It was, probably, with a pre-occupied mind that he thus prepared to go out; and it is very possible that he scarcely observed a small figure, which he may not even have recognized, which was lifting up, as he passed on, the hangings between the room and the antechamber. This was Felton. Buckingham, on his way, stopped an instant to speak to Sir Thomas Fryer, one of his Colonels, who was a short man--so that, in order to hear his reply, the Duke bent down his head somewhat. Fryer then drew back, and, at that moment, Felton, striking across the Colonel’s arm, stabbed Buckingham a little above the heart. The knife was left in the body; the Duke, with a sudden effort, drew it out, and exclaiming, “The villain has killed me,” pursued the assassin out of the parlour into the hall or antechamber, where he sank down, and, falling under a table, drew a deep breath, and expired.
Then the utmost confusion ensued. The English, misled by what had passed at breakfast, accused Soubise and his followers of the murder; and they would have been instantly sacrificed to the fury of the populace, had not some persons of cooler feelings interposed in their behalf. No one had seen the murderer; he had come in unnoticed, and had withdrawn in like manner. At this moment, a hat, into which a paper was sewn, was found near the door; it was eagerly examined, and some writing on the paper read with avidity, and these words were deciphered:--
“That man is cowardly, base, and deserves neither the name of a gentleman nor soldier, who will not sacrifice his life for the honour of God, and safety of his prince and country. Let no man commend me for doing it, but rather discommend themselves; for if God had not taken away our hearts for our sins, he could not have gone so long unpunished.
”Jno. Felton."[[120]]
Whilst the bystanders were reading these words, the body of the Duke had been conveyed to the inner apartment, from which he had issued, having been first laid on the table of the antechamber, or hall; and in this inner chamber it was left, without a single person, even a domestic, to watch over his remains, or to give him that tribute of sorrowing respect which is due to the poorest. And this singular neglect has been regarded as a proof of indifference in those who, but a few minutes previously, were crowding round the powerful Minister and General. But it was, in fact, one of those accidents which often bear a very different construction, when they are considered relatively to the circumstances of the hour, to that placed on them. Sir Henry Wotton, to whom the fact was mentioned by one of the Duke’s friends, speaks of it as “beyond all wonder;” but accounts for it by the horror which the murder had excited, added to the astonishment at the sudden disappearance of the murderer, who had glided from the terrible scene like an actor who has done his part, and makes his exit. For a time, however, whilst high words were heard between the Frenchmen and their accusers, whilst murmurs from the street below, of the eager and infuriated crowd, were changed into yells of vengeance, that cold corpse lay unheeded; “thus, upon the withdrawing of the sun, does the shadow depart from the painted dial.”[[121]] All were, indeed, in the house, occupied in asking again and again the question, Where could the owner of the hat be?--for he, doubtless, was the assassin. Whilst they were thus talking, a man without a hat was seen walking with perfect composure up and down before the door. “Here,” cried one of the crowd, “is the man who killed the Duke,” upon which Felton calmly said, “I am he, let no person suffer that is innocent.” Then the populace rushed upon him with drawn swords, to which Felton offered no defence, preferring rather to die at once, than to abide the issue of justice. He was, however, rescued by others less violent--a circumstance which was thought very fortunate for the popular party, on whom a stigma might have rested had the murderer been killed; and Felton being secured, was conveyed to a small sentry-box; he was instantly loaded with heavy irons, which prevented his either standing upright or lying down in that narrow prison, where he remained sometime, whilst the mob were raging without in the streets.[[122]]
The Duchess of Buckingham was in an upper room of that house in which the husband whom she had “loved,” to use her own words, “as never woman loved man,” was murdered. She had not, when it happened, risen from her bed.[[123]]
The following very graphic account, written by a very devoted friend of Buckingham, Sir Dudley Carleton, presents, in several details, a somewhat different delineation of this scene of murder, to that which has been related, collected from various sources, although, in various instances, it is confirmatory of the statements usually received.[[124]]
