my lodging, the Condé of Olivares, himself alone, would needs accompanie me backe againe to salute the Prince in the King’s name.
“The next day (March 9, Sunday, O.S.) wee had a private visit of the Kinge, the Queene, the Infanta, Don Carolus, and the Cardinal, in sight of all the world; and I may caule it a private obligation, hidden from nobodie, for there was the Pope’s Nuntio, the Emperor’s Imbassador, the French, and alle the streets fild with gards and other people. Before the King’s coch went the best of his nobilities; after followed all the Ladies of the Court. Wee sate in an invisible coch, becaus nobodie was suffered to take notice of it, though seen by all the world. In this forme they passed three times by us, but before wee could get away, the Condé of Olivares came into our coch, and convaied us home, where he tould us the King longd and died for want of a nere sight of our woer. First he took me in his coch to goe to the Kinge. We found him walking in the streets with his cloke throne over his face, and a sword and buckler by his side. He leped into the coch, and away he came to find the woer in another place appoynted, where there past much kindnes and compliment one to another. You may judge by this how sensible the Kinge is of your sone’s journie, and if wee can eyther judge by outward shoes (shows) or generall speeches, we have reason to condeme your Imbassadors for righting tow (writing too) sparinglie then tow much.
“To conclude, we finde the Condé of Olivares so overvaluing of our journie, that he is so full of reall courtesie that we can doe no less than beseech your Majestie to right the kindest letter of thanks and acknowledgement you can unto him.
“He said no later unto us than this morning, that if the Pope would not give a dispensation for a wife, they would give the Infanta to the (thy) son’s Babie as his wench, and has this day righten (written) to the Cardinall Ludovicio, then Pope’s nephew, that the Kinge of England hath put such an obligation upon this Kinge in sending his Sone hether that he intreats him to make hast of the dispensation, for he can denie him nothing that is in his kingdome. We must hould you thus much longer to tell you the Pope’s Nuntio works as maliciouslie and as activelie as he can against us, but reseves such rude answers that we hoep he will soon werie on’t.
“Wee make this collection of it, that the Pope will be verie loth to grant a dispensation, which if he will not doe, then wee would gladlie have your directions how fare wee may ingage you in the acknowledgement of the Pope’s spirituall power, for we allmost find, if you will be contented to acknowledge the Pope’s cheefe Hed under Christ, that the mach will be made without him. So craving your blessing, wee rest
“Your Ma’ties humble, obedient sone and servant,
”Charles.
“Madrill, the 10th of March, 1623.
“Your humble slave and doge,
“Steenie.
“For the best of Fathers and Masters.”
On another sheet, written at the same time, but signed by “Steenie” alone, and perhaps written without the Prince’s knowledge, he says:—“The cheefest advertisment of all wee omitted in oure other letter, which was to let you know how we like your daughter, his wife, and my ladie mistris. Without flatterie, I think there is not a sweeter creature in the world. Babie Charles himself is so touched at the hart, that he confesses all he ever yett saw is nothinge to her.”
The King, in his answer to this letter, dated March twenty-fifth, says:—“I have written a letre to the Condé d’Olivares, as both of you desired me, as full of thankes and kyndnes as can be desyred, as indeed he well deserves.“
“I know not,” says the King, in reply, “quhat ye meane by my acknowledging the Pope’s spirituall supremacie. I am sure ye wolde not have me to renounce my religion for all the world; but all I can guess at your meaning is, that it may be ye have an allusion to a passage in my booke against Bellarmine, quhaire I offer, if the Pope wold guyte his godheade, and usurping over Kings, to acknowledge him for the Cheefe Bishoppe, to whom all appeals of churchmen ought to lye en dernier ressort; the verie wordes I sende you heere inclosed, and that is the furthest my conscience will permit me to goe upon this pointe, for I am not a Monsieur, quho can shifte his religion as easilie as he can shifte his shirte quhen he commeth from tennice.”
The passage in his hook, which the King fancied Buckingham might allude to (though he more probably had never read it), is thus written, in the King’s own hand, on a separate slip of paper: “And for myselfe, if that were yett the question, I wolde with all my hairte give my consent that the Bishoppe of Rome showlde have the first seate. I, being a Western king, wolde go with the Patriarche of the West. And for his temporall principalities over the seignorie of Rome, I do not quenell it nether, lett him in God’s name be primus Episcopus inter omnes Episcopos et Princeps Episcoporum, so it be no other wayes but as St. Peter was Princeps Apostolorum.”[[436]]
To these letters, Endymion Porter added an account in a letter to his wife, that the Prince and Duke were “most handsomely received. The King, Queen, and Infanta,” he adds, “drove out yesterday[[437]] in a coach, when the Prince, in another coach, saw his mistress, and was much stricken with her beauty.”[[438]]
It was soon found necessary to retrench the numbers that were to go to Spain, that the ships “might not be pestered;” no lord was to have had more than four men, no gentleman more than two. Even this seems to us rather a full complement in the present day; but, when it is remembered what an extraordinary number of jewels were worn in the dresses of that day, it will not appear too many to take care of the valuables conveyed by each peer, or to maintain the dignity and state so much insisted on at that period.
