III.
The career of King James and his son after the insolent and unscrupulous Buckingham appeared to lead or drive them, as the case might be, seems scarcely the actual history of sane men. When the downfall of Somerset left him supreme master, he seems to have taken possession of both king and palace. He soon sent for his kindred from all parts of the country; and their arrival is thus described:
"... the old countess, his mother, providing a place for them to learn to carry themselves in a court-like garb. He desired to match them with wives and husbands, inasmuch as his very female kindred were enough to stock a plantation. So that King James, who in former times so hated women, had his lodgings replenished with them; ... little children did run up and down the king's lodgings like little rabbits; ... for the kindred had all the houses about Whitehall, like bulwarks and flankers to a citadel." (Weldon.)
The most amusing event—or rather the most amusing absurdity in the annals of that period, or one might say of any other period—was the expedition of Prince Charles to Spain, in 1623, to bring home a wife.
Lord Bristol was at the court of Philip IV., negotiating a marriage between the infanta, his sister, and Prince Charles, and endeavoring to secure for him her magnificent dower; when Buckingham, thinking he was gaining too much credit by his labors, felt desirous of going himself to the spot and taking a part in the matter.
How was this to be accomplished? His wits never failed him. He approached Charles with a general lamentation over royal marriages, where the parties meet first at the altar—too late to retreat—and suggested to him the advantages and romance of presenting himself in person to the infanta, and bringing her home a bride. Charles was charmed with the quixotic notion, and they adjourned to the palace to obtain the king's consent. He at first flatly refused; then consented. The next day he fell into a passion of tears, and prayed to be released from his promise; for he feared the dangers of the journey, and the false reports and suspicions it might give rise to among his subjects. Charles was persuasive, the duke indignant and insolent, and once more the king told them to go. In the words of a historian—
... "So he said he would send Sir Francis Cottington and Endymion Porter with them; and he called Cottington in and told him that baby Charles and Stenie (as he always called them) had a mind to go to Spain and bring the infanta; and Cottington being pressed to speak of it, said it was both unsafe and unwise; whereupon the king wept again, and said, 'I told you so! I told you so!' Then Buckingham abused them all."
After another storm of words, it was decided that they should go in disguise, with only these two attendants. Their incognito was very poorly carried out; for at Gravesend they were suspected by giving gold coin, and at Canterbury they would have been arrested, had not Buckingham taken off his false wig and privately made himself known to the mayor. Finally they reached Dover, where they found Cottington, who had gone on before, in readiness with a vessel, and they set sail for the French coast.
In Paris, a Scottish nobleman who had somehow received intimation of their being there, called late one night on the English ambassador, and asked if he had seen the prince. "What prince?" "Prince Charles," was the reply; but it was too incredible for belief. Yet while in Paris, although not considering it worth their while to visit the British ambassador, they contrived to gain admission, without being recognized, to a court dancing-party, where Charles saw for the first time the fascinating Princess Henrietta.[47]
The consternation in England when their departure, so unbefitting royalty, was discovered, can scarcely be imagined. The king ordered prayers to be offered for their safe return; but no allusion made to their destination. A gentleman of that day, named Meade, writing to a friend, tells this story:
"The Bishop of London, you know, gave orders, as from the king, that they pray for the safe return of the prince to us; and no more. An honest, plain preacher here prayed 'that God would return our noble prince to us, and no more!' thinking it all a piece of the prayer."
Meanwhile these two knights-errant, or, as the king said, "sweet boys and dear venturous knights, worthy to be put in a new romanzo,"[48] continued their journey. At last, at the close of an evening in March, two mules stopped at the house of my Lord Bristol in Madrid, and the riders alighted. Mr. Thomas Smith went in first with a portmanteau under his arm—then Mr. John Smith was called in; and before the amazed diplomatist stood the heir to the British crown and the Marquis of Buckingham. He stared as if he had seen two ghosts; but he presently took Prince Charles to a bed-chamber, and dispatched a courier to inform his father of his safe arrival.
The Spanish court took the matter in its most chivalrous light, as the impulse of a lover; although rather puzzled how to arrange a reception in a case which certainly had no precedent. The Spanish people were enthusiastic. The infanta blushed charmingly at such unheard-of homage, and began to study English. King James sent over a troop of courtiers for a retinue, who proved a rough set—"jeering at the cookery and the religion, and making themselves odious."[49] The Spanish prime minister was soon disgusted with Buckingham, and would have been still more so if he could have understood all his swearing words—"which fortunately he cannot, (says a contemporary,) because they are done in English."
The letters which passed between this precious couple and the king at home are amusing. A want of money was his majesty's normal condition; and the pitiless way in which they seemed to ignore it, by making constant requisitions on his purse, is surprising and amusing effrontery. Prince Charles writes,
"I confess you have sent me more jewels than I'd have use for but here, seeing so many. Some that you have appointed me to give the infanta, in Stenie's opinion and mine are not fit for her. I pray your majesty send more for my own wearing."
Then Buckingham defines more precisely their necessities.
"Though your baby himself hath sent word what needs he hath, yet will I give my poor and saucy opinion what will be fittest to send. Sire, he hath neither chain, or hat-band; and pray you consider how rich they are here, and since your chiefest jewel is here, your son, I pray you let loose these after him. First, your best hat-band of the Portugal diamond, and the rest of the pendants to make up a necklace to give his mistress. Also the best rope of pearls, with a rich chain or two for himself, and some other jewels, not to deserve that name, that will serve for presents and save your purse. They never had so great occasion to get out of their boxes as now."
