Chapter VI: Part 6

Seymour was ‘a quiet, steady young man,’ loving his book above all other exercise. They are supposed to have met frequently when the youth was at College, and the lady at Woodstock with the Court; be this as it may, the lovers met, and solemnly plighted their troth. Twice they saw each other, at the houses of confidential friends, and ere a third interview could be effected, they were both summoned before the Privy Council, admonished, forgiven, and betrayed into promises impossible to keep. They were separated for a time, and Arabella, with a heavy heart, was called upon to parade her comeliness and her talent in a Court masque, where she enacted a nymph of Trent, her costume, most elaborate and minutely described, of gold, silver, seaweeds, sedges, and cloth of both metals, all embroidered, and shells and coral on the crest of a helm. That was the end of her grandeur and her prosperity, and now came tribulation of all kinds. At Whitsuntide, Seymour, accompanied by a friend and confidant, by name Rodney, went down to Greenwich, where they arrived at midnight. They waited till morning, and then found access to Lady Arabella’s apartment, where the lovers were united; Rodney and two servants serving as witnesses. The secret soon transpired, and the luckless bride was placed in the custody of Sir Thomas Parry at a house in Lambeth, ‘opposite a capital mansion called Fauxhall,’ to remain there with one or two of her women, without access of any other person till His Majesty’s further pleasure should be known.

Hence she addressed letters which seemed indeed to soften the King’s hard heart; the Queen, it appears, frequently interceded, as did many other influential persons, but without effect. The bridegroom was lodged in the Tower; Arabella continued to write letters to her uncle, to her husband, and innumerable petitions to the Council in most pathetic terms, ‘that had not God for some high purpose steeled the hearts of men, they must perforce have pitied her.’

James now ordered her off into the custody of the Bishop of Durham, who repaired to Sir Thomas Parry’s house to receive his charge.

Arabella’s grief at the prospect of a long journey far from the city which held the beloved of her heart was intense. Her agitation was terrible to witness, and much affected the good Prelate, who used all his poor skill to comfort her, and make her submit to the royal decree by exhorting her to follow the patient example of holy saints, and that in the presence of Mr. Chancellor, Dr. Mountford, (a trusty friend of the poor prisoners,) and others. But Arabella would accept no comfort, and on the journey to Highgate, the physician was called on three times to administer cordials, so faint and sick was his fair charge.

He took upon himself next day (when after passing a miserable night at the house of Sir William Bond, Arabella woke up from a few hours’ sleep in great exhaustion) to forbid her proceeding any further. The Bishop having the King’s displeasure before his eyes, went to her bedside and besought her to rise, ‘telling her of the sweet air, the beautiful day, and the duty of her journey.’ But the good physician braved all for her health’s sake, though this step entailed the necessity of a letter from Bishop and doctor too, to the Lords in Council.

James, anxious to ascertain if the illness were feigned, sent his own physician to see Arabella, and consult with Dr. Mountford, who told him plainly ‘remedies were useless, and that he could warrant no amendmente of her health, or continuance of lyfe if some contentment of minde be not granted. His aim,’ he said, ‘was to cherish her into life.’ Nevertheless cruel orders came to hurry her on her way, and during a ride of six miles, she was attacked by deadly sickness and faintness, and was carried almost insensible to the house of a gentleman named Thomas Conyers, resident at East Barnet. Letters again passed from the travellers to high quarters, and the physician wrote to Lady Shrewsbury, (Arabella’s aunt,) who was most uneasy on the sufferer’s account.

A respite of a month was granted. The Bishop returned to Durham, and she was committed to the care of Sir James Crofts; but her servants were removed from her side. The Bishop on his way stopped at Royston, where the Court was, and thought to benefit the prisoner’s cause by most abject appeals to the King; indeed, the Bishop went so far as to say ‘his cousin would willingly sweep his chamber,’ which we take leave to suppose was speaking without book. At the termination of the month the lady was commanded to proceed on her way north; she was still indisposed, and she made the most of that excuse. Whenever Sir James Crofts visited her she was stretched on the bed in pain. ‘She apprehended nothing but fear and anger in the most ugliest forms; the horrors of her utter ruin drive her to despair; to live out one only year in some convenient place not so clean out of the world as she termeth Durham, she could gather to herself some weak hopes of more gentle times to come.’ Sir James, who like most people seems to have experienced her fascination, says again, ‘the best and pleasingest discourse had no effect on her mind, but was met by tears and lamentations.’ Her faithful Mountford went to London to plead for her with James, who declared ‘to Durham she should go if he were King,’ but at length another month’s respite was granted.

Arabella had now a project in her head, and her aunt, Lady Shrewsbury, (born Cavendish,) had devoted herself to the cause of her unfortunate niece. She appealed to all the persons whom she believed to have influence at Court, and finding all other means fail, she contrived a plan of escape, and forwarded a large sum of money to facilitate the same.

The money was sent nominally for the payment of Arabella’s debts, and for the commission of purchasing some needlework of Mary Queen of Scots. Crompton, her faithful man-servant, deeply attached to his mistress, managed all these transactions, prepared disguises, and communicated with William Seymour in some miraculous manner. Arabella now feigned entire submission to the King’s commands, and expressed her willingness to proceed to Durham, by which means she threw her keepers off their guard; moreover, she worked on the compassion of one of her attendants (a minister’s wife) to assist her.

On the 4th of June the unhappy lady assumed her disguise—‘a pair of French-fashioned hose, a man’s doublet, a long-locked peruke, black hat and cloak, white boots with red tops, and a rapier by her side;’ and thus equipped set forth, with Markham, one of her servants, on foot. But Arabella was neither as strong of purpose, or of body as Rosalind, and she ofttimes ‘disgraced her man’s apparel by bearing herself like a woman.’

