Chapter IX: Part 9

THE family history of Frederick, Elector Palatine, afterwards King of Bohemia, bears so materially on the public history of the time, and the events of the Thirty Years’ War, that we must be held excused if we go back some three generations to notice circumstances which tended not only to shape the career of this Prince, but to influence the destinies of all Germany.

Jacqueline de Longwy, wife of Louis de Bourbon, Duke of Montpensier, was secretly but deeply devoted to the Reformed faith, and she contrived, contrary to her husband’s wishes, to effect a union between her eldest daughter and the Prince of Sedan, a zealous Calvinist.

Enraged beyond measure, the Duke forced his youngest daughter Charlotte into a convent, but not before the girl (then only eighteen years of age) had, at her mother’s instigation, signed a protest against this compulsory step, at the same time declaring her strong predilection for the religion of her mother. Charlotte remained for seven years (during which time the Duchess of Montpensier died) at Jouarre in Normandy, where she became Lady Abbess.

In 1572 hostilities commenced between the Catholics and Protestants, and the gates of Jouarre, in common with those of many other religious houses, were thrown open by the latter party. Charlotte, finding herself free to follow the faith in which her mother had reared her, gladly availed herself of her liberty, taking refuge first with her sister, the Princess of Sedan, and afterwards going to reside at Heidelberg, under the guardianship of the Elector Palatine, where she openly abjured the creed of Rome.

Charlotte was an enthusiast in all things, and a hero-worshipper, and even before they had ever met, the fame of the Protestant champion, William ‘the Silent,’ Prince of Orange, had inflamed her fancy.

His valour, his religion, his patriotism, all rendered him an object of admiration in her eyes. She was desirous to consecrate her life to one whose every feeling and opinion were in harmony with her own; nor was the Prince insensible to the preference of a woman distinguished alike for nobility of character and birth, as well as for courage, while the fame of her personal charms might be supposed to weigh somewhat in the scale. William had divorced his first wife for her infidelity, and married the daughter of Maurice of Saxony, on whose death he asked the hand of Charlotte de Montpensier. But there were those who objected to the match on the plea that his first consort was still living. Charlotte’s vows of celibacy were also adduced as an impediment, although they had been compulsory, and her change of faith had made them null and void by a decree which was confirmed by the Parliament of Paris.

The lovers now eagerly sought the consent of the Duke of Montpensier, who not only bestowed the paternal benediction, but enhanced its value by a considerable dower, and so, three years from the time Charlotte de Montpensier left her convent, she became the bride of the Prince of Orange.

Their happiness was complete, and for a while uninterrupted, but mischief was pending. The Spanish tyrant, Philip II., had set a large sum on the head of the patriot Prince, and a miscreant was found willing to attempt his life. As William was sitting, surrounded by his family, in the palace at Antwerp, a shot was fired in at the window, which wounded him severely, though not mortally.

The shot that was aimed at the husband, may well be said to have entered the wife’s heart. She swooned away, and though she rallied sufficiently to nurse him as he lay for some time between life and death, yet the shock to her system, from the alternations of hope and fear, fatigue and excitement, proved too much for her strength. She lived to kneel by William’s side in the thanksgiving service for his recovery, but she drooped gradually, and died gently, with the beloved name on her lips, mourned not only by her husband and family, but by the whole nation.

In Louisa, daughter of the Admiral de Coligny, the Prince of Orange gave his children a kind and judicious stepmother, who reared them with tenderness, and presided carefully over their education.

Juliana, Charlotte’s eldest daughter, was destined to take an important part in the religious struggles of Germany. She was a woman of remarkable energy, wisdom, and courage, and (following in the footsteps of her illustrious parents) devotedly attached to the Reformed Faith. She married the Elector Palatine, and was the mother of Frederick, afterwards King of Bohemia. On the death of her husband, the widowed Electress was named Regent and co-guardian with her young kinsman the Duke de deux Ponts, who usually deferred to her matured judgment in matters both public and private. She managed the affairs of the Palatinate with masculine energy, always making the interests of the Reformed Church her principal object. While yet in their respective cradles, Juliana had, in her own mind, betrothed her first-born to the Princess-Royal Elizabeth of England, and she now devoted her thoughts to giving her son the best education within her reach. The Duke de Bouillon had married Juliana’s sister as his second wife, and at Sedan they held a small Court, which was the resort of the flower of the Protestant youth of France, Switzerland, and Germany. Here the young men were not only encouraged to shine in military exercises and courtly manners, but they were invited to pursue their academical studies, strengthened in the tenets of the Reformation, both by precept and example.

In this wholesome atmosphere the young Elector Palatine passed his early years, much beloved by his relations, the Duke and Duchess de Bouillon, and doing honour to their fostering care. His studies completed, Frederick returned to Heidelberg, and was received with pride and joy by his mother. Singularly handsome, of polished manners, skilled in all the athletic exercises and the accomplishments which were considered indispensable in the education of a royal prince, the young Elector added to these gifts a piety, earnestness, and gentleness of heart which made Juliana believe him fitted to captivate the fancy of the most noble among the princesses of Christendom. She had relations and connections on all sides, but especially in the house of Nassau, who were willing and capable to assist her in her schemes for the happiness of her son, and the advancement of the Protestant religion, and we have already seen, in the notice of Elizabeth, daughter of James I., how successful was the Elector’s suit. On his return to Heidelberg with his bride, they lived an almost ideal life of domestic happiness, until the offer was made to Frederick to accept the crown of Bohemia, and place himself at the head of the Protestant party, the Bohemians having revolted from the Emperor.

Frederick is said to have hesitated to break up the happy life which contented his affectionate and unambitious nature, but the two women he loved best, Juliana and Elizabeth, were urgent in their persuasions, and successful.

