On their part, the travellers thus wrote:—

On the following day, February the twenty-third, the Prince and Buckingham left Paris at the early hour of three, and proceeded towards Bayonne. Their journey, meantime, had become the theme of conversation in England, and even on the day on which the Prince set sail, it was the theme of general discussion;^[423] yet, abroad, so slowly did tidings travel in those days, they were still able to preserve their incognito.

At Bordeaux, however, they nearly revealed their secret. Tired, probably, of their peasant suits, they bought fine riding coats, “all of one colour and of a noble simplicity,” and the proud demeanour of Buckingham, and the high-bred grace of the Prince, could no longer be concealed.

They were invited by the Duc d’Epernon to be his guests, and Cottington was employed to refuse the invitation, so as to avoid exciting suspicion. He was therefore obliged to tell the Duke that he and his party were “gentlemen of mean degree, and formed to little courtship,” and the excuse was received; otherwise, the Duke, being, as Sir Henry Wotton observes, “no superficial man in the practices of the world, might have pierced somewhat deeper than their outsides.”^[424]

The season of Lent was now advanced, and the travellers could obtain no meat in the inns. Sir Henry Wotton relates an anecdote, which, as he remarks, is characteristic of the Prince, who is the chief hero of the little incident.

“There was, near Bayonne, a herd of goats with their young ones, upon which sight, Sir Robert Graham tells the Marquis he would snap up one of the kids, and make some shift to carry him close to their lodging; which, the Prince overhearing, ‘Why, Richard,’ says he, ‘do you think you may practise here your old tricks again upon the border?’ Upon which words, they first give the goatherd good contentment, and then, while the Marquis and his servant (being set on foot) were chasing the kid about the stack, the Prince, from horseback, killed him in the head with a Scottish pistol.”^[425]

The lofty bearing of Buckingham, and courteous demeanour of Charles, were not unnoticed by the Count de Grammont, the Governor of Bayonne, that “jealous key,” as Sir Henry Wotton terms it, of France. He perceived that they were gentlemen of much more consequence and higher station than their dress implied; nevertheless, he permitted them, courteously, to pass forward.

Philip IV., at whose court they were soon to present themselves, was now only in his nineteenth year. Like his weak father, he had thrown the reins of government, soon after his accession,^[426] into the hands of an unworthy favourite. The Condé de Olivares, who had been a gentleman of the bed-chamber to Philip, when the Prince of Asturias was the haughty ruler over the destinies of the Spanish nation. Corrupt, yet able, he is stated to have increased the revenues of the crown, and, so far, to have served his sovereign by several severe but salutary measures. Having, however, acquired some credit for these reforms, he gave loose to his own rapacity, whilst he checked that of others. He even surpassed his predecessors in acts of corruption; his heart was depraved; his selfish ambition boundless; and his private character was suspected, not without just cause, to have been stained with the darkest crimes.^[427] Such was the minister to whom Charles and Buckingham were now to bend, as suppliants and suitors; for Philip,^[428] imbecile and indifferent, and plunged into degrading vices, was wholly a cipher in the profuse and stately Court over which he was the nominal ruler.

Throughout the rest of the journey, the travellers did not pass entirely unknown; but were, as a writer of the day informs us, “offered great honour, would they have yielded to have been publickly known,” or in case of their return by the same route.

The Lords Andover and Kensington had gone twelve days previously in the same direction; and, in short, about two hundred nobles and gentlemen had set sail at Portsmouth, intending to land at St. Sebastian’s, and to ride overland to Madrid.^[429] Meantime, the King desired his clergy not to “prejudicate the Prince’s journey, either in their sermons or prayers; but yet to pray to God to preserve him in his journey, and grant him a safe return to us”—not in more, he ordered, “nor in any other words than those.”^[430]

The appearance of these two adventurous travellers at Madrid was far from agreeable to Lord Digby, who would have prevented it if he had had the power. One consideration in the mind of that ambassador was a fear lest the arrival of the lavish favourite should increase the pecuniary difficultiesdifficulties in which he was himself involved. Twenty thousand pounds had been allowed for his embassage, but that sum was already exceeded by some thousands.^[431] James chose to say that much expense would be saved by the Lord Admiral’s dexterous management, but Bristol answered, “Not one penny.” All, the ambassador declared, should be done for his royal master’s honour, but everything was to go on privately until the Papal dispensation should arrive. Even at this early period, the journey of the Infanta to England was discussed. By land it would, it was thought, be “very chargeable,” and extraordinary inconvenient. TheThe Spaniards, too,” as the Earl stated, “thought the portion demanded by the English very exorbitant, and only to be expected had the Infanta been either deformed or of mean birth.”^[432]