She turned faint ere they reached ‘the sorry inne’ where the trusty Crompton awaited them with saddle-horses, so much so that the hostler who held the stirrup remarked, as she languidly mounted, ‘The gentleman will scarcely reach London.’

The fresh air and exercise, however, revived her, and they arrived at Blackwall in safety. This was the place of rendezvous with her husband, and some faithful followers, but in vain they waited for Seymour, till it was counted so dangerous to delay that, leaving one to communicate with him, when he should appear, she set out in a boat with a female attendant, the two men, Markham, and Crompton, following in another with her baggage. At Lee they found a vessel lying at anchor. They hailed her, and finding she was bound for Berwick, and would not change her course even for a heavy bribe, they inquired if there were not a French vessel anywhere near. Alas! these inquiries were calculated to put the bloodhounds on the track.

In describing the fugitives afterwards, the captain, having spoken of the men, said there were ‘two women, one bare-faced, in a black riding safeguard, and a hat; the other was so wrapped in a long cloak, and her face so closely covered, that he could not see her; but in drawing off her glove she manifested a marvellous fair white hand.’ Poor Arabella, to whose beautiful hand so many courtly compliments and sonnets had been addressed!

They reached the French vessel and embarked, in despair at the non-appearance of Seymour; yet hoping for his arrival at every moment, she besought the French captain to remain at anchor at least another day; but her attendants insisted on his hoisting sail, well aware that to delay was madness. (Seymour’s adventures will be related in the notice of his life.) So the French ship got under weigh, having on board for freight a heart heavy enough to sink her.

The news of her escape filled the King’s mind with rage and consternation; he pictured Arabella to himself making common cause with all his enemies on the Continent; the hue and cry became general. Salisbury, who must surely in his secret heart have prayed for the escape of his old favourite, was ordered to write to the Governor of Calais to intercept Seymour and his wife, (who were supposed to be together,) on their arrival in port. Every ship was to be searched, every means taken, for the apprehension of the fugitives.

Alas! alas! the measures were too well taken (the details are needless); suffice it to say that the train was but too well laid, the track but too well followed. ‘The Adventure,’ one of the vessels sent in pursuit, standing for Calais, was in mid-channel when a sail was sighted. A boat was immediately lowered, as there was but little wind, and six armed men made way for the French vessel. They challenged her in vain, and fired a broadside and several volleys of musketry, giving time for the advance of ‘The Adventure.’

The Frenchman stood thirteen shots before he surrendered, and then Arabella, anxious to avoid bloodshed, came on deck, discovered herself to the captain, and acknowledged there was no use in further resistance. The crew of the boat boarded the French ship, and arrested Arabella, at the same time demanding her husband. She made them a brave and noble answer, saying she had not seen him; she hoped and believed he was safe, and the joy she experienced at his escape far outweighed the sorrow she felt at her own capture.

She was then taken as a close prisoner on board ‘The Adventure,’ with all the rest of the passengers. The King, overjoyed at the news, lost no time; Arabella and her aunt and confidante, Lady Shrewsbury, were sent to the Tower, with several of their adherents, and others, lodged in different prisons—her faithful Crompton, Markham, the minister’s wife, Sir James Crofts, and no end of arrests.

Lord Shrewsbury was kept a prisoner in his house, and the aged Earl of Hertford summoned to London, to Court. ‘If he be found healthful enough to travel, he must not delay.’

The two ladies were examined before the Privy Council, and we are told that Arabella answered the Lords ‘with good judgment and discretion,’ while the Countess is said ‘to be utterly without reason, crying out that all is but tricks and giggs, that she will answer nothing in private, and if she have offended in law she will answer in public.’ A reply by no means unreasonable, although it would appear that the younger lady was calm and dignified under provocation and persecution, and the elder excited and indignant. The chief count against Lady Shrewsbury was the ready money she had advanced for her niece’s escape, by which she was accused of intending to bribe the Catholic party.

The Scotch and English faction, we are informed by the same authority, were at great issue on this subject. Seymour was safe beyond seas, and James was at rest on that score, as long as the unhappy pair were separated.

In vain were appeals made in Arabella’s behalf to the hard-hearted tyrant. Bishop Goodman says of her: ‘She is a virtuous and good lady, of great intellectuals, and harmless, and gives no offence.’ She was in all things gentle, and showed gratitude for the slightest kindness, but she was treated with great indignity,—the money and jewels found on her person seized by the King’s orders, her servants denied access to her, and Lady Shrewsbury was not even allowed to have an attendant of any kind. What a contrast to the sumptuous life at Hardwicke, Chatsworth, and all the other palaces to which she had been accustomed in her mother’s lifetime!

Lord Shrewsbury wrote a most pitiful appeal respecting the dilapidated state of his wife’s apartments in the Tower, to Lord Salisbury, and after a time some mercy was shown her, and a servant appointed to wait on her, and, crowning grace! a copy of verses, written by Charles Cavendish for the poor prisoner’s delectation, was allowed to be placed in her hands. The wretched Arabella spent her hours in weeping and mourning. Sometimes she roused herself to embroider a gift for the King, which he would not accept. Her pen was seldom idle; ‘in all humility, in most humble wise,’ she wrote to James, ‘the most wretched, and unfortunate creature that ever lived, prostrates herself at the feet of the most merciful King that ever was.’ She wrote to Lord Northampton to complain of how badly she is nourished in sickness, of how others, however poor and unfortunate, are preserved alive for charity. ‘I can neither get clothes nor posset at all, nor any complement fit for a sick body in any case, when I call for it.’