King James found consolation in believing that they would soon return with the infanta and her dower; so he strove his best to supply them, and touched on smaller matters. He besought baby Charles and Stenie not to forget their dancing, though they
"should whistle or sing, one for the other, for the lack of better music; ... but you must be as sparing as you can in your spending, for your officers are put to the height of their speed.... I pray you, my baby, take care of being hurt if you run at tilt." (Letters in Ellis Collec.)
Difficult as it was for the king to satisfy their pecuniary demands, and desirous though he was to act on Prince Charles's frequent suggestion, to "consult no counsel, but leave all to Stenie and me," he received from them some proposals which rather exceeded his powers of acceptance; one of which was nothing less than that, to please Spain, he should acknowledge the pope's spiritual supremacy![50] Probably at this point some little vision of the people of England flitted over him; for he replied that he had made a great many concessions already, and added—
"Now, I cannot change my religion as a man changes his shirt at tennis."
The end of their expedition, and of the negotiations with Spain, are well known. After meeting the most honorable hospitality, they raised objections which they never intended to have removed, and made promises which they never meant to fulfil; and returned home without the infanta, and without her dower, to reject with insult the Spanish alliance and lay the blame on Spain.
King James died like any common mortal, in the most literal acceptation of the phrase. The same slight cold passing into mortal sickness, the household called up in alarm at day-dawn, the same hugging on to the dear old life. The countess, mother of Buckingham, "ran with a draught and a posset;" he took the draught and applied the posset, but it was too late—and the prince, as Charles I., succeeded him.
Charles had married the sister of the French king, the Princess Henrietta, whose dancing had captivated his youthful fancy on his way to Spain; but some little discord and confusion had crept into the music and dancing of their English home. He had promised religious freedom for herself and her household. Her retinue was very numerous, and, with different religious creeds and widely different social habits, it is not surprising that year by year a sort of estrangement seemed to grow up between them. His majesty ascribed this to foreign influence; and he resolved to rule his own household, and in that very expressive phrase—make a clean sweep.
"One fine afternoon the king went unannounced to the queen's side of the house, and finding some Frenchmen dancing and curvetting in her presence, took her hand and led her to his own lodgings; ... then my Lord Conway called forth the French bishop and others, and told them the king's pleasure was that all her majesty's servants of that nation, men and women, old and young, with three or four exceptions, should depart the kingdom. The bishop stood on, that he could not go unless the king his master commanded; but he was told the king his master had nothing to do in England.... The women howled and wept as if they were going to execution; but it did no good, they were thrust out and the doors locked."[51]
Buckingham was charged with their transportation and shipping at Dover; and his master wrote—
"Stick not long in disputing with them, Stenie; but drive them away like wild beasts—and the devil go with them."
But an ambassador was dispatched to the French court with explanations.
The civil wars which desolated the kingdom under Charles I., and stained the soil of England with English blood, are familiar to all. Buckingham fell by the knife of an assassin. Whether sadly unwise or fearfully criminal, the king expiated his mistakes with his life. He was seized and imprisoned; and after a trial condemned and executed. His queen, Henrietta, with her children, all except one, were in France for safety. His little daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, was in England, and at his request was conducted to him the last evening of his life. Then, says Whitlock,
"it was sad to see him—he took the princess in his arms and kissed her, and gave her two diamonds; and there was great weeping."
There is preserved, in several collections of old poetry, a long and pathetic elegy, written by King Charles at Carisbrook Castle, where he was imprisoned; it is entitled, An Imploration to the King of Kings, and he sadly says therein—
"The fiercest furies that do daily tread
Upon my grief, my gray, discrowned head,
Are those that owe my bounty for their bread.
But sacred Saviour! with thy words I woo
Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to
Such as thou knowest do not know what they do."
The Commonwealth of England, whose first grand state seal dated 1648, came virtually to its end at the death of its founder in 1658; and a few years later Charles II. was called from exile to the throne of his fathers.
He is called the merrie monarch; but very far from merrie was the nation under his rule—dissensions and discontent pervaded it in every direction. The truth is, that the prominence given in brief histories to this epithet, the madcap frolics of his court, the witty and unprincipled nobles, and the uncommon array of female beauty which made up the surroundings of his own indolence and love of pleasure, lead to a sort of general idea that all England was one grand carousal. A nearer view changes the scene. The religious contests between conformists and non-conformists, which began in 1662 and lasted some twenty-six years—the fruitful harvest planted in preceding years of anarchy and fanaticism—present pictures of persecution and suffering such as enter only into religious warfare; and which, perhaps, it is most charity to refer to the importance which the opposing parties attach to their subject. During these twenty-six years it is computed that the penalties which were inflicted amounted to between twelve and fourteen millions sterling, and the sufferers for conscience' sake numbered 60,000. Homeless, and hungry, and penniless, they wandered about or were immured in jails; and contemporary writers (Defoe, Penn) assert that from 5000 to 8000 perished "like sheep, in those noisome pest-houses." Surely that was not the day of merrie old England, beyond the precincts of the court.
Charles was succeeded by his brother, James II., who was soon deposed, and William, Prince of Orange, who had married his daughter Mary, was invited to the throne. Next to these came another daughter of James, Queen Anne; and with her expired the line of the Stuarts. The dark fortunes of Mary Stuart rested in some form on all her descendants.