Frederick was not only driven from Bohemia by the imperial army, but placed under the ban of the Empire, and stripped of his hereditary dominions, which were afterwards recovered by his son. An exile, a wanderer, a mere soldier of fortune, the chief consolation of Frederick’s sad life was the love of his wife and children, from whom, however, he was constantly separated. His health gave way under the pressure of sorrow of all kinds, aggravated by the untimely death of his eldest son, who was drowned before his eyes.

Frederick, having again joined the army, was in no fit state to bear with composure the news which reached him while still suffering from fever, of the death of his illustrious ally and devoted friend, Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, who fell at the battle of Lützen in the moment of victory. At a distance from his wife and children, Frederick’s last thoughts were of their welfare, and he implored the continued friendship and kindness of the Nassau Princes; entreating the King of England also to watch over his beloved Elizabeth.

Thus died the ex-King of Bohemia at the Castle of Mentz in the thirty-sixth year of his age. How many sad events had been crowded into that short space of time! His brother caused him to be interred within the boundaries of his paternal home, but, dreading lest the sanctity of the grave might be violated, he afterwards directed that the body should be removed to Sedan. Thus the scene of Frederick’s happy and careless youth became his last resting-place.

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No. 123.

CHARLES GERARD, EARL OF MACCLESFIELD.

BY DOBSON.

DIED 1693.

_Head in oval. Green dress. Tagged shoulder-knot. Dark hair._

A LOYALIST. Was created Baron Gerard of Brandon by Charles I., 1645, and Earl of Macclesfield by Charles II., in 1672. He was succeeded by his son, who died childless, as did his successor in turn; when the title became extinct in the Gerard family.

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No. 124.

ALGERNON PERCY, EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

BY SIR PETER LELY.

BORN 1602, DIED 1668.

_Black dress. Blue ribbon._

THE third son of Henry Percy, ninth Earl of Northumberland, by Dorothy, daughter of Walter Devereux, Earl of Essex. Educated at Christ Church, Oxford, under Robert Hughes, the celebrated mathematician, and in 1616 was one of the youthful Knights of the Bath, at the creation of Charles Prince of Wales.

On the accession of that Prince to the Throne, he was called by writ to the House of Peers (his father being then alive) as Baron Percy.

He afterwards, as Privy Councillor, attended the King to Scotland for his coronation, having by that time succeeded to his father’s titles and estates.

In 1636 he had the command of a noble fleet, the largest, says Lodge, since the death of Queen Elizabeth.

Lord Northumberland was much commended for his services in the expedition against the Dutch fishery, making advantageous terms for the King of England, after which he turned his time and thoughts to reforming many abuses then prevalent in the navy.

In 1637 he was named Lord High Admiral, and in 1639 commander of the troops marching against the Scots, but was prevented—so he pleaded—from joining the army by illness, when the real command devolved on the Earl of Strafford. Clarendon says, ‘Lord Northumberland was chosen for ornament.’ It appears by a letter to his brother-in-law (Lord Leicester) that he had most gloomy forebodings as to the result of the enterprise, which, ‘it grieves my soul to be involved in.’ An incident occurred shortly afterwards, which does not redound to the credit of the Earl of Northumberland.

We will give an abridged account of Lord Clarendon’s version. Henry Percy, a zealous Royalist, brother to the Earl of Northumberland, was on his way to France, on the King’s service, just at the time that the Commons had petitioned Charles to prohibit any of his servants leaving England. Striving to embark, he was attacked and wounded by the people of the Sussex coast, and narrowly escaped with his life to a place of concealment, whence he wrote to his brother in a private and confidential manner. Northumberland carried the letter to the House of Commons (which had already voted an impeachment of high treason against Henry Percy), and laid the document upon the table. Clarendon makes but a lame defence for this conduct on the part of the elder brother, who was, he said, ‘in great trouble how to send Henry in safety beyond seas, when his wound was cured, he having taken shelter at Northumberland House.’

But the end of the matter was, that Henry did escape from England, and there was enmity between the brethren from that day forth. This was the first time in which Northumberland ‘showed his defection from the King’s cause, and Charles had been a good friend to him, and laden him with bounties.’

He acted in direct opposition to the King’s commands, when he obeyed those of the Parliament, to equip the royal navy, and to appoint the Earl of Warwick Admiral of the fleet.

In 1642 he resigned his commission of Lord High Admiral, and openly abandoned his allegiance, siding with the Parliamentarians, and though their faith was rather shaken in him on one occasion, he was too valuable an ally to quarrel with.

Northumberland was appointed head of the Commissioners employed to negotiate with the King, in the several treaties of Oxford, Uxbridge, etc., and was intrusted with the custody of the royal children, which he retained until the King’s death. It would appear that he had at least the grace to facilitate their interviews with their unhappy and loving father, and that he cared for the wellbeing of his royal wards. They were subsequently committed to the guardianship of his sister, the Countess of Leicester, and were removed to her Lord’s house of Penshurst in Kent.

Words, in truth, Lord Northumberland used to prevent the execution of the King, but his deeds had hastened the catastrophe. We are told he ‘detested the murder.’ Immediately after Charles’s death Northumberland repaired to his seat at Petworth, in Sussex, where he remained until 1660, when he joined Monck in his exertions to bring about the Restoration. He held no public office under Charles II. excepting the Lord Lieutenancies of Sussex and Northumberland. Clarendon, in a long character of him, says: ‘His temper and reservedness in discourse got him the reputation of a wise man. In his own family no one was ever more absolutely obeyed, or had fewer idle words to answer for;’ and, alluding to his defection from the Royal cause: ‘After he was first prevailed upon not to do that which in honour and gratitude he was obliged to, he was with the more facility led to concur in what in duty and fidelity he ought not to have done, and so he concurred in all the counsels which produced the rebellion, and stayed with them to support it.’

