Chapter VIII: Part 8

Lord and Lady Somerset lived together in the Tower till 1622, when an order from the King in Council set them at liberty, prescribing for them, however, a place of residence. James intended to restore their property, which was forfeited, but died before the fulfilment of his promise, and Charles I. did not see fit to ratify the same. They were in consequence reduced to great poverty, and the passion which had led them to such fatal extremes turned to loathing; so that, although residing under the same roof, Lord and Lady Somerset lived as strangers, and the miserable woman died of a most painful disease, crying out in her last moments on the name of the husband she had so basely injured: ‘Oh, Essex! Essex!’

A touching incident is told of their daughter, the wife of the Earl of Bedford. Her portrait by Vandyck is well known, and her sweet fair face and lovely form live in more than one gallery. Lord Somerset dearly loved his only child; the affection was mutual, and she reverenced his memory; but one sad day, as the lovely Lady Bedford sat reading by the window, she came accidentally across a pamphlet which opened her eyes to the complicated guilt of both her parents. The shock was too much for her, and the next person who entered the room found her in a swoon on the floor, with the open book beside her.

We have perhaps afforded too much space, in a notice purporting to be a life of Sir Thomas Overbury, to the story of Somerset and his wife, but the lives are so intimately connected, that we hope to be held excused. Overbury had a reputation for wit and talent, and wrote several pieces in prose and verse.

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No. 113.

THOMAS, SECOND MARQUIS OF BATH,
WHEN YOUNG.

BY HOPPNER.

DIED 1837.

_Maroon-coloured coat. White waistcoat._

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_No. 114._

JOHN RUSSELL, SIXTH DUKE OF BEDFORD.

BORN 1766, DIED 1839.

_Seated in a red chair. Black coat. Wig._

HE was the second son of the Marquis of Tavistock, by Lady Elizabeth, daughter of the second Earl of Albemarle, of the Keppel family. Lord Tavistock was killed by a fall from his horse in 1767, and his widow died of grief. Of their three sons the two eldest succeeded to the Dukedom and estates, and the third (posthumous), Lord William, was murdered by his valet Courvoisier in 1840. In 1786 John Russell married Georgiana Byng, second daughter of the fourth Lord Torrington, who died in 1801, and two years afterwards Lady Georgiana, daughter of the fourth Duke of Gordon, which lady died in 1853. The Duke had children by both marriages.

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No. 115.

SIR KENELM DIGBY.

OLD STONE, AFTER VANDYCK.

BORN 1603, DIED 1665.

_Black dress. Pointed beard._

SON of Sir Everard Digby, born at Gothurst or Gayhurst, county Bucks, the property of his mother, daughter and sole heir of William Mulsho.

He was but a child when his father suffered death, as one of the conspirators in the Gunpowder Plot. The Crown laid claim to the estates and revenues of the family, but the widowed Lady Digby, a woman of great energy and determination, not only saved her own dower, by her strenuous efforts, but rescued a few hundreds for her son out of the wreck, and, although a rigid Roman Catholic, she suffered her boy to be educated as a Protestant from prudential motives. The romance of the loves of Kenelm Digby and Venetia Stanley, which made such a noise at the time, and has been the subject of curiosity and controversy ever since, whenever their names are mentioned, began at a very early age. Sir Edward Stanley of the noble house of Derby lived at Tong Castle, county Salop. He married the daughter and co-heir of the Earl of Northumberland, who brought him two daughters, ‘the divine Venetia’ being the youngest. Her mother died when she was a few months old. The widower gave himself up to grief, shunned all society, and could not even derive comfort from the society of his children. He sent them therefore (or at all events Venetia) to the care of a relative, who was a neighbour of Lady Digby’s. Thus began the acquaintance, and Sir Edward’s beautiful little girl and Lady Digby’s lovely boy met constantly, and played at love-making, jealousy, rivalry, coquetry, quarrels, reconciliations,—in fact a perfect rehearsal of all the drama that was to be enacted in good earnest, a few years later. The marriage of the Princess Elizabeth with the Palatine, afterwards King of Bohemia, called Sir Edward to London. With a violent wrench he tore himself away from his beloved seclusion, and sending for Venetia carried her with him to the Court of King James, then the scene of great festivity.

In all these gaieties, according to Digby’s account, the juvenile beauty took part, and was the centre of admiration. In the meantime her young lover pursued his studies under the care of Laud, Dean of Gloucester, subsequently Archbishop of Canterbury, and afterwards with Dr. Thomas Allen, an eminent scholar, at Oxford.

Digby distinguished himself at the University, where he remained two years, but whenever he returned home for the vacation, the flirtation with his fair neighbour was resumed. He wrote a strange and wild romance respecting her, in which it is impossible to disentangle truth from fiction, but some of the adventures are too marvellous for belief, and the whole narrative disagreeable, and tedious in to the bargain.

His jealousy seems to have been excited by a certain courtier, whose suit, he affirms, was favoured by Venetia’s governess. Lady Digby was too wise a mother to smile on such a precocious courtship, even if she disbelieved the reports which had already begun to circulate, detrimental to mistress Stanley’s reputation.

She despatched her son on foreign travel, but before his departure the lovers had met and plighted their troth. According to the traveller’s own account he made a conquest of the French Queen when in Paris _en route_ for Italy.

A report of his death having been accidentally or purposely circulated, Venetia’s conduct on the occasion was differently represented to her absent lover, some declaring she was inconsolable, others that she lent a willing ear to the suit of the very same courtier who had before excited Kenelm’s jealousy.

Nothing can be more bombastic and high-flown than the language in which he describes the fluctuations of his passion for Venetia, his implicit trust in her constancy in one page, his doubts and suspicions in another.