Amongst other personages who followed Charles, or, as he was called in Spain, “the wooer to the Spanish Court,” was Archy, King James’s fool, who must needs also have his attendant, which was at first refused, but afterwards allowed. By April, the Prince’s household, jewels, apparel, and the robes for St. George’s Day, were gone; tilting armour, caparisons, and horses, asked for by Charles and Buckingham, were also to follow. “The dispensation,” Conway wrote, from Spain, to Sir Thomas Wentworth, “will soon be there, and nothing but either the desperately envious, or vile almanack-makers, arguing from conjunction of planets, now talk of delay.”
It is curious to remark how eager those about the Court, and above all, those dependant on Buckingham, were for the marriage, and how little it was wished for by the majority of the people.
Ten ships were to set out in April, to bring back by the end of May their rich charge; such were the expectations cherished in England. Digby, a sceptical looker on, did not think that the match would be advanced by the Prince’s arrival; whilst at home, difficulties arose as to the condition of the ten ships intended to be sent with the horses; the Prince Royal, built for Prince Henry, was found to be in so damaged a state that she was not sea-worthy; this vessel was repaired, in order to bring back Buckingham, who was expected home before the Prince, and was victualled for the voyage to Spain; but the King, with characteristic calculation, expected that the “King of Spain, who so magnificently feasted the Prince, would surely give the ships fresh victuals for their homeward journey,” which action, however, seems never to have occurred to his Spanish Majesty.[[439]] Lord Carey, chamberlain to the Prince, received a commission to execute martial law, during the voyage to Spain, over the Prince’s household, but his powers were not to extend to the captains or to the crew, nor to be exercised till the vessel was out at sea. No sad apprehensions were, however, to be allowed during Charles’s absence; “where philosophy fails,” wrote Sir Thomas Edmondes,[[440]] “faith must begin.” All things had been prepared for the Infanta’s departure from her native country, and June was the latest month stated for her arrival in this, but still the Earl of Bristol, whilst protesting that the Spaniards would be the most perfidious wretches alive if they did not restore the Palatinate, for “they say that they would rather throw the Infanta into the sea, than marry her to our Prince, when his sister and her children are deprived of their patrimony,” still, he feared there was “mischief brewing” about the Electorship.
Meantime, all was gay, all was gracious, at Madrid. According to a more detailed account than their own, the Prince and Buckingham rode into that city about eight o’clock in the evening of the seventh of March, attended by a postilion only, having previously ridden post three days; they alighted at the house of the Earl of Bristol, Buckingham entering first, with a portmanteau under his arm, announcing himself as “Mr. Thomas Smith;” then “Mr. John Smith” (the Prince), was sent for; he had remained standing on the other side of the street. Lord Bristol, in amazement, took the prince to his bedroom, where Charles called for pen and ink, and despatched a letter to England, to inform His Majesty how, after a journey of sixteen days, he had reached Madrid in safety. The next day, Endymion Porter and Sir Francis Cottington, who had been purposely left half a day’s journey behind, came also; and it was soon rumoured that some great man was come from England, and reports were even circulated that it was the King.[[441]] The Condé de Gondomar was, however, soon apprised of the truth. He hastened to present himself to the Prince, and, falling flat on his face, the artful Spaniard exclaimed “Nunc dimittis!” as if the climax of human felicity had come to pass. The next day was Sunday, and, since the forms of the Spanish Court did not admit of an immediate presentation, it was agreed that the first meeting should take place by a kind of premeditated chance, so to speak—the Prince retaining his disguise. Charles, with the ardour of a young and romantic man, had entreated Gondomar to procure him an immediate “sight of the Infanta,” which the Condé promised to do; reminding the Prince that it was Lent, which was, of course, an obstacle to a public reception. The King afterwards promised Charles that though[though] it were Lent, it should not be “Lent to him;” and that he should have all he would, and all that the country should afford.”[[442]] In the evening[evening] of Saturday, Buckingham went in a close coach to Court, where he had a private audience of King Philip, and also of the Condé Olivares, who accompanied him back to the Prince, whose hand he kissed, kneeling, clasping his arms also round Charles’s legs. Endymion Porter was the interpreter, on this occasion, between the Prince and Olivares.[[443]]
On Sunday afternoon, Charles, for the first time, saw the young Princess towards whom he afterwards played so unworthy a part. It was in the park of Madrid. The Infanta was seated in the boot of the carriage, with a blue ribbon round her arm, in order that the Prince might distinguish her. A grand cortége, composed of the chief nobility of that proud Court, followed the royal carriages. Charles, disguised, with Buckingham by his side, Gondomar and Sir Walter Aston being in the same carriage, went in the Duke de Cea’s coach. It had been settled that no recognition should take place. The Infanta, as her royal suitor passed her, could not conceal her agitation; the colour came into her face; neither could her brother and Charles help exchanging salutations, as they drove repeatedly past each other, both in the town and Prado. Evening drew on, and the King and the royal party returned home by torch-light, the effect of which was magnificent.
Still, it was thought due to the observance of Lent, as well as agreeable to etiquette, that private interviews only should take place, especially before Charles had made his public entrance. That same evening, therefore, the King, after many punctilios, in which the soul of Spanish honour and politeness was displayed, met the Prince again in the park, taking him into his own coach, and placing him at his right hand. On parting, there was an embarrassing ceremonial—the King insisting on conducting Charles back to his carriage, Charles not suffering it. So they parted midway on the road.
