This characteristic letter was the prelude to the elevation of Villiers to the peerage. At first, it was determined that he should be created Viscount Beaumont, in compliment to his mother’s family; and the coronet and robes were sent down to Woodstock; but that decision was changed for an obvious reason, and the title of Baron Whaddon was conferred upon Villiers, Whaddon being the estate of the unfortunate Lord Grey, who had expired in the Tower in 1614, being implicated in the supposed attempt to place Arabella Stuart on the throne.

On the twenty-seventh of August, 1616, the ceremony of this double creation took place.

On this occasion, the preface to the patent was composed by Lord Bacon, who, on sending it to the King, observed that he had not used in it “glaring terms,” but drawn it according to His Majesty’s instructions. It was determined that the two creations, those of Baron Whaddon and Viscount Villiers, should take place at the same time, the former being intended to secure the estates of Whaddon, the latter, to preserve the name of Villiers in the appellation of the favourite. This appears to have been the especial will of James. “For the name,” writes Bacon to Villiers, on sending him his patent for the title of Viscount, “His Majesty’s will is law in these things; and to speak truth, it is a well-sounding name both here and abroad, and being even a proper name, I will take it for a good sign that you shall give honour to your dignity, and not your dignity to you. Therefore, I have made it ‘Viscount Villiers;’ and as for your Barony, I will keep it for an Earldom, for though the latter had been more orderly, yet that is as usual, and both alike good in law.”

The patent, however, was again altered. It is possible that Bacon may have imagined that the associations connected with Whaddon, and relating to a nobleman generally compassionated,^[121] might have rendered Villiers unpopular: at all events he changed it to Blechly; and Villiers received the patent of Lord Blechly, of Blechly.^[122]

“I have sent you,” Bacon thus wrote, “now, your patent of creation of Lord Blechly of Blechly, and of Viscount Villiers. Blechly is your own, and I like the sound of the name better than Whaddon; but the name will be laid aside, for you wish to be called Viscount Villiers. I have put them both in a patent, after the manner of the patent of arms where baronies are joined; but the chief reason was, because I would avoid double prefaces, which had not been fit; nevertheless, the ceremony of robing, and otherwise, must be double.”^[123]

Sir George Villiers was introduced to the royal presence, on this occasion, by his relative, Lord Compton, and by Lord Norris, the Lord Carew carrying the robe of state before him, when his new honour of Baron Blechly of Blechly was conferred. He was afterwards created Viscount Villiers, when he appeared in a surcoat of scarlet velvet, and was brought in by the Earl of Suffolk and Viscount Lisle, Lord Norris carrying the robe of state of the same coloured velvet, and Lord Compton the crown. The King was seated on his throne, and the Queen, and Charles, Prince of Wales, were present, and all the company “seemed jolly, and well afraid.”

The advice which Bacon proffered to Villiers, upon his elevation to the peerage, is couched in noble terms, and wants nothing but the indefinable charm of supposed sincerity to perfect it:—

“And after that the King shall have watered your new dignities with his bounty of the lands which he intends you, and that some other things concerning your means, which are now likewise in intention, shall be settled upon you, I do not see but you may think your private fortunes established; and, therefore, it is now time that you should refer your actions chiefly to the good of your sovereign and your country. It is the life of an ox or a beast, always to eat and never to exercise; but men are born, especially Christian men, not to cram in their fortunes, but to exercise their virtues; and yet the others have been the unworthy, and sometimes the humour of great persons in our time; neither will your further fortune be the farther off; for assure yourself that fortune is of a woman’s nature, that will sooner follow you by slighting than by too much moving.”^[124]

He recommends the young peer, in this “dedication of himself to the public, to countenance, encourage, and advance able and virtuous men, in all degrees, kinds, and professions.” And in places of moment, “rather,” he says, “make able and honest men yours, than advance those that are otherwise because they are yours.”

“The time is,” he adds, in conclusion, “that you think goodness the best part of greatness: and that you remember whence your rising comes, and make return accordingly, God ever keep you.”