He took great delight in his gardens and plantations at Petworth, where he resided in the summer, but in the winter he was much in town, attending to his Parliamentary duties. He had two wives; the first was Lady Anne Cecil, daughter to Thomas, second Earl of Salisbury. On her death we hear Lord Northumberland ‘is a very sad man, and his sister (Lady Leicester) has gone to comfort him.’ By Lady Anne he had five daughters. His second wife was the second daughter of Theophilus Howard, second Earl of Suffolk, who brought him in Northumberland House in London, originally called Northampton House. Sion House had been granted by the Crown to the ninth Earl. Evelyn went to see it, and thought it ‘pretty, but the garden more celebrated, than it deserved.’

By Lady Elizabeth Howard, who long survived her husband, he had an only son and heir, and a daughter, who died unmarried. Algernon Earl of Northumberland was buried at Petworth, in Sussex.

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No. 125.

HELENA, PRINCESS RAGOTSKI, OR RACOZI, WIFE
OF COUNT EMERIC TEKELI OR TÖCKOLI.

_Three-quarters length. In widow’s weeds. Black wimple. The right wrist
is concealed by a handkerchief. Letter lying on the table. Castle
burning in the background._

THIS beautiful woman, whose life was a series of romantic adventures, misfortune, and privation, was the daughter of Count Serini, or Zrini, Ban of Croatia. He had involved himself in the struggles of the day, and was in arms against Leopold, the Emperor of Austria, in defence of Hungarian privileges. His associates in the undertaking numbered most of the noble names in Hungary, Count Nadasti, a high officer of State, Frangipani, a young nobleman of great promise, Trauttenbach, Governor of Styria, and others. Zrini’s daughter Helena (or as she is called in a contemporaneous novelette, purporting to be an account of her early adventures, ‘Aurora Venetia’) was of exceeding beauty, and had many suitors; but the fair one was reckoned cold and coy, and she showed no preference until the Count Emeric Tekeli entered the lists. So decided was her predilection in his favour, that she persuaded her father to give his consent to their betrothal, but Zrini had at heart to gain over Prince Francis Ragotski (whose father had been a staunch upholder of Hungarian liberty) to the same cause, and he in consequence broke his daughter’s engagement to the penniless Count, and gave her hand to the rich Prince.

Francis’s father had died at Waradin from the effects of a wound received in a battle against the Turks. On the point of gaining the victory, his helmet falling off, a heavy sabre-cut brought him almost lifeless to the ground. His men, panic struck, bore their disabled general from the field, and left the day to the Turks.

On the death of Ragotski, his widow, who was in the stronghold of Mongatz with her son, guarding the family treasures, thought it advisable to enter into a treaty with the Emperor. She accordingly delivered up to him certain fiefs, which had long been coveted by the Turks, on condition that Austria would garrison them against the Ottoman troops. But she was a courageous and resolute woman, and when Leopold sought to encroach on some other of her son’s possessions, she withstood him stoutly. Indeed so zealously did she watch over the family treasures in her fortress, that on a subsequent occasion, when Prince Francis (her son) appeared before the walls with the intention of assisting some of the patriots (whose finances were greatly reduced) from the family coffers, the Châtelaine ordered the guns to be pointed against her own son. But she managed matters between him and the Emperor so well, that he was pardoned his share in the rising, while several of his colleagues were degraded, their estates confiscated, their right hands struck off, and some of them finally executed for high treason.

But to return to Prince Ragotski, the husband of Helena: He did not long survive his marriage. He left two sons, of whom the eldest (his namesake) took great part in the affairs of Hungary on arriving at man’s estate.

Count Tekeli no sooner heard that the woman to whom he had been deeply attached was free, than he turned his eyes in the direction of the beautiful widow. The old Princess Ragotski, a rigid Roman Catholic, set herself to oppose the union, and sent troops to harass Tekeli, and it was not till after the old lady’s death that the marriage was brought about, as was supposed, by the intervention of young Zrini, Helena’s brother, who had been taken prisoner. The nuptials were celebrated with the greatest pomp and magnificence.

Helena was eminently fitted to be a soldier’s wife. She not only gloried in her husband’s feats of arms, but she constantly instigated him to fresh enterprises, panting for revenge (as she was) on the destroyers of her father and kinsmen.

Tekeli was reputed to be an indifferent stepfather, neglecting his wards’ comfort and well-being, but we must remember that he had many detractors. His wife, at all events, loved him dearly, exulted in his valour and successes, mourned for him in misfortune, and nobly did she defend the citadel of Mongatz for upwards of two years against the imperial troops, and that at a time when her husband was absent.

Once when, straitened for want both of food and ammunition, the garrison showed an inclination to capitulate, Helena rallied the soldiers in person, cheered them with the hope that Tekeli would shortly come to their rescue; and such was the influence of her courage and beauty that the men enthusiastically renewed their vows of fidelity. The elements too ranged themselves on her side, for the constant rains had made the ground so soft as to render the Austrian General’s outworks useless, while they replenished the cisterns of the besieged, just as the enemy thought to cut off their supply from the river.

Over and over again did the Austrian commanders try to bring Helena to terms; threats, reports of her husband’s imprisonment, advice that she should submit, were all in vain. The intrepid Châtelaine made proud replies to all these messages; she said it was not much to the Emperor’s credit to make war upon women and children; that as guardian of Prince Ragotski’s sons, she was bound to defend their possessions and interests; but at length, seeing all hope was over, and the only alternative was starvation for herself, her children, and her faithful defenders, she consented to capitulate, after having held out, off and on, for two years, and more than once obliged the enemy to raise the siege.

