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.
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:—