Some time afterwards, another characteristic epistle from the Queen denoted the secret terms upon which Anne of Denmark stood with the young favourite:—

It is not a matter of surprise that, thus caressed by both the King and Queen, marks of favour should have followed in continual succession. According to Lord Clarendon, the rapid rise of Villiers might be imputed to a certain innate “wisdom and virtue that was in him, with which he surprised, and even fascinated, all the faculties of his incomparable master.”

And this was no matter of surprise, if we may believe in the truth of the following remarks:—“That Villiers was no sooner admitted to stand there in his own right, but the eyes of all such as look’d out of judgement, or gazed out of curiosity, were quickly directed towards him; as a man, in the delicacy and beauty of his colour, decency and grace of his motion, the most rarely accomplished they had ever beheld.”

The emotions experienced by Villiers, as he gradually ascended higher and higher towards the eminence of worldly grandeur, are well described by Lord Clarendon, in the following words:—

“His swiftness and nimbleness in rising, may be with less injury ascribed to a vivacity than any ambition in his nature; since, it is certain the King’s eagerness to advance him, so surprised his youth, that he seemed only to be held up by the violent inclinations of the King, than to climb up by any art or industry of his own.”^[126] It is not to be marvelled at, that the character of Villiers should suffer in this ordeal, fiercer than that of the most depressing vicissitude and adversity; and soon, therefore, indications are to be found, in the annals of the day, of a dawning selfishness and imperiousness, foreign to the simple and courteous nature of Villiers.^[127] Still there were noble traits of a lingering greatness of spirit, which justify the partiality which every one who analyses his character must necessarily entertain for it; sometimes at variance with his better judgment. Whilst by watchful bystanders it was remarked that Villiers, the new made Viscount, “will hardly suffer any one to leap over his head,” nor would he allow the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere to be made an Earl; by others, a sacrifice of interest, proceeding from a generous scruple, is recorded.

It will be remembered by historical readers, that Sherborne Castle, the forfeited estate of Sir Walter Ralegh, had been bestowed by James upon the Earl of Somerset. When supplicated by Lady Ralegh to restore that property to her children, the monarch’s answer was, “I mean to have it for Carr;” a reply, which, as Mr. Amos justly observes, “cannot be read in the present day without indignation;” “what impressions,” he adds, “must it have produced on the contemporaries of Ralegh and Carr?”^[128] At the trial of Somerset, this luckless possession, upon which a curse has been supposed to rest, was highly prejudicial to him; and many there were, who regarded his calamities as a judgment for this detested acquisition.

When the Earl of Somerset’s lands were given away, after his forfeiture, the estate of Sherborne was offered to Villiers; he might, perhaps, have accepted it without odium, for upon Prince Charles had been bestowed all Somerset’s estates in the north. But he refused the offer of Sherborne, according to a passage in Birch’s MSS., “in a most noble fashion; praying the King that the building of his fortunes might not be founded on the ruin of another.”^[129] Sherborne, the value of which was at this time about eight hundred pounds yearly, but was expected to be shortly double that sum, was given to Sir John Digby, upon the payment of ten thousand pounds, and has remained ever since in the same family. The respect of Villiers towards the memory of an unfortunate man was much appreciated; already had public opinion visited with its bitterest curse, the traitor, Sir Lewis Stukeley, who was afterwards a prisoner in that very “chamber in the Tower, in which Ralegh, whom he had betrayed, had spent twelve years of misery.”^[130]

Sir Henry Wotton compares the repetition of benefits conferred upon Villiers, to a kind of embroidering, or listing of one favour upon another. But all these preferments were, he adds, but the “faceings or fringeings of his greatness,” compared with that trust which the King shortly reposed in his favourite, when he made him “the chief concomitant of his heir apparent.”^[131]

This important mark of respect and confidence had never been extended to the ill-fated predecessor in James’s favour, the Earl of Somerset. If Villiers were at that period of his life unworthy of the trust, James, endowed as he was with all the experience which his own vicious Court could bestow, was criminal beyond measure to place his only son, on whom the hopes of the nation rested, in contaminated society. James must, in that case, have been either grossly deceived, or immeasurably culpable. The friendship, thus commenced between the prince and the favourite, in youth, was fraught with consequences so important to this country, that few points of historical biography can offer greater domestic interest than the early intimacy between Charles and Villiers.

