Great Staircase
No. 77 George Villiers, Second Duke Of
Buckingham.
By Sir Peter Lely.
BORN 1627, DIED 1688.
Steel cuirass. Buff leather coat. Black and white sleeves. One hand resting on a helmet. Red plume.
He was the second son of the first Duke of Buckingham, (of the Villiers family,) by Catherine, daughter and sole heir of Francis Manners, sixth Earl of Rutland. No sooner did Charles I. learn the news of the murder of his friend (the first Duke) than he hastened to the residence of the sorrowing widow, to pay her a visit of condolence; the little Duke being then but an infant, and his mother expecting her confinement. The King, much touched by her sad position, said all he could to comfort her, and promised to be a father to her children; nor did he forget to fulfil the self-imposed trust. At the proper age, George Villiers was sent to Cambridge, and afterwards to travel abroad, accompanied by his brother Francis, under the care of a tutor provided for them by their royal guardian. On the breaking out of the civil war the two youths returned to England, and hastened to proffer their services to their Sovereign, a proceeding which brought down upon them the vengeance of the Parliament. Their property was confiscated, but in consideration of their youth the estates and revenues were soon restored to them. Poverty was ill suited to the splendid tastes, and profuse style of living, which characterised the Duke, on his second trip abroad, or indeed wherever he went, and in later life he was in constant pecuniary difficulties.
The war broke out afresh between Charles and his subjects; he was a prisoner in the Isle of Wight, when the loyal brothers returned home, and joined the Royalist army, under the Earl of Holland, who had unfurled his standard in the county of Surrey. Lord Holland was quartered at Kingston-on-Thames, and it was on the 11th of July 1648 that Lord Francis Villiers, ‘after performing prodigies of valour,’ was killed in a skirmish with the Parliamentarians near Nonsuch, to the sincere regret of his comrades and the inexpressible grief of his brother. ‘He was a youth,’ says Clarendon, ‘of rare beauty and comeliness of person.’
The expedition proved most disastrous; Lord Holland himself was taken prisoner shortly after, near St. Neot’s, and beheaded, the Duke of Buckingham narrowly escaping the same fate. He contrived to conceal himself, but one morning, finding the house in which he lay, surrounded by a troop of the enemy’s cavalry (with the dashing bravery which always characterised him), he leaped on his horse, and followed by one faithful servant, cut his way through the troopers, killing the officer in command, and gained the sea-shore, where he joined the Prince of Wales, who was on board a vessel lying in the Downs. A proclamation was issued by the Parliament, to the effect that if the Duke did not return in forty days, his property would a second time be forfeited.
Buckingham stood the test, and remained faithful to his allegiance. He lived for some time on the proceeds of a sale of magnificent pictures bequeathed to him by the Duke, his father (the chief part once the property of Rubens), which he disposed of at Antwerp. He remained abroad for some time, but accompanied his King on the expedition to Scotland, and after the battle of Worcester had another of his ‘hair-breadth ‘scapes,’ almost as miraculous as that of his royal master.
After leaving the King concealed in Boscobel House, the Duke, with other Royalist nobles, rode northward, and were intercepted by a body of Roundheads (who took many of them prisoners). Buckingham, according to his wont, escaped, by the aid of some friendly labourers and workmen, with one of whom he changed habits, and was concealed in a wood. He afterwards went from one house in the neighbourhood to another, and again made his way to the Continent in safety, first to Holland, and then to France, where he gained fresh laurels by his conduct at the sieges of Arras and Valenciennes.
Buckingham now resolved on a bold and daring step. The Parliament had awarded the chief part of his estates and revenues to General Lord Fairfax, but this noble-minded man had already set apart a considerable portion for the service of the widowed Duchess; and the Duke (although an outlaw) deemed it politic to return to England and appeal to the further generosity of ‘my Lord Fairfax.’ He repaired, then, forthwith to the home of his ancestors, ingratiated himself not only into the favourable feelings of the father, but still more into those of the daughter.
The handsome and irresistible George Villiers was not likely to sue long in vain; he proposed, was accepted, and became the son-in-law of the man who was in possession of his rent-roll. Cromwell, on hearing of the marriage, was exasperated beyond measure, and the Duke was again forced to go into hiding. Most likely this was not difficult, surrounded by his own tenantry, with the assistance of a loving bride; but he was rash, and doubtless trusted to his own talent for evading danger; and so one day, riding to visit his sister in the neighbourhood, he was waylaid, taken prisoner, and carried off to the Tower.
Fairfax, already disgusted with many of Cromwell’s proceedings, was furious, and expressed himself boldly. But the Protector was not one to listen patiently to any strictures on his own conduct, and laughed the General to scorn. Fortunately for the captive, Cromwell did not survive much longer, and on the abdication of Richard Cromwell the Duke regained his liberty. At the Restoration he was marked out for favour by the King, to whose fortunes he had been so faithful; he was made Lord-in-Waiting, Lord-Lieutenant of York, Master of the Horse, etc. etc. But his restless and intriguing spirit led him into many dangerous plots, so much so that in 1666 he was deprived of all his offices, and summoned to take his trial. The King came to the rescue, and caused him to be reinstated in many of his posts. Buckingham joined Lord Shaftesbury against Clarendon, became President of the Council, and his initial, as is well known, stood for the third letter of ‘Cabal.’
In 1670 he was sent Ambassador to the King of France, ostensibly to condole with him on the death of the Duchess of Orleans, but in reality with the project of breaking ‘The Triple Alliance.’ About this time there was an attempt on the life of the Duke of Ormonde by one Blood, and Lord Ossory (Ormonde’s son) accused the Duke of Buckingham of being an accomplice of the villain. His plea was that his father was a friend of Lord Clarendon’s, to whom Buckingham had vowed deadly enmity, but the charge soon fell to the ground.
Buckingham was one of the Plenipotentiaries (with the Earl of Arlington and others) to Holland, but the negotiations with which they were intrusted, failed. The Cabal breaking up, the Duke once more found himself accused of many heavy charges,—of treasonable correspondence with the King’s enemies, and the like.
He also made himself obnoxious to his royal master by the part he took respecting the Test Bill, and above all, by maintaining that the King had exceeded his royal prerogative in proroguing the Parliament for a longer time than was legal. He was sent to the Tower, and when once more liberated, mixed himself up (with a restlessness he doubtless called patriotism) in fresh plots and cabals. On the death of Charles II., the Duke of Buckingham, well aware that he could not expect the same indulgence from King James as from his predecessor, retired to the country (being in failing health at the time), and gave himself up to literary occupations and the sports of the field. One day, while intent on unearthing a fox, he was imprudent enough to sit for some time on the damp ground, in consequence of which he caught a chill that proved fatal in three days. His wife, who long survived him, was a most exemplary woman, who loved him in spite of his numerous and flagrant infidelities. They had no children, and the title became extinct.
The witty, handsome, profligate Duke of Buckingham is a well-known acquaintance to all readers, both of history and fiction. His manners were genial, even captivating; his anger or revenge generally vented itself in pointed satires or pungent bon-mots. Dryden immortalised him as Zimri in ‘Absalom and Achitophel.’ Pope drew his portrait in the Moral Essays (Epist. iii.); his love for astrology and alchemy helped him to squander his living, but all his tastes were extravagant. His comedy of ‘The Rehearsal’ (in which, however, he is supposed to have been much assisted by friends) made a great noise, and his delineation of Dryden under the character of Bayes was much admired.