Volume II Part 27 (1/2)
Footnotes: 1. See the Life of Sheffield Duke of Buckingham.
2. The d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth.
GEORGE VILLIERS, Duke of BUCKINGHAM.
Son and heir of George, duke, marquis, and earl of Buckingham, murdered by Felton in the year 1628. This n.o.bleman was born at Wallingford-House in the parish of St. Martin's in the Fields on the 30th of January 1627, and baptized there on the 14th of February following, by Dr. Laud, then bishop of Bath and Wells, afterwards archbishop of Canterbury.
Before we proceed to give any particulars of our n.o.ble author's life, we must entreat the reader's indulgence to take a short view of the life of his grace's father, in which, some circ.u.mstances extremely curious will appear; and we are the more emboldened to venture upon this freedom, as some who have written this life before us, have taken the same liberty, by which the reader is no loser; for the first duke of Buckingham was a man whose prosperity was so instantaneous, his honours so great, his life so dissipated, and his death so remarkable, that as no minister ever enjoyed so much power, so no man ever drew the attention of the world more upon him. No sooner had he returned from his travels, and made his first appearance at court, than he became a favourite with King James, who, (says Clarendon) 'of all wise men he ever knew, was most delighted and taken with handsome persons and fine cloaths.'
He had begun to be weary of his favourite the earl of Somerset, who was the only one who kept that post so long, without any public reproach from the people, till at last he was convicted of the horrid conspiracy against the life of Sir Thomas Overbury, and condemned as a murderer. While these things were in agitation, Villiers appeared at court; he was according to all accounts, the gayest and handsomest man in his time, of an open generous temper, of an unreserved affability, and the most engaging politeness.
In a few days he was made cup-bearer to the King, by which he was of course to be much in his presence, and so admitted to that conversation with which that prince always abounded at his meals. He had not acted five weeks on this stage, to use the n.o.ble historian's expression, till he mounted higher, being knighted, and made gentleman of the bed-chamber, and knight of the most n.o.ble order of the garter, and in a short time a baron, a viscount, an earl, a marquis, and lord high-admiral of England, lord warden of the cinque ports, master of the horse, and entirely disposed all the favours of the King, acting as absolutely in conferring honours and distinctions, as if he himself had wore the diadem.
We find him soon after making war or peace, according to humour, resentment, or favour. He carried the prince of Wales into Spain to see the Infanta, who was proposed to him as a wife; and it plainly enough appears, that he was privy to one intrigue of prince Charles, and which was perhaps the only one, which that prince, whom all historians, whether friends or enemies to his cause; have agreed to celebrate for chast.i.ty, and the temperate virtues. There is an original letter of prince Charles to the duke, which was published by Mr. Thomas Hearne, and is said once to have belonged to archbishop Sancroft. As it is a sort of curiosity we shall here insert it,
”STENNY,
”I have nothing now to write to you, but to give you thankes both for the good councell ye gave me, and for the event of it. The King gave mee a good sharpe potion, but you took away the working of it by the well relished comfites ye sent after it. I have met with the partie, that must not be named, once alreddie, and the culler of wryting this letter shall make mee meet with her on sat.u.r.day, although it is written the day being thursday. So a.s.suring you that the bus'ness goes safely onn, I rest
”Your constant friend ”CHARLES.
”I hope you will not shew the King this letter, but put it in the safe custody of mister Vulcan.”
It was the good fortune of this n.o.bleman to have an equal interest with the son as with the father; and when prince Charles ascended the throne, his power was equally extensive, and as before gave such offence to the House of Commons and the people, that he was voted an enemy to the realm, and his Majesty was frequently addressed to remove him from his councils. Tho' Charles I. had certainly more virtues, and was of a more military turn than his father, yet in the circ.u.mstance of doating upon favourites, he was equally weak. His misfortune was, that he never sufficiently trusted his own judgment, which was often better than that of his servants; and from this diffidence he was tenacious of a minister of whose abilities he had a high opinion, and in whose fidelity he put confidence.
The duke at last became so obnoxious, that it entered into the head of an enthusiast, tho' otherwise an honest man, one lieutenant Felton, that to a.s.sa.s.sinate this court favourite, this enemy of the realm, would be doing a grateful thing to his country by ridding it of one whose measures in his opinion, were likely soon to destroy it.--
The fate of the duke was now approaching, and it is by far the most interesting circ.u.mstance in his life.