Body and mind at last gave way, beneath constant suffering. Arabella showed signs of aberration of intellect, and was now moody, now despairing, now prone to fits of forced gaiety. Hearing of the marriage of her former friend and pupil, the Princess Elizabeth, the unhappy captive contrived to procure a new gown, in which she decked herself with much care. But little effect was produced at Court by the poor prisoner’s gala dress, and the betrothed was too happy to waste much thought on her favourite of other days.

In the same letter, quoted above, she says ‘that help will come too late,’ and declares ‘I do not fear to die, so I be not guilty of my own death, and oppress others with my ruin.’

Gradually but surely her intellect became undermined. She made some incoherent accusations against Lady Shrewsbury, which proved very disadvantageous to that lady, the rigour of whose captivity had been lately mitigated; but was again summoned before the Council, charged with contempt towards the King in refusing to answer questions, again replied scornfully, and pleaded the privilege of her person and nobility, and a rash vow she had made to be silent. She was remanded to the Tower, but the evident signs of insanity evinced by her unfortunate niece nullified the charges brought against her. Early in March 1613 Arabella was attacked with convulsions, and declared insane by a physician. Her humble friend Crompton had laid a second plan for her escape, but deliverance was to come in another guise.

Her husband and his father were currying favour with James, but seemed to have troubled themselves little about the poor prisoner, though by some it was believed Seymour wrote to her constantly, and that his letters were intercepted. She grew weaker in body and more feeble in mind, until on the 25th of September, says Nichols, ‘that ill-fated and persecuted lady, Arabella Seymour, daughter of Charles Earl of Lennox, and cousin-german of Henry Darnley, father of King James, died in the Tower of London.’

In the dead of night the daughter of a line of kings was carried along the black river to Westminster Abbey, and there deposited in the royal vault beneath the coffin of Mary Queen of Scots. All pomp and ceremony were forbidden, the Burial Service was read by stealth as over some felon’s grave, not for any fault of her own, but because ‘to have a great funeral for one dying out of the King’s favour would have reflected upon the King’s honour.’

A sadder page can scarcely be found in England’s history, and among many crimes which blacken the fame of James Stuart, perhaps the slow murder of his unhappy kinswoman is the worst.

The terrible traces of suffering and unmistakable signs of imbecility exhibited in this portrait, lead to the conjecture that it must have been painted during her confinement in the Tower.

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No. 88.

JAMES DUKE OF YORK, AFTERWARDS
JAMES II., KING OF ENGLAND.

BY SIR PETER LELY.

BORN 1633, DEPOSED 1688, DIED 1701.

_Full length. Crimson robes. Mantle. Collar and Order of Garter._

THE second son of Charles I. by Henrietta Maria. Married, first, Anne Hyde, daughter of the Earl of Clarendon, and, secondly, Maria d’Este of Modena. By his first marriage he had Mary, married to the Prince of Orange, afterward William III., and Anne, married to the Prince of Denmark, who succeeded her sister as Queen. By Mary of Modena he had Charles, who died young, James, called the Chevalier de St. George, or the Old Pretender, and three daughters.

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No. 89.

ELIZABETH LADY NOTT.

_Full length. Grey satin dress. Ringlets. Hand resting on table._

SHE was the sister of Sir Henry Frederick Thynne and married Sir William Nott of Richmond, in the county of Surrey.

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No. 90.

ROBERT DUDLEY, EARL OF LEICESTER.

BY ZUCCHERO.

BORN CIRCA 1532, DIED 1588.

_Full length. Gold and white dress. Gorget. George and Garter. Page
holding a helmet and tilting lance. Tent in background._

HE was the fifth son of John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, afterwards Duke of Northumberland, by the daughter and heir of Sir Henry Guildford. He began life early. In 1551 he was named Gentleman of the Bedchamber and Master of the Buckhounds to King Edward VI., by whom he was much esteemed. But it would appear that before, or shortly after, his appointment he fell in love with Amy, the fair daughter of Sir John Robsart, over whose sad fate the ‘Wizard of the North’ has thrown so dazzling a glamour, though, contrary to his version of the story, it would appear that the marriage was public and took place at Court. On the death of Edward, and the failure of the scheme devised by the Duke of Northumberland to place his daughter-in-law, Lady Jane Grey, on the throne, Lord Robert Dudley was imprisoned in the Tower on a charge of high treason, and had sentence of death passed on him, and it was supposed he only escaped sharing his father’s fate, by pleading guilty. Any way, he was liberated with a free pardon, and on the marriage of Queen Mary with Philip of Spain, he ingratiated himself into that Prince’s favour, and ‘was most serviceable to both King and Queen,’ says Strype, ‘by carrying messages between them, often riding post to do so.’ To the Princess Elizabeth he had been playfellow in childhood, and fellow-prisoner in the Tower, and when she came to the throne she did not forget old days.

She made him Master of the Horse, Knight of the Garter, and Privy Councillor, showering upon him grants and estates without number. Indeed, his influence with her was so great that Secretary Cecil (if we may credit that arch gossip, De Quadra, the Spanish Ambassador at the Court of London) wished Lord Robert Dudley in Paradise. The same writer says that the Queen told him that Lady Robert was very ill, and some time afterwards ‘che si ha rotto il collo.’ It certainly was rumoured at Court that but for the slight obstacle of a wife, the Queen would throw over all her foreign and royal suitors in favour of this handsome polished minion, as Froude calls him. The tragedy of Cumnor Hall will ever remain a mystery; but all these reports which preceded it, and the fact that Lord and Lady Robert had scarcely ever appeared together in public since their marriage, all went to strengthen suspicion against the husband.

