by setting up such a monument in his own lifetime as should commemorate the virtues of them both.1

Her masterpiece, in truth, was "The Life of the Thrice noble, high and puissant Prince, William Cavendish, Duke, Marquis, and Earl of Newcastle." Published within the lifetime of them both, the biography proves the Duke as happily deficient in humour 88 the Duchess. Not otherwise could he have gazed complacently upon so fine a panegyric of his qualities. Pepys thought him "an ass to suffer her to write what she writes of him and to him." The University of Cambridge, more amiably minded, crowned her 88 a classic. "Hereafter," gravely pronounced its mouthpiece, "if generous and high-born men shall search our library for a model of a most accomplished general, they shall find it expressed to the life, not in Xenophon's Cyrus, but in the Duchess of Newcastle's William." She thought so well of her book as to set it in the same class with Cæsar's Commentaries; and Charles Lamb, whose confident applause renewed the waning fame of the fantastical duchess, thought that a book so "good and rare" as this deserved the

most sumptuous binding. "No casket is rich enough, no casing sufficiently durable, to honour and keep safe such a jewel." This praise of Lamb's subtly marks the limitations of the book. It is an exotic, a fantasy, a literary curiosity, which cannot be too highly decorated, yet of its kind it is perfect. The subject is absolutely consonant with the style and method of the author. The Duke of Newcastle was master of pomp and ceremony. If ever a grand seigneur was born into England it was he. For him life was a spectacle, and policy a show. In an age of display he displayed a genius for entertainment which was unrivalled. When King Charles I. visited Welbeck, Newcastle prepared "such an excess of feasting as had never before been known in England." Ben Jonson devised a Masque for the royal pleasure, and his Majesty liked his entertainment so well that he bade his loyal subject repeat it a year later at Bolsover. For the delight of the King twenty thousand pounds seemed but trivial sum, and Newcastle was presently to prove that he would spend more than money in the service of his master. At the outbreak of the rebellion he was the first to take up arms

a

for the King. To him was intrusted the defence of the northern part of the kingdom. Lavish with his wealth, he not merely lent money to Charles, but within a short time he raised an army of 8000 foot, horse, and dragoons. "Thus he stood upon his guard," says the Duchess, "and continued them upon duty; playing his weak game with much prudence, and giving the town and country great satisfaction by his noble and honourable deportment." Deportment, perhaps, was the most suitable word for his method of warfare. In no stress did his dignity desert him; he never forgot even in the acrimony of civil war the rules of chivalry. Nor did he always choose his subordinates with a wise discretion. He valued in others the qualities which he most esteemed in himself. It is said that he appointed Davenant lieutenant general of his ordnance because he was 8 poet, and a learned divine discharged for him the office of scout-master. As Clarendon puts it:

"He liked the pomp and absolute authority of a general well, and preserved the dignity of it to the full; and for the discharge of the outward state and circumstances of it, in acts of courtesy, affability, bounty, and generosity he abounded; which in the infancy of a war became him, and made him for some time very acceptable to men of all conditions. But the substantial part of it, and fatigue of a general, he did not in any degree understand (being utterly unacquainted with war), nor could

submit to."

But it was not the advice of amateurs nor his own lack of

knowledge which hindered the success of Newcastle. "There was so much treachery, juggling, and falsehood in my Lord's own army," writes the Duchess, "that it was impossible for him to be successful in his designs and undertakings." And treachery was not the worst foe which he had to combat. Orders from London drove him at last into the very clutch of destruction. Rupert joined him with a positive and absolute command from the King to fight the enemy, and the result was the battle fought "on that fatal moor called Hessom Moor." Newcastle obeyed, as he would have obeyed Charles had the King bade him out his throat, but he knew that in thus putting matters to the touch he had no hope but ruin. As long as there was a chance of victory, Newcastle fought with the valour and courage which never deserted him. In an encounter with the Scots, "my lord himself killed three with his page's half-leaden sword, for he had no other left him; and though all the gentlemen in particular offered him their swords, yet my lord refused to take a sword of any of them." After the crowning defeat he made his escape as best he might, and resolved, "and that justly and honourably," to forsake the kingdom. General King mournfully asked Rupert Newcastle what and they would do. Rupert replied, "I will rally my men." "I will go to Holland," said Newcastle, and he kept his word.