We shall insert, in the words of the n.o.ble historian, the particular account of it.
'John Felton, an obscure man in his own person, who had been bred a soldier, and lately a lieutenant of foot, whose captain had been killed on the retreat at the Isle of Ree, upon which he conceived that the company of right ought to have been conferred upon him; and it being refused him by the duke of Buckingham, general of the army, had given up his commission and withdrawn himself from the army. He was of a melancholic nature, and had little conversation with any body, yet of a gentleman's family in Suffolk, of a good fortune, and reputation.
From the time that he had quitted the army he resided at London; when the House of Commons, transported with pa.s.sion and prejudice against the duke, had accused him to the House of Peers for several misdemeanors and miscarriages, and in some declarations had stiled him the cause of all the evils the kingdom suffered, and an enemy to the public.
'Some transcripts of such expressions, and some general invectives he met with amongst the people, to whom this great man was not grateful, wrought so far upon this melancholic gentleman, that he began to believe he should do G.o.d good service if he killed the duke. He chose no other instrument to do it than an ordinary knife, which he bought of a common cutler for a s.h.i.+lling, and thus provided, he repaired to Portsmouth, where he arrived the eve of St. Bartholomew. The duke was then there, in order to prepare and make ready the fleet and the army, with which he resolved in a few days to transport himself to the relief of Roch.e.l.le, which was then besieged by cardinal Richelieu, and for the relief whereof the duke was the more obliged, by reason that at his being at the Isle of Ree, he had received great supplies of victuals, and some companies of their garrison from the town, the want of both which they were at this time very sensible of, and grieved at.
'This morning of St. Bartholomew, the duke had received letters, in which he was advertised, that Roch.e.l.le had relieved itself; upon which he directed that his breakfast might be speedily made ready, and he would make haste to acquaint the King with the good news, the court being then at Southwick, about five miles from Portsmouth. The chamber in which he was dressing himself was full of company, and of officers in the fleet and army. There was Monsieur de Soubize, brother to the duke de Rohan, and other French gentlemen, who were very sollicitous for the embarkation of the army, and for the departure of the fleet for the relief of Roch.e.l.le; and they were at that time in much trouble and and perplexity, out of apprehension that the news the duke had received that morning might slacken the preparations of the voyage, which their impatience and interest, persuaded them was not advanced with expedition; and so they held much discourse with the duke of the impossibility that his intelligence could be true, and that it was contrived by the artifice and dexterity of their enemies, in order to abate the warmth and zeal that was used for their relief, the arrival of which relief, those enemies had much reason to apprehend; and a longer delay in sending it, would ease them of that terrible apprehension; their forts and works towards the sea, and in the harbour being almost finished.
'This discourse, according to the natural custom of that nation, and by the usual dialect of that language, was held with such pa.s.sion and vehemence, that the standers-by who understood not French, did believe they were angry, and that they used the duke rudely. He being ready, and informed that his breakfast was ready, drew towards the door, where the hangings were held up; and in that very pa.s.sage turning himself to speak with Sir Thomas Fryer, a colonel of the army, who was then speaking near his ear, he was on a sudden struck over his shoulder upon the breast with a knife; upon which, without using any other words, than that the villain has killed me, and in the same moment pulling out the knife himself, he fell down dead, the knife having pierced his heart. No man had ever seen the blow, or the man who gave it; but in the confusion they were in, every man made his own conjecture, and declared it as a thing known, most agreeing, that it was done by the French, from the angry discourse they thought they had heard from them, and it was a kind of miracle, that they were not all killed that instant: The sober sort that preserved them from it, having the same opinion of their guilt, and only reserving them for a more judicial examination, and proceeding.