Charles, Prince of Wales, was eight years younger than the man whom he afterwards admitted to an intimacy such as has been rarely permitted between a monarch and a subject, and which ceased only when Villiers expired. The superstitious, when they remembered, in aftertimes, the perils of the young prince’s infancy, saw in them a type of his fate. “He was born,” says the historian Kennet, “and baptized, in somewhat of surprise and confusion, as it were beginning the world in a sort of presage how he was to end it.”^[132] So feeble was he, that even afterwards, although in process of time there were many great ladies suitors for the keeping of the infant Prince, yet when they saw how sickly and fragile he was, their hearts failed, and none of them consented to undertake so important a charge.^[133] Little, indeed, could it have been anticipated that the delicate boy was fated, not only to outlive his energetic and robust brother, Henry, but even to become, in times of danger, one of the hardiest and healthiest of those who fought on Edgehill, and at Naseby. The constitution of Charles was invigorated in his vicissitudes, and perfected by the toils of a soldier’s life.

That he should reign over this country was foretold by second sight. When James the First was preparing to remove from Scotland, there came to the Court an aged Highland chief, to take a solemn leave of his sovereign. The Queen and her children were present. The old man, after addressing a great deal of affectionate and sage advice to the King, turned to the children, and passing by Henry, he kissed with great ardour and deep respect the hands of his younger brother, the Duke Charles, as then he was called.

The King strove to correct what he fancied was a mistake on the part of the chief, and to direct his attention to the heir apparent, the fit object of such homage. But the Highlander heeded not those hints; he continued to gaze upon and to address the infant Charles; saying that he knew to whom he addressed himself. “This child,” he exclaimed, “will be greater than his elder brother, and will convey his father’s name and title to succeeding generations.” “This,” said Dr. Pernichief, Charles’s tutor, “was conceived to be dotage; but the event gave it the credit of a prophecy, and confirmed that some long experienced souls in the world, before their dislodging, arrive to the height of prophetical spirits.”^[134] A long period of fragility seemed to throw doubt upon the gratuitous prophecy of the aged chief. Fortunately, Sir Robert Carey, to whom the charge of the drooping child was entrusted, was an estimable person, incapable of anything deceitful, or unjust—a “plain, honest gentleman.”^[135] Those who wished ill to him and to his wife rejoiced at this selection, for they were certain that the prince would never be reared.

The weakly Charles was four years of age when consigned to the care of Sir Robert Carey. He could not, at this age even, stand alone; his ancles appeared to be out of joint. The King, with his characteristic conceit and want of gentle feeling, was disposed to use the most violent remedies and measures to cure the defects at which his pride was offended. The nostrums which he recommended were worthy of Martinus Scriblerus. But he found a champion of the helpless child in Lady Carey. “Many a battle my wife had with the King, but she still prevailed,” writes Sir Robert Carey.^[136] The King, nevertheless, wished that the string under the young prince’s tongue might be cut; for the child, it was thought, would never speak. Then he proposed wire boots for his sinews and feet, but Lady Carey stood firm, and the Monarch was obliged to yield to a woman’s arguments.

The boy grew daily stronger, and repaying Lady Carey’s good care, gained health under her mild auspices, “both in body and mind.”^[137] Still the impediment in his voice continued; his countenance exhibited that mournful expression which was doubtless the natural consequence of a weakly childhood, and of the consciousness of bodily defects, which is the most likely of any circumstances to depress the buoyancy of the young.