It seems more than probable that the prudent Lady Digby intercepted her son’s love-letters, and did all in her power to prevent a marriage she thought most undesirable, and she was doubtless delighted when Kenelm accompanied his kinsman, Lord Bristol, to Spain, where he was then negotiating the Prince of Wales’s marriage with the Infanta at Madrid. Kenelm became himself attached to the Prince’s suite, and took an active part in diplomatic transactions.

In this land of romance it may well be imagined that the handsome and accomplished Englishman ran the gauntlet of many adventures among the dark-eyed daughters of the south, nor does he omit to allude to innumerable conquests; indeed, he went so far as to have a portrait of himself painted with an effigy of one of his victims in the background, but he incessantly boasted of his constancy to the absent loved one. On his return to England with the Prince of Wales, he was knighted by the King at Hinchingbrook, and immediately flew to his lady-love in spite of maternal prohibition. Then followed recriminations, explanations, trials of her faith and virtue, challenges, duels—a stormy suit, indeed, according to his own testimony.

Respecting the date of their marriage, there is great difference of opinion. At all events, Kenelm insisted on its being kept secret, nor was poor Venetia allowed to announce it, even when a fall from her horse brought on a premature confinement, which nearly cost her her life.

King James admired Sir Kenelm for his great erudition, and complimented him on his essays on Sympathetic Powder, Alchemy, and other subjects bordering on the supernatural. On the accession of Charles I. Sir Kenelm Digby was made gentleman of the privy chamber, commissioner of the navy, and governor of the Trinity House, shortly after which, he was appointed to the command of a naval squadron, sent to the Mediterranean against the Venetian fleet, and the Algerine pirates.

In this voyage he was eminently successful, bringing the Venetians to terms, chastising the pirates, and releasing a large number of English slaves. It is said that on the eve of his embarkation, a second son being born to him, he had permitted his wife to declare their marriage, and had consigned her to the care of his kinsman, Lord Bristol, during his absence from England. About this time, his faithful old friend, Thomas Allen, bequeathed to him a splendid library, which he made over to the Bodleian.

In 1633, after his return, his beautiful but far from happy wife died, and the mystery which had shrouded Venetia’s whole life hung like a dark cloud over her death, and reports of all kinds were current.

There is no doubt that Sir Kenelm had been in the habit of making chemical and alchemical experiments on Venetia for some time past, and the tradition of the concoction of snails which he had invented as a preservative of her naturally brilliant complexion is still extant at Gayhurst, where it is said the somewhat rare breed of large ‘Pomatia’ is still to be found.

By Digby’s desire, his wife’s head (‘which contained but little brain’) was opened, and he decided that she had taken an overdose of viper wine. But spiteful women declared she had fallen a victim to a viper husband’s jealousy, though Aubrey, who tells sad tales of Venetia before her marriage, says she was a blameless wife.

There is more than one portrait of her, with allegorical emblems of Innocence, Slander, and the like. Her name had often been coupled with that of the Earl of Dorset, and some said he had settled an annuity on her, which was paid up to the time of her death. Be this as it may, Sir Kenelm and Lady Digby always dined once a year with my Lord Dorset, who received them courteously but formally, only permitting himself to kiss the beauty’s hand with great respect.

Venetia was buried in a church near Newgate, in a tomb of black marble, with long inscriptions, surmounted by a copper-gilt bust, all destroyed in the great fire. Numerous epitaphs were written in her honour. Ben Jonson calls her ‘A tender mother, a discreet wife, a solemn mistress, a good friend, so lovely and charitable in all her petite actions, so devote in her whole life,’ etc.

Whatever Sir Kenelm’s real feelings were, his outward grief was extreme. He retired to Gresham College, lived like a hermit, studied chemistry, wore a long mourning cloak, and left his beard unshorn. Although it was generally supposed that his secession from the Protestant faith took place when he was in Spain, it was not until 1653 that he wrote to his friend Laud (whose admirable answer is extant) to announce the fact. He was a firm adherent of Charles I., and greatly esteemed by Henrietta Maria; but his loyalty got him into trouble with the Parliament, and he was exiled to France. Returning in a few months, he was imprisoned in 1640 for nearly three years, and was supposed only to have regained his liberty through the intercession of the French Queen, who had loved him twenty years before. His release, however, was conditional. He was forbidden to take part in any public affairs, and he therefore gave himself up to literary and scientific pursuits, and engaged in a polemical correspondence with his quondam tutor, Laud, whom he is said to have tempted to change his faith, by the bait of a Cardinal’s Hat. Sir Kenelm returned to France, and frequented the Court of his old flame, the Queen-Dowager, where his noble appearance, almost gigantic size, his handsome features, agreeable conversation and manners, his learning, and last, but perhaps not least, his predilection for the occult sciences, made him an universal favourite. On the death of his eldest son, killed on the Royalist side at the battle of St. Neot’s, Sir Kenelm returned to compound for his estates, but was not suffered to remain in England. He went back to Paris, where Henrietta Maria made him her Chancellor. And he was then intrusted with a mission to Pope Innocent X., who welcomed him at first, but after a time the ‘Englishman grew high, and hectored at His Holiness, and gave him the lie.’

Once more in England, after the dissolution of the Long Parliament, Cromwell took him into his confidence, hoping by his mediation to gain over the Roman Catholics.

His conduct in these circumstances has been praised by some and censured by others, as may well be imagined, according to religious and political bias. He travelled through France, Lower Germany, and the Palatinate, always seeking and being sought by men of letters; and 1660 saw him once more back in his native land.

