The Prince and his mother, Anne of Denmark, followed the king to Windsor later in the year, spending a whole month on the journey from Edinburgh. This seems an absurd waste of time to us, who rush through in ten hours and a half by the Limited Mail, breakfasting at Edinburgh, and dining comfortably in London. However these Royal progresses were very slow and stately affairs. All the great lords and gentlemen whose places lay on the route, were honoured by visits. Their grand old castles, their beautiful new Elizabethan houses, such as Bramshill which I have described, or Hatfield, or Hardwicke Hall, were thronged with guests. There were hawking and hunting parties, masques and tourneys, and every sort and kind of amusement for the Royal visitors. And we can well imagine how interested the precocious young prince must have been in the novelty of this journey through the rich kingdom which he hoped to rule over one day.
The queen and prince arrived at Windsor during the feast of St. George, the patron saint of the famous order of the Garter. The little boy was made a knight of this most illustrious order; and astonished those present by his "quick witty answers, princely carriage and reverent obeisance at the altar,"[64] which seemed extraordinary in one so young and so ignorant of such ceremonies.
As the plague was increasing about Windsor, Prince Henry removed to the royal palace of Oatlands on the Thames near Weybridge. Here for a time his sister, Princess Elizabeth, lived with him. Few pages of history are prettier or more interesting than the story of Henry and Elizabeth's affection for each other. She was two years younger than her brother, a gay, sprightly girl, destined to a most troubled after-life, for she is best known to the world as "the unfortunate Queen of Bohemia," grandmother of our English King, George the First. At sixteen she married the Elector Palatine, who was made king of Bohemia by the Protestant party in Germany, and thereby found herself in direct opposition to the Roman Catholic party, who, backed by Spain, supported the claim of Austria to the Bohemian throne. Poor Elizabeth, in spite of trouble and sorrow, poverty and the horrors of war, retained, though a fugitive and an exile, much of her gayety to the very end of her life; and some of her letters, even in her days of sorest need, are most amusing reading. But the letters that are chiefly interesting to us are those which passed between the young brother and sister in their happy youth, while Elizabeth was still a merry, light-hearted girl. The wretched system of which we have already spoken, that of sending royal children away from home to be "boarded out" in the house of some great noble or gentleman, caused no little sorrow to this brother and sister. Prince Henry, as heir to the crown, was given a separate establishment in 1603, and for a time Princess Elizabeth was permitted to share it. When they went to Oatlands the king allowed them seventy servants; twenty-two above stairs and forty-eight below. This number was soon increased to one hundred and four, and later in the year to one hundred and forty-one—fifty-six above and eighty-five below. But this happy arrangement did not last long. The princess was sent to Coombe Abbey in Warwickshire, under the care of good Lord Harrington, her governor. And the prince went to Wolsey's famous palace of Hampton Court,
where he resided chiefly till about Michaelmas of the year following, when he returned to housekeeping, his servants having in the interval been put to board-wages.
Now began a constant interchange of letters between the children. The meetings were rare. So they consoled themselves by writing, telling each other of their amusements, their occupations, their journeys, their lessons and readings. Here is a pretty one from Prince Henry, written a few years later:
That you are displeased to be left in solitude I can well believe, for you damsels and women are sociable creatures; but you know that those who love each other best cannot always be glued together; and if I have gone from you to make war on hares, as you suppose, I would you should know that it is not less honorable to combat against hares than conies, and yet it is well authenticated by the experience of our age, that this latter is a royal game. But this north wind, preventing us from our ordinary exercises, will blow us straight to London, so in a short time it is probable we may celebrate together, the feast of St. Mangiart and St. Pensard;[65] to whom recommending you this next Shrove Tuesday,
I am etc. etc.[66]
BRAMSHILL HOUSE, FROM THE NORTH.