To the inevitable solitude of ill-health, Charles probably owed his prudence, his early piety, and his taste for elegant pursuits. Villiers, in after life, found his love of pictures and medals one road to Charles’s affections, by producing a sympathy between himself and the young prince. Charles was also, for his age, an accomplished theologian, and notwithstanding the impediment in his utterance, he could discourse to the admiration of all who heard him, on topics of general interest. With the traveller, the mechanic, and the scholar, he was equally fluent, meeting them on their own subjects, and imparting knowledge to the learned. He improved, too, in those diversions, and exercises which were then considered indispensable to the character of a gentleman. “He rid,” says his tutor, Dr. Pernichief, “the great horse very well; and on the little saddle he was not only adroit, but a laborious hunter or fieldman.”^[138]

The temper of Charles is said to have been tinctured with obstinacy; and his old Scottish nurse reported him to have been of a very evil nature, even in his infancy; whilst another attendant taxes him with being, “beyond measure, wilful and unthankful.”^[139] How far, in these uncured qualities, “springing like rank weeds in the heart,” we may trace some of the fatal errors in Charles’s career—his pertinacious adherence, especially when King, to Villiers, whether his favourite was right or wrong, is a matter of curious speculation.

But Dr. Pernichief, who knew Charles well, only allows that his “childhood was blemished with supposed obstinacy, for the weakness of his body inclining him to retirement, and the imperfections of his speech rendering discourse tedious and unpleasant, he was suspected to be somewhat perverse,” a construction often put upon the deportment of a bashful, sad child. Such were his defects; and, as far as his royal father was concerned, they were more offensive to the pride of the king, than painful to the tenderness of a parent. All, however, acknowledged that the youth of the accomplished Charles had hitherto been irreproachable, and that, if he manifested not the powerful intellect and extended views of his late brother, he resembled him in his love of virtue, his sense of honour, and in the difficult task of being dutiful and respectful to parents who were frequently at variance.

He now came, at the age of sixteen, before his future subjects, with this singular disadvantage, that the death of his elder brother was still a subject of lamentation. The clergy, especially, could not forget one whose staunch Protestantism gave them the assurance of a steady friend.

“Henry, Prince of Wales, was still,” says a contemporary writer, “so much in men’s minds, that Andrews, Bishop of Ely, preaching at court, prayed solemnly for him, without recalling himself.”^[140] The Queen, too, refused to be comforted, and upon the first public occasion on which Charles appeared, declined being present, lest the ceremonial should revive her grief.

Many could remember that at his installation into the Order of the Bath, at four years of age, Charles, unable to walk, was carried in the arms of the Lord High Admiral to the rites which, referring to chivalric observances and martial deeds, seemed a sort of mockery to the infant Prince. Those who recalled that hour, now beheld in the royal youth, who at his creation as Prince of Wales appeared before them, a graceful and manly figure set off to advantage by dress, and other circumstances.

In an old print, engraved by Renold Estraake, he is represented, as Prince of Wales, in a slouched hat with a long falling feather; his juvenile, and very slender form clad in a tight vest; a sash over the right shoulder is tied with a large bow under the left arm, and the ends are fringed with jewels. Around his waist is a scarf, also edged with a fringe of pearls and jewels. A stuffed skirt, richly embroidered and adorned, descends almost to the knee. His boots are apparently of some soft material, being creased; the tops richly decorated with jewels. Thus attired, and mounted on a superb horse, the head of which was adorned with a Phœnix in flames, emblematically complimentary, Charles presented himself to the people. Such was his costume before he visited Spain, and imbibed a love of the graceful cloak, the Spanish hat, and Vandyke collar.

His manners, serious though courteous, were highly acceptable to the majority of those who gazed upon him, when, on the eve of All Saints’ day, October 31st, 1616, Charles was created Prince of Wales. His very stammering began to be approved as a mark of wisdom; and “obloquy, it was said, never played the fool so much as in imputing folly to the heir apparent.”

Buckingham, although twenty-four years of age, seems by the earliest portrait that there is of him—the engraving by Simon Pass, in 1617—to have had a most youthful appearance. In that picture, taken when he was made an Earl, and therefore during the ensuing year, he is depicted in a tight doublet, with a small white collar edged with Vandyke lace, and closed with one row of rich pearls down the centre. A cloak hangs over one shoulder, but the other displays a short sleeve, or epaulet, opening above the elbow, and having underneath a richly-worked sleeve, confined at the wrist by a deep cuff, fringed, and turned back; his doublet is richly guarded with lace. At this period, a very slight moustache is seen upon his upper lip, and the pointed beard, which is afterwards to be found in all his portraits, is not observable.