Newcastle has been severely

blamed for thus deserting the cause of his King and country, and unless we understand the limits of his character, it is difficult to excuse him. Clarendon in his history made an ironical defence, which is the most that might be expected:

"All that can be said for the Marquis," he wrote, "is that he was utterly tired with a condition and employment 80 contrary to his humour, nature, and education. . . . He was a very fine gentleman, active and full of courage, and most accomplished in these qualities of horsemanship, dancing, and fencing, which accompany a good breeding-in which his delight was. Besides that he was amorous in poetry and music, to which he indulged the greatest part of his time."

In truth, nothing save an ardent feeling of loyalty would have ever tempted him from the paths of pleasure, and if he failed, it speaks eloquently of his devotion that he faced death and ruin in the faithful service of his King. Death he escaped. Ruin held him in its savage grasp for many a long year. Even though he were "as fit to be a general as a bishop," he proved in adversity an unconquerable courage. Accustomed from his youth up to the lavish expenditure of money, he crossed the seas with no more than £90 in his pocket. Thenceforth until the Restoration his life was one bitter fight with poverty. Wherever he went the demon of want pursued him. To obtain money was a plain impossibility. To win the oredit of his fellows was an enterprise well within his compass. In Paris, as in Antwerp, he was

the

forced "to live upon courtesy of those who would trust him." Greatly daring, he married his Margaret without a shilling in his pocket. The story of his debts is told with perfect candour and a touch of humour by his amiable spouse. One day his steward assured him that he could provide no dinner for him, for his creditors were resolved to trust him no longer. Pleasantly he suggested that the Duchess should pawn her clothes, and the Duchess, answering that they were of small value, bade her waiting-maid pawn some "small toys" which she had lately given her. Thus with a light heart he found a way out of every difficulty, and driven to the worst straits of poverty he would call his creditors together, and make so effectual a speech to them, "that instead of urging the payment of his debts they promised him that he should not want anything in whatsoever they were able to assist him." Well might the Duchess sing the praises of the citizens of Antwerp, who could never resist "his civil deportment and persuasive arguments." credit which they gave him she looked upon as a special blessing of God; for was he not a stranger in the land, and to all appearance a ruined man?

The

For men of less spirit than the Duke of Newcastle it would have been easy to descend in the social scale, to lead a mean life in a humble lodging. To this degradation he would never consent. He could not forget that he was "a

noble, high and puissant prince." Though his pocket held not a penny, still would he live in the best state in might; still would he keep the finest horses in his stable, "resolving for his own recreation and divertisement, in his banished condition, to exercise the art of manage, which he is a great master and lover of." In the depth of his poverty his horses amounted to the number of eight. Nor would the direst distress persuade him to part with any of them. For he would say that good horses are 80 rare "as not to be valued for money, and he who would buy him out of his pleasure [meaning his horses] must pay dear for it." And the horses repaid eagerly the affection which he lavished on them. They showed their joy, whenever he came to the stable, by their "trampling action," and when he rode them himself, "they seemed to take much pleasure and pride in it."

Thus his fame in Antwerp grew, and no traveller who might be admitted into the presence failed to pay the Duke his respects, and to admire his manage of horses. One day, says the Duchess with delight, she counted some seventeen coaches at the door of their house, which they had hired from the widow of "Van Ruben, the famous picture drawer." And then, as hope grew brighter in the breasts of the Royalists, the Duke provided for the King and all the royal race who chanced to be in Antwerp a small entertain

ment which, though it paled before the glories of Welbeck and Bolsover, must surely have reminded the Duke of his gracious past. If the expense were no larger than his creditors would allow, the sentiments of loyalty expressed were worthy the

most august occasion. "The King was brought in with music," we are told, "and all being placed, Major Mohun, the player, in a black satin robe and garland of bays, made a speech in verse of his lordship's own poetry, complimenting the King in his highest hyperbole." Thus was prophesied the speedy restoration of the King, and when it came none rejoiced more gratefully than the loyallest of Dukes, who declared that his love to his gracious master, King Charles the Second, "was above the love he bore to his wife, children, and all his posterity; nay, to his own life." Nor did the fact that his gracious master did not reciprocate his love check his ardour for a moment. "I care not whether his Majesty loves me again or not," said he, "for I am resolved to love him."

The Duke's enthusiasm at seeing once more his native land was unbounded.

"At last," writes the Duchess in a touching passage, "being come so far that he was able to discern the smoke of London, which he had not pleased to desire one seen in a long time, he merrily was that was

near him to jog and awake him out of his dream, for surely, said he, I have been sixteen years asleep, and am not thoroughly awake yet. My Lord lay that night at Greenwich, where his supper seemed more sav oury to him than any meat he had