Charles’s days passed, indeed, in a manner peculiarly agreeable to one of his disposition. On one occasion, having first seen the King ride through the streets on horseback to a monastery called La Merced, where the King had rooms furnished for occasional residence, he went afterwards to take the air by the fields on the river’s side; another day, he repaired to the palace, and was conducted by Olivares through the back way. “Your babie,” Buckingham wrote to the King, “desired to kiss his (the King’s) hands privatelie in the pallace, which was granted him, and thus performed. First, the King would not suffer him to come to his chamber, but met him at the stare-foote; then entered in the coch, and walked into the parke. The greatest matter that passed between us at that time was complements and particular questions of all our journaie; then, by force, he would needs convaie him half way home; in doing which they were almost overthrone in brick pits.”[[444]]
Many were the resources to which Charles turned for relaxation during this interval of expectation. His mornings were spent in his private affairs, among which we may reckon the cultivation of his taste for pictures; in the afternoon, accompanied by his beloved Steenie, he went forth into the fields, where Bristol attended on him with his hawks; or he visited a country house of the King’s, called Caso del Campo, where, meeting Philip and his brothers, Don Carlos and Don Fernando the Cardinal, they diverted themselves by watching “men placed there to shoot at such kinds of game as were found in the place;” hares were started, partridges sprang up, and other fowl, all of which were killed, after the custom of that day, as they went running or flying by the marksmen. Sometimes the King, with the old Spanish courtesy, sent the Prince two horses, desiring him to choose the best for himself, and to leave him the worst to ride out on; then Charles would order the steeds to be exercised in a garden near the Earl of Bristol’s house, and, not to be outdone in politeness, he would himself try them both, and send the best back for the King’s use.
At length the day arrived when Charles made his solemn entry into Madrid, under circumstances of interest which almost superseded even the imposing magnificence of the ceremonial. On the sixteenth of March, he received the Inquisitor General, and all the different Councils of the kingdom—the Corregidores and the Regidores of Madrid—at the Monastery of San Geronimo[Geronimo], whence the Kings of Spain always make their public entrance. These public functionaries endeavoured, on being presented to the Prince, to kiss his hand, but Charles resisted this demonstration, considering that it was due only to the lawful sovereign of the realm.
The magnificence of the procession that ensued owed much of its picturesque beauty to its being on horseback. As they approached the immediate precincts of Madrid—Charles riding on the right of Philip—they were met by four and twenty Legidores of the town—whose office it was to carry over the King’s head a canopy of tissue, lined with crimson cloth of gold. The King then took the Prince under the canopy, still keeping him on his right hand; before them rode the Ministers of Justice, next the grandees, sumptuously clad, for it is an old saying, that no one dresses so plainly every day, nor so gorgeously on occasions, as the Spaniards.[[445]] Their picturesque costumes, their grave and stately bearing, their gallant steeds—so famed throughout Europe—must have made this band of nobles one of the fairest spectacles of the time.
They were apparelled, as the chronicler expresses it, “in colours and great bravery,” their servants, in rich liveries, attending.
After the King and Prince came Buckingham and Olivares, in their respective offices of Master of the Horse, each of them with a horse of state, as the ensign of the place he enjoyed. The canopy held over these two favourites and ministers was afterwards presented to Buckingham, as well as all other fees belonging to the Master of the Horse—because he served that day the Prince in whose honour the procession took place. Then came Lord Bristol, Sir Walter Aston, and the Council of State, with the gentlemen of the King’s bedchamber; and a part of that “goodly guard,” called “de los archeros, bravely clad and arrayed.”
This unrivalled procession passed along through streets hung here and there with rich draperies, or adorned with curious pictures, and “sprinkled” with scaffoldings, on which stood the chief magistrates of Madrid; in some streets, also, there were dancers, comedians, and musicians, to amuse the royal pair as they rode gracefully onwards. At length, the King and Charles reached the palace, where some time was consumed by ancient ceremonials, each contending for the hindmost place; but, “in fine,” writes the chronicler, “they went hand-in-hand, or rather, with their arms round each other, until they came into the presence of the Queen.”
Her Majesty was seated under a cloth of state, at the extremity of a large room, where the chairs were placed. This apartment was superbly furnished; but the chief riches, it is said, consisted in that “living tapestry of ladies, and of the children of noblemen who stood near the walls.” The Queen, not awaiting the approach of Charles, went forward to welcome him; he was then conducted to the apartments destined for him, the Queen herself, with the King, seeing him to the very doors, where her royal brothers-in-law stood to receive him. There was then a courteous dispute, the Prince wishing to attend His Majesty back to his own part of the palace; Philip insisting that Charles should only make one step in that direction. Scarcely an hour had elapsed, before a great basin of massive gold, carried by two men, and containing an embroidered nightgown, laid double in it, was brought—a present from the Queen to Charles; besides which, she sent him two large trunks, bound in hands of pure gold, and thickly stuck with gold nails—with a gold lock and key; the coverings of the trunks were of amber leather, whilst their contents consisted of curious linens and perfumes. In addition to these, there was also presented a rich desk, every drawer of which was full of rarities; Buckingham, at the same time, receiving a “noble present” from the Condessa Olivares. That night the old town was illuminated both with torches and fireworks, which were kept up for eight days.