Charles II. showed him but little favour. He was nominated F.R.S., and resided (1663) in a fair house in Covent Garden, where he had a laboratory. ‘Philosopher, theologian, courtier, soldier; polite, amiable, handsome, graceful.’ Lord Clarendon’s testimony is, ‘eccentric, vain, unstable in religion, a duellist.’ These are the counterbalancing portraits of Sir Kenelm Digby. He desired to be buried near Venetia. His epitaph was as follows:—

‘Under this tomb the matchless Digby lies,
Digby the great, the brilliant, and the wise;
This age’s wonder, for his noble partes,
Skilled in six tongues, and learn’d in all the artes!
Born on the day he died, th’ eleventh of June,
And that day bravely fought at Scanderoon:
It’s rare that one and the same day should be
The day of birth, and death, and victory.’

He had four sons and one daughter.

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No. 116.

SIR WILLIAM LYNCH.

IN PASTEL.

DIED 1785.

_Blue coat. Red collar and cuffs._

SON of Dr. Lynch, Dean of Glastonbury, friend of the first Lord Bath’s. Was Member of Parliament for Canterbury and other places.

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No. 117.

ARCHBISHOP JUXON.

BY VANDYCK.

BORN 1582, DIED 1663.

_In Bishop’s robes._

THE son of Richard Juxon of Chichester, in Sussex, where he was born. Educated at Merchant Taylors’ School, and in 1598 elected a Fellow of St. John’s, Oxford. Destined for the bar, he studied civil law at the University, and took his degree of B.C.L. in 1603, having already entered as student at Gray’s Inn.

He changed his mind, however, and read divinity with much diligence, took Orders, and was granted a living by his College,—St. Giles’s, Oxford; but he removed in 1614 to Somerton, in the same county. In the east window of this church is his paternal coat of arms.

He kept up his connection with the University, and was much esteemed by Laud, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. This remarkable man, destined to play so conspicuous a part in public life, was then President of St. John’s College, an office which he resigned in 1621, and it was chiefly owing to his exertions that Juxon was chosen to succeed him. In the same year Juxon became Doctor of Laws, and later on Vice-Chancellor of the University. Laud, who was first Bishop of Bath and Wells, and then of London, and high in favour with Charles I., interested the King in Juxon’s preferment. He was appointed Chaplain-in-Ordinary to His Majesty, Dean of Worcester, and Prebendary of Chichester, and, at Laud’s particular request, Clerk of the Closet. This was in 1632, and Laud’s object in the choice was said to have been his ‘desire to have some one he could trust near the royal person, should he himself grow weak or infirm.’

New honours crowded on Dr. Juxon. He was elected to the Bishopric of Hereford in 1633, and made Dean of the King’s Chapel, but before consecration was translated to the See of London, Laud having become Primate of England. Laud, it seems, had made himself unpopular in the diocese with many of its members, but the mild and genial temper of the new Bishop gained him much respect and kindly feeling. The Archbishop of Canterbury desired above most things the aggrandisement of Churchmen, and their preferment to public offices of State, and for that aim he worked both for himself and his friend.

Dr. Juxon was, through his influence, raised to the office of Lord High Treasurer, a post which had not been filled by a Churchman since the reign of Henry VII., and this step was much cavilled at by the greater part of the nation, especially by many members of noble families who considered themselves (from their position at least) better fitted for the situation than a clergyman hitherto little known beyond the precincts of his College, and only two years in the possession of a mitre. Loud and angry were the invectives poured on the Government, but more particularly on the Primate,—the Puritans, Laud’s bitter enemies, being most violent on the occasion.

Juxon, in the meanwhile, by his wisdom and discretion, and the excellency of his administration, disarmed the anger of most of those who were so averse to his nomination, and, says Chalmers, ‘when the Republican party ransacked every office for causes of impeachment, sequestration, and death, they found nothing to object to in Bishop Juxon.’

In 1641 he was one of the few manly and generous-hearted Englishmen who defended the cause of Strafford. On the passing of the bill of attainder, which he had strenuously opposed, the Lord High Treasurer resigned his office, and retired to his palace at Fulham, where he remained quietly for some time, unshaken in his loyalty to the King, and often visited by persons of distinction, many of whom consulted him and valued his advice. Charles paid him this tribute: ‘I will say, I never got his opinion freely in my life, but when I had it, I was ever the better for it.’

By consent of the Parliament, Juxon waited on the King at the treaty in the Isle of Wight, 1648, and by Charles’s particular desire, at Cotton House, in Westminster, in January of the following year, at the commencement of the trial.

He now never left the King, who found in this excellent Churchman the greatest comfort and support. He stood beside his royal master on the scaffold, and when the last moment was approaching, ‘There is, sir,’ he said, ‘but one stage more, which, though turbulent and troublesome, is still a very short one. It will soon carry you a great way: it will carry you from earth to heaven, and there you shall find, to your great joy, the prize to which you hasten—a crown of glory.’

‘I go,’ said Charles, ‘from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown, where no disturbance can be.’

‘You are exchanged,’ said Juxon, ‘from a temporal to an eternal crown—a good exchange.’

In taking his last leave of his faithful and devoted friend, Charles looked at him earnestly and said, ‘Remember!’ delivering at the same time his diamond George, to be given to his son.

The King’s last word brought down upon the Bishop the wrath and curiosity of the regicides. They insisted on knowing what it signified.

They insisted also on Juxon’s betraying the confidence of his Sovereign, by detailing all his last conversations. So far the Bishop answered, that the King had charged him to instil into his son’s mind the necessity of forgiving his murderers, and that the word ‘Remember’ had reference to this admonition; but this did not satisfy the suspicions of the inquirers. He accompanied the body to Windsor, where the cruelty of those in power forbade him to read the Funeral Service over the beloved remains. The Commonwealth deprived Juxon of his bishopric, and he retired to his private estate of Little Compton in Gloucestershire, where he remained for some time without molestation, occasionally indulging in the relaxation of field sports, to which he, in common with his Grace the Archbishop, was much addicted.

