entreat us all, that he may seem to be beholden to none but himself.” The event proved how much more correctly the queen had studied James's character than the primate. 66 But In April, 1616, James conferred the honour of knighthood on the rising favourite, who had already waited upon his person for some time in the character of cup-bearer. He was at the same time sworn in a gentleman of the bed-chamber, in spite of Somerset's opposition. The primate was called in upon this occasion to perform the office of catechist to the young knight, which he did by enjoining upon him three things, namely, to pray to God daily for grace to serve the king faithfully, to do all good offices between his majesty and the queen and prince, and to fill his sovereign's ears with nothing but the truth. James was pleased to pronounce the primate's advices "counsel fit for a bishop to give to a young man," and the catechumen promised to obey his reverend father's injunctions with all his strength and might. the youth was destined to disappoint both the king and the archbishop. Somerset early saw and marked the progress which his youthful rival was making in the king's favour, but he disdained to enter into any compromise with him. James is said to have directed Villiers to make overtures to Somerset; but the latter is reported to have repelled his advances with this "quick and short answer: 'I will none of your service, and you shall none of my favour. I will, if I can, break your neck; and of that be confident.' The issue showed how greatly Somerset miscalculated his true policy when he hurled this contemptuous defiance at his rival. It is not improbable, as a contemporary writer suggests, that had he met Villiers' advances in a conciliatory spirit, ""1 Overbury's death had still been raked up in his own ashes." At all events Somerset's hostility proved no impediment in the way of his rival's advancement. In a short time-" a very short time for such a prodigious ascent," says Lord Clarendon, he was made a baron, a viscount, an earl, a marquess; he became lord-high-admiral of England, lord warden of the cinque ports, master of the horse, and dispensed the royal patronage at will. His extravagance kept pace with his advancement. "It was common with him," says Oldys in his Life of Raleigh, "at an ordinary dancing to have his clothes trimmed with great diamond buttons, and to have diamond hat-bands, cockades, and ear-rings; to be yoked with great and manifold ropes and knots of pearl; in short, to be manacled, fettered, and imprisoned in jewels; insomuch, that at his going to Paris, in 1625, he had twenty-seven suits of clothes made, the richest that embroidery, lace, silk, velvet, gold, and gems, could contribute; one of which was a white uncut velvet, set all over, both suit and cloak, with diamonds, valued at £80,000, besides a great feather stuck all over with diamonds, as were also his sword, girdle, hat-band, and spurs." All this glitter and profusion was well-calculated to please the childish taste of the king, and to secure his favour, while it plunged him into fresh embarrassments to supply the enormous expenses of his idolized minion. Of course, every honour that it was in the power of the crown to bestow, and in the heart of Villiers to wish for, was conferred upon him with a readiness which almost anticipated his own inordinate ambition. In less than three years from his being admitted 11. Weldon's Court of King James, p. 97. into knighthood, he found himself marquess of Buckingham. Shortly after, his mother was created countess of Buckingham in her own right; his brothers were created barons, his sisters married to nobles, and the nation beheld with indignation many of the oldest and most faithful servants of the crown displaced to make room for the connexions and friends of the selfish and unprincipled upstart. 66 In 1620, Buckingham married the only daughter of the earl of Rutland, the richest heiress in the kingdom. Soon after this the king's declining state of health suggested to the marquess the policy of endeavouring to secure the affection of the young heir-apparent. Negotiations were at this moment going forward at the Spanish court for an alliance betwixt Charles and the infanta; the prince "loved adventures," and Buckingham resolved to gratify him with one which, if it succeeded as he anticipated, would have the effect of placing him high in the confidence and good will of the heir-apparent. He persuaded Charles to petition his father for permission to pay a personal visit to the court of Madrid, having first wrought upon the feelings of the romantic prince by setting before him the pleasures which would attend such an adventure. Through the joint importunity of both, a reluctant assent to the project was at last wrung from the king; and the prince and Buckingham set off together incog. They travelled through France, and after a variety of absurd adventures, arrived at Madrid, alone, on a Friday night, alighting at the house of Lord Bristol, never merrier in their lives." D'Israeli describes "the romantic visit by which the prince had thrown himself into their arms, as electrifying the whole Spanish nation, and drawing all their hearts towards the hope of England." The truth is, the two companions were heartily laughed at in secret for their pains; their arrival had long been anticipated, and the Spanish ministry stood prepared to turn the whole affair to the best advantage long before the travellers presented themselves in Madrid. The ultimate failure of the negotiation, while it may be ascribed on the one hand to the preposterous demands of the Spanish council, must, on the other, be traced to Buckingham himself. In his anxiety to supplant the earl of Bristol-to whose management the whole negotiation