Such was the commencement of Charles’s residence in Spain. It was decreed that he should be attended only by nobles, and served and addressed as a King; The Condé de Gondomar and the Condé de Plueba were to act as Majordomos; the Condé de Monterey, brother-in-law of Olivares, was to be his chief Majordomo. The most delicate attention of all was, however, the King’s giving two gilt keys to the Prince, requesting him to present one of them to those of his attendants whom he most preferred, in order that the whole of the palace might be open to him or his retinue. The keys were, of course, given to Buckingham and Bristol.
Whilst such delicate hospitality was being manifested in Spain, James, at home, was collecting all the jewels he could with any propriety send, and some which he had no right to give away, to add to the grandeur of Babie and Steenie. His letter, on this occasion, is most characteristic of his infatuation for the Spanish match, and of his easy conscience on matters connected with religion.[[446]]
He writes thus:—
“My Sweete Boyes,
“I wrytte nou this sevint (seventh) letre unto you upon the sevinteent of March,[[447]] sent in my ship called the Adventure, to my tuo boyes, adventurers, quhom God ever blesse! And now to beguinne with Him:—A Jove principium—I have sent you, my babie, two of youre Chaplains, fitted for this purpose, Mawe and Wrenne, together with all ornaments and stuffe fit for the service of God. I have fullie instructed them in all theyre behavioure, and theyre service shall, I hoape, prove decent and agreeable to the puritie of the Primitive Churche, and yett as near the Romane forme as can lawfullie be done, for it hath ever been my way to goe with the Church of Rome, usque et aras. All the particulars hereof I remitte to the relation of youre before-named chaplens.”
The King then mentions that he sent the robes of the Order of the Garter. “Quhache,” he says, “you must not forgette to wear on St. George’s Day, and dine together in thaime,” if they arrived in time, which he hoped to God would be the case, for it would be “a goodlie sight for the Spaniards to see my two boyes dine in thaime.”
The King next enumerates the jewels he despatched:—
“For my babies’ presenting his mistresse, I sende an olde double crosse of Lorraine, not so rich as anciente, yet not contemtible for the valewe: a goodly looking-glasse, with my picture in it, to be hung at her girdle, quhiche ye must tell her ye have caused it so to be enchawnted by a vile magike, as, quhensoever she shall be pleased to look into it, she shall see the fairest ladie that ather her brother’s or youre father’s dominions can afforde.[[448]] Ye shall present her also,” James continues, “two faire long dyamonts, sett lyke an anker, and a faire pendant dyamont hanging at thaime; a goodlie roape of pearles,” a collar, or carcanet, of thirteen great ballas rubies, and thirteen knots or cinques of pearls; together with a “head-dressing, and two-and-twentie great pear pearls;” also, three pear-shaped diamonds, the largest of which was to be worn “at a needle,” in the middle of her forehead, and one in each ear.
His “babie,” the King decreed, was to have his own round brooch of diamonds, and he sent also a famous jewel called the “Three Brethren,” consisting of a great pointed diamond, with three great pearls attached to it, and a large pendent pearl; also, the “Mirror of France,” “the fellowe of the Portugal Dyamont,” which, says the King, “I would wishe you to weare alone in your hatte, with a little blakke feather. Ye have also,” he adds, “goode dyamont buttons, of your own, to be sett to a doublett or jerkin. As for your Ｔ, it maye serve for a present to a Don.”[[449]]
Steenie was furnished with a fair table diamond, which the King wanted to have given him before, but Buckingham had refused it; to this a “faire pewre pearl” was now suspended, “for wearing,” said the thoughtful monarch, more occupied with these details than with the good of England, “in thy hatte, or quhaire thow plessis; and if my babie will spaire thee the two long dyamonts in form of an anker, with the pendant dyamont, it were fitt for an admirall to weare, and he hath enough better jewels for his mistresse.”
Then follows a trait of the gentle Marchioness, quite in keeping with the whole of her character:
“Thow hes of thyne owne thy goode olde jewell, thy three pindars dyamonts, the picture-cace I gave Kate, and the greate dyamont chaine I gave her, quho wolde have sent thee the best paire she hadde, if I hadde not stayed her.”
Divers other jewels were to be sent with the fleet for presents, “for saving of chairges quhair have too much nede.” These were to be presents to Spanish grandees.
The King then concludes:—
“Thus ye see how, as long as I want the sweete comfort of my boyes’ conversation, I ame forced, yea, and delytes, to converse with thaime by long letres. God bless you both, my sweete boyes; and sende you, after a successful journey, a joyful and happie returne in the armes of your dear dad,
“James R.
“Dated from Newmarket, on Saint Patrick’s Day, quho of olde was too well patronized in the cuntrey ye are in.”
A few kind and amiable expressions from the Marchioness of Buckingham to her husband reached him too at this time.[[450]] “I thanke you for sending me so good nuse of our younge mistres. I am very glad she is so delicat a creaturr, and of so sweett a disposicion. Indeed, my Lady Bristol sent me word she was a very fine lady, and as good as fine. I am very glad of it, and that the Prince liks her so well, for the King ses (says) he is wonderfully taken with her. It is a wonderfull good hairing, for it were great pettye but the Prince should have on (one) he can love; because I thinke he’ll make a very honest husband, which is the greatest comfort in this world, to have man and wife love truly. I tould the King of the private message the Infanta sent to the Prince, to wear a great rouffe (ruff). He laft heartely, and seed (said) it was a very good sign.”