At the Restoration he was raised to the Primacy, and at the Coronation he placed the crown on the head of Charles II. During the short period of his Archbishopric, Juxon enlarged and improved Lambeth and Croydon Palaces, and greatly ameliorated the clerical state of the See. He died of a painful disease in 1663, and was interred with great pomp in St. John’s College, Oxford, near the tomb of his friend and patron, Archbishop Laud. He left considerable sums to be laid out in Fellowships for his favourite College, and many charitable bequests. His reputation for moderation, piety, learning, and unswerving loyalty can scarcely be questioned. Not many of his genuine writings are extant.

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No. 118.

WILLIAM LAUD, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.

By VANDYCK.

BORN 1573, BEHEADED 1645.

_In Bishop’s robes_.

SON of a clothier at Reading. Became Fellow of St. John’s College, Oxford, and afterwards took Orders. Was very vehement; very much opposed to the Puritans; had many different livings; named chaplain to James I., whom he accompanied to Scotland. Was Prebendary of Westminster; consecutively Bishop of St. David’s, Bath and Wells, and London, and subsequently Prime Minister, and Archbishop of Canterbury. In 1622 he held a famous conference with Fisher the Jesuit, in the presence of the Duke of Buckingham and his mother, who were wavering in their allegiance to the Protestant faith, and were fixed therein by the eloquence of Laud. Yet it was said of him that he was more than once tempted to abjure his religion by the offer of a Cardinal’s Hat; each time, however, he gave an emphatic denial. He was very strict respecting the revision and licensing of published books by high ecclesiastical authority, and was concerned in several prosecutions of the Star-Chamber against Bishop Williams, the Master of Westminster School, etc. etc. When the Parliament was abruptly dissolved in 1639, Laud was attacked in his palace at Lambeth by the mob. He had indeed made himself unpopular with the people at large, and with the House of Commons; and on the accusation of Sir Henry Vane, he was sent to the Tower in 1641, where he was detained three years, and treated with great severity. In 1644 he was tried, and though the treasonable charges were not proved, the bill of attainder was passed. He made an eloquent defence; but all in vain. The execution of Strafford was the forerunner of his own, and he suffered death on Tower Hill, displaying great courage. Clarendon says: ‘Such learning, piety, and virtue have been attained by few, and the greatest of his infirmities are common to all men.’

Of all the prelates of the Anglican Church, Lord Macaulay says, Laud departed furthest from the principles of the Reformation, and nearest to Rome. He hated Calvinism, loved forms and ceremonies, and advocated celibacy among the clergy, all of which opinions made him an object of abhorrence to the Puritans, and there was no love lost. Every corner of the realm, every separate congregation, nay, it was said the private devotions of individuals, were subjected to the supervision of his spies. Unfortunately for himself and the country, Charles was influenced in all public matters by the precepts of the Primate. He was a staunch friend, a genial companion, shrewd and witty, and fond of field sports. In fact, all his tastes and qualities endeared him to Lord Strafford, as we have mentioned in the notice of that remarkable man.

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_BEDROOM A_.

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BEDROOM A.

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No. 119.

PHILIP, FOURTH EARL OF PEMBROKE.

BY VANDYCK.

DIED 1649-50.

_Tawny coat. Blue bows. Ribbon, Collar, and Order of Garter._

HE was the second son of Henry Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, by the beautiful and talented Mary Sidney, the ‘Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother,’ of ‘rare Ben Jonson,’ or, as Spenser describes her, ‘the gentlest shepherdess that most resembled both in shape, and spirit, her brother dear.’ Surely those who trace the inheritance of maternal qualities of mind in the child, are at fault in this instance. Philip received his education at New College, Oxford, but he was so illiterate that he could scarcely write his name. He went to Court at an early age; Rowland White, that amusing gossip, calls him ‘Little Master Philip Herbert,’ and three years afterwards says, ‘he is the forwardest courtier that ever I saw, for he had not been here (at Court) two hours than he grew as bold as the best.’

The young man was at that time engaged in seeking a wife, and sued (unsuccessfully) the daughter, first of his kinsman, Sir William Herbert, and afterwards of Sir Arthur Gorges. In 1604, however, he espoused Susan, daughter of Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, the ceremony being performed with great pomp and magnificence. The King himself sent a fine present.

Sir Thomas Edmonds, in a letter to Gilbert Earl of Shrewsbury, (whose daughter, the Countess of Pembroke, was sister-in-law to Philip Herbert,) says, ‘The gifts of gloves and garters alone amounted to wellnigh a thousand pounds.’ The same authority, speaking of Herbert’s growing favour with James I., says, ‘he is desirous to doe all men goode, and to hurte no man.’ But another contemporary seems nearer the truth when he observes, ‘Sir Philip is intolerable, choleric, and offensive, and did not refrain to break wiser heads than his own.’ He was constantly involved in some quarrel through his arrogance and insolence; and once being at some races at Croydon, he so raised the ire of Ramsay, afterwards Earl of Holdernesse, that the enraged Scot inflicted personal chastisement on Herbert, in the sight of the whole course.

But James made him Privy Councillor, and in 1605 Baron Herbert of Hurland, Isle of Sheppey, and Earl of Montgomery. He was already a Knight of the Bath, and shortly afterwards he received the Garter. Other dignities followed, and on the accession of Charles I., that King continued to distinguish this most unworthy man.