In the midst of these negotiations, the ill-timed arrival of the Prince and Buckingham came, not to obviate obstacles, but to multiply them. Digby, now Earl of Bristol, whose jealousy of Buckingham may be detected throughout all his correspondence, was greatly discomposed by their appearance at Madrid. Nor was this a sentiment confined to Digby. Howell, who perfectly understood Spanish affairs, observes in his letters:—

“And others were of the same opinion as the ambassador, namely, that the journey was ill-advised, hazardous, undisguised, and unpopular.”

The King, however, was still delighted with the momentous frolic. On the twenty-sixth of February he wrote from Newmarket, telling the Prince and Marquis what lords were to follow them to Spain. “Their poor old dade,” he added, “was lamer than ever he was, both of his right hand and foot and wryttes all this out of his naked bedde.”^[433] The King having, in fact, encountered a very serious accident during the previous year, his health was daily becoming more feeble. It is, therefore, almost touching to find the kind-hearted, weak Monarch, prematurely aged as he was, entering most heartily into all that concerned his two absent treasures, of whose enjoyment he thought, it is obvious, far more than the welfare of his subjects. The Prince had left instructions that sixteen of his suite should follow him, with his jewels and other articles. The King, however, complains in his letter that the “imperfect note my babie had left”left” put him into a great deal of pain, “for ye left,” he says, “some necessary servants out, in the opinion of all your principal officers, and ye ken, as I was forced to add those, then everie man ranne upon me for his freende, so I was torn in peecis amongst thamme. I have no more to saye,” he thus concludes, “but that I weare Steenie’s picture in a blew ribben under my wastcoate, next my hearte.”^[434]

The following letter gives a characteristic account of the Prince and Steenie:—

On another sheet, written at the same time, but signed by “Steenie” alone, and perhaps written without the Prince’s knowledge, he says:—“The cheefest advertisment of all wee omitted in oure other letter, which was to let you know how we like your daughter, his wife, and my ladie mistris. Without flatterie, I think there is not a sweeter creature in the world. Babie Charles himself is so touched at the hart, that he confesses all he ever yett saw is nothinge to her.”

The King, in his answer to this letter, dated March twenty-fifth, says:—“I have written a letre to the Condé d’Olivares, as both of you desired me, as full of thankes and kyndnes as can be desyred, as indeed he well deserves.“

“I know not,” says the King, in reply, “quhat ye meane by my acknowledging the Pope’s spirituall supremacie. I am sure ye wolde not have me to renounce my religion for all the world; but all I can guess at your meaning is, that it may be ye have an allusion to a passage in my booke against Bellarmine, quhaire I offer, if the Pope wold guyte his godheade, and usurping over Kings, to acknowledge him for the Cheefe Bishoppe, to whom all appeals of churchmen ought to lye en dernier ressort; the verie wordes I sende you heere inclosed, and that is the furthest my conscience will permit me to goe upon this pointe, for I am not a Monsieur, quho can shifte his religion as easilie as he can shifte his shirte quhen he commeth from tennice.”

The passage in his hook, which the King fancied Buckingham might allude to (though he more probably had never read it), is thus written, in the King’s own hand, on a separate slip of paper: “And for myselfe, if that were yett the question, I wolde with all my hairte give my consent that the Bishoppe of Rome showlde have the first seate. I, being a Western king, wolde go with the Patriarche of the West. And for his temporall principalities over the seignorie of Rome, I do not quenell it nether, lett him in God’s name be primus Episcopus inter omnes Episcopos et Princeps Episcoporum, so it be no other wayes but as St. Peter was Princeps Apostolorum.”^[436]

To these letters, Endymion Porter added an account in a letter to his wife, that the Prince and Duke were “most handsomely received. The King, Queen, and Infanta,” he adds, “drove out yesterday^[437] in a coach, when the Prince, in another coach, saw his mistress, and was much stricken with her beauty.”^[438]

It was soon found necessary to retrench the numbers that were to go to Spain, that the ships “might not be pestered;” no lord was to have had more than four men, no gentleman more than two. Even this seems to us rather a full complement in the present day; but, when it is remembered what an extraordinary number of jewels were worn in the dresses of that day, it will not appear too many to take care of the valuables conveyed by each peer, or to maintain the dignity and state so much insisted on at that period.