'In the crowd near the door, there was found upon the ground a hat, in the inside whereof, there was sewed upon the crown a paper, in which were writ four or five lines of that declaration made by the House of Commons, in which they had stiled the duke an enemy to the kingdom; and under it a short e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n towards a prayer. It was easily enough concluded, that the hat belonged to the person who had committed the murder, but the difficulty remained still as great, who that person should be; for the writing discovered nothing of the name; and whosoever it was, it was very natural to believe, that he was gone far enough not to be found without a hat. In this hurry, one running one way, another another way, a man was seen walking before the door very composedly without a hat; whereupon one crying out, here's the fellow that killed the duke, upon which others run thither, every body asking which was he; to which the man without the hat very composedly answered, I am he. Thereupon some of those who were most furious suddenly run upon the man with their drawn swords to kill him; but others, who were at least equally concerned in the loss and in the sense of it, defended him; himself with open arms very calmly and chearfully exposing himself to the fury and swords of the most enraged, as being very willing to fall a sacrifice to their sudden anger, rather than be kept for deliberate justice, which he knew must be executed upon him.
'He was now enough known, and easily discovered to be that Felton, whom we mentioned before, who had been a lieutenant in the army; he was quickly carried into a private room by the persons of the best condition, some whereof were in authority, who first thought fit, so far to dissemble, as to mention the duke only grievously wounded, but not without hopes of recovery. Upon which Felton smiled, and said, he knew well enough he had given him a blow that had determined all their hopes. Being then asked at whose instigation he had performed that horrid, wretched act, he answered them with a wonderful a.s.surance, That they should not trouble themselves in that enquiry; that no man living had credit or power enough with him to have engaged or disposed him, to such an action, that he had never entrusted his purpose or resolution to any man; that it proceeded from himself, and the impulse of his own conscience, and that the motives thereunto will appear if his hat were found. He spoke very frankly of what he had done, and bore the reproaches of them that spoke to him, with the temper of a man who thought he had not done amiss. But after he had been in prison some time, where he was treated without any rigour, and with humanity enough; and before and at his tryal, which was about four months after, at the King's Bench, he behaved himself with great modesty, and wonderful repentance; being as he said convinced in his conscience that he had done wickedly, and asked pardon of the King and d.u.c.h.ess, and all the Duke's servants, whom he acknowledged he had offended, and very earnestly besought the judges that he might have his hand struck off, with which he had performed that impious act before he should be put to death.'
This is the account lord Clarendon gives in the first volume of his history, of the fall of this great favourite, which serves to throw a melancholy veil over the splendor of his life, and demonstrates the extreme vanity of exterior pomp, and the danger those are exposed to who move on the precipice of power. It serve[s] to shew that of all kind of cruelty, that which is the child of enthusiasm is the word, as it is founded upon something that has the appearance of principles; and as it is more stedfast, so does it diffuse more mischief than that cruelty which flows from the agitations of pa.s.sion: Felton blindly imagined he did G.o.d service by a.s.sa.s.sination, and the same unnatural zeal would perhaps have prompted him to the murder of a thousand more, who in his opinion were enemies to their country.
The above-mentioned historian remarks, that there were several prophecies and predictions scattered about, concerning the duke's death; and then proceeds to the relation of the most astonis.h.i.+ng story we have ever met with.
As this anecdote is countenanced by so great a name, I need make no apology for inserting it, it has all the evidence the nature of the thing can admit of, and is curious in itself.
'There was an officer in the King's wardrobe in Windsor-Castle of a good reputation for honesty and discretion, and then about the age of fifty years, or more. This man had been bred in his youth in a school in the parish where Sir George Villiers the father of the Duke lived, and had been much cherished and obliged in that season of his age, by the said Sir George, whom afterwards he never saw. About six months before the miserable end of the duke of Buckingham, about midnight, this man, being in his bed at Windsor, where his office was, and in very good health, there appeared to him, on the side of his bed, a man of very venerable aspect, who fixing his eyes upon him, asked him, if he knew him; the poor man half dead with fear, and apprehension, being asked the second time, whether he remembered him, and having in that time called to his memory, the presence of Sir George Villiers, and the very cloaths he used to wear, in which at that time he used to be habited; he answered him, That he thought him to be that person; he replied, that he was in the right, that he was the same, and that he expected a service from him; which was, that he should go from him to his son the duke of Buckingham, and tell him, if he did not somewhat to ingratiate himself to the people, or at least, to abate the extreme malice they had against him, he would be suffered to live but a short time, and after this discourse he disappeared, and the poor man, if he had been at all waking, slept very well till the morning, when he believed all this to be a dream, and considered it no otherwise.