The Prince and Buckingham adopted a practice of writing joint letters; for which Charles, in the next dispatch, apologized. “I hope in writing jointly as we doe,” the Prince wrote, “we plase you best, for I assure your Majesty it is not for saving paines.”[[451]] To[To] which James answers:—“I wonder quhy ye shoulde aske me the question if ye should send me any more jointe letters or not. Alace! sweet hairts, it is all my comforte in your absence that ye wrytte jointe unto me, besides the great ease it is both to me, and ye neede not doubte but I will be wairie enough in not acquainting my counsel with any secrete in your letres. But I have been troubled with Hamilton,[[452]] quho, being presente by chawnce at my ressaving both of your firste and seconde paquette out of Madrid, wold needs peere over my shoulder quhen I was reading them, ofring ever to help me to reade any harde words, and, in good faith, he is in this busynesse, as in all things else, as variable and uncertaine as the Moone.”
A hint from Charles showed that he both feared his father’s indiscretion, and also apprehended opposition from the Council. “I beseech your Majesty,” he now wrote, “advyse as little with your counsel in these busineses as you can.”
James, indeed, had the unthankful task of extorting, from unwilling hands at home, money for those abroad.[[453]]
“But, in earniste, my babie,” he afterwards wrote, “ye must be as spairing as ye can in your spending thaires, for youres.”
Amongst the jewels transmitted to Spain was a collar of gold, weighing thirteen great ballaces, and thirteen pieces of gold, with thirteen links of pearl between them. This valuable was, in 1606, annexed to the crown of England, or, as it was stated in the deed, “to the kingdoms of this realm.” It is evident that James had incurred some censure for sending what was not his own property away, for he seems to have exercised greater caution afterwards. The demands from Spain were, indeed, insatiable. Charles modestly wrote to his father thus:—[[454]]
“Sir,—I confess that ye have sent more jewels than at my departure I thought to have had use of; but, since my coming, seeing manie jewels worne heere, and that my braverie can consist of nothing else besydes;—that sume of them which ye have appointed me to give the Infanta, in Steenie’s oppinion and myne, ar nott fitt to be given to her; therefore I have taken this bouldness to intreate your Majesty to send more for my owen wearing and for giving to my mistress; in which I thinke your Majestie shall not doe amiss to take Carlile’s[[455]] advyce.”
This letter was in the Prince’s hand-writing.
Buckingham’s less humble spirit was shown in the following postscript, which was in his own hand, and forms a singular contrast with the respectful tone of that of the Prince on the same topic:—
“I, doge; ye sayes you have manie jewels neyther fit for your one (own), your sone’s, nor your daughter’s[[456]] wearing; but verie fitt to bestow of those here, who must necessarilie have presents, and this way will be least chargeable to your Majestie in my poore opinione.”[[457]]
Three days after, the Duke wrote again in a still more insolent tone; and gave His Majesty his “poore and sausie opinion of what would be fittest to send.”
Hitherto, the Marquis said, the King had been so sparing, that when he thought to have sent the Prince sufficient for his own use, and for presents to the Infanta, and to lend to himself, he, on the contrary, had been forced to lend jewels to the Prince.[[458]]
“You neede not aske,” Buckingham continued, “who made me able to do it. Sir, he hath neither chaine nor hat-band, and I beseech you consider how rich they are in jewells here. Then what a poore equipage he came in, how he hath no other meanes to appear as a King’s sonne, how they are usefullest at such a tyme as this, when they may doe yourselfe, your sonne, and the nation’s honor: and lastlie, how it will neyther caust nor hasard you anie thinge. These resons, I hope, since you have ventured allreadie your chiefest jewel, your sonne, will serve to persuade you to let louse theese more after him: first, your best hat-band; the Portingall diamond; the rest of the pendant diamonds to make up a necklace to give his mistress; and the best roape of pearls, with a rich chaine or tow, for himselfe to waire, or else your doge must want a collar,[[459]] which is the readie way to put him into it. There are manie other jewells which are of no mean qualitie, as they deserve not that name, but will save much in your purs, and serve very well for presents. They had never so good and great an occasion to take the aire out of their boxes as at this time. God knowes when they shall have such another, and they had need sometimes to get near the sonne, to continue them in there perfection.
“Madrid, 25th of Aprill, 1623.”
In a postscript, Buckingham announced that he had sent the King four asses, five camels, and one elephant, “which,” he adds, “is worth your seeing, and a Barbarie horse from Walter Aston.” The animals Buckingham sent he had “imprudentlie begged for:” and he promised “to lay waitte for all the rare color birds” that could be heard of. “But if you doe not send your Babie jewells eneugh,” thus his letter concludes, “ile stope all other presents; therefore, looke to it.”
The King, taking this impertinence as a joke, thanked his “sweet Steenie gossip” for his “kind, drolling letter,” and suggested that should Babie not think it fit to present all the jewels to the Infanta, they should be brought home again; and ventured to propose also that with regard to a present to the Condé Olivares, horses, dogs and hawks, and such like stuff sent out of England, “by the sweete boyes, would be a far more acceptable present than a jewel.” He began, perhaps, to feel some remorse at his lavish folly. Prince Henry’s sword—which another father would have valued, independently of the costly diamonds with which the handle was set—had been given to the King of Spain. It was considered next in value to the Prince’s crown, and bestowed on Prince Henry by his royal mother at his creation as Prince of Wales; and had been sent in a masque, in the fanciful fashion of the day, as from Tethys to one of the Meliades.[[460]] All these jewels were, however, honourably returned during the year the Spanish match was broken off.[[461]]
After the important matter of the jewels had been discussed, Charles received from his father a few lines, protesting, on the word of a King, that whatsoever his son should promise in his name should be punctually performed. Charles had asked for something explicit under His Majesty’s own hand,[[462]] to show that he had full powers; the request was presumptuous, but Charles, who wrote it, and Buckingham, who advised it, knew to whom they applied. “It were a strange trust,” the King answered, “that I wold refuse to putte upon my owne son, and upon my best servante.”