Amongst other personages who followed Charles, or, as he was called in Spain, “the wooer to the Spanish Court,” was Archy, King James’s fool, who must needs also have his attendant, which was at first refused, but afterwards allowed. By April, the Prince’s household, jewels, apparel, and the robes for St. George’s Day, were gone; tilting armour, caparisons, and horses, asked for by Charles and Buckingham, were also to follow. “The dispensation,” Conway wrote, from Spain, to Sir Thomas Wentworth, “will soon be there, and nothing but either the desperately envious, or vile almanack-makers, arguing from conjunction of planets, now talk of delay.”

It is curious to remark how eager those about the Court, and above all, those dependant on Buckingham, were for the marriage, and how little it was wished for by the majority of the people.

Ten ships were to set out in April, to bring back by the end of May their rich charge; such were the expectations cherished in England. Digby, a sceptical looker on, did not think that the match would be advanced by the Prince’s arrival; whilst at home, difficulties arose as to the condition of the ten ships intended to be sent with the horses; the Prince Royal, built for Prince Henry, was found to be in so damaged a state that she was not sea-worthy; this vessel was repaired, in order to bring back Buckingham, who was expected home before the Prince, and was victualled for the voyage to Spain; but the King, with characteristic calculation, expected that the “King of Spain, who so magnificently feasted the Prince, would surely give the ships fresh victuals for their homeward journey,” which action, however, seems never to have occurred to his Spanish Majesty.^[439] Lord Carey, chamberlain to the Prince, received a commission to execute martial law, during the voyage to Spain, over the Prince’s household, but his powers were not to extend to the captains or to the crew, nor to be exercised till the vessel was out at sea. No sad apprehensions were, however, to be allowed during Charles’s absence; “where philosophy fails,” wrote Sir Thomas Edmondes,^[440] “faith must begin.” All things had been prepared for the Infanta’s departure from her native country, and June was the latest month stated for her arrival in this, but still the Earl of Bristol, whilst protesting that the Spaniards would be the most perfidious wretches alive if they did not restore the Palatinate, for “they say that they would rather throw the Infanta into the sea, than marry her to our Prince, when his sister and her children are deprived of their patrimony,” still, he feared there was “mischief brewing” about the Electorship.

Meantime, all was gay, all was gracious, at Madrid. According to a more detailed account than their own, the Prince and Buckingham rode into that city about eight o’clock in the evening of the seventh of March, attended by a postilion only, having previously ridden post three days; they alighted at the house of the Earl of Bristol, Buckingham entering first, with a portmanteau under his arm, announcing himself as “Mr. Thomas Smith;” then “Mr. John Smith” (the Prince), was sent for; he had remained standing on the other side of the street. Lord Bristol, in amazement, took the prince to his bedroom, where Charles called for pen and ink, and despatched a letter to England, to inform His Majesty how, after a journey of sixteen days, he had reached Madrid in safety. The next day, Endymion Porter and Sir Francis Cottington, who had been purposely left half a day’s journey behind, came also; and it was soon rumoured that some great man was come from England, and reports were even circulated that it was the King.^[441] The Condé de Gondomar was, however, soon apprised of the truth. He hastened to present himself to the Prince, and, falling flat on his face, the artful Spaniard exclaimed “Nunc dimittis!” as if the climax of human felicity had come to pass. The next day was Sunday, and, since the forms of the Spanish Court did not admit of an immediate presentation, it was agreed that the first meeting should take place by a kind of premeditated chance, so to speak—the Prince retaining his disguise. Charles, with the ardour of a young and romantic man, had entreated Gondomar to procure him an immediate “sight of the Infanta,” which the Condé promised to do; reminding the Prince that it was Lent, which was, of course, an obstacle to a public reception. The King afterwards promised Charles that thoughthough it were Lent, it should not be “Lent to him;” and that he should have all he would, and all that the country should afford.”^[442] In the eveningevening of Saturday, Buckingham went in a close coach to Court, where he had a private audience of King Philip, and also of the Condé Olivares, who accompanied him back to the Prince, whose hand he kissed, kneeling, clasping his arms also round Charles’s legs. Endymion Porter was the interpreter, on this occasion, between the Prince and Olivares.^[443]