The ceremonials performed on this occasion were such as the people of this country have ever dearly loved; and, without considering that they emptied the royal coffers, and compelled James to resort to expedients for raising money which rendered him a continual debtor to the bounty and loyalty of his subjects, eventually taxing too far their liberality, they loudly extolled them on this occasion. It must, however, have been a cheering sight when the young Prince came in state from Barn Elms to Whitehall, accompanied by a retinue of lords and gentlemen of honourable rank. At Chelsea he was met by the Lord Mayor and citizens, in separate barges; and the sounds of martial music, or, as the chronicler of the day terms it, “the royal sound of drum and trumpet,” the sight of a crowd of people on the shore and in boats, the rich banners and streamers,streamers, with many trophies and ingenious devices which met him on the water, must have presented as festive a scene as ever was enacted on the bosom of the river Thames.

The speeches addressed were, of course, in verse. They were proffered by a female figure, representing London, seated upon a sea unicorn, with six Tritons supporting her, accompanied by Neptune and the two rivers, Thames and Dee. This personage addressed the young prince in the following terms:—

The ode went on to enumerate the blessings to be anticipated from the promising virtues of Charles, and concluded:—

After this address, the young Prince was wafted down to Whitehall Stairs, where he landed. Passing on to the palace, he saluted the King, who stood on the palace stairs. The ceremony of creation, which took place on the following Monday, was performed in the hall of Whitehall Palace; and at night, “to crown it with more heroical honour, fortie worthy gentlemen of the ten noble societies of Innes of Court, and every way qualified by birth to break three staves, three swords, and exchange ten blows a-piece,” encountered each other. The delicate health of the Prince, and the late season of the year, prevented any great procession at the creation, but it was commemorated by tilting at the ring, to give great lustre and honour to the occasion, and among fourteen names of high degree, is found, among the challengers, that of Viscount Villiers, his first appearance in the tilt yard. Among the gallants who flaunted it out with the greatest bravery, are to be found many famous in successive times.^[141]

Notwithstanding the sanction which James gave to a growing intimacy between the heir apparent and his favourite, there had been various early disagreements between them, which delayed the reciprocal affection which the King strove to promote between Charles and Buckingham. Their confidence was, in truth, the growth of years, and was impeded by several incidents, which those who were adverse to Villiers were eager to notice and to record. It was generally expected that a jealousy between them would defeat the King’s wishes, and divide the court into two parties; and the following letter imparts one of those incidents upon which such anticipations were founded:—

“There is a speech in court of the distaste Sir George Villiers hath given the Prince about a ring. The manner, as I have heard it, is thus: The Prince coming one afternoon into the Presence at Newmarket, with Sir George Villiers, and discoursing with him, fixed his eyes upon a ring which Sir George Villiers had upon his finger, which, taking from him, put it upon one of his own; and having occasion to pull out his pocket-handkerchief, the ring, being too large for the Prince’s finger, fell into his pocket. The Prince parting from him, not thinking of the ring, the next morning, Sir George Villiers, meeting the Prince in His Majesty’s presence again, and finding the Prince to take no notice of his ring, asked His Highness for it; to which he answered, that in good faith he knew not what he had done with it; whereat Sir George Villiers flew into such a passion, whether it was in regard of the value, or of the piece, as he left the Prince, and went immediately to the King, exceedingly disconcerted. The King, observing some distemper in him, demanded the occasion. Expressing the same with some earnestness, Sir George told the King that the Prince had lost a ring of his, which did much trouble him. The King, moved thereat, sent for the Prince, and used such bitter language to him, as forced His Highness to shed tears, telling him also not to return to His Majesty until he had found it, and restored the ring to Sir George Villiers. The Prince, after he came from the King, gave commandment to Sir Robert Carey to search in the pockets of his breeches which he wore that day, when by good fortune the ring was found, and by Sir Robert Carey delivered to Sir George Villiers. By this a man may see the force of the King’s affection, which is boundless, and so likewise may be seen how far beyond reason presumption may transport a man. What the consequence of this and the like will be, time must produce. Only this much is conceived, that the favour of the King on this particular cannot continue, because there wants a sound foundation to uphold so great a building. Thus much I adventure to write unto your lordship, whom I beseech to keep this in your own custody, or else to commit it to the fire.”^[142]