This servant he was now resolved to honour above all other great ones of the land, by creating him a Duke. Buckingham had probably been desirous of obtaining this honour ever since his being created Marquis, and had been employing every means of compassing his ends, by the aid of his dependents and partisans at home. Through the exertions of Secretary Conway, he had been addressed as “your Excellency.” Since that distinction is only applied to ambassadors, it is possible that Bristol may have considered it an infringement on his province to give it to Buckingham.
It was, however, one of Buckingham’s most cherished objects of ambition to assert a pre-eminence over Bristol at the Court of Spain.
There was, at this time, no English dukedom; that of York having merged into the title of Prince of Wales. The Duke of Lennox, the King’s near relation, was the only Scottish nobleman who bore the title; and he had, for forty years, held this distinction. In order to avoid placing the new duke above this nobleman, Lennox was created Earl of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and Duke of Richmond, on the seventeenth of May, and Buckingham was raised to the dukedom on the eighteenth. It was at the same time in contemplation to create two more Dukes; the Marquis of Hamilton was to be Duke of Cambridge; the Earl of Arundel, Duke of Norfolk, that nobleman refusing anything less than the restitution of that title. These creations did not take place, partly owing to the pride of the Duchess of Lennox, who wished to stand alone, and partly to that of Buckingham, whose letter to the King, on this occasion, shows his great ambition, and proves his audacity and influence.
It had been at first proposed to make him Duke of Buckingham and Clarence, thus reviving in his person a title used hitherto only by the Princes of the blood.
“Dear Dad and Gossope,[[463]]
“It cannot but have bine an infinite trouble to have written so longe a letter, and so sone, especiallie at this painfull time of your armes; yet wish I not a word omitted, though the reading forsed blouses (blushes), deserving them no better; neyther is it fitt I should dissemble with my master, wherefore I confess I am not a gott (jot) sorie for the paines you have taken. This might argue I love myselfe better than my master: but my disobedience in all my future actions shall witnes the contrarie; and I can trulie say it is not in the power of your large bountiful hand and hart, ever hereafter, eyther to increase my dutie and love to you, or to overvalue myselfe as you doe by thinking it fitt I should be set so farre above my fellows. There is this difference betwixt that noble hand and hart: one may surfitt by the one, but not by the other, and soner by yours than his one (own). Therefore give me leave to stope with mine that hand which hath bine but too redie to execute the motions and affections of that kind obliging hart to me. As for that argument, that this can be no leading case to others, give me leave to say it’s trew onele in one (but that’s a greate and the maine) poynt, for I grant that I am more than confident you will never love moree of your servants (I will pausie here) better than Steenie.
“Thus it will be no leadeing, but you can not denie but it may be a president of emulation hereafter to those that shall succeed you, to expres as much love as you have done to me, and I am sure they may easelie find better subjects. So, if it be unfit in respect of the number (of Dukes that may be created), this way it will be increased; but I mayntaine it’s unfitt in respect there is not here (in Spain), as in other places, a distinction between Duckes’ and Kings’ children, and before I make a gape or a stepe to that paritie between them, I’le disobey you—which is the most I can say or doe. I have not so much unthankfulness to denie what your Majesty sayeth, that my former excus of the disproportion of my estate is taken away, for you have filled a consuming purse, given me faire howses, more land than I am worthie, and to maintain both me and them, filled my coffers as full with patents of honer that my shoulders cannot bare more. This, I say, is a still great argument for me to refuse; but have not bine contented to rest here, when I thought you had done more than enough, and as much as you could; but hath found out a way which, to my heart’s satisfaction, is far above all, for with this letter you have furnished and enriched my cabinett with so precious a witnes of your valuation of me, as in future tymes it cannot be sayde that I rise, as most courtiers doe, through importunitie, for which caracter of me, and incomparable favor from, I will sine (sign) with as contented, nay, as proud a hart, from your poare Steenie, as Duke of Buckingham.”
Meantime, festivities were carried on in Spain which rivalled the most brilliant spectacles witnessed in that age of pageantry, during which chivalric manners and chivalric sports were for the last time seen in England, since they were never revived after the Rebellion.
On Easter Sunday a masque was performed in honour of the strangers. The Queen, clad in white, in remembrance of the Resurrection, and decked in jewels, dined in public, first having duly observed the solemn religious services of the festival.
Prince Charles also dined in public; the gentlemen-tasters, it is especially noted, attended, and the Earl of Bristol gave them the towel.