On Sunday afternoon, Charles, for the first time, saw the young Princess towards whom he afterwards played so unworthy a part. It was in the park of Madrid. The Infanta was seated in the boot of the carriage, with a blue ribbon round her arm, in order that the Prince might distinguish her. A grand cortége, composed of the chief nobility of that proud Court, followed the royal carriages. Charles, disguised, with Buckingham by his side, Gondomar and Sir Walter Aston being in the same carriage, went in the Duke de Cea’s coach. It had been settled that no recognition should take place. The Infanta, as her royal suitor passed her, could not conceal her agitation; the colour came into her face; neither could her brother and Charles help exchanging salutations, as they drove repeatedly past each other, both in the town and Prado. Evening drew on, and the King and the royal party returned home by torch-light, the effect of which was magnificent.

Still, it was thought due to the observance of Lent, as well as agreeable to etiquette, that private interviews only should take place, especially before Charles had made his public entrance. That same evening, therefore, the King, after many punctilios, in which the soul of Spanish honour and politeness was displayed, met the Prince again in the park, taking him into his own coach, and placing him at his right hand. On parting, there was an embarrassing ceremonial—the King insisting on conducting Charles back to his carriage, Charles not suffering it. So they parted midway on the road.

Charles’s days passed, indeed, in a manner peculiarly agreeable to one of his disposition. On one occasion, having first seen the King ride through the streets on horseback to a monastery called La Merced, where the King had rooms furnished for occasional residence, he went afterwards to take the air by the fields on the river’s side; another day, he repaired to the palace, and was conducted by Olivares through the back way. “Your babie,” Buckingham wrote to the King, “desired to kiss his (the King’s) hands privatelie in the pallace, which was granted him, and thus performed. First, the King would not suffer him to come to his chamber, but met him at the stare-foote; then entered in the coch, and walked into the parke. The greatest matter that passed between us at that time was complements and particular questions of all our journaie; then, by force, he would needs convaie him half way home; in doing which they were almost overthrone in brick pits.”^[444]

Many were the resources to which Charles turned for relaxation during this interval of expectation. His mornings were spent in his private affairs, among which we may reckon the cultivation of his taste for pictures; in the afternoon, accompanied by his beloved Steenie, he went forth into the fields, where Bristol attended on him with his hawks; or he visited a country house of the King’s, called Caso del Campo, where, meeting Philip and his brothers, Don Carlos and Don Fernando the Cardinal, they diverted themselves by watching “men placed there to shoot at such kinds of game as were found in the place;” hares were started, partridges sprang up, and other fowl, all of which were killed, after the custom of that day, as they went running or flying by the marksmen. Sometimes the King, with the old Spanish courtesy, sent the Prince two horses, desiring him to choose the best for himself, and to leave him the worst to ride out on; then Charles would order the steeds to be exercised in a garden near the Earl of Bristol’s house, and, not to be outdone in politeness, he would himself try them both, and send the best back for the King’s use.

At length the day arrived when Charles made his solemn entry into Madrid, under circumstances of interest which almost superseded even the imposing magnificence of the ceremonial. On the sixteenth of March, he received the Inquisitor General, and all the different Councils of the kingdom—the Corregidores and the Regidores of Madrid—at the Monastery of San GeronimoGeronimo, whence the Kings of Spain always make their public entrance. These public functionaries endeavoured, on being presented to the Prince, to kiss his hand, but Charles resisted this demonstration, considering that it was due only to the lawful sovereign of the realm.