He was made Chamberlain, and Warden of the Stannaries; he is said to have beaten one Thomas May with his Chamberlain’s staff in the banqueting-hall at Whitehall, and to have so far tyrannised over the people of Devon and Cornwall as to have endangered a rising in those counties. Charles I., whose kindness of heart so often betrayed him into culpable weakness, bore with Lord Montgomery’s misconduct for some time, but after a disgraceful scene in the House of Lords between him and the Earl of Arundel, in which blows are said actually to have passed, the King availed himself of this opening to choose another Chamberlain.

Indeed both Lords were committed to the Tower for a time, and from that moment the Earl of Pembroke (for he had succeeded to the ancestral honours on the death of his brother) forsook the master who had laden him with benefits. He ranged himself with the King’s bitterest enemies, and in 1642, being appointed one of the committee that waited on His Majesty at Newmarket, he urged (and that in so unbecoming a manner) that the King should relinquish the control of the militia to the Parliament, that Charles exclaimed indignantly, ‘No, by God! not for an hour. You have asked that of me, was never asked of a king before.’ Lord Pembroke was employed several times in negotiating between the King and Parliament; he became Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, where he was deservedly unpopular. He spoke in the House in a most intemperate and even absurd manner, and in 1649 accepted a seat, as representative for the county of Berks, in Cromwell’s House of Commons. In the January following he died. By his first wife he had seven sons, of whom the fourth, Philip, succeeded him in his titles and estates, and three daughters. His second wife was the celebrated Anne Clifford, daughter and heir of George, third Earl of Cumberland, and widow of Richard Sackville, third Earl of Dorset. He treated her shamefully, endeavouring to force her to give her daughter Lady Isabella Sackville in marriage to one of his younger sons, striving hard to get possession of the young lady’s portion. In a letter to her uncle, the Earl of Bedford, Lady Pembroke says, ‘I dare not venture to come up without his leave, leste he should find occasion to turne mee out of this house, as he did at Whitehalle.’

She fortunately survived her tyrant many years. Lodge gives at length a most amusing lampoon, purporting to be Philip Earl of Pembroke’s last will and testament. It was attributed to Samuel Butler.

We have only space for a few extracts:—‘_Imprimis_, for my soule, I confesse I have heard a great deal about souls, but what they are, and what they are for, God knowes, I knowe not. They tell mee of another worlde, I knowe not one foot of the way thither. When the King stood I was of his religion, then came the Scot and made me a Presbyterian, and since Cromwell I have been an Independent. I will not be buried in the church porch because I was a Lord. I will have no monument, because then I must have an epitaph, and verses, and all my life long I have had too much of them. _Item_, I give nothing to the Lord Say, because I knowe he will bestowe it on the poore. To the two Countesses, my sister and wife, I give leave now to enjoy their estates. _Item_, I give fifty pounds to the footman who cudgelled Sir Harry Mildmay, whom I threatened but did not beat. _Item_, As I restore other men’s wordes, I give to Lieutenant-Generall Cromwell one worde of mine, because hitherto he never kept his owne, etc. etc. I give up the ghoste.’

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No. 120.

ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF BOHEMIA.

BY HONTHORST.

BORN 1596, DIED 1662.

_Black and gold dress. Ruff. Small crown. Fan in her hand._

THE eldest daughter of James I. by Anne of Denmark, born in the Palace of Falkland, North Britain. On the accession of her father to the English Crown, the young Princess was intrusted to the care of the Countess of Kildare, daughter to Charles Howard, Earl of Nottingham, Lord High Admiral of England, James himself taking pleasure in occasionally presiding over his daughter’s studies. She afterwards went to reside with Lord and Lady Harrington at Combe Abbey, county Warwick, where she was very happy in the society of genial companions. Lord Harrington had two children—a son, who became the chosen friend of Henry Prince of Wales, and a daughter, Lucia, (afterwards Countess of Bedford,) whose beauty and learning inspired the muse of Dryden, Donne, and other poets. Lord Harrington’s niece, Anne Dudley, was, however, the Princess’s favourite playmate, and remained her fast friend in all her wanderings. The only drawback to Elizabeth’s residence at Combe Abbey seems to have been the separation of brother and sister, for dearly did she love the Prince of Wales, and a touching little note is extant, written by her to Henry when he was only eight years of age: ‘Most dear and worthy brother, I most kindly salute you, desiring to hear of you. From whom, though I am now removed far away, none shall ever be nearer in affection, than your most loving sister, Elizabeth.’

While staying at Combe, the Princess was treated most royally on all occasions, and there is a picturesque account of her first visit to Coventry, when only eight years old:—

‘She was sufficiently expert in horsemanship to have headed the procession, but the degeneracy of the age was attested by their substituting a line of coaches, in one of which sat the gracious child, who bore her part bravely with the Worshipful the Mayor, the burghers, etc. etc.’

Even at that tender age Elizabeth was remarkable for that winning gentleness of manner and sweet courtesy, which, in after times, gained for her the title of ‘Queen of Hearts;’ but we have no space to linger over the details of the childhood of one whose after life was so eventful. When about sixteen, several overtures of marriage were made and rejected; amongst others, the hero, Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, sought her hand.

Her parents were at variance on the subject, the Queen declaring her daughter should marry none but a Sovereign, while James, though loving her dearly, was less ambitious.

