James I and Catholicism, on his accession

One the the best-known of Gardiner's assertions about James I is on page 82: that "he was unwilling that the blood of any man should be shed for diversity of opinion in religion." The assertion is very plausible for the period before the Gunpower Treason, but, although we will see echos of the sentiment until James's death, the king was not strongly married to this point of view.

Succession

Picking up around page 78, Gardiner talks about the candidates to succeed Queen Elizabeth. The best discussion of this topic, I think, is in the introduction to The Correspondence of James VI with Robert Cecil.

The law was fairly clear: succession as settled by Henry VIII would be through his male line. When that failed, Mary (originally excluded as illegitimate) and then Elizabeth, his daughters should succeed. The provision for the failing of all three lines was descent to the "rightful heirs" of Henry VIII. Determining the next "rightful heir" was the sticking point. The king tried to help by inserting in his will that if his line should fail, descent would be through his niece, Francis; then his niece Eleanor; then the next "rightful heirs." The possible heirs in these lines were Edward, Lord Beauchamp; and the Earl of Derby.

Hereditary was politically important in European politics. It was the least costly and least violent way of transferring power. The uncertainty of reproduction undoubtedly made Henry VIII make these complicating provisions, but in fact peoples' idea of "right inheritance" would provide strong contradictory arguments. And by the rules recognized at the time, the nearest heir was James, the grandson of Henry VII's eldest daughter, Margaret. The closest descendent who was an English subject was Arbella Stuart, also in Margaret's line.

There were objections against all these candidates, but there were no more descendants of Henry VII. Others were proposed as descending from Edward III or even earlier kings, but these were mainly foreigners. In the end, the choice was left to Queen Elizabeth, as we will learn, and she may or may not have designated King James. The English hierarchy accepted him as the least tainted of the available choices.

Skipping ahead a bit

I apologize for a derth of posting. For reasons unrelated to this blog, I was working on a document related to events 25 years after the current period of the tour.

You may still want to look at it, though. It's at http://bob.fooguru.org/content/herbert/index.html

Asynchronisity again

I've been reading a very dreary, imperfect and badly edited biography of Sir Walter Raleigh--the most recent one, by Raleigh Trevelyan--and came across a reference to the fight of Raleigh's ship Revenge with the Spanish fleet at Flores in the Azores in 1591. The battle is famous--perhaps the best known "against all odds" story in English history--and was documented by Raleigh in what is probably the first printed piece of popular propaganda in English history; but I was totally unaware of Alfred, Lord Tennyson's much later poem on the subject. In a strange way, the poem drives home Raleigh's point better than he did himself.

It seems strange to me that our tour guide didn't mention this incident (although he stressed the defeat of the Armada 3 years before), because this incident--especially as decorated by Raleigh and interpreted by Tennyson--graphically explains the attitude of many Englishmen towards the Spanish. That attitude will come to the fore when reach the 1620s.

The Gowrie Conspiracy

On page 76, our tour guide passes over with no comment the curious affair of the Gowrie Plot. Over the period of several hours on August 5, 1600, the King of Scotland was easily captured by a supposedly rebel lord—the Earl of Gowrie—and just as easily escaped. The events of the day are confusing and several interpretations may be laid on them.
In brief, Alexander Ruthven, the young brother of the Earl of Gowrie, convinced James, who was in the field hunting, to accompany Ruthven to Gowrie House in Perth. The story he is supposed to have given the king is that he had captured a vagrant carrying a pot of gold. When they arrived in Perth, Ruthven conducted the king to a tower room in which was a tall armed man. Ruthven left James there, locking the door behind him; and told the king's party, coming later, that the King had already left Perth. Some time later, the king shouted from a window in his room. His attendants rushed the tower, killing Ruthven, and James was freed unharmed.
There are three broad interpretations of these events:

1. That there was a plot by Ruthven, or Gowrie and Ruthven, to kidnap and/or kill the king.
2. That it was a plot by the king to ruin the Ruthvens, whom he viewed as dangerous to his throne.
3. That it was just a misunderstanding that was blown out of proportion.

There isn't room (an I have no patience) to sift the evidence here. No explanation seems entirely satisfactory. Samuel Cowen, in an entertaining book, takes the position that the king was the conspirator. Andrew Lang, in James VI and the Gowrie Mystery looks at all sides, but concludes that Gowrie and Ruthven were the plotters.
Why is this important (especially given that our tour guide does not find it so)? It is not because if insight it gives us on James's character--clearly the evidence is ambiguous whether the king in this case was

• Greedy and gullible, or
  
• Crafty and vengeful, or
• Careless and ill-tempered

No, the importance, if there is any, lies in the use James made of this incident in later years. He kept it as a personal holiday (and so the court must also) and held it up as a special sign of providence. Unless the third interpretation above is true, this required a certain cynicism, or perhaps self-aggrandizement, hints of which I think we will frequently see in James I of England.

Basilikon Doron

In the paragraph that spans pages 75 and 76, our tour guide gives us a picture of James VI of Scotland that will help us when we meet him later as James I of England.
Strangely, Gardiner gives short shrift to the one document that is probably the most revealing of James's character: a treatise that that king wrote for the instruction of his son, Prince Henry, called Basilikon Doron.
For the most part, this book contains sound, if at times shallow, advice on the right behavior of a king towards God, his state and his people. But when it became known outside the royal family (it was not originally intended for publication, and originally only seven copies were printed), the Doron was criticized on many points by "the Godly sort". The chief problem was that James derived all his views of kingship from one basic principle: That kings derive their authority directly from God. He assumed that this fact gave him broad power, authority, even wisdom, in matters of religion. And this assumption could not go unchallenged by the ministers, who were among the few people in Scotland who could actually read a book.
To blunt the criticism, the king released the Doron for publication in 1599. He included a Preface "To the Reader" in which he tried to justify himself. If you read no other part of the book, read those nine pages because they reveal the internal logic that will govern James's decisions for the next 25 years: that he is "steadfast, true and plain", with a special mandate from God; and that those who oppose him either misunderstand or are driven by personal motives.
The introductory sonnet summarizes Basilikon Doron, and although it is well known, perhaps it will not be out of place here as a reminder:

God gives not kings the style of gods in vain,
For on the throne His sceptre do they sway;
And as their subjects ought them to obey,
So kings should fear and serve their God again.
If, then, ye would enjoy a happy reign,
Observe the statutes of our heavenly king,
And from His law make all your laws to spring.
If His lieutenant here you would remain,
Reward the just, be steadfast, true, and plain;
Repress the proud, maintaining aye the right;
Walk always so as ever in His sight,
Who guards the godly, plaguing the profane;
And so shall you in princely virtues shine,
Resembling right your mighty King divine.

17th-century Equivalant to Las Vegas

I apologize for being a tardy blogger. Last week I was at technology meeting in Las Vegas. It got me thinking what the 17th-century analog of Las Vegas might be. What are the main characteristics of Las Vegas?

1. Large crowds of people aware only of themselves.
2. Prices beyond the reach of most, but so persistent that people pay or go hungry.
3. Temptations so artfully decorated that victims recognize their folly only as it consumes them.

There is only one 17th-century analog: hell.

Most of what is known about the views of the English and Scots on the subject of Hell comes from entertainments--plays like Marlowe's Faust. A study of contemporary ecclesiastical sources on the nature of the "other place" would be rewarding, I think. I admit that the underworld the poets portray does not have the surface attraction of Las Vegas, but the theme of selfish denizens condemned by their own acts to pain and suffering is immediately applicable.