The magnificence of the procession that ensued owed much of its picturesque beauty to its being on horseback. As they approached the immediate precincts of Madrid—Charles riding on the right of Philip—they were met by four and twenty Legidores of the town—whose office it was to carry over the King’s head a canopy of tissue, lined with crimson cloth of gold. The King then took the Prince under the canopy, still keeping him on his right hand; before them rode the Ministers of Justice, next the grandees, sumptuously clad, for it is an old saying, that no one dresses so plainly every day, nor so gorgeously on occasions, as the Spaniards.^[445] Their picturesque costumes, their grave and stately bearing, their gallant steeds—so famed throughout Europe—must have made this band of nobles one of the fairest spectacles of the time.

They were apparelled, as the chronicler expresses it, “in colours and great bravery,” their servants, in rich liveries, attending.

After the King and Prince came Buckingham and Olivares, in their respective offices of Master of the Horse, each of them with a horse of state, as the ensign of the place he enjoyed. The canopy held over these two favourites and ministers was afterwards presented to Buckingham, as well as all other fees belonging to the Master of the Horse—because he served that day the Prince in whose honour the procession took place. Then came Lord Bristol, Sir Walter Aston, and the Council of State, with the gentlemen of the King’s bedchamber; and a part of that “goodly guard,” called “de los archeros, bravely clad and arrayed.”

This unrivalled procession passed along through streets hung here and there with rich draperies, or adorned with curious pictures, and “sprinkled” with scaffoldings, on which stood the chief magistrates of Madrid; in some streets, also, there were dancers, comedians, and musicians, to amuse the royal pair as they rode gracefully onwards. At length, the King and Charles reached the palace, where some time was consumed by ancient ceremonials, each contending for the hindmost place; but, “in fine,” writes the chronicler, “they went hand-in-hand, or rather, with their arms round each other, until they came into the presence of the Queen.”

Her Majesty was seated under a cloth of state, at the extremity of a large room, where the chairs were placed. This apartment was superbly furnished; but the chief riches, it is said, consisted in that “living tapestry of ladies, and of the children of noblemen who stood near the walls.” The Queen, not awaiting the approach of Charles, went forward to welcome him; he was then conducted to the apartments destined for him, the Queen herself, with the King, seeing him to the very doors, where her royal brothers-in-law stood to receive him. There was then a courteous dispute, the Prince wishing to attend His Majesty back to his own part of the palace; Philip insisting that Charles should only make one step in that direction. Scarcely an hour had elapsed, before a great basin of massive gold, carried by two men, and containing an embroidered nightgown, laid double in it, was brought—a present from the Queen to Charles; besides which, she sent him two large trunks, bound in hands of pure gold, and thickly stuck with gold nails—with a gold lock and key; the coverings of the trunks were of amber leather, whilst their contents consisted of curious linens and perfumes. In addition to these, there was also presented a rich desk, every drawer of which was full of rarities; Buckingham, at the same time, receiving a “noble present” from the Condessa Olivares. That night the old town was illuminated both with torches and fireworks, which were kept up for eight days.

Such was the commencement of Charles’s residence in Spain. It was decreed that he should be attended only by nobles, and served and addressed as a King; The Condé de Gondomar and the Condé de Plueba were to act as Majordomos; the Condé de Monterey, brother-in-law of Olivares, was to be his chief Majordomo. The most delicate attention of all was, however, the King’s giving two gilt keys to the Prince, requesting him to present one of them to those of his attendants whom he most preferred, in order that the whole of the palace might be open to him or his retinue. The keys were, of course, given to Buckingham and Bristol.

Whilst such delicate hospitality was being manifested in Spain, James, at home, was collecting all the jewels he could with any propriety send, and some which he had no right to give away, to add to the grandeur of Babie and Steenie. His letter, on this occasion, is most characteristic of his infatuation for the Spanish match, and of his easy conscience on matters connected with religion.^[446]

He writes thus:—

The King then mentions that he sent the robes of the Order of the Garter. “Quhache,” he says, “you must not forgette to wear on St. George’s Day, and dine together in thaime,” if they arrived in time, which he hoped to God would be the case, for it would be “a goodlie sight for the Spaniards to see my two boyes dine in thaime.”

The King next enumerates the jewels he despatched:—

Steenie was furnished with a fair table diamond, which the King wanted to have given him before, but Buckingham had refused it; to this a “faire pewre pearl” was now suspended, “for wearing,” said the thoughtful monarch, more occupied with these details than with the good of England, “in thy hatte, or quhaire thow plessis; and if my babie will spaire thee the two long dyamonts in form of an anker, with the pendant dyamont, it were fitt for an admirall to weare, and he hath enough better jewels for his mistresse.”