Frederick Elector Palatine had made himself acceptable to the King of Great Britain by his staunch support of the Protestant faith. He came to England as a suitor to the Princess Elizabeth, saw, loved, and was beloved in return. The Queen was much disgusted at her daughter’s choice, and sneered at her as ‘Goody Palsgrave,’ but Elizabeth, backed by her father and her brother, was proof against ridicule, and declared she would rather marry a Protestant Count than a Catholic Emperor. A deep sorrow was in store, not only for the Royal family, but for the whole nation, in the death of Henry Prince of Wales, the idol of his father’s subjects, but to Elizabeth the loss was irreparable. The marriage, however, took place on Valentine’s Day 1613, with much pomp, and the union was very popular in England in spite of the Queen’s ill-temper, James’s vacillating humour, and the new Prince of Wales’s milder dislike to the bridegroom. In a letter to the Duke of Buckingham he says: ‘Steenie, I send you herewith two letters for my sister, and brother. I place them so, because I think the grey mare the better horse.’

Nor was he quite singular in his opinion.

The bride was accompanied by a goodly retinue of countrymen and countrywomen on her voyage, and many of them remained in her service, and shared her chequered fortunes. The newly-married pair took up their abode at Heidelberg, the capital of the Palatinate. Elizabeth’s reception in her new country was, indeed, one calculated to delight her imagination, and gratify her heart. Frederick and his people planned all sorts of picturesque surprises, to which the lovely scenery of the Rhine formed a charming background, while his excellent mother and sisters vied with each other in extending a cordial welcome to the English Princess. At Heidelberg they passed many happy years, leading useful and contented lives, doing good in their generation, beautifying and improving all within their reach, and welcoming to their Court not only the distinguished men of the country, but such old friends as Lord and Lady Harrington, the poet Donne, and others.

Frederick took great delight in planning and carrying into execution a beautiful garden, on the slope which surrounds the castle, for his wife’s delectation, where her sweet spirit seems still to hover, at least to the English pilgrim who visits the shrine of which she was once the idol.

Alas for the ambition that lured them from this happy home! ‘that preferred to eat bread at a kingly board rather than feast at an electoral table,’ though, doubtless, the zeal of both husband and wife for the Protestant cause weighed in their decision.

Schiller has told the story better than we can. We shall therefore only remind our readers, as briefly as possible, of the principal incidents in which the Elector and his wife were implicated. The kingdom of Bohemia, hitherto elective, had just been made hereditary, but the king, Ferdinand, was a strong Papist, and therefore most unpopular with the Bohemians, who were staunch Reformers.

They revolted, formed a Provisional Government, offered the Crown (which was refused) to the Dukes of Savoy and of Saxony, and finally to the Elector Palatine, who accepted it.

The King of England tried to dissuade his son-in-law from this step, but his mother and her family and his beloved wife added their persuasions to his own half-formed decision, and Frederick and Elizabeth were crowned King and Queen of Bohemia. The ceremony took place in the beautiful city of Prague, with all the pomp and circumstance of secular and religious magnificence. The Emperor Ferdinand now issued a ban, proclaiming Frederick a traitor, depriving him at the same time of his Electoral dignity, while he made preparations to march on Bohemia.

The English people were eager to assist their favourite Princess, but James ignored the newly-gained title, and refused supplies, although his daughter wrote earnest appeals for help. The battle of Prague, on the 9th of November 1620, was one of the most decisive and memorable of the war in question; the newly-made Sovereigns were compelled to fly, and a hard journey through the winter’s snow (partly on horseback, and partly in a coach) was heroically endured by Elizabeth, then many months gone with child.

The fugitives went first to Breslau, but were hunted from one place to another, till they took refuge in Holland. Indeed, it was to the liberality of the Princes of Nassau, combined with casual supplies from private parties in England, that they were indebted for their support.

It was a sad and humiliating position for the daughter of a line of kings, and vulgar satire and petty spite were of course directed against her in her misfortunes. A print, published at Antwerp, is we believe still extant, representing this Queen (at least in name) as a poor beggar-woman, with dishevelled hair, her baby at her back, and her husband carrying the cradle. But though fortune frowned on her, Elizabeth never wanted for friends. Her courage, her dignity, and her genial warmth of heart made her the object of respectful but devoted affection.

The Knights, so to speak, who wore her colours were numerous, and mostly illustrious in military fame,—the hero Gustavus Adolphus, Duke Christian of Brunswick, Count Thurn, and above all, her faithful and lasting friend, Lord Craven, whose heart, sword, and purse were always at her disposal. No one ever merited better that Crown of an elective monarchy, the only one that now remained to her, for even among the common soldiers of the army she was known and acknowledged as Queen of Hearts. The accession of her brother to the Crown of England brought back a gleam of hope that the Palatinate at least might be recovered. But Charles’s exertions in his sister’s behalf were only half-measures. Not so the zeal displayed by the noble King of Sweden, whose services were only terminated with his life; he died a hero’s death at the battle of Lützen in 1632, Frederick surviving him but a few months, to mourn his loss. That unfortunate Prince died at Mentz in the thirty-sixth year of his age, absent from his beloved wife, whom he consigned with his dying breath to the care of Henry of Nassau, a Prince whose affection for the exiles had been cemented by his union with Amelia of Solms, a chosen friend of Elizabeth’s amongst the ladies of her Court.

The unhappy widow addressed a memorial to the States of Holland, in which she says: ‘It has pleased Almighty God to call from this scene of woe my ever and most entirely beloved consort, and what renders the calamity more overwhelming is, that it followed immediately that of his ally, the glorious, the invincible King of Sweden, and on the eve of our triumph.’

Poor Elizabeth, whose sanguine disposition had held out so long! She was not alone in her distress; her children mourned their father with passionate sorrow, while the aged Princess, the Electress Juliana, strove to restrain her own feelings, in order to administer comfort to the widow of her beloved Frederick.

Elizabeth resided for some years at The Hague, busying herself with the care and education of her sons and daughters. Her family was so numerous, and their several destinies so varied and eventful, that we have no space to attempt any details.