Another occurrence, trivial under other circumstances, seemed to indicate that no harmony was likely to exist between Charles and Villiers. One day, as they were walking in the gardens of Greenwich Palace, they approached a fountain, near which was a statue of Bacchus: this figure was so constructed, after the fashion of ancient waterworks, that, by touching a spring, the water was emitted. The Prince, grave as he usually appeared, was that day in high spirits. He touched the spring, the water spouted forth, and suffused the face of the favourite. Villiers was greatly offended. The King took his part, not only reproving severely his son, but adding the father’s correction of two boxes on the ears. Those who stood by were certain that this boyish frolic and its termination would ruin Villiers with the Prince. That it did not, is a proof of the good disposition of Charles, who, perhaps, did not the less admire Villiers because he had resented an act of impertinence even from an heir apparent.^[143]

The partiality which James now openly manifested for Villiers drew down upon him the animadversions of the world; and when he trusted him as the associate of his son, invectives were loud and frequent. Although it was the fashion of the day to impute to the sovereign the wisdom of Solomon, lamentations were poured forth upon the unworthiness of those in whom he confided. “Is it not prodigious,” writes one historian, “that a Prince, who was as wise as the beloved son of David, should commit the reins of government to a callow youth, of no more capacity than is enough to qualify a modern beau?”^[144] “For an old king,” observes Roger Coke, “he having reigned in England and Scotland fifty-one years, to doat upon a young favourite scarce of age, yet younger in understanding, though old in vice as any of his time, and to commit the whole ship of the commonwealth by sea and land to such a Phaeton, is a precedent without any example.”^[145] Not only Villiers, it is added, but even his mother, began now to influence all matters of public concern; no places were disposed of without her consent, and as much court was paid to her as to her son.^[146]

Many of the animadversions thus thrown upon Villiers proceeded from the laxity of his moral code. On this point, the accusations brought forward are vague, and therefore difficult to be repelled. They were, in some instances, the effect of a general impression that Villiers was a friend of Laud and a favourer of Armenianism; and originated with the Puritans.

No instance of great dereliction from propriety being recorded, it may be safely inferred that at this time public decorum was, at all events, not outraged by Villiers, whatever the private course of his existence may have been; and however humiliating it is to reflect that a character so noble, so incapable of baseness, of such fair promise, may yet have been tinged with vices that infallibly brush away much of the finest attributes of virtuous youth, it must, at the same time, be allowed, that to remain incorrupt in the reign of James, would have argued almost super-human strength of character.

“Nothing,” relates Arthur Wilson, “but bravery and feasting, the parents of debauchery and rioting, flourished among us. There is no theme for history where men spill more drink than blood.” And he justly remarks that the boasted Halcyon days of peace cease to be a blessing when they “bring a curse” with them; the curse of licentious pleasures and disgraceful idleness; and that thus war is more happy in its effects than peace, “if it takes the distemper that grows by long surfeit without destroying the body.”^[147]

In spite, however, of the animadversions of foes, and the still more injurious temptations proffered by unworthy friends, the public character of Buckingham maintained for some time its integrity. His errors, real or imputed, were not at first such as to lower him in the eyes of society. He appeared, as Lord Clarendon observes, “the most glorious star that ever shined in any court; insomuch that all nations persecuted him with love and wonder, as fast as the King with fancy; and to his last he never lost any of his lustre.”^[148]

His mother assisted in the aggrandizement of her favourite son. It was her office to teach his kindred, as fast as they came up to the metropolis, “to put on a court dress and air.” The King, who had hitherto hated women, soon began to have his palace crowded with the female relations of Villiers; “little children did run up and down the royal apartments like rabbit-starters about their burrows.” And the monarch, who could never endure his queen or his own family near him, made no remonstrance at this inconvenience, whilst the censorious, who decided that the favourite had no merit except that “he looked well, dressed well, and danced well,” were outrageous in their wrath. So well, indeed, did he “look,” that James, more and more enchanted with that open and beaming countenance, gave him the name of “Steenie,” in allusion to one of the pictures in Whitehall, by an Italian master, representing the first martyr, Stephen.