On the other hand, no sooner did Dudley hear of his wife’s death, which he said was ‘the most unfortunate thing that could have happened to him,’ than he caused a searching inquiry to be made, and he sent down poor Amy’s half-brother to investigate the matter. On the inquest, these facts transpired: The Lady had insisted on the household leaving her to go to Abingdon Fair, and on their return she was found dead at the bottom of a staircase, without any marks of violence. By some it was suggested she might have been first suffocated and then placed in that position; others again were of opinion that she had committed suicide, seeing she had been overheard to say she prayed God to preserve her from desperation. But one of her attendants would not tolerate the idea, saying she was a good and virtuous gentlewoman. The verdict was accidental death, but the country was full of strange mutterings, the echoes of which have never died away. A few contemporaneous documents have lately been found at Longleat which throw some fresh light on the circumstances of her marriage and domestic life. It does not appear to have been one of constrained seclusion, as commonly supposed, nor is there, in the papers alluded to, any indication of estrangement on the part of her husband, still less anything to implicate him, as accessory to her violent death, if it really were such.

In forming opinions on Dudley’s moral character, it is only fair to remember that many of the stories which were spread to his prejudice have their origin in a notorious book entitled _Leicester’s Commonwealth_, written by men who were his deadliest enemies in politics and religion, especially ‘Parsons the Jesuit.’ This was circulated in MS. for many years, a copy being extant at Longleat; but the Queen and Privy Council published a protest against its slanders. A gorgeous funeral was decreed to the unhappy Amy at Oxford, and Dudley was free. We need not recapitulate the well-known story of Elizabeth’s vacillating conduct with regard to him and her numerous suitors; how all England believed she was on the point of selecting him as her husband; of how Mary Queen of Scots mildly remarked that the Queen of England was about to marry her horsekeeper, who had murdered his wife to make room for her; of how Elizabeth turned round and proposed he should marry Mary, saying that if she herself intended to marry, she should prefer him to all the Princes in the world; and contrasting him with his brother Lord Warwick, she said, ‘He is rough, and lacks the delicacy of Robert.’

As far as she ever was in earnest in her constantly fluctuating matrimonial speculations, Bess really did appear to be so about the Scotch marriage, as she created her favourite Earl of Leicester apparently to fit him for a higher position; and she remarked querulously to Melville, (Mary’s confidential envoy to England,) ‘You like better yon long lad,’ pointing to Darnley, who bore the sword of State at the ceremony of Dudley’s elevation to the peerage, and the poor ‘long lad,’ unfortunately for himself, became Mary’s choice; and Elizabeth returned to the game of fast-and-loose with Leicester. His suit, says Froude, was never listened to more favourably than when it served to interfere with another man’s, but on a sudden she was informed he was already secretly married to the widow of Walter Devereux, Earl of Essex.

Already during the lifetime of her noble husband this lady’s name had been whispered in conjunction with that of Leicester, in no creditable manner, and their hasty marriage, after the sudden and mysterious death of Lord Essex, gave rise to many dark suspicions. Another scandal, too, was afloat; another secret, or pretended marriage was spoken of between Leicester and the daughter of Lord Effingham, widow of Lord Sheffield. Lodge tells us that when Dudley wished to marry Lady Essex, he compelled the unhappy woman to renounce all claim to the title of his lawful wife, by publicly espousing Sir Edward Stafford. All this transpired at a later period, when she came forward in behalf of her son, whom Lady Leicester persecuted with law-suits after his father’s death. It would appear that Dudley entertained much affection for the child whom he had injured, whose legitimacy he now affirmed, now denied, and at his death bequeathed to him the estates of Kenilworth, which the bad woman who had supplanted his mother would not allow him to enjoy in peace. Lettice, Lady Leicester, survived her husband nearly half a century. Elizabeth always hated her, and would never be reconciled to her, although she was the mother of Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, who succeeded his stepfather in the royal favour. The Queen stormed and raved on first hearing of the marriage, wept profusely, and behaved as was her wont. In 1584 she sent Leicester to the Low Countries in command of the auxiliary forces, and he joined his gallant nephew, Sir Philip Sidney, at Flushing. He lived in such state, and took so much upon himself, as to expose him to a severe reprimand from home. He returned, and went out again to Zealand with fresh levies, and was restored to greater favour than ever. In the famous speech she addressed to the troops at Tilbury, Elizabeth extolled her favourite to the skies, having already named him to the command of the army raised to oppose the expected Spanish invasion. It was reported she intended to make him Viceregent of England, but the mighty solver of many a vexed question arrested his progress. He died of fever at his house at Cornbury, county Oxford, on his way to Kenilworth, September 1588.

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No. 91.

THOMAS THYNNE (TOM O’ TEN THOUSAND).

BY SIR PETER LELY.

SHOT IN HIS COACH, 1682.

_Tawny coat. Blue mantle. Full wig. Lace collar._

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No. 92.

THE HONOURABLE JAMES THYNNE.

BY KERSEBOOM.

BORN 1701, DIED 1705.

_Full length. A child seated by a fountain, pouring water from a shell.
Loose white shirt. Pink and blue drapery._

A YOUNGER son of the first Lord Weymouth. He died at an early age.

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_DRAWING ROOM_.

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DRAWING ROOM.

TWO PORTRAITS OF CHILDREN OF SIR
JOHN THYNNE.

ATTRIBUTED TO HOLBEIN.

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No. 93.

_Dressed in a dark brown frock. Sleeves of a lighter material. White
pinafore. Holding in one hand a jewelled cross, in the other, two
cherries. Inscription in background, ‘xv. Maii MDLXXII. ætatis mens.
x.’_

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No. 94.

_An infant in a white dress, richly brocaded. Close cap and bourlet or
pudding. Jewelled chain and cross round the neck. Rattle in the left
hand. Inscription, ‘viii. Octob. MDLXIIII., ætat. mens. vi.’_

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No. 95_.