Charles I., it will be remembered, invited two of his nephews over to England, of whom the younger, Prince Rupert, became naturalised, and did his uncle gallant service in the field.

The ex-Queen employed her time in conversation, and in correspondence with men of literature and science, taking also great delight in the exercise of hunting, being a fearless horsewoman. The management of her household she intrusted to her devoted friend, Lord Craven, who entered the service of the States in order to be near her, and it has commonly been believed that they were privately married.

So fervent was her attachment to the Reformed faith, that on her brother’s sending Sir Harry Vane, to persuade her into compliance with his proposal that her eldest son should go to Vienna, and espouse an Austrian Princess, which step would entail his becoming a Catholic, she indignantly replied she would rather kill him with her own hand.

This same son treated his mother most unkindly, and refused her all pecuniary aid in her distress.

Charles II., on his Restoration, invited his aunt to return to England, and she landed at Margate. How wonderful was the contrast between her return and her embarkation from that same place on the occasion of her marriage!

In the meanwhile the King had raised Lord Craven to an earldom. This unwavering and loyal friend conducted Elizabeth to his own home, called Drury House, surrounded by a delightful garden, where she took up her abode.

Drury Lane Theatre was built on the site of the garden, but a tavern existed near Craven Court, called ‘The Queen of Bohemia,’ on the door of which was an equestrian portrait of Lord Craven. The building was standing as late as 1794. It would appear that Elizabeth did not go to Court, although Pepys mentions her accompanying the King to the theatres, sometimes attended by Lord Craven. But at his house she had a little Court of her own, and all that hospitality, generosity, and the most refined consideration for his royal guest, wife, or friend, could suggest, was lavished upon her by her noble-hearted host. Here too she was once more united to her favourite and dutiful son, Prince Rupert. In the autumn she changed her residence, and went to Leicester House, belonging to Lord Leicester. But her health, which had been slowly undermined, now gave way; she prepared for the end, and made her will, leaving her books, pictures, (a most interesting collection may be seen at Combe Abbey,) and papers to Lord Craven. She died on the 13th of February 1662.

Lord Leicester, in speaking of his ‘royal tenant,’ says with some flippancy, ‘It is a pity she did not live a few hours more, to die on her wedding-day; and that there is not so good a poet as Dr. Donne to write her epitaph, as he did her epithalamium unto St. Valentine.’

She was interred with much pomp in Westminster Abbey; Lord Craven was occupied at that time in constructing a house for her reception at Hamstead Marshall, county Berks, which was destined to be a miniature Heidelberg, but it was burnt to the ground before it was completed. The gate-posts, which are all that remain of the building, bear an Electoral Crown, entwined with the coronet of an English Earl, carved thereon.

It is strange to reflect that Elizabeth, who was deprived of her titles of Electress and Queen, should be the ancestress of every crowned head in Europe at this moment.

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No. 121.

FRANCIS BACON, BARON VERULAM, AND
VISCOUNT ST. ALBANS.

BORN 1561, DIED 1626.

_Black dress. Ruff. Cloak. High hat._

THE second son of Sir Nicholas Bacon, by Anne, daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke, sister-in-law to Lord Burghley. Nicholas was Keeper of the Great Seal to Queen Elizabeth, who, visiting him one day at Gorhambury, observed that the house was too small for him. ‘No, Madam,’ replied the courtier, ‘it is you who have made me too big for my house.’

The Queen had a great liking for little Francis, and delighted in asking him questions, which the boy generally answered pertinently.

‘Come hither,’ she said to him one day, ‘and tell me how old you are.’

‘Just two years younger than your Majesty’s happy reign.’

The reply pleased Elizabeth, who in these early days dubbed the child jestingly ‘My Lord Keeper.’

Francis Bacon was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. He accompanied Sir Amias Powlett on his embassy to Paris, and was employed in several diplomatic missions, but the sudden death of his father brought him back to England. Finding himself unprovided for, he studied the law with great zeal at Gray’s Inn; but he did not succeed for some time in getting any official employment, which was his aim. He formed a close friendship with Lord Essex, which displeased his relations of the Cecil faction, who in consequence were not willing to exert themselves in his behalf, save perhaps by obtaining the reversion of the office of Registrar-General. He also sat in the House of Commons.

In 1596, the post of Solicitor-General being vacant, Lord Essex endeavoured to obtain it for Bacon, but, failing in this attempt, was much disgusted, and, we are told, went over from Richmond to his friend at Twickenham to tell him so. The particulars of this interview are related by Bacon himself—Lord Essex expressing the anger he felt towards the Queen for denying his suit, and thanking Bacon ‘for that you have spent your time and thoughts in my matters,’ pressed on his acceptance a piece of land, _i.e._ Twickenham Park, with a delightful house denominated ‘The Garden of Paradise.’

Essex also strove, but with the same lack of success, to assist Bacon in his design of forming a wealthy matrimonial alliance. Lady Hatton, (born Cecil,) granddaughter to Lord Burghley, and therefore a cousin of Bacon’s, was the rich widow of Sir William Hatton, nephew and heir to the Lord Chancellor. The lady was witty, capricious, violent in temper, and of a worldly spirit, but all these qualities were thickly gilded, and Francis Bacon was needy.

Lord Essex once more stood his friend, and wrote to the lady’s father and mother, to the effect that ‘were she my sister or daughter, I would as confidently resolve to further the match as I now persuade you.’