Villiers now enjoyed the different dignities and offices of Viscount Villiers, Baron of Whaddon, Justice in Oire of all the forests and parks beyond Trent, Master of the Horse, and Knight of the Garter. But these were not sufficient in the sight of James. On the seventh of January, the favourite was created Earl of Buckingham, upon such short notice, that the drums and trumpets which should have been in the Chamber of Presence, at Whitehall (but not have sounded), were not in attendance. Villiers, in his surcote and hood, in an ordinary hat, and with his rapier, passed from the Council Chamber, over the terrace, through the great gateway, into the Chamber of Presence. He was assisted by the Earl of Suffolk, Lord Treasurer, and the Earl of Worcester, afterwards the gallant defender of Raglan Castle, all in robes and coronets. The Lord Chamberlain met them at the door of the Presence Chamber, where Villiers was duly presented to the King and Queen. The ceremonial, at which he figured alone, no other peer being created, was not followed by a supper, and therefore, adds Camden, “no style with largess proclaimed.”^[149]

This new honour enabled its object to appear

with still greater splendour and importance, at the performance of the new masque of Christmas, by Ben Jonson; it was represented on Twelfth night, and amongst the performers were Richard Barbadge, an original performer in several of Shakespeare’s plays, and John Heminge, who signed the “address to the reader” of Shakespeare’s folio works. In the course of the masque, the Earl of Buckingham danced with the Queen; and soon afterwards the society of the Middle Temple strove to conciliate him by entertaining him with a supper and a masque.^[150] At the end of the month Buckingham was made a Privy Councillor, the youngest man that had ever received that honour. He also contrived to get his brother Christopher made either one of the Grooms or one of the Gentlemen of the Bedchamber, upon which creation the following rhyme was circulated:—

It was about this time, probably, that Buckingham was first beheld drawn about in that coach with six horses, which was not only wondered at as a novelty, but “imputed to him as a mastering pride.” He had already excited the indignation of the English public by his appearance in a sedan chair; and when seen carried upon men’s shoulders, the populace raised an outcry against him in the streets, “loathing,” says Arthur Wilson, “that men should be brought to as servile a condition as horses.” The chair was, however, forgiven, and soon sedans came into general use. But the coach was the theme of every tongue; it was not that the vehicle was strange to the people, for it had been introduced in the late reign, but then only two horses were used; and when Buckingham, in all his bravery of attire, was beheld drawn by six prancing steeds, acclamations were general. The old Earl of Northumberland heard those murmurs in his prison in the Tower, and resolved that, should he ever recover his liberty, he would outvie the favourite. Accordingly, when in 1621 he was set at liberty, he appeared in the city of London, and at Bath, with eight horses; as much to the amusement, probably, of him whom he strove to outvie, as to the amazement of the admiring public.^[152] It required, indeed, no ordinary fortune to keep up this state; and the King so much disapproved of expensive equipages in any but the great, that he subsequently entertained a notion of imposing a tax of 40l. per annum, on all who, below a certain degree, kept a coach, and of bestowing the proceeds of the tax on decayed captains.^[153]

No clamours affected Buckingham long during this period of his life; for, although there were occasionally some boisterous demonstrations of disapproval, the affections of the majority of the people returned to him shortly after a temporary unpopularity. And here, observes Lord Clarendon, in his parallel between the Earl of Essex and Buckingham, “the fortunes of our great personages met when they were both the favourites of the princes, and of the people. But their affections to the Duke of Buckingham were very short lived.”^[154]