FRANCIS THE FIRST, KING OF FRANCE, AND
HIS QUEEN, ELEANOR OF AUSTRIA.

PAINTER DOUBTFUL.

FRANCIS, BORN 1494, DIED 1547. ELEANOR, DIED 1558.

KING:—_Red and white slashed dress. Feathers and jewels in his cap._

ELEANOR:—_Blue and white embroidered dress. Slashed cap with jewels and
feathers. Holding the King’s hand, and in her other a Caduceus with
bells, issuing from an artichoke or pine cone. A jester in the
background._

HE was the son of Charles d’Orleans, Duke of Angoulême, by Louise de Savoie. He married, first, the Princess Claude, daughter of Louis XII., and succeeded his father-in-law on the throne of France. His second wife was Eleanor of Austria, sister to Charles V., Emperor of Germany. For many years this picture has been erroneously named Francis I. and his mistress, but late researches prove the female portrait to be that of his second wife, Eleanor of Austria, and that it was painted as a commemoration picture, at the time of the marriage,—the Caduceus, the emblem of peace, recording that of Cambray, ‘La Paix des Dames.’

Eleanor of Austria was the daughter of Philip, Archduke of Austria, by ‘Mad Joan,’ as she was called, (the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain,) and consequently sister to Charles V., Emperor of Germany.

She was much admired at the Imperial Court, and Frederick, brother to the Elector Palatine, no sooner saw than he fell in love with her, and the affection was reciprocal; but Charles, discovering their intimacy, exiled Frederick, and hastened to give his sister in marriage.

Emanuel, King of Portugal, surnamed ‘The Fortunate,’ had governed his kingdom well, but he was ill-calculated to take the fancy of the beautiful young Princess, still less to drive out the image of a former lover. He was misshapen, and far advanced in years, but he treated Eleanor with great consideration. He did not survive his marriage above two years, leaving his widow with two children. It may easily be conjectured that the hand of Eleanor, gifted as she was with a large dower and great personal charms, was eagerly sought by many illustrious personages, but her brother appeared to favour the suit of the Connétable de Bourbon.

The wars which intervened, however, changed these projects after Francis I. had been taken prisoner by Charles V. at the battle of Pavia, the peace of Cambray was concluded between them, called frequently ‘La Paix des Dames,’ because negotiated by Margaret of Austria, the Emperor’s aunt, and Louise of Savoy, the King of France’s mother, who had been Regent during her son’s absence and captivity. One stipulation was the union of the fair young widow with Francis I., and the nuptials were celebrated with great pomp. Eleanor, indeed, presided at Court as Queen in all the ceremonies, but neither her mental nor personal charms made much impression on the heart of the King, who was at that moment entirely subjugated by his mistress, the Duchesse d’Étampes. This beautiful, but bad and inordinately ambitious woman, who was designated as ‘La plus belle des sçavantes, et la plus sçavantes des belles,’ had been one of the Queen-Mother’s maids of honour. The King married her to an old courtier, and created her Duchesse d’Étampes. She was of an intriguing spirit, fostered discord, and interfered in political measures, always working counter to the Queen, who strove to keep peace, especially between her brother and husband.

The Duchess also hated the Dauphin, (afterwards Henry II.,) and between her and the famous Diane de Poictiers (already firmly established in the favour of the Prince) the spirit of rivalry raged fiercely.

When Henry II. succeeded to the throne the all-powerful Diane exiled the Duchesse d’Étampes, whose downfall was complete. Amid all the pomp of the Court, Queen Eleanor had reason to regret her quiet life at Lisbon, where she was at least admired and respected. When Francis died, his widow went to reside, first in the Netherlands, and then in Spain. She died at Talavera, and was buried in the Escurial.

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No. 96.

ELEANOR OF AUSTRIA.

BORN 1498, DIED 1558.

_Black and white dress and head-dress, both richly ornamented with
pearls and diamonds._

SISTER to Charles V., Emperor of Germany. Married first the King of Portugal, and secondly the King of France.

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No. 97.

MAXIMILIAN EMPEROR OF GERMANY.

BY ALBERT DÜRER.

BORN 1459, DIED 1519.

_Head. Furred dress and cap. Collar and badge of Golden Fleece. Gold
diapered background._

THE son of Frederick III., Emperor of Germany, by Eleanor of Portugal. In his childhood he was nicknamed ‘The Dumb,’ from the difficulty he had in articulating; although in after years he was remarkable for the sweet tone of his voice. A romantic story is told in connection with him and the beautiful Princess he afterwards married.

Charles the Bold, the last Duke of Burgundy, had been much struck with the young Archduke (in an interview with the Emperor) when Maximilian was only fourteen, and made so vivid a description of his appearance and promising qualities as to interest the fancy of his fair daughter and influence her future choice. On the death of her father, Mary, (then Duchess of Burgundy,) finding herself involved in a war with France, and a series of difficulties with her Flemish subjects, felt the importance of securing a strong firm spirit, to protect and counsel her.

Amid the crowd of suitors of all nations who competed for the hand of the richest heiress in Europe, the fairest Princess in Christendom, she selected the young Archduke Maximilian.

He began his married life by a war with Louis XI. of France, but it was not of long duration. His good and beautiful wife survived her marriage but two years, dying from the effects of a fall from her horse while engaged in her favourite pastime of hawking; she left a son and a daughter.