After vespers, the Court assembled, and the palace was thronged with strangers from the various provinces, all eager to see the “wooer.” Charles was then in the full vigour of his youth; he is depicted by Velasquez, at or about this period, as possessing that bloom which care so early destroys; his face was ever rather interesting and picturesque than handsome; but it may easily be imagined how, set off by the charm of manner, the graces of his person may have been exaggerated by those who now welcomed him as a suitor to the young princess. He had, on this occasion, adopted, for the first time, the Spanish national costume, and was in a black dress, “richly garded,” after the Spanish fashion, with the George about his neck, hanging by a watchet ribbon. “The enamelled garter,” so states the Spanish chroniclers, “exceeded that colour” (the watchet) “in brightness, and his Majesty might as clearly be discerned as a sun amid the stars. This being not the meanest action and demonstration of his prudence, that being a travelling guest, who came by the post, not being able to shine with equal lustre, he came to participate of the Spanish sun.”[[464]]
From this observation it appears that the jewels promised by James had not then arrived. The Prince must, therefore, have acted as a contrast, though not a foil, to King Philip, who was resplendent in a dress of ash colour, with an immense Golden Fleece, and a huge chain, baudrick-wise, around his neck, “robbing,” as the annalist declared, in his girdle, and other jewels, the “glory of Phœbus’ beams;” in his hat he displayed a large waving plume. Then came Buckingham, whom the chroniclers of the day style the Admiral, and Olivares, and they repaired to the Queen’s apartments, where the Infanta, with her Majesty, came out to receive them. At the interview which then took place, Sir Walter Aston acted as interpreter; in that capacity he wished the Queen a happy Easter; the young and blushing Infanta, standing by, received these compliments, which were presumed to come direct from Charles, with a modesty and gravity far beyond her years. Then their Majesties went to the window of the south gallery to see the trial of arms in the Court of the Palace.
The whole beauty, rank, and splendour of Spain were assembled in this gallery, but none were more remarkable for grace, and for the knowledge of the Court, than the Condessa Olivares—whose name was afterwards coupled with Buckingham’s in scandalous terms. She is expressively said to have given “a life to all actions of greatness and courtship.”[courtship.”] She was only exceeded in address by her husband, between whom and Buckingham a coolness soon afterwards commenced. A trial of arms, the champions and their attendants being masked, then took place, beginning from the house occupied by Buckingham, near the Royal Hospital of Misericordia, and extending to the palace, upon which were set the cartels of challenge, to which the Marquis de Alcanizas, on the part of the Spaniards, and Buckingham, on that of the English, were respondents.
Buckinghams’s “livery,” on this occasion, was very costly. It consisted of hoods of orange, tawny, and silver cloth, set with flowers and Romaine devices of black cloth, edged with silver in circles, with turbans in Moorish fashion, and white plumes. Two courses were run in the palace-court, the chief masker being the flattered favourite of King James. Amid the gallant throng, four maskers, in Turkish costume, attracted especial notice. One of them was discovered, by the brightness of his hair, and his stateliness in running at the ring, to be the King, who thus testified the honour he wished to pay to Buckingham by joining in the same sport.[[465]]
The Bull-fight, or Panaderia, followed the trial of arms, and took place during Pentecost. This cruel diversion had been repeatedly prohibited by Papal bulls, but to no purpose. So common was it to have several men killed during a bull-fight, that priests were always on the spot, ready to confess the dying; and according to Howell, who was present on this occasion, it was not unusual to see a man dangling on each horn of the bull, with his entrails hanging from him.[[466]]
The bull-fight at which Charles and Buckingham were present, was held on the first of June; and scarcely had the day dawned, when a concourse of nobility rushed to the Panaderia or Bullangerie, as it is called in the old chronicle; where, in the centre of a space encircled by twelve arches of unpolished stone, a gilded scaffolding was erected, the lower part of which was covered with cloth of gold and silver, mingled with crimson. On either side were smaller scaffoldings, divided from the principal one by partitions of crimson cloth, spotted with gold. This erection had only been once used, when the Duc de Maine had visited Madrid for the espousals, by proxy, with Anne of Austria. On the left hand there was a portal by which persons seated on the scaffolding might go in and out of the scaffolding; and on the summit of all were two canopies of Florence cloth, of carnation-colour, interspersed with gold rays, with chairs of cloth of gold and silver underneath them, and hung with rich tapestry. On these various stages stood the nobility of Spain and the Council; whilst, beneath the canopy, their Majesties were seated, the Pope’s Nuncio standing on the right hand, and the several ambassadors on the left. The Corregidores of Madrid, with their eight servants and four lacqueys, in “glorious liveries” of plain black velvet, with embroidered skirts, cloaks of black cloth, and doublets of black lace, and feathers of a colour “which all the place admired and wondered at,” received the Council,—“that high senate,” so writes the chronicler, entering with a wonderful majesty, and so taking their places.
All the ladies of the Court, the nobility and Council and Corregidores, being placed according to degree, the Queen and the Infanta made their appearance, driving to the Panaderia in their coaches. These two Princesses were dressed in dark grey, embroidered with lentils of gold, and wore plumes and jewels in their hair. The Queen’s carroche, as it was called in the old language of the day, was followed by numerous other coaches, in which sat the flower of the Court, all ladies of the highest rank, who, how sombre soever the fashion of their dresses, displayed in their equipages the gayest colours, according well with the rich hues which nature, at that season, produced. This procession was escorted by the Alcaldes on horseback, whose troop was augmented by a number of English and Spanish knights, officers, and grandees. As the Queen and Infanta alighted, they were conducted by the captain of the guard, clad “in a brave livery of dark yellow,” and wearing a plume, to their seats.