had been already entrusted by James-he greatly offended that able minister, while the airy freedom of his manners, after degenerating into the grossest licentiousness of conduct, was never to be forgiven by the offended majesty of Philip, and the contemptuous pride of Olivarez."3 At last the two adventurers resolved to return home. Buckingham set off alone, without taking a ceremonious leave of the court; but Charles was escorted in great style to the coast. It would appear that Olivarez, through the agency of the Spanish ambassador at London, had nearly accomplished the fall of Buckingham after his return to England, but for the interference of the lord-keeper Williams, who succeeded in satisfying James that the duke had acted a proper part towards him and the prince. Buckingham was now utterly anti-Spanish and personally bent on war. He now began to practise the new part of a patriot, and paid court to the popular leaders in both houses. He urged the king to assemble parliament, and thereafter, in a convention at Whitehall, he proceeded to lay before them an account of his Spanish journey and of the prince's reception at Madrid. His relation was in all material respects false and inaccurate. He represented the court of Spain as having been insincere from first to last in the matter of the marriage-treaty; he alleged that the earl of Bristol had betrayed the interests of his sovereign and country; and he declared that Charles, after having sustained a variety of indignities at Madrid, had now abandoned all desire as well as hope of the proposed alliance. The prince, who stood by, corroborated this extraordinary statement, and both houses voted an address expressive of their judgment that the king of England could not in honour proceed in his negotiations with Spain. James responded by professing his readiness to go to war with Spain for the honour of the nation, and parliament eagerly embraced the proposal and volunteered three subsidies for the purpose. The duke was now for a time the most popular man in England. The declaration of war with Spain, which was justly attributed to his sole influence, was regarded as a great national deliverance from impending popery, and even the puritan party were for a time deceived by the specious pretences of the duke. But the arrival of Bristol served to disabuse the public of its mistake, and the zeal with which Buckingham had bent himself to a project of alliance with France, completely dispelled the temporary illusion which had prevailed regarding his abhorrence of popery. In the first parliament of the new monarch, which met at Oxford in August 1625, Buckingham took upon himself the task of explaining the king's intentions, and reconciling the commons to the demand for a further subsidy. But he soon found that he had charged himself with a duty of no small difficulty and peril. In the house of lords, he was encountered by a formidable opposition under Pembroke; in the commons he was assailed by such men as Coke, Wentworth, and Fleetwood, who boldly charged him with peculation, with incapacity, with ambition; and proceeded at last to threaten him with impeachment,a fate from which he was only rescued by Charles hastily dissolving the parliament under the pretext of avoiding the plague which had just made its appearance in Oxford. After the sailing of the ill-fated expedition against Cadiz, Buckingham went to Holland, in company with Lord Kensington, taking with him the crown-plate and jewels, with the view of raising a loan on their security. He intended next to proceed to Paris, but had the mortitication to receive a message from Richelieu informing him that his presence in that capital would not be tolerated. The cause of this disgrace was his presumptuous advances to the young Queen Anne of Austria, the elder sister of the Spanish infanta and consort of Louis. It is impossible to determine what encouragement Buckingham had received from Anne. Her female biographer is of opinion that the attachment was mutual. It is certain that Buckingham had the hardihood even after this repulse, to persevere in his attempts to obtain admission to the French court, but the indignation of Louis continued to oppose an insurmountable barrier to his wishes. The measure of the duke's impeachment was again agitated in the new parliament. Bristol exhibited articles against Buckingham, in which he accused him of false practices at the court of Spain, and of having deceived both his sovereign and the parliament by falsehood and misrepresentations at his return from that country. Charles, conscious of the disclosures which it was in the power of the earl of Bristol to make, had endeavoured to prevent disclosure by intimidation, and had even ventured to place the earl under restraint, the moment he arrived from Spain; but the lords resented this as an aggression on their order, and compelled the king to set Bristol at large. In the meanwhile, the commons also had impeached the favourite upon thirteen charges, of which the substance was that he had embezzled the revenue of the crown; that he had corruptly dealt in places and pensions; that he had allowed the trade of the country to decay through his negligence; that he had unjustly detained a French ship for his own profit; that he had procured a loan of ships to suppress the Protestants in France; that he had extorted £10,000 from the East India company; and that he had presumed to administer medicine to the late king without the approbation of the physicians. The charge was opened by Sir Dudley Digges, and conducted by six other members, among whom Sir John Elliot, having compared Buckingham to Sejanus in lust, rapacity, and ambition, concluded with these words: "My lords, you see the man. By him came all these evils; in