On her death the States of Flanders, regarding the Archduke with great distrust and jealousy as a foreigner, rose in revolt, and even disputed with him the guardianship of his own children. Maximilian’s life, indeed, was one of continual warfare, but though a brave, he was not considered on the whole a very successful General. He at one time formed an alliance with France against England, and at another with England against France: now friendly with, now opposed to, the Swiss, the Venetians, and others. On succeeding to the Imperial throne, he married, as his second wife, Bianca Maria, sister of Galeazzo Sforza, Duke of Milan, who brought him a large dower.

This match was most distasteful to the proud Germans, who refused to recognise the ‘Bastard’ as Empress, and threatened that, in the event of her having children, they should not be recognised as Princes of the blood-royal. But (perhaps fortunately for herself) Bianca was childless.

This union with an Italian led Maximilian into further warfare. He formed an alliance with the Pope, with his brother-in-law the Duke of Milan, and several States of Italy, to arrest the progress of the King of France, then marching on Naples, but this undertaking was not successful in the end. His energetic and ambitious spirit involved Maximilian, not only in constant wars, but caused him to take part in all the struggles of the day, religious and political. He was a man of remarkable vigour, learning, and skill in all martial exercises, but renowned for his extravagance, which brought him into so many straits that he gained the nickname of ‘Sans Argent,’ and was often without the means of defraying the pay of his soldiers. He helped to form the celebrated League of Cambray, and presided at the Diet of Worms, etc. etc. He admired the manly and independent spirit of Luther, and showed himself no ways averse to the reform of Church abuses, although he did not survive the movement long enough to take a decided part on either side.

His health was now fast declining, and strange fancies took possession of his mind. Being dissatisfied with the construction of a palace he had ordered at Innsprück, he said, ‘I will build myself another house,’ and sending for a carpenter, told him to make a coffin with all speed. For four years this ghastly reminder accompanied him in all his marches and wanderings. Maximilian died at Wels, in Upper Austria, it is said his death was accelerated by eating too freely of melon! Finding his end approaching, he prepared for it, with much calmness; making his will, giving the most eccentric orders concerning his interment, and joining with fervour in the prayers for the dying which were being offered up in his presence. His body was at a later period transferred to Innsprück, where the Emperor Ferdinand I. erected a magnificent tomb to his memory. It is of white marble, representing in high relief the principal events of his most eventful life, while on either side of the mausoleum, noble statues in bronze of illustrious sovereigns, knights, and dames of all ages and nations, form a body-guard round Maximilian’s last resting-place.

He had only two children, Philip, afterwards Emperor of Germany and King of Castille, in right of his wife, ‘Mad Joan,’ as she was called, (the only child of Ferdinand and Isabella,) by whom he had Charles V., and Ferdinand, who both succeeded to the Imperial throne. Maximilian’s only daughter, Margaret, was sent on the death of her mother to France, to be educated with the children of Louis XI., who designed the little heiress as bride for the Dauphin Charles. The betrothal took place with great pomp and ceremony when Margaret had attained the advanced age of three years. But in 1491, Charles, who had then succeeded his father as King of France, resolving on an alliance with Anne, heiress of Brittany, sent his little child-wife back to her father, an indignity which Maximilian resolved to wipe out in French blood.

Margaret afterwards married John Infant of Spain, and secondly Philibert Duke of Savoy, and she eventually became Governess of the Netherlands.

Albert Dürer was much esteemed not only by the Emperor Maximilian, but by his successors Charles and Ferdinand.

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_LARGE UPPER CORRIDOR_.

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LARGE UPPER CORRIDOR.

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No. 98.

THOMAS WENTWORTH, EARL OF STRAFFORD.

AFTER VANDYCK.

BORN 1594, EXECUTED 1641.

_In armour. Holding a baton._

THE eldest son of Sir William Wentworth, of Wentworth Wodehouse, county York, by Anne Atkinson, of Stowel, county Gloucester. Educated at home, and afterwards at Cambridge, where he gained an excellent reputation for conduct and study. His father dying when Thomas was twenty-one, he found himself at that early age the Master of Wentworth, of large estates and property, the husband ‘of a fair wife,’ (the daughter of Francis Earl of Cumberland,) and the guardian of a flock of young relatives, yet he found time not only for the diligent pursuit of study, but for the relaxations of ‘hunting, hawking, and fishing;’ in fact, for all the varied business and pleasures of a country life.

But he was not long allowed to remain in the privacy of Wentworth, being elected member for York, and Custos Rotulorum. This was in the place of Lord Savile, who had been compelled to resign for misconduct. But Sir Thomas had not held the office long before the Duke of Buckingham requested him to retire, that Savile might be reinstated, a proposition which so nettled his high spirit that he couched an indignant refusal in terms that made a lifelong enemy of the haughty favourite.

Sir Thomas was for some time a silent member in the House of Commons, although warmly espousing the Liberal side in politics, and making a vigorous stand against the encroachments of the Court party, a course he pursued after the accession of Charles I. The hatred of Buckingham was not likely to be appeased by such conduct, and through his instrumentality Wentworth had the office of High Sheriff thrust upon him in order to disqualify him from voting, and soon afterwards he was summarily dismissed from the post of Custos Rotulorum. He received the Royal despatch while sitting on the bench of magistrates, and reading it aloud with pardonable indignation, observed, ‘It might easily be believed by what means I could retain my post, but that would cost too dear. Yet I know of no fault in myself, or virtue in my successor, that would justify such a step.’

In the ensuing year he stoutly refused to contribute to a loan levied without the consent of Parliament, and was summoned before the Council, where, while animadverting on the conduct of the ‘Court vermin,’ Wentworth took the opportunity of expressing his devoted loyalty to the person of Charles I., and his desire to serve His Majesty in any manner compatible with his own sense of patriotism. Nevertheless he was sentenced to be imprisoned in the Marshalsea, an act of injustice which did not prejudice him in favour of his persistent enemy the Duke of Buckingham and his party.