The Emperor wrote her a letter (doubtless the one lying on the table beside her) in which he offers her honourable terms, but she would not be dictated to, even in her hour of distress, and she added many stipulations of her own, before she abandoned the fortress, which she had so long and so valiantly held. Amongst other conditions, she was to take with her whatsoever she wished of property, furniture, etc., and an amnesty was to be proclaimed for her garrison and people. The fortress of Mongatz was to be given up to the Emperor, who was to undertake the guardianship and education of the young Ragotskis.

Two days after the treaty was concluded, Countess Tekeli and her two boys proceeded on their road to Vienna, where, on their arrival, Leopold broke almost all the conditions. He took her children from her, forbade her to write to her husband, treated the defenders of Mongatz with severity, and at last consigned the heroine to a compulsory retreat, in the Convent of the Ursuline Nuns. The education which Leopold bestowed on the young Princes did not (at all events in the case of the eldest) bring forth the fruits of submission he anticipated, as Francis in after years distinguished himself as an upholder of Hungarian liberty. Helena’s freedom was granted her at length, in exchange for an Austrian General, and she immediately joined her husband, living a chequered life of alternate luxury and poverty in the East.

His latter days were full of privation, which she shared without a murmur, and closed a career of heroism, misfortune, and fidelity, by dying two years before Tekeli, in 1703.

There is a strange tale which is told by La Mottraye, but we recommend that it should he taken _cum grano_.

The writer had a profound admiration for the fair exile, when he visited the Count Tekeli at Constantinople, and tells us that Helena had relinquished almost all the money and jewels which Prince Ragotski had bequeathed her, to her second husband, with the exception of four thousand ducats; but this sum, and a few remaining jewels, she had locked in a little strong-box, and deposited in the custody of the reverend fathers, the Jesuits at Galata.

A devoted Roman Catholic, she had designed the treasure to defray the expenses of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, should her life be prolonged, or to be expended in masses for her soul, in the event of her death, keeping the key in her own hands, and—so said the good fathers, her spiritual advisers—all this, without the knowledge of her husband. Her reason may be well imagined, for he, being a Lutheran, ‘and fearing no pains between death and paradise, and having so much occasion for money in temporal affairs, would have dissuaded her from being at so much expense for spirituals.’

Only one of her servants knew her secret. Him she sent from time to time, to fetch a priest of the order, to celebrate mass, hear her confession, and administer communion to the exiled lady.

When her life was despaired of, the servant in question told the Count’s secretary of the treasure with the Jesuits. The secretary immediately told his master, and they held a council together, the result of which was, that they should send the servant, who would not be suspected, with a message purporting to be from the Countess, to the effect that they should send her the box, she wishing to make some additions thereto, and that in three or four days one of the priests should go to her for it.

Bribed by the promise of a large reward, the servant is said to have undertaken the business, but the secretary judged it more prudent to follow, and watch the messenger.

By the time he returned with the treasure, the Countess had breathed her last, and when the father-confessor arrived two days after, he found the lady buried already; and instead of the box he had intrusted to the servant, another was presented to him, containing Countess Tekeli’s heart, which she had bequeathed to the holy fathers in her last moments, and to which they gave distinguished funeral rites.

The secretary offered the priest a hundred ducats, which he refused, demanding the whole contents of the casket, for masses to be said for the soul of the departed. The Count refused, observing that, though his wife might have required the money to travel to the earthly Jerusalem, she could not possibly need it to go to the heavenly Jerusalem. The secretary—we still quote La Mottraye—who was also a Protestant, laughed irreverently in his sleeve at the disappointment of the holy men.

There are duplicate pictures of the Count and Countess in the possession of a lady in London. The curious manner in which the Countess conceals her hand with a handkerchief led to the conjecture that the beautiful insurgent might have suffered the penalty of amputation, so frequent at that time, as in the case of her father, and his friends; but the lady who owns the companion picture to Lord Bath’s gave me another version of the story.

She had some time ago an old German master who was a Hungarian, and much interested in the portrait of his fair compatriot. His tradition was, that the picture was painted to commemorate the valiant manner in which the Countess behaved, when, writing a letter in her tent, a stray cannonball shattered her right hand.

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No. 126.

COUNT EMERIC TEKELI OR TÖCKOLI.

BORN 1658, DIED 1705.

_Three-quarters length. Richly-embroidered costume. Leopard’s skin.
Holding an axe. Crescent in cap. Troops crossing a bridge in the
background._

THE Hungarian subjects of Leopold I., the Emperor of Austria, disgusted with his violation of the promises of civil and religious liberty which he had made them on being proclaimed King of Hungary, and which he ignored on ascending the Imperial throne, revolted in large numbers.

Many of the highest in the land headed the malcontents; and, as we mention in the notice of the Countess Tekeli, her father Count Zrini, Counts Frangipani, Nadasti, and Trauttenbach, suffered death in defence of the privileges of their native land, in 1670-71.

Count Stephen Tekeli, the friend and comrade of these chiefs, a Lutheran of vast possessions, and obnoxious to the Emperor on all these counts, was besieged in his own castle by Leopold’s orders, and died before it surrendered.

His son Emeric, the subject of this notice, then a youth, made his escape in the disguise of a girl, with some friends during the night, and sought refuge at the Court of Poland. Finding the King of that country unable to assist him, he repaired to Transylvania, the Waiwode of which country, Prince Abaffi, his father’s greatest friend, welcomed the young Emeric, made him Prime Minister, and despatched him with the troops, which he was sending to the relief of the Hungarian malcontents. Very shortly afterwards the Count was promoted to the grade of Generalissimo, with the title of Prince and Protector of the Kingdom.