Then follows a trait of the gentle Marchioness, quite in keeping with the whole of her character:

“Thow hes of thyne owne thy goode olde jewell, thy three pindars dyamonts, the picture-cace I gave Kate, and the greate dyamont chaine I gave her, quho wolde have sent thee the best paire she hadde, if I hadde not stayed her.”

Divers other jewels were to be sent with the fleet for presents, “for saving of chairges quhair have too much nede.” These were to be presents to Spanish grandees.

The King then concludes:—

A few kind and amiable expressions from the Marchioness of Buckingham to her husband reached him too at this time.^[450] “I thanke you for sending me so good nuse of our younge mistres. I am very glad she is so delicat a creaturr, and of so sweett a disposicion. Indeed, my Lady Bristol sent me word she was a very fine lady, and as good as fine. I am very glad of it, and that the Prince liks her so well, for the King ses (says) he is wonderfully taken with her. It is a wonderfull good hairing, for it were great pettye but the Prince should have on (one) he can love; because I thinke he’ll make a very honest husband, which is the greatest comfort in this world, to have man and wife love truly. I tould the King of the private message the Infanta sent to the Prince, to wear a great rouffe (ruff). He laft heartely, and seed (said) it was a very good sign.”

The Prince and Buckingham adopted a practice of writing joint letters; for which Charles, in the next dispatch, apologized. “I hope in writing jointly as we doe,” the Prince wrote, “we plase you best, for I assure your Majesty it is not for saving paines.”^[451] ToTo which James answers:—“I wonder quhy ye shoulde aske me the question if ye should send me any more jointe letters or not. Alace! sweet hairts, it is all my comforte in your absence that ye wrytte jointe unto me, besides the great ease it is both to me, and ye neede not doubte but I will be wairie enough in not acquainting my counsel with any secrete in your letres. But I have been troubled with Hamilton,^[452] quho, being presente by chawnce at my ressaving both of your firste and seconde paquette out of Madrid, wold needs peere over my shoulder quhen I was reading them, ofring ever to help me to reade any harde words, and, in good faith, he is in this busynesse, as in all things else, as variable and uncertaine as the Moone.”

A hint from Charles showed that he both feared his father’s indiscretion, and also apprehended opposition from the Council. “I beseech your Majesty,” he now wrote, “advyse as little with your counsel in these busineses as you can.”

James, indeed, had the unthankful task of extorting, from unwilling hands at home, money for those abroad.^[453]

“But, in earniste, my babie,” he afterwards wrote, “ye must be as spairing as ye can in your spending thaires, for youres.”

Amongst the jewels transmitted to Spain was a collar of gold, weighing thirteen great ballaces, and thirteen pieces of gold, with thirteen links of pearl between them. This valuable was, in 1606, annexed to the crown of England, or, as it was stated in the deed, “to the kingdoms of this realm.” It is evident that James had incurred some censure for sending what was not his own property away, for he seems to have exercised greater caution afterwards. The demands from Spain were, indeed, insatiable. Charles modestly wrote to his father thus:—^[454]

This letter was in the Prince’s hand-writing.

Buckingham’s less humble spirit was shown in the following postscript, which was in his own hand, and forms a singular contrast with the respectful tone of that of the Prince on the same topic:—

“I, doge; ye sayes you have manie jewels neyther fit for your one (own), your sone’s, nor your daughter’s^[456] wearing; but verie fitt to bestow of those here, who must necessarilie have presents, and this way will be least chargeable to your Majestie in my poore opinione.”^[457]

Three days after, the Duke wrote again in a still more insolent tone; and gave His Majesty his “poore and sausie opinion of what would be fittest to send.”

