No. 5 Lucius Carey, Second Viscount Falkland
BORN IN 1610, KILLED IN BATTLE 1643.
Half length. Black and white slashed dress.
Of the family of Careys of Cockington, county Devon, eldest son of Henry Carey, first Viscount Falkland, by Elizabeth, daughter and heir of Sir Laurence Tanfield, Chief Baron of Exchequer. Lucius was born at Burton, county Oxford, one of the estates his mother brought into the family. Studied at Trinity College, Dublin, and St. John’s, Cambridge.
Before attaining his majority he inherited a large fortune from his grandfather, while both parents were still living. With the hope of procuring some command, he went into the Low Countries; but being disappointed, he returned to England, and devoted himself to study. Lord Clarendon says that all the men of note and learning flocked from Oxford to his house, in the neighbourhood, ‘where they found a University in a less volume.’
The historian praises the young host for the solidity of his judgment, knowledge, wit, fancy, and extreme humility,—a rare combination of qualities and attainments.
Before Lucius was twenty-three he had read all the Latin and Greek Fathers, and studied diligently all the books he had collected from all parts.
About 1633, the time of his father’s death, he became attached to the Court of Charles I.; in 1639 he went with the expedition against the Scots, and afterwards volunteered under the Earl of Essex.
In April 1640 he sat for Newport, Isle of Wight, and after the dissolution was re-elected for the same place, in the same year. He made strenuous opposition in the House to the exorbitancies of the Court, and was a rigid observer of the laws, denouncing those Ministers who, on the plea of expediency, deviated from them. For this reason he withstood Lords Strafford and Finch with a boldness and vehemence at variance with his usual gentleness.
His concurrence in the first Bill, that was passed to deprive the Bishops of their votes, caused him to be suspected of lukewarmness to the Established Church. He maintained his belief in the good faith of Parliament, until he found how far the so-called popular party were carrying their measures, and then he came to a check, voted differently on the second Bishops’ Bill, and opposed the Commons on so many occasions as to be accused by them of truckling to the Court.
On this point he was so sensitive of suspicion that he was said to have refused the King’s offer of a place about his person, more than once, in a morose and curt manner, although in reality much attached to his royal master. He required persuasion to induce him to accept the office of Privy Councillor, and the positive command of the King, who at length also prevailed on him, to become his secretary. But in these offices Falkland maintained his own strict notions of honour and integrity, and he absolutely refused ever to employ a spy, or open a letter, however important the knowledge he might thus have gained. From this time he was most loyal in his adherence to Charles, and fell in consequence into the displeasure of the Parliament.
The anecdote of his visiting the library at Oxford is well known, and yet we cannot omit alluding to it. Taking down a copy of Virgil, Falkland invited the King to read his destiny therein, by opening the book at random. The passage was, alas! too soon verified:—
‘Oppressed with numbers, in the unequal field,
His men discouraged, and himself expelled,
Let him for succour sue, from place to place,
Torn from his subjects and his son’s embrace,’ etc. etc.
It is a part of Dido’s curse. The King was very much impressed by the boding passage, and Lord Falkland tried his fortune. This was quite as prophetic as the last, being the lament of Evander over his son, who was killed in battle:—
‘Well I knew,
What perils youthful ardour would pursue,
That boiling blood would carry thee too far,
Young as thou wert in danger, raw to war.
O curst essay of arms, disastrous doom,
Prelude of bloody fields, and fights to come.’
Such predictions were not calculated to cheer the spirits of the inquirers.
As time passed on, and all hope of peace between the Royalists and the Parliamentarians seemed lost, Lord Falkland, to whom his King and countrymen were alike dear, became a prey to profound melancholy.
That worst of all misfortunes, a civil war, affected him deeply; all his efforts at pacification were ineffectual; he would sit often silent when in company, for a long time, and then break forth in shrill accents—‘Peace! peace! peace!’
Pale, dejected, negligent of his dress, of which in former days he had been proverbially careful, he passed sleepless nights, and often said his heart was breaking. In battle he exposed himself to so much danger, that a friend expostulated with him, upon which he replied, among other reasons, that it behoved him to be more hazardous than others, lest any one should say that his desire for peace proceeded from pusillanimity.
On the morning of the battle of Newbury ‘he appeared more cheerful, put on a clean shirt in case he should be killed, and said he was weary of the times, and did think he would be out of it, before night.’
On the 20th of September 1643, in the front rank of Lord Byron’s regiment, Lucius Carey, Viscount Falkland, fell from his horse, pierced by a musket-ball. His body was not found till next morning. Thus, at the early age of thirty-four years, died one of the most remarkable men of his age and country. A true patriot, a loyal and attached subject, learned, witty, wise, honourable, and of so gentle and winning a disposition, that all men could not choose but love him; a soldier, a scholar, deeply attached to the Protestant faith, he withstood all the endeavours of his mother, a strict Roman Catholic, and a woman of great power of mind, to gain him over to her way of thinking.
He was very studious, and used to say he pitied ‘unlearned gentlemen on a rainy day.’ ‘Lord Falkland had dark hair and black eyes, in stature low, and of no great strength.’