On his release Wentworth became a vigorous leader of the opposition, ‘and took the field,’ as it was said, ‘with the Pyms and the Prynnes’ against the King’s Government, supporting with all the eloquence of which he was master, the memorable Petition of Rights to which the King was compelled to give a tardy, but full consent. Then Sir Thomas Wentworth adopted that sudden line of conduct, which has been so differently judged, so differently described, by different historians. He declared his conviction that the nation might now be well content with the concessions made by the Crown, bade adieu ‘to the Pyms, the Prynnes,’ and their policy, walked over to the other side of the House, went through the form of a reconciliation with the Duke of Buckingham, and proffered his services, head, heart, and sword, to the Royal cause. The opposition (above all the ‘Puritan party’) was worked to a pitch of fury, and heaped opprobrium on his name,—‘an apostate, a traitor, a time-server;’ while the Royalists upheld the conduct of a man who chose the moment of impending danger to rally round the unsteady throne and the unpopular Sovereign.

Charles naturally received him with open arms, and the honours which were heaped upon him increased the ire of his enemies. His former ally, Pym, meeting him one day at Greenwich, uttered these ominous words: ‘You are going to leave us, but I will never leave you while you have a head upon your shoulders,’ a promise too cruelly redeemed. The murder of the Duke of Buckingham removed every obstacle to the advancement of Sir Thomas Wentworth; he was raised to the Peerage by the titles of Baron and Viscount Wentworth, and being appointed to the arduous post of Lord Deputy, and Commander-in-chief in Ireland, he sailed for that ‘distracted country’ with a code he had drawn up for his own government in his pocket, from which he never swerved.

Lord Wentworth’s administration of Irish affairs, his transient popularity, his reforms in all matters, civil, military, and religious, his quarrels with the Irish nobles, punctilio in matters of form and etiquette, his hurried voyages to and from England, are all subjects of deep interest, but too lengthy to be discussed here. It would have been well for him if he had taken the advice of his life-long friend and correspondent, Archbishop Laud, and ‘curbed his impetuosity, and avoided prosecutions, and the like.’

The correspondence between these two remarkable men, (whose friendship, in the spirit of their joint motto and watchword, was ‘Thorough’,) although treating, for the most part, of grave and important subjects, was interspersed (more especially on the Prelate’s part) with playful raillery and constant allusions to the sports of the field, in which they both delighted. The Lord Deputy had gained great odium in consequence of a severe sentence passed by him, in a court-martial, upon an Irish Peer, as failing in his duty as an officer, and the cry was so great against him that Wentworth judged it best to go and tell his own tale to the King of England.

On his return to his government a harder task than ever awaited him. Finding that the disaffection of the Scotch to the Crown had produced a baneful influence on the sister country, he set himself to work to counteract that influence, and his prompt and vigorous measures made him (already too well provided with enemies) an object of detestation to the greater part of the Scottish nation. In 1639 he again crossed to England, where he received the long-coveted Earldom of Strafford, was nominated Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, taken into the King’s full confidence, and became for a time virtually Prime Minister. War with Scotland, Parliaments summoned in England and Ireland, and subsidies demanded,—these were some of Strafford’s proposed measures. From his own privy purse he contributed (as an example) £20,000 towards defraying the expenses of the coming campaign.

To make use of a homely proverb, ‘The grass was never allowed to grow under’ Strafford’s feet. He crossed to Ireland, called a Parliament, obtained large subsidies, summoned a council of war, raised a large body of men to serve under his command in Scotland. Then he took a painful farewell of his beloved children,—‘those dear young whelps, God bless them! for the old dog there is less matter,’ and all this in the space of one fortnight.

Borne down as he was by continued ill-health and increasing bodily infirmities, Lord Strafford was so anxious to return to England that he insisted on crossing in a storm which daunted the sailors, and he had nearly died at Chester; yet, in spite of all expostulations, he resolved to proceed to London, and caused himself on his arrival to be carried into the Council-chamber in a litter, to all appearance in an expiring condition.

But too much remained for him to do, and the spirit was victorious over the body. On the dissolution of Parliament, Strafford accepted a military command, (against the Scots,) under the ostensible command of the Earl of Northumberland, who, however, was either too sick, or feigned to be so, to prove efficient, and the real duties fell to Strafford’s share. He came up with the King at York, and found the army in a sad plight—‘hope and spirit fled, and the Royal cause in the dust.’

Unable to walk, scarcely able to sit upright on his saddle, his energy was indomitable. He rallied the troops, upbraided the sluggishness of the leaders, and set a brilliant example to the whole army. But the King stayed his hand, and thwarted the vigorous tactics of his General, the command was in fact taken from him, although Charles was eager in his praises, and gave Strafford the Garter at York. He, moreover, insisted that they should travel together to London—two victims hastening to their doom.

Strafford was averse to the plan, foreseeing the danger which menaced him at the opening of Parliament, and his presentiment was realised, for a few days after the commencement of the session Pym began his long-meditated attack.

The bloodhounds were on the track, the hunt was up!

Lord Strafford was in the House of Lords, when Pym appeared at the bar to impeach him of high treason. He was allowed but a short time to say a few words, and was compelled to listen to the charge on his knees, then given into custody, and lodged in the Tower.

We deeply regret the limited space which forbids us to do more than glance at the circumstances of Strafford’s trial and defence, though in truth it is a well-known tale.

A Scotchman, and an enemy, gives a most graphic description of the noble scene which Westminster Hall presented on the occasion, crowded to the roof—the King, the Queen, the whole Court and nobility of England, ladies of the highest rank, whose tears flowed copiously, and who were unanimous in their verdict in favour of the illustrious prisoner.