Amid the escort who did honour to the Queen that day, appeared most conspicuously the then gay and sanguine Charles the First, in the brief may-day of his life. He rode on a parti-coloured horse, curbed with no bit, which seemed, beneath its royal burden, to have laid aside its high spirit, and to submit to the skilful management of the young equestrian. The Prince, it is specified, looked “relucent in black and white plumes;” he accompanied the King, mounted on a dapple grey, also without the bit. Philip wore the dark-coloured suit of his country. Then came Buckingham, with the Condé Olivares, the Master of the Horse, preceding the band of English gentry, and riding with the Council of State and Chamber of Spain.
Having taken their appointed seats, Charles and his countrymen beheld, first, fifty lacqueys in high-Dutch costume of cloth of silver, with caps of wrought silver, follow the Duke de Cea, into the enclosure. Behind the Duke rode the combatants, distinguished by great tawny plumes, and hose of tawny cloth, laced with silver. They were scrupulously alike. Scarcely had this gallant Spanish noble paid his homage to the royal personages present than the Duke de Maqueda, looking, says the enthusiastic chronicler, “like one of the Roman Cæsars,” and followed by many noblemen, attended by a hundred lacqueys in dark-coloured serge, banded with lace, and relieved with silver belts and white garters, rode gallantly into the palace.
Next appeared the Condé de Villamor, with his fifty lacqueys in white printed satin, with doublets of azure, silk, and gold, set out with tufts of gold and silver lace, with white plumes on their hats; and amid this gorgeous throng, on a chestnut horse, rode the Condé, his horse’s main[main] and tail being drawn out with silver twist, “surpassing even the horses of Phœbus’ chariot.” Such was the waving of feathers, that it was, says the beholder, like “a moving garden, or an army of Indians.”
And now came the two combatants—Gaviria and Bonifaz; or, as they were called, Kill-bulls. They, too, had their lacqueys—Bonifaz in white plumes, whilst those of Gaviria were distinguished by dark green suits. Lastly, appeared the Cavalier de la Morzilla, who came to “try his fortune with lance and target.”
Although by right the office of Marshal, on this occasion, belonged to the Condé Olivares, it was surrendered to Buckingham, Charles giving precedence to his favourite; so that it was the proud office of the once lowly Villiers to appear chief in the court of Spain, as he had often done in that of England. He stood, therefore, behind the Infanta, Don Carlos, and by the side of Olivares, who acted not only as an adviser, but also as interpreter—the Duke, it seems, having never acquired Spanish. The part thus allotted to Olivares, though a subordinate one, was performed with due punctilio and courtesy; and as one sensible of the honour which James had done him in the “letters, full of wisdom and gravity,” with which he had honoured him.
Then the lacqueys drew back, and looking in their blue and red colours like a harvest in June blown about by the breeze, left their lords to the perilous encounter. The bull-fight witnessed by Charles and Buckingham differed little from that still unhappily the chief delight of the Spaniards in our own times, except that, to pay the more refined tribute to the Prince and his favourite, the combatants were of high rank. As the Condé de Villamor, to whom the first encounter was allotted, rode to the assault, his retainers showered darts on the bull; whose hide resembled, according to the flowery narrative of Mendoza, a quiver, or recalled “the thorny hedges of Helvetia;” but the bystanders, seeing the poor animal’s agonies, took out the arrows with great velocity, although, in so doing, they were in imminent danger of their lives. De Magueda signalised himself by many brave attempts; but it was the glory of a combatant named Cantillana that he killed a bull. Bonifaz and Gaviria made such desperate attacks on the poor animals, that their assaults could not be counted; but the greatest praise was due to De Velada; who overthrew two or three hulls by “dint of sword and gore of lance,” but having wounded one of these infuriated creatures between the eyes, ran so great a risk that the King; would not suffer him to enter a second time into the lists. Numerous, indeed, were the feats that might incite to poetry, or to song, had not the conflict been of so cruel and so debasing a nature; so that the valour which was so largely displayed might even be said to verge upon brutality. Mendoza enumerates them with a savage enthusiasm. Amid the most successful of the bull-killers appeared the famous Montezuma, who did credit to his royal blood and established bravery by putting a bull to flight, the animal having unaccountably showed signs of fear; he was pursued by Montezuma, and, struck by a cleaving blow of the sword, was left for dead. As the fight drew near its close, Antonio Gamio, the Duke de Cea’s second, made one of the bravest assaults of the day upon a furious bull, upon which he rushed, leaving half of his lance within him, whilst cries of delight and shouts of exultation rang through the air, and the bull fell down dead by the side of the fearless combatant; the horse stood perfectly still, showing to what a degree of perfection management had brought the courser; so intrepid when urged onward, so docile when occasion required.
The bull-fight being ended, the Queen and Infanta returned, beneath a shower of rain, which surprised them in that season, to the palace, where they sought repose after the exciting scenes, in which even the young and gentle Infanta took a delight apparently inconsistent with her character. Nothing, indeed, can exceed the raptures of Andres de Mendoza, from whose animated pages this narrative is drawn. “Since the report is Festival,” he says, referring to his own exaggerated descriptions, “it is but like to that which was to be seen with the eye. You would have said as much if you had but seen them fight with those furious beasts, showing themselves the more valiant, in that they were undaunted and resolved Spaniards.”[[467]]
END OF VOL I.
R. BORN, PRINTER, GLOUCESTER STREET, REGENT’S PARK.