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."