"Sr--If ye ill newes we have heard (doe not as their use is) out flye these lres,[[125]] they will bring you ye worst of ye strangest I think you ever received: sure I am, whatever passed my pen. Our noble Duke in ye midst of his army he had ready at Portsmouth as well shipping as land forces, in ye height of his favour with our Gracious Master, who was herd by at this place and in the greatest joy and alacrity I ever saw him in my life at ye newes he had received about of ye clock in ye morning on Saturday last of ye relief of Rochell, in that fort, that ye place might well attend his coming, wherewith he was hastening to ye King, who that morning had sent for him by me upon other occasions;--at his going out of a lower parlour where he usually sat, and had then broken his fast in presence of many standers by (Frenchmen with Monsieur de Soubise, officers of his army and those of his own Trayns) was stabbed unto ye heart a little above ye breast with a knife by one Felton, an Englishman, being a Reformed Lieutenant, who hastening out of ye doore and ye duke having pulled out ye knife which was left in ye wound and following him out of ye parlour into ye hall, with his hand putt to his sword, there fell down dead with much effusion of bloud at his mouth and nostrils. The Lady Anglesea,[[126]] then looking down into ye[ye] hall out of an open Gallery, which crossed ye end of it, and being spectator of this tragical fight, went immediately with a cry into ye Duchesses Chamber, who was in bed, and then fell down on ye floor, so surprized ye poor Duchesse with this sad ... matin....[[127]] The murderer in ye midst of ye noise and tumult, every man drawing his sword and no man knowing whom to strike, nor from whom to defend himself, slipt out into ye kitchen and there stood with some others unespyed, when a voyce being currant in the court to wch ye window and doore of ye kitchen answered (a Frenchman, a Frenchman), and his guilty conscience making him believe it was “Felton, Felton” (who being otherwise unknown and undiscovered might well have escaped) he came out of ye kitchen with his sword drawn, and presenting himselfe, said, I am the man: some offering to assayle him and one running at him with a spit, he flung down his sword and rendered himselfe to ye company, who being ready to handle him as he deserved by tearing him in pieces I took him from them, and having committed him to ye custody of some officers, when I had taken ye best order I could for other affairs in so great confusion, jointly with Secretary Cooke I examined ye man and found he had no particular offence against ye Duke, more than all others for want of some small entertayments were owing him: but he grounded his practise upon ye Parliament’s Remonstrance as to make himselfe a Martyr for his Country, which he confessed to have resolved to execute ye Monday before, he being then at London, and came from thence expressly by the Wednesday morning, arriving at Portsmouth ye very morning, not above half an hour before he committed it. We could not then discover any complices, neither did we take more than his free and willing confession: but now His Majestie hath ordayned by Commission ye Lord Treassurer, Lord Steward, Earl of Dorset, Secretary Cooke and myselfe to proceed with him as ye nature of ye fact requires, and wee shall begin this afternoon: meane while I would not but give you this relation to ye end you may know ye truth of this bloudy act, which will flye about the world diversly reported to you, and you should not find it strange such a blowe to be struck in ye midst of ye Duke’s friends and followers: you must know ye murderer took his time and place at ye presse near ye issue of ye room, and many of us were stept out to our horses, as I my selfe was to go to Court with the Duke. The murderer gloryed in his acte ye first day; but when I told him he was ye first assassin of an Englishman, a gentleman, a soldier, and a protestant, he shrunk at it, and is now grown penitent. It seems this man and Ravillac were of no other Religion (though he professeth other) than assassanisme; they have the same maxims as you will see by two writings were found sowed in his hat, wch goe herewith.
“From Lord Viscount Dorchester to” [not addressed.][[128]]
In another letter, addressed to the King of Bohemia by Sir Charles Morgan, it was also shown in what sanguine spirits the Duke was, and how he was forming good resolutions, when he received the fatal blow which cut him off from all hope of retrieving the errors he so candidly confessed, or of completing the work of reformation, in various departments, which he hoped to accomplish. Although we may feel assured that the blow was suffered to fall for some purpose of mercy, yet never did any sudden death seem more untimely.