It was well said by the elder D’Israeli, ‘that Strafford’s eloquence was so great as to perpetuate the sympathy which it received in the hour of his agony.’ He had, indeed, need of eloquence. Every obstacle was thrown in his way, especially in the matter of summoning witnesses in his favour, while his personal enemies were invited from all parts of England, Scotland, and Ireland. His confidence was betrayed, his words perverted; the proceedings were unlawful and unprecedented; but the Solicitor-General overruled such arguments by declaring that for ‘wolves and wild beasts of prey’ no law could be given, and that the prisoner ought to be knocked on the head.

Whereupon with difficulty a bill of attainder was provided, and some members who gave negative votes had their names posted up in the city as ‘Straffordians.’ The two Houses had passages of arms on the subject; but the vultures were hovering round, and would not be disappointed of their prey. Thus Thomas Earl of Strafford was declared guilty of high treason.

We will not dwell on the sad passage in Charles’s sad life. He had pledged his royal word, ‘You shall not suffer in honour, in fortune, or in life.’ Feeble attempts at intercession with the dreaded power of the Parliament, hesitation and delay, and then he signed the death-warrant of his devoted friend, weeping as he did so—yet he signed, laying up for himself hours of deep remorse, during the few years that he survived. The generous captive indeed wrote to his master to absolve him from his promise, but when he learned that he must prepare for death, he raised his eyes to heaven, exclaiming, ‘Put not your trust in princes, or in any child of men.’

During the short interval between the sentence and the execution, the prisoner, ‘resigned and at home with his own fate, experienced in full all that inward strength which had grown up with the unconscious religion of a noble life.’[1]

Footnote 1:

Mozley.

He busied himself with his religious duties, with the settlement of his worldly affairs, and in writing wise, tender, and pathetic letters to his relatives, particularly to his eldest son. He petitioned to be allowed an interview with his well-loved friend and fellow-prisoner, Archbishop Laud, but was cruelly refused, and only permitted to send him a message, asking his prayers, and entreating that he would wave him a blessing as he passed to execution.

Accordingly on the 12th of May 1641, Strafford, on his way to the scaffold, raised his eyes to the window of the cell where Laud was confined, and perceived the Prelate’s aged and trembling hands extended through the bars, in token of a solemn farewell.

So overcome was Laud by grief and emotion, that he fell backwards on the floor of his dungeon in a swoon.

The avenues to the Tower were lined with thousands of eager spectators, and the lieutenant hurried his prisoner into the carriage lest he should be torn in pieces. Strafford smiled, and said ‘it mattered little to him whether he died by the hands of the executioner or by those of the people.’ He had ‘faced death too often to fear it in any shape.’

The mob glared on him as he passed, but offered him no indignity, for he marched, says a spectator, ‘like a general at the head of his army, bowing with lofty courtesy to the gazing crowd.’ His friend Archbishop Usher and his brother Sir George Wentworth were already on the platform when he came, as he said, ‘to pay his last debt to sin, which was death.’ He submitted to the judgment with a contented mind. He affirmed that his whole aim through life had been the joint and individual prosperity of the King, and the people, although it had been his misfortune to be misconstrued: ‘righteous judgment,’ he said, ‘shall be hereafter.’

He stoutly denied the charges of upholding despotism and Popery, asked forgiveness of all men whom he had offended, and prayed that ‘we may all live to meet eternally in heaven, where all tears shall be wiped from our eyes, and sad thoughts from our hearts.’ Then he prayed for some time, concluding with the Lord’s Prayer; bade farewell to those near him, and embracing his brother, delivered the most pathetic messages to different members of his family, to his sister, his wife, with admonitions to his eldest son ‘to fear God, be a good subject to the King, and faithful to the Church of England,’ etc. etc.; forbidding him to harbour any feelings of revenge. ‘Give my blessings also to my daughters, Anne, (‘the sweet little Mistress Nan, his loved companion, the image of her dead mother,’) to Arabella, named after the dear saint, to the little infant who cannot speak for itself—God speak for it. One stroke,’ he said, ‘will make my wife husbandless, my children fatherless, my servants masterless, and separate me from my dear brother and all my friends. But let God be to you, and to them, all in all.’ About to take off his doublet, he thanked God he could do so as cheerfully as ever he did when going to bed. And then he looked round and forgave the executioner and all the world. It was indeed an imposing scene: Strafford apparently restored on that momentous day to all the energy of health and vigour; his tall and symmetrical figure, his regular features, with a complexion ‘pallid, but manly, black, like polished armour that had received many a hack and bruise in the battle of life.’

Once more he knelt in prayer, between the Archbishop of Armagh and the minister, tried the block, and finally having warned the executioner that such would be the sign, he stretched forth his white and beautifully formed hands, those hands which Vandyck has immortalised, which Henrietta Maria, his sworn enemy, had pronounced ‘the finest in the world,’ and one stroke from the cruel axe ended the mortal career of Thomas Earl of Strafford. Yet his name still continues a firebrand, between contending parties, in religion and politics. His faithful and devoted friend, Sir George Radcliffe, pays a most touching tribute to his memory in a well-sketched mental portraiture, and among many noble traits he mentions ‘that my Lord was not angry when told of his weaknesses, though let it be remembered that by nature he was of a hot and hasty spirit, for he was a man and not an angel, yet such a man as made conscience of his ways, and did endeavour to grow in virtue and victory over himself.’

He was thrice married, first, as we have already said, to Lady Margaret Clifford, who died childless; next to the Lady Arabella Holles, daughter to the Earl of Clare, by whom he had one son, his successor; Anne, married to Lord Rockingham, and Arabella, married to the son of my Lord Clancarty.