Emeric Tekeli was at that moment in the full vigour of youth and beauty, for which he was very remarkable. His presence was majestic, and his undoubted courage and ardent patriotism gave him great influence. Innumerable volunteers flocked to his standard, bearing the sacred device, ‘_Pro aris et focis_,’—the persecuted Lutherans, the mourners whose relatives had been cut off by the bloody hand of the executioner, panting for revenge. The discontented of all classes fixed their hopes on the hero, who had risen so suddenly to eminence. Tekeli published a manifesto promising to defend the liberties of Hungary; his army increased daily; and at the head of these irregular troops, he held his own for three years against the Imperial army.

In the life of the Countess Tekeli will be found the account of his marriage. He had been affianced to her before her union with Prince Ragotski, whose suit her father preferred to that of the handsome but then penniless Count.

After Ragotski’s death Tekeli marched on Mongatz, where his former love resided with her two children, and her mother-in-law, who was most averse to the union with Tekeli. There is a romantic story told of how on one occasion the lover contrived to penetrate into the fortress in the disguise of a pedlar, and being ushered into the presence of Princess Helena, he drew from his bosom the miniature she had given him of herself some years before. But it is difficult to sift fact from fiction in the loves of these remarkable people, and to fix the dates of their adventures. The marriage did not take place till after the death of the Princess-Dowager, and ‘war’s alarms’ soon called Tekeli from the side of his beautiful wife. She was not one indeed to damp his military ardour, or to detain him from the field. He marched into Moldavia, and continued his campaign, resisting and distrusting the frequent overtures made him by Leopold’s ministers. But at length he deemed it politic to call in foreign aid, and applying to the Sultan, Mahomet IV., he obtained from him, with the title of Prince, an auxiliary of Ottoman troops, under the Grand Vizier Caram Mustapha.

The campaign of 1683 was marked by the most revolting cruelty; and, terrible to say, the Christian commander seemed to vie with his Pagan allies in acts of violence and rapacity. He was a strange mixture of the fine gentleman and the barbarian, affecting great luxury and magnificence in his dress, military appointments, arms, accoutrements, and the arrangement of his tent.

There is a story extant respecting the head-dress he wears in his portrait. On his arrival at Buda, he was conducted with much ceremony to the Pasha, who received him with honour, and taking off Count Tekeli’s cap placed it on his own head. Count Tekeli’s cap was replaced by another after the Turkish fashion, by some called a diadem, richly studded with precious stones, and ornamented with heron’s feathers.

Tekeli was present at the famous siege of Vienna, and at Pressburg, where the cruelties practised will not bear description. The town was rescued from his hands by the Prince of Baden; but Tekeli and Mustapha now fell out, and branded each other with recriminations, so that the Hungarian, who was no better indeed than a tributary of the Porte, thought it politic to go to Constantinople in person to make his own defence against Mustapha’s accusations. He did so, but not long after his arrival he was seized at the table of the Seraskier, loaded with chains, and imprisoned by order of the Sultan, on some frivolous pretext. This conduct so disgusted the Count’s Hungarian friends, that they broke their alliance with the Turk, and submitted to Austria under promise of an armistice. Then the Sultan relented, set Tekeli free, and gave him large sums of money. He also nominated him Waiwode of Transylvania.

Surely no one man ever had so many empty titles bestowed on him as Emeric Tekeli. He made war in Slavonia and Servia against the Prince of Baden and Count Piccolomini, but much after the fashion of a guerilla. In 1696 he was with the Sultan in the defence of, and the battle of Orlach, where the Turks were defeated.

Tekeli then retired to some mineral baths in Anatolia to recruit his shattered health and strength, when he was informed that the Sultan had declared a renewal of hostilities, and proclaimed him King of Hungary!

Into that country the Ottoman troops had already penetrated, and the poor titular Sovereign was dragged off to join them, in spite of his failing health. He advised the Sultan to avoid an encounter with the Imperial troops, and rather to march on Transylvania, which was undefended; but his counsels were unheeded, and the Turks were completely routed in an engagement with Prince Eugene.

A story was told on this occasion to the disparagement of the Count, namely, that he remained in the Ottoman camp after the flight of the army, and possessed himself of all the available treasures his friends had left, before the reconstruction of a bridge enabled the enemy to come in for their share.

It was reckoned a shabby trick, but all is fair, we are told, in love and war, and if the Turks had not fled so soon, they might have carried off their own property. The peace of Carlowitz put an end to a terrible war, terminated the campaign, and concluded Count Tekeli’s military and political career. By this treaty, in which the Count’s name was not even mentioned, Turkey ceded most of the disputed territories to Austria, completely ignoring the man whom she had invested with so many titles appertaining to these provinces.

Once more Tekeli proceeded to Constantinople, in spite of all this treatment, to renew his offers of service to the Sultan, on the breaking out of a fresh war. But on arriving near the city he was met by a high officer, who desired him not to enter. It appears that our English Ambassador, Lord Paget, had had an interview with the Sultan, to warn him against harbouring Tekeli. He was therefore ordered off, to a kind of sumptuous banishment, at a delightful country house at Nicomedia, whither a few Hungarians and Transylvanians followed the man who had been their Sovereign in name. His faithful wife joined him the moment she regained her liberty; and here Count de la Mottraye visited him, spending eight days, as he says,—‘where I was nobly entertained, till I was tired, with pheasants and wild-fowl, which were found there in prodigious plenty.’