Hitherto, the Marquis said, the King had been so sparing, that when he thought to have sent the Prince sufficient for his own use, and for presents to the Infanta, and to lend to himself, he, on the contrary, had been forced to lend jewels to the Prince.^[458]

“You neede not aske,” Buckingham continued, “who made me able to do it. Sir, he hath neither chaine nor hat-band, and I beseech you consider how rich they are in jewells here. Then what a poore equipage he came in, how he hath no other meanes to appear as a King’s sonne, how they are usefullest at such a tyme as this, when they may doe yourselfe, your sonne, and the nation’s honor: and lastlie, how it will neyther caust nor hasard you anie thinge. These resons, I hope, since you have ventured allreadie your chiefest jewel, your sonne, will serve to persuade you to let louse theese more after him: first, your best hat-band; the Portingall diamond; the rest of the pendant diamonds to make up a necklace to give his mistress; and the best roape of pearls, with a rich chaine or tow, for himselfe to waire, or else your doge must want a collar,^[459] which is the readie way to put him into it. There are manie other jewells which are of no mean qualitie, as they deserve not that name, but will save much in your purs, and serve very well for presents. They had never so good and great an occasion to take the aire out of their boxes as at this time. God knowes when they shall have such another, and they had need sometimes to get near the sonne, to continue them in there perfection.

“Madrid, 25th of Aprill, 1623.”

In a postscript, Buckingham announced that he had sent the King four asses, five camels, and one elephant, “which,” he adds, “is worth your seeing, and a Barbarie horse from Walter Aston.” The animals Buckingham sent he had “imprudentlie begged for:” and he promised “to lay waitte for all the rare color birds” that could be heard of. “But if you doe not send your Babie jewells eneugh,” thus his letter concludes, “ile stope all other presents; therefore, looke to it.”

The King, taking this impertinence as a joke, thanked his “sweet Steenie gossip” for his “kind, drolling letter,” and suggested that should Babie not think it fit to present all the jewels to the Infanta, they should be brought home again; and ventured to propose also that with regard to a present to the Condé Olivares, horses, dogs and hawks, and such like stuff sent out of England, “by the sweete boyes, would be a far more acceptable present than a jewel.” He began, perhaps, to feel some remorse at his lavish folly. Prince Henry’s sword—which another father would have valued, independently of the costly diamonds with which the handle was set—had been given to the King of Spain. It was considered next in value to the Prince’s crown, and bestowed on Prince Henry by his royal mother at his creation as Prince of Wales; and had been sent in a masque, in the fanciful fashion of the day, as from Tethys to one of the Meliades.^[460] All these jewels were, however, honourably returned during the year the Spanish match was broken off.^[461]

After the important matter of the jewels had been discussed, Charles received from his father a few lines, protesting, on the word of a King, that whatsoever his son should promise in his name should be punctually performed. Charles had asked for something explicit under His Majesty’s own hand,^[462] to show that he had full powers; the request was presumptuous, but Charles, who wrote it, and Buckingham, who advised it, knew to whom they applied. “It were a strange trust,” the King answered, “that I wold refuse to putte upon my owne son, and upon my best servante.”

This servant he was now resolved to honour above all other great ones of the land, by creating him a Duke. Buckingham had probably been desirous of obtaining this honour ever since his being created Marquis, and had been employing every means of compassing his ends, by the aid of his dependents and partisans at home. Through the exertions of Secretary Conway, he had been addressed as “your Excellency.” Since that distinction is only applied to ambassadors, it is possible that Bristol may have considered it an infringement on his province to give it to Buckingham.

It was, however, one of Buckingham’s most cherished objects of ambition to assert a pre-eminence over Bristol at the Court of Spain.

There was, at this time, no English dukedom; that of York having merged into the title of Prince of Wales. The Duke of Lennox, the King’s near relation, was the only Scottish nobleman who bore the title; and he had, for forty years, held this distinction. In order to avoid placing the new duke above this nobleman, Lennox was created Earl of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and Duke of Richmond, on the seventeenth of May, and Buckingham was raised to the dukedom on the eighteenth. It was at the same time in contemplation to create two more Dukes; the Marquis of Hamilton was to be Duke of Cambridge; the Earl of Arundel, Duke of Norfolk, that nobleman refusing anything less than the restitution of that title. These creations did not take place, partly owing to the pride of the Duchess of Lennox, who wished to stand alone, and partly to that of Buckingham, whose letter to the King, on this occasion, shows his great ambition, and proves his audacity and influence.

It had been at first proposed to make him Duke of Buckingham and Clarence, thus reviving in his person a title used hitherto only by the Princes of the blood.