A Monster Among Decisions

The Spanish Infanta, Charles Stuart and George Villiers, Duke of Buckhingham.

It had all the ingredients of a great fairytale: an ageing king, an eligible prince and a dramatic journey across land and sea to win the hand of a princess. However, this is not a story of rose petals and wedding bells. Instead, the Spanish Match (as it came to be known) was an absurdly comical episode in royal history. Read on for a true tale featuring periwigs, fake beards and an elephant ...

Ticking Clocks

By the time Charles Stuart was twenty-two, he was itching for adventure.

He had endured a stifling childhood. A sickly child, Charles had lived in the shadow of his popular older brother Henry (until the teenage heir died of typhoid fever in 1612). However, by 1623, things were looking up. Charles' health was now robust, he had worked hard to overcome his stammer and the clocking was ticking until his ailing father vacated the throne. Only one thing was missing: a future queen. 

Parliament was full of would-be matchmakers, lining up to suggest potential Protestant brides. However, the ageing King James – irritated by his meddling MPs – had set his eye on María, the Infanta of Spain.

When this news leaked out, Parliament erupted in fury. A Catholic princess? Surely not! Since the violent reign of Mary I (otherwise known as Bloody Mary), England had been cautious to say the least when it came to Catholic monarchs. But James was nothing if not shrewd: in his eyes, a political alliance with Spain outweighed matters of religion.

Charles, meanwhile, was delighted. Embassy officers and ambassadors were lavish in their praise of the Infanta: in their letters to the prince, they enthused that 'she is of a fine hair and complexion ... a likely lady to make you happy'.

Here, thought Charles, was his opportunity to throw off the shackles of his childhood and prove himself to be a chivalrous knight by escorting the Infanta to England personally!

All he needed for this adventure was a sidekick. Enter George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham.

Partners in Crime

With his elaborate lace ruff, pointed beard and upturned moustache, Buckhingham was a glamorous fellow. Having shot to favour at court at the age of twenty-two, he seemed to collect titles as easily as football cards – Gentleman of the Bedchamber, Master of the Horse, Knight of the Garter – and, by the age of twenty-six, Buckhingham was the Lord High Admiral of England.

His relationship with Charles had started badly (the teenage prince, jealous of the popular newcomer, had once resorted to sulkily throwing buckets of water at Buckhingham) but by 1623 — against the odds — the two were firm friends.

Unfortunately, this new duo boded badly for international politics.

The Escapade Begins

Nobody knows whether it was Charles' idea or that of the reckless Buckhingham, but the fact remains that the pair donned fake beards, dubbed themselves Thomas and John Smith, and sneaked out of England on horseback in early 1623.

King James, against his better judgement, had in fact agreed to let the lads pursue their madcap mission — but news of the lads' departure provoked widespread horror. 'A monster among decisions,' spluttered the Venetian ambassador.

Meanwhile, oblivious to the chaos they'd left in their wake, ‘John and Tom Smith' stopped for a pitstop in Paris. There, they bought some periwigs, thus rendering their disguise watertight (they hoped).

They crossed the Pyrenees on horseback (no doubt Charles spent the journey rehearsing romantic speeches for the Infanta) before marching into the Spanish court with lungs full of mountain air.

It's safe to say that Villiers and Charles did not fit well into the Spanish mould. Still on a high from the smell of pine trees and freedom up the Pyrenees, they were unperturbed by the court’s restrictions: they called each other ‘ridiculous names’, appalling any high officials within earshot.

What's more, as the excitement began to wear off off, the two adventurers realised that they were in for a disappointment: the Spanish court was marked by rigid and suffocating formality. For the first few months of his sojourn in Spain, Charles was allowed to glimpse the Infanta only from a distance. As Charles watched her coach going by, he was all for dashing over and introducing himself — he practically had to be pinned down! One can only imagine how the Infanta felt about these English invaders.

Awkward months passed. Then, at Easter, the Spanish king finally permitted the pair to meet for a brief audience. Charles arrived decked out in pearls; the Infanta, by all accounts, gave him the most cool and formal of receptions.

Jumping the Wall

After this anticlimactic meeting, six weeks passed. Charles was at his wits' end. How was he supposed to be the chivalrous knight he'd crossed Europe to become when he couldn't even see the princess? So, when he heard that the Infanta enjoyed walking in a walled garden, he promptly scaled the high wall and jumped over. The Infanta was unimpressed. Shortly afterwards, he was escorted out (by the gate, this time).

As for the endlessly reckless Buckhingham, he was applying his own pressure campaign. Once, he knocked uninvited on the papal nuncio's door to negotiate — at almost midnight! In his spare time, Buckhingham haggled with the Spanish king, asking him to give Charles gifts; the king eventually complied with a gift of five camels and an elephant. (Eventually, these would be transported to London, where the elephant would drink a gallon of wine daily.)

By the summer of 1623, negotiations were still dragging on. Back in London, the famed architect Inigo Jones had already designed a Catholic chapel for the Infanta — but, despite assurances of religious freedom in London, she was cautious about moving to Protestant England. As for Charles, he protested at the possibility of his future children being cared for by Catholic nurses. Bones of contention multiplied quickly.

Charles was under ever-increasing pressure to compromise with the Spanish authorities, but by now his heart was no longer in the negotiations. Privately, he’d given up on the marriage altogether. In fact, he was considering donning his fake beard again and making a run for it — but the negotiations naturally fell through before such drastic measures were needed.

As he prepared for the voyage home, Charles kept his chin up. To save face, he presented the Infanta with lavish gifts, including 250 elaborately shaped pearls. In return, she gave him ... drumroll ... a pair of gloves.

Charles and Buckingham returned home by boat, where they were welcomed by ringing bells — and, although the Infanta and the Queen both dressed in mournful black to express sadness at their departure, I can only imagine that it was a relief all round.

P.S. Decades later, Charles — now held captive by the Parlimentarian army — would again resort to theatrical ruses. To discover how this impacted the lives of his children, you can read my article about his daughter Elizabeth here.