Towards the end of 1703 the Count and Countess removed to another country house called The Field of Flowers, and here died the brave, noble, and devoted, Helena Princess Ragotski, Countess Tekeli.

For the strange story of the hundred ducats, we refer the reader to the notice of her life. Be that true or false, there is no doubt Tekeli was treated with ingratitude, neglect, and caprice; his revenues stopped, and he himself obliged to gain a scanty subsistence by carrying on the trade of a vintner: the Prince, the Prime Minister, the Generalissimo, the Waiwode, the King of Hungary! Monsieur de la Mottraye visited him a second time at The Field of Flowers, and alluding to the affair of the ducats, he says: ‘The Jesuits made many visits to the Count in the hope of converting him to their creed, but he remained a steadfast Lutheran.’ Other writers testify to his having embraced the Roman Catholic faith; but this is the testimony of one who saw him in his latter days, and thus describes him:—

‘He was sitting in an elbow-chair, according to his usual custom, with a carpet over his knees, much afflicted with the gout. His beard had grown greyer, and new troubles, especially the death of his Countess, seemed to grieve him much. He complained that France had promised him large sums of money for expenses in the war, and had not sent him two-thirds, and since his misfortunes had not sent him ten ducats. I observed that it had to pass through too many hands on its way to Turkey.’

The same writer tells us ‘Count Tekeli had the most taking countenance, and one of the finest tongues, also that he spoke good Latin fluently,’ but that is an accomplishment shared by most of his countrymen. His personal beauty was acknowledged even by his enemies, who gave him the sobriquet of Absalom.

Poor Tekeli was (as La Mottraye observes) as ill treated by the gout as by fortune. He survived his faithful wife only two years, and was interred in the Greek cemetery at Constantinople. Emeric Tekeli, from his wild adventures, his romantic history, and all his curious vicissitudes, became a marked man, the observed of all observers, and there are very curious books extant, with squibs, some in Italian, some in German, as also caricatures of a rude kind of pleasantry, representing him in prison beating against the bars, and bewailing his sad fate.

‘So lohnt der Turk denen die ihm trauen,
Man sollt’ die Trauerspiel recht anschauen,’ etc. etc.

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No. 127.

ELIZABETH SEYMOUR, AFTERWARDS COUNTESS
OF AILESBURY.

_As a girl. White dress. Scarf and pearls. Holds a wand._

SHE was the daughter of Henry Lord Beauchamp, by Mary Capel. She married Thomas Earl of Ailesbury, to whom, on the death of her brother William, third Duke of Somerset, she brought large estates in Wilts (Savernake being one of them) and other counties.

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No. 128.

JOHN LOWTHER, VISCOUNT LONSDALE.

BORN 1655, DIED 1700.

_Buff coat. White sleeves. Cuirass. Red mantle. Long wig._

HE succeeded his grandfather, as Baronet, in 1675; sat in Parliament for Westmoreland in 1678-9, and when the House dissolved was re-elected, at the next meeting. It is a matter of history, how often Parliament was prorogued and dissolved in those troublous times; suffice it to say that Sir John distinguished himself by his zeal for the Protestant cause, and his opposition to the Duke of York’s succession; yet when that event took place he again served in Parliament, as likewise in that called the Convention, which settled the Crown on the heads of the Prince and Princess of Orange.

In fact, in every session, until called to the Upper House, he was strong in favour of King William III., and gained over the counties of Westmoreland and Cumberland to his cause, for which services he was made Vice-Chamberlain, Privy Councillor, Lord-Lieutenant of the county, and in 1696 he was created Baron Lowther and Viscount Lonsdale, county Westmoreland.

He was twice one of the Lords Justices for the government of the kingdom during His Majesty’s absence in Holland, and in 1700 he died, and was buried in the church at Lowther. He married the youngest daughter of Sir Henry Frederick Thynne of Longleat.

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No. 129.

CHARLES THE FIRST, KING OF GREAT BRITAIN.

_Black coat, slashed sleeves. Ruff. Ribbon and George._

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No. 130.

CATHERINE VISCOUNTESS LONSDALE.

BY MICHAEL WRIGHT.

DIED 1712.

_Drab dress. Blue mantle. Seated. Her hand resting on the back of a
dog._

CATHERINE was the youngest daughter of Sir Henry Frederick Thynne, by the daughter of Keeper Coventry, and therefore sister to Thomas Lord Weymouth. She married John Viscount Lonsdale, by whom she had three sons and five daughters. She was buried at Lowther, by the side of her husband.

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No. 131.

WILLIAM SEYMOUR, THIRD DUKE OF SOMERSET.

BORN 1651, DIED 1671.

_Drab dress. Red mantle. White wand in his hand.
Painted when a boy._

HE was the son of Henry Earl of Beauchamp, by Mary, eldest daughter of Lord Capel. He succeeded his grandfather in 1660, but did not long survive him. He was buried at Great Bedwyn, county Wilts, when the honours devolved on his uncle, Lord John Seymour.

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_BEDROOM B_.

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BEDROOM B.

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No. 132.

HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES.

BY ZUCCHERO.

BORN 1594, DIED 1612.