But the wayward fair one had fixed her fancy elsewhere, and instead of her handsome and accomplished cousin—a rising man between thirty and forty—she preferred crabbed old Sir Edward Coke, a widower of advanced age, ‘to whom there were seven objections—himself and his six children.’ She induced her elderly lover (the future Chief-Justice) to elope with her, and the marriage was performed in so irregular a manner, that the newly-married pair were summoned before the Ecclesiastical Court.

Not content with running off with Bacon’s mistress, Sir Edward Coke gained the post of Solicitor-General—thus bearing away the two prizes. But if Francis Bacon had any revengeful feelings against his rival in love and law, he might be consoled by learning that Sir Edward had a sad life of it with his rich wife, till she left him, his very children being taught by her to neglect and disobey him.

Bacon did not prove grateful for the friendly attempts, however unsuccessful, which Essex had made to serve him.

When the favourite fell into disgrace, he came forward to plead against him at the bar, and, not contented with so doing, published a pamphlet accusing the prisoner of treason, and the like. It was supposed that he hoped by so doing to ingratiate himself with the Queen, in which aim he failed, and finding he was much censured, he prepared an apology for his conduct, which he addressed to the Earl of Devonshire, the attached friend of the Lord Essex. Disappointed in his hopes of public employment, our philosopher now devoted himself to scientific studies, and to the prosecution of those labours and those writings which have rendered his name immortal and gained for it a world-wide fame.

The next Sovereign was more propitious, for James I. was a great admirer of Bacon’s genius and learning, while he on his part was very useful to the King in the House of Commons. He became Solicitor-General, Attorney-General, etc., Baron Verulam, Viscount St. Albans, and Lord Chancellor of England. But troublous times were in store for the new peer. He was now very unpopular in the country, and all the more so for his adherence to the falling fortunes of the Duke of Buckingham, while Sir Edward Coke proved a dangerous enemy. He was first charged with corruption in having accepted large bribes from two suitors in Chancery, an accusation that was fully proved; and although the Upper House, to which he had just been admitted, showed a willingness to deal leniently with him, fresh and startling disclosures of the same nature, followed fast one upon another. James evinced much sympathy for Lord St. Albans, and thought to serve him by procuring an adjournment of Parliament, which only gave his enemies time to gather more evidence against him. The accused deemed it the most prudent course to make a full confession of his guilt, which he did in a letter universally cited as a model of style and eloquence.

The letter was presented by Henry Prince of Wales, but was of no avail. Lord St. Albans was deprived of the Great Seal, and sentenced to a fine of £40,000, or to be imprisoned in the Tower; also to be declared incapable of holding any public office or sitting in Parliament for the future.

James, however, soon released him, and remitted the whole of the sentence, with the exception of the Parliamentary prohibition. Lord St. Albans never again succeeded in obtaining any employment, although his means were so necessitous that he did not disdain to apply for the Provostship of Eton College, and was much mortified by receiving a flat denial. The remainder of his life was given to study, but the most important of his works were, curiously enough, written during the years of his official life.

The great philosopher was no true lover. He wrote in slighting terms of the tender passion, such as: ‘Amongst all the great and worthy persons, of whom the memory remaineth, either in modern or ancient times, there hath not been one man transported to the mad degree of love, which shows that great spirits and great business do keep out this weak passion.’ Might one dare to call in question the validity of so great a man’s opinion?

We have seen what strenuous efforts he made to marry an unamiable woman for her wealth, and late in life he sought the hand of Alice Barnham, daughter to a rich London alderman—‘pour les beaux yeaux de sa cassette’ alone.

The marriage was most unhappy. They lived for some time together on wretched terms, and at length separated, the husband, in his last will, revoking every bequest he had made in his wife’s favour, and only leaving her what she might claim by settlement. Seldom could the line of ‘the ruling passion strong in death’ be more appropriately applied than in the case of Bacon, who indeed fell a victim to his love for scientific research.

Journeying from Gravesend to Gorhambury with the King’s physician (a congenial spirit) in winter, they fell into a discussion which caused them to set about making the experiment whether snow and ice would prove efficient substitutes for salt in the preservation of dead flesh.

The two companions immediately began to search for snow, and having found a sufficient quantity, they entered a cottage, and purchased a fowl, which Lord St. Albans stuffed with snow with his own hands.

The weather was intensely cold, and he was shortly taken with a shivering fit, and became so alarmingly ill that he could not prosecute his journey, but was conveyed to a house in the neighbourhood, belonging to Lord Arundel. A splendid house, as it appears, and the servants placed their noble guest in the state bed, but alas! the room was cold, the sheets damp, and the consequences fatal.

In his last moments he seems to have found consolation in likening himself to the elder Pliny, who fell a victim to his scientific ardour, being suffocated by the fumes of Vesuvius from having approached too near the raging crater, in order to investigate the phenomena of the eruption. Bacon—we call him by the name he generally bears as an author—died on Easter Day, in the arms of Sir Julius Cesar. He was of middle height, limbs well formed, but not strongly built, ample forehead, bright eyes and genial smile, with deep lines of thought on his face, as became a philosopher. His manners were attractive. He was fond of the country and rural pursuits, and found a relaxation from profound study in gardening and planting.

His faithful secretary erected a noble monument to his beloved patron in St. Michael’s Church, at St. Albans, with an excellent portrait of the great philosopher sitting in a chair, his head resting thoughtfully on his hand. He appears to have been in constant pecuniary difficulties, having once been actually arrested for debt, and dying insolvent. He deplored his childlessness, for though children, he said, increase the cares of life, they mitigate the remembrance of death—laying, however, the flattering unction to his soul, that great men have no continuance.

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No. 122.

FREDERICK, KING OF BOHEMIA.

BY HONTHORST.

BORN 1596, DIED 1632.

_Brown and gold slashed dress. Blue mantle. Blue ribbon. Ruff._