BEDROOM A.

265BEDROOM A.

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 266de 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.

267Indeed 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 268soule, 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.’

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 269his 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.

270Her 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 271Heidelberg 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 272same 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 273and 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 274Rupert, 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, 275wife, 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.

276

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 277were 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.

278Not 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 279deal 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.

280The 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 281manners 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.

No. 122.

FREDERICK, KING OF BOHEMIA.

By Honthorst.

BORN 1596, DIED 1632.

Brown and gold slashed dress. Blue mantle. Blue ribbon. Ruff.

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 282wishes, 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 283that 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 284(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 285the 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 286home, 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.

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.

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.

287On 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 288laid 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 289Petworth, 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.

290

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 291struck, 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.

292Helena 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.

293The 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 294second 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 295to 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.

296

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 297promoted 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 298the 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 299Tekeli 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 300of 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 301gout. 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.

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.

303In 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.

No. 129.

CHARLES THE FIRST, KING OF GREAT BRITAIN.

Black coat, slashed sleeves. Ruff. Ribbon and George.

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.

304

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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