_Garter on the leg. Mantle, Collar, and George of the Order. Red velvet
surcoat. White satin trunk hose, braided with gold. White shoes and
rosettes. Jewelled sword-belt and glove. Hat on table._

THE eldest son of James VI., King of Scotland, afterwards I. of England, by Anne of Denmark; born at Stirling Castle, and consigned when an infant to the joint care of the Earl of Mar, and the Countess his mother, who had been nurse to His Majesty. The lady was of an austere temper, though conscientious, and between her, her son, and the Queen, many quarrels ensued. Neither James nor his wife liked the trouble of educating or bringing up their own children, the younger members of the family being sent out to board and lodge at the houses of different noblemen. But James loved pomp, and appointed a household for his eldest son, when still an infant. Besides the Earl of Mar, his Governor, the illustrious babe had a Gentleman of the Bedchamber, in the person of Sir David Murray, who attended him into England, and remained with him till his death. When between five and six, Henry was removed to the custody of Adam Newton, a learned Scot, on whom James, on his accession to the English throne, bestowed the Deanery of Durham (although a layman), and a Baronetcy. This was probably a reward for translating a work of the royal pedant’s into Latin. The Pope was anxious himself to superintend the education of the heir-apparent to the English Crown, but the proposal was not smiled upon!

No sooner did the little Prince arrive in England than a residence was allotted him in one of the royal palaces, and a splendid household appointed, with numerous attendants—the celebrated Inigo Jones named Comptroller of the Works.

Henry was of a mild, loving, gentle disposition, combined with high courage, and a passion for military exercises of all kinds; dutiful and respectful to a bad father, religious, and truthful in the extreme, he was indeed a gracious Prince. He never pronounced the name of God but with the deepest reverence, and abhorred the practice of swearing, to which James was so strongly addicted. On one occasion when out hunting, his sport was spoiled by a butcher’s dog setting on the stag, and killing him. A courtier who was present observed, had His Majesty been there, he would assuredly have sworn. ‘Nay, sir,’ said the Prince, ‘all the pleasure in the world is not worth an oath.’

The Ambassador of Henry IV. of France, writing to his Sovereign, says,—‘None of his pleasures savour of a child. He loves horses and hunting, is fond of games, especially tennis; usually plays with those older than himself. He studies for two hours every day, but loves better to toss the pike, leap, shoot, etc. etc. He is kind and faithful to his dependants. Is never idle. He is already feared by those who have the management of affairs, especially my Lord of Salisbury, who seems to fear the Prince’s ascendency.’

Be it remembered, this testimony is of a boy of thirteen years of age. He governed his large household, as he grew in years, with a discretion and a justice which argued well for the kingdom it was vainly hoped he would one day govern.

‘He loved, and did mightily strive,’ says Cornwallis, ‘to do somewhat of everything, and to excel. He walked fast and far to prepare, in case long marches should be required of him. He greatly delighted in art, science, and mechanism.’

Did ever Prince seek to educate himself more thoroughly, or strive to render himself worthy to govern a great country? By nature haughty, he subdued what might have been arrogance into proper dignity. He took as great an interest in naval as in military affairs, and his political opinions were in every way opposed to those of his father; but he was a most dutiful son, extremely reserved, the result of his early education. He was a zealous Protestant, and steadily refused marriage with all the Catholic Princesses suggested to his choice, saying, if he must marry one, it should be the youngest of them all, as there would be more hope of her conversion.

He formed few friendships, Sir John Harrington being one of those singled out by him. He showed great partiality for his cousin Arabella Stuart, and strove to befriend her several times. His sister Elizabeth he loved dearly, from his early boyhood; and the correspondence between the royal children, although partaking of the formal style of the day, was marked by tenderness.

Most of the contemporary writers concur in the opinion that the Prince’s heart was not susceptible, but there were whispers abroad, that he was a victim to the charms of the beautiful and wicked Lady Essex, and that his dislike to Lord Somerset was enhanced by rivalry.

Neither of his parents was worthy to possess the blessing of such a son. The Queen tried in vain to gain some influence over his mind, but she loved him not, and James, it was easy to imagine, was jealous of the adoration with which his English subjects regarded his son and heir. Moreover, Henry, though always respectful to his father, silently rebuked him by the contrast in their way of life and general conduct. Amongst the different suitors for the hand of his beloved sister, the Prince of Wales favoured the young Elector Palatine, more especially on account of his strong Protestant tendencies.

It was in the midst of the preparations for the marriage of the Princess Elizabeth, that the hope of the nation was seized with sudden and almost unaccountable illness. Different causes were assigned:—he had, when over-exerted by too frequent swimmings in the Thames, ridden hastily to and from Belvoir Castle, to wait on the King’s Majesty, etc. etc. The illness, pronounced by the physician to be putrid fever, appears to have been aggravated by injudicious medical treatment. He was lying at St. James’s, where his father, mother, and sister visited him in the early days of his illness. But James soon took fright for his own safety, and retired to Theobalds. Delirium with fearful convulsions now set in, with lucid intervals, when Henry displayed all the courage and gentle patience which might well be expected from so good and noble a Prince. His illness lasted about a fortnight. We quote the words of Richard Earl of Dorset on this deeply deplored death: ‘Our rising sun set; it had scarcely shone, and with him all our glory lies buried.’

The news which plunged the whole nation in sorrow, the King received with much indifference, and issued an order forbidding the people to wear mourning, on the plea of the approaching nuptials of his daughter. He also directed that the arrangements for the Christmas festivities should in no wise be interrupted.

A report was now circulated which accused Lord Rochester of having poisoned the Prince of Wales, a suspicion which doubtless gained more credence when that unworthy man was found guilty of the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury. Bishop Burnet says that Henry’s brother Charles never wavered in his belief that such was the case, although the Court physicians denied it.

The description which Sir Charles Cornwallis gives us of Henry’s appearance is as follows: ‘He was of a comely stature, about five feet eight inches high, strong, straight, and well made, as if Nature in him had showed all her cunning; with somewhat broad shoulders and a small waist, of an amiable and majestic countenance; his hair auburn, long-faced, and broad forehead, piercing grave eye, a most gracious smile, with a terrible frown.’