him we find the cause; in him we expect the remedies." All these charges Hume is pleased to pronounce either frivolous or false; but he adduces no evidence in support of his assertion. Whatever Charles thought of them, he acted as if he were determined to heap honours on the duke's head in proportion as he became obnoxious to the nation. The impeachment was yet pending when the chancellorship of Cambridge became vacant, and a royal mandate was issued proposing Buckingham as successor to Suffolk in that office. The earl of Andover was put in nomination against him, but the duke carried his election by a majority of three. Soon after, Buckingham presented answers to the charges which had been exhibited against him. The commons announced their intention of replying; but the king hastily dissolved parliament, and thus for a season sheltered his favourite from the storm which, had he lived, must sooner or later have burst upon his devoted head. In 1627, Buckingham appeared before Rochelle, with an armament of one hundred sail, and demanded admission within the harbour. The inhabitants demurred for a while, and in the meantime the English troops made an ill-conducted descent on the isle of Rhé. Nothing could have been worse planned than this expedition. Its only results were the disgrace of the English arms, and the additional embarrassment of the Rochellois, who, on the withdrawment of the English forces, were left in a more defenceless state than ever. To the duke, however, the praise is due of having conducted himself with great personal intrepidity in this expedition. He soon afterwards undertook a second expedition to Rochelle, and had proceeded to Portsmouth for the purpose of embarking, when his career was cut short by the hand of an assassin of the name of Felton, on the 23d of August 1628. The particulars of this assassination are thus related by Sir Simond D'Ewes: "August the 23d, being Saturday, the duke having eaten his breakfast between eight and nine o'clock in the morning in one Mr Mason's house in Portsmouth, he was then hasting away to the king, who lay at Reswicke, about five miles distant, to have some speedy conference with him. Being come to the farther part of the entry leading out of the parlour into the hall of the house, he had there some conference with Sir Thomas Frier, a colonel; and stooping down in taking his leave of him, John Felton, gentleman, having watched his opportunity, thrust a long knife, with a white helft, he had secretly about him, with great strength and violence, into his breast, under his left pap, cutting the diaphragma and lungs, and piercing the very heart itself. The duke having received the stroke, and instantly clapping his right hand on his sword-hilt, cried out, 'God's wounds! the villain hath killed me.' Some report his last words otherwise, little differing for substance from these; and it might have been wished, that his end had not been so sudden, nor his last words mixed with so impious an expression. He was attended by many noblemen and ladies, yet none could see to prevent the stroke. His duchess and the countess of Anglesey (the wife of Christopher Villiers, earl of Anglesey, his younger brother) being in an upper room, and hearing a noise in the hall, into which they had carried the duke, ran presently into a gallery, that looked down into it, and there beholding the duke's blood gush out abundantly from his breast and nose, and mouth (with which his speech, after those first words, had been immediately stopped), they broke out into pitiful outcries, and raised great lamentation. He pulled out the knife himself; and being carried by his servants unto the table, that stood in the same hall, having struggled with death near upon a quarter of an hour, at length he gave up the ghost, about ten o'clock, and lay a long time after he was dead upon the table." The assassin declared that he had no associate, and that a sense of duty to his country had alone prompted him to inflict the fatal blow. Charles was desirous of having him put to the torture, but the judges declared that torture was not justifiable by the law of England. Thus fell one of the most profligate, the most daring, and the most successful courtiers that ever swayed the heart of an English monarch. D'Israeli has made a strenuous attempt to whitewash his character; but, as might easily have been anticipated, he completely fails in his main object, and only proves him to have been a very fascinating vil lain. "The duke," says this apologist, "must have had qualities of a better nature to have secured the constancy of Charles's personal attachment.""The duke, in confidential interviews with Gerbier, repeatedly declared his solemn resolution, in his last expedition, to be the first man who should set his foot upon the dyke before the Rochelle, there to die or do the work.'"- "The spirit of this favourite of two monarchs had never been dissolved in that corporeal voluptuousness which his habits indulged."-" Buckingham had lofty aspirations."-"The genius of the man was daring and magnificent."-Such is a specimen of the manner in which the ingenious author of the Commentaries on the Life and Reign of Charles I.' has executed his task. We have plenty of high-sounding assertions, and well-pointed antitheses, but nothing in the shape of proof or reasoning. And the whole concludes with the following paragraph, in which the writer himself seems to abandon his idol to the fate from which he affects to snatch him. "The virtues of a man who cannot be deemed virtuous; the talents of a man who so frequently was mortified to discover their incompetence; and the resolutions of a man to acquire popularity who never was popular, are the paradoxical qualities which may instruct us in the very interest |