The beautiful house at Bramshill, Hants, now the property of Sir William Cope, was said to have been built as a residence for the Prince of Wales, likewise the picturesque old house of Charlton, in Kent.

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_SMALLER CORRIDOR UP-STAIRS_.

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SMALLER CORRIDOR UP-STAIRS.

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_No. 133._

THE HONOURABLE LADY THYNNE.

_Head oval. Brown dress. White scarf, fastened in front with a jewel.
Ringlets._

SHE was the daughter of Lord Keeper Coventry, and the wife of Sir Henry Frederick Thynne.

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No. 134.

ADMIRAL CAVENDISH, THE CIRCUMNAVIGATOR.

BY ZUCCHERO.

DIED AT SEA 1593.

_Light brown hair. Clean shaven. Embroidered vest. Band of pearls over
the shoulder. Dark cloak. Right arm akimbo._

THOMAS Cavendish was the son of a gentleman of fortune in Suffolk. He had an early fancy for the sea, which was strengthened by circumstances. At the age of twenty-one he had already dissipated the chief part of the property left him by his father, through gambling and other pleasures.

England was at this time at war with Spain, and it was considered fair play for ‘amateur buccaneers’ on the high seas to attack any vessel, or take possession of any settlement, in any part of the world, belonging to that nation.

In this manner Cavendish thought to retrieve his fortunes, and he accordingly, in 1585, equipped a stout bark at his own expense, and accompanied Sir Richard Grenville on his voyage to Virginia, Florida, the West Indies, etc. etc. The expedition was very successful on the whole, though naturally the English met with some reverses. Cavendish returned with his income much replenished; but he went to the Court of ‘the maiden Queen,’ where he lived in splendour, and indulged in great extravagance, so that the dollars did not remain long in his purse. He determined to go afloat once more, but he had to sell or mortgage the remainder of his estates to enable him to fit out three vessels, and, fired by the example of Sir Francis Drake, he resolved to visit some of the spots where that famous sailor had been so successful. He first steered for Sierra Leone, where he landed, and pillaged and burned the town, ostensibly as reprisals for a wound inflicted on one of his crew by a native. Proceeding to South America, he touched at many points as he coasted along, giving English names to the places which took his fancy. One beautiful bay, glistening with golden sands, he called ‘Elizabeth,’ after his royal mistress, although it did not enjoy a good reputation, being inhabited by cannibals who had feasted largely on the unfortunate Spaniards. He landed frequently whenever there was a prospect of gain, and attacked the Spaniards in their settlements, burning, destroying, and plundering, often with considerable loss on his own side; but he was never daunted, and his success outweighed his reverses. He took many Spanish barks, but his chief prize was the ‘St. Anna’ galleon laden with rich merchandise, specie, jewels, etc. etc. He marked her for his own, lay in wait for her, and in spite of fearful odds as to numbers of the respective crews, he boarded and took possession, with all the invaluable freight. He then proceeded on his voyage round the world, which he performed most successfully, and returned to Plymouth, being the second Englishman who had circumnavigated the globe, and the first who had achieved the voyage in so short a time.

Cavendish was received at Court with great favour; the Queen knighted him, and he found England ringing with his fame, which in no wise displeased him. He wrote to Lord Hunsdon in a style of self-complacency, describing all he had done and seen, especially laying stress on the fact that he had shown no mercy to the Queen’s enemies, and that he had lost no opportunity of pillage. He had indeed done very good service to navigation by the improvements he had made in charts, and the like, the exact log he had kept, and the observations he had taken as he sailed along, besides discoveries made.

He pointed out especially the resources and advantageous position of the fertile island of St. Helena, hitherto little frequented excepting by the Portuguese. We have not space to recount all his wonderful escapes and adventures. Cavendish had, as we have before observed, a great taste for magnificence of all kinds, and when at Court he was remarked for the splendour of his dress. He was also very nice in the decoration of vessels, and was said to have had one of them adorned with a mainsail of costly damask. But in all his wanderings he had not learned prudence. A third time he found his money all gone, and it was no longer in his power to raise a sufficient sum for the fitting out of any more ships. A joint-stock company was formed for the purpose of effecting this, and Cavendish was engaged in their service; but he found himself very soon in a most humiliating position, under the orders of men who were entirely ignorant of navigation, and who constantly interfered and took share in the command, instead of listening to the advice of this experienced Admiral. Quarrels and bickerings ensued, and not long after the small fleet weighed anchor, storms and tempests set in, and disasters of every kind were encountered. The brave spirit gave way at length, being broken down by ill-health, disappointment, and perplexity, the crowning point being the mutinous conduct of the sailors towards one who had hitherto been paramount on his own quarter-deck. Cavendish had not proceeded far on his return to England, which he was never destined to see again, when he died at sea, after a life of storm and adventure such as few had experienced even in those stirring times.

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No. 135.

PORTRAIT UNKNOWN.

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No. 136.

LADY MARGARET HARLEY, AFTERWARDS DUCHESS OF PORTLAND.

BY MERCIER.

DIED 1785.

_As a girl. Full length. Dressed as a shepherdess. Hat and crook.
Dog and lamb beside her._

SHE was the only daughter and heir of Edward Harley, Earl of Oxford, by the daughter and heir of William Holles, Duke of Newcastle. Prior immortalised her as his sweet, lovely, noble, charming Peggy. She married William Bentinck, Duke of Portland, by whom she had several children. The eldest daughter became the wife of the first Marquis of Bath.

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No. 137.

JOHN GRAHAM OF CLAVERHOUSE, VISCOUNT DUNDEE.

BY VANDYCK.

BORN 1643, KILLED IN ACTION 1689.

_In armour. Laced band. Broad red sash. Holding a baton._