But Frederick had not reckoned with the persuasive pull of the status quo. Toward the end of August, Ferdinand, tired of waiting, made the usual sham concessions, and the other Protestant electors discovered that they did not, after all, wish to take on the all-powerful Habsburgs at this time and perhaps risk armed intervention from Spain. On August 28, ballots were cast, and all but the envoys for the Palatinate voted for Ferdinand (including, of course, Ferdinand, who as king of Bohemia was allowed to vote for himself). In the second round, fearing reprisals against their master if he should remain the one holdout, even Frederick’s agents ignored their orders and cast their ballot in favor of the obvious victor.
And then came word that two days earlier, on August 26, 1619, the Bohemian aristocracy, by an overwhelming ballot of 110 to 3, supplemented by a unanimous vote by the middle-class burghers, had deposed Ferdinand of Styria and elected Frederick V, Elector Palatine, as king of Bohemia in his place.
ALTHOUGH THIS FLATTERING EXPRESSION of trust was almost certainly the outcome he’d hoped for, Frederick did not rush to accept the throne offered to him. Faced suddenly with the reality of so important and dangerous a commitment—for the Elector Palatine was well aware that Ferdinand would contest the legality of this referendum and would defend his right to the sovereignty of Bohemia by arms, if necessary—Frederick, who had only just turned twenty-three, tried to act in a conscientious and deliberate manner. He sought the counsel of the other Protestant barons. He asked for specific commitments from allies and called a meeting of the Defensive Union for September. And, most important, as English support was deemed essential to the undertaking, he immediately apprised his father-in-law of the situation and asked James for his opinion as to whether the offer should be accepted.
Actually, the first notification came from Elizabeth, who had no doubt at all what decision her husband should make, and what they had been led to believe England would do for them. If her brother Henry were still alive, she knew he would have been at her front gate at the head of an army, ready to escort her and Frederick to Bohemia before she had time to order a suitable coronation gown.* She understood that James was not Henry, that he was older and more cautious, but she was sure that ultimately he would not fail them because he was her father and he loved her and he had already demonstrated that he wanted this. Of these facts she was certain, just as she was certain that it was James who had set them on this path in the first place, who had married her to this man, so inferior to her in station, in the expectation that Frederick would rise to her level by achieving the very throne he had now been offered. This had been the plan all along; it was merely a matter of having the courage to see it through. She was determined that she and Frederick do their parts.
Elizabeth had been absent from England for six years, but she had prepared for this day by keeping herself well informed of the nuances of her father’s court. Consequently, she sent her letter not directly to James—Frederick would do that—but by special messenger to George Villiers, the seductively handsome duke of Buckingham who was the king’s reigning favorite and the man most likely to have His Majesty’s ear and sympathy.† “This worthy bearer will inform you of a business that concerns his master [Frederick] very much; the Bohemians being desirous to choose him for their King, which he will not resolve of till he know his Majesty’s opinion in it,” she wrote from Heidelberg on September 1. “The King hath now a good occasion to manifest to the world the love he hath ever professed to the Prince here,” she reminded Buckingham. “I earnestly entreat you to use your best means in persuading his Majesty to show himself now, in his helping of the Prince here, a true loving father to us both.”
Sentiment in England overwhelmingly favored seizing this opportunity to extend Protestant influence abroad. “It is much debated here… whether it be fit the Prince Palatine should accept the crown or not; and I find it by most concluded that, since the revolutions of the world will in all likelihood… forcibly carry us out of this peaceable time, it is better to begin the change with advantage,” reported one of James’s ministers to a compatriot at The Hague. “If the Bohemians be suffered to be oppressed, the consequence of their loss will fall upon their neighbors, whose defense [a reference to England’s obligations under the treaty James had signed with the German Protestants] is like to cost as much blood and with much less fruit than this acquisition.”
“God forbid he [Frederick] should refuse it, being the apparent way His Providence hath opened to the ruin of the Papacy,” exhorted another member of the English nobility to the same ambassador. “I hope therefore that his Majesty will assist in this great work… For my part most willingly I here offer both life and fortunes to serve his Majesty in this or any way I may be of use.”
Frederick, meanwhile, was in Rothenburg, about 150 miles east of Heidelberg, addressing the Princes of the Union, his fellow Protestant members of the German defensive league. He knew that he could not even think of accepting the Bohemians’ offer without the full support of this group. Ferdinand was vindictive enough to retaliate against the Elector Palatine for his presumption by attempting to annex his ancestral properties. Frederick needed to ensure that his Protestant neighbors would defend both the Upper and Lower Palatinates against any imperial incursions while he was away in Prague. As Frederick’s request was clearly covered by the terms of the Defensive Union, the signers all agreed to abide by their obligations and protect his territory in his absence. They naturally expected England, also a participant in this agreement, to honor the terms as well.
Ironically, among the many and varied parties involved in these events, including the members of his own Privy Council, James alone believed he had not encouraged his daughter and son-in-law’s ambitions or committed himself to defending their property in any way. Of course, he had said he expected that Frederick would one day be king of Bohemia, and he had signed the treaty obliging him to send money and troops in specific amounts to Germany in case of a Catholic attack, but that didn’t mean he thought he’d ever have to really do it! He was extremely irritated to be forced by Elizabeth and her husband to act on what he had always considered to be the usual vague promises. James had very high hopes that his one remaining son, Charles, now nearly nineteen years old and of marriageable age, might be wedded to the king of Spain’s daughter, and of course Philip III was unlikely to be cajoled into an alliance with a suitor whose family was actively engaged in undermining Habsburg rule in Bohemia. The very first thing James did was dash off an obsequious note to Spain swearing that he’d had absolutely nothing to do with his son-in-law’s enterprise and offering to mediate. After that, he did his best to stall and went out hunting in the hopes that it would all just go away.
But time had run out. The Bohemians, anxious to settle the matter, sent an urgent embassy to Frederick, threatening to withdraw the offer if he did not give an immediate answer. Around the third week of September, still having heard nothing from James and fearing to lose so great an opportunity, Frederick agreed to become king of Bohemia and sent a messenger to England informing the court of his decision.
The envoy arrived in London in the middle of a council meeting, where the news of Frederick’s acceptance was greeted with great excitement by the ministers of James’s government. The Spanish ambassador was quick to inform Madrid of the general approbation and celebratory atmosphere. “The greater number of the councilors… were inclined to persuade the King that he was under an obligation to help and succor his son-in-law on such an occasion; and they wished for an illumination [fireworks] and other demonstrations of joy, in order that the news of the Palatine’s becoming a King might obtain the more credence, and that they might in this way entangle the King the more,” he wrote worriedly to Philip III on September 27, 1619. But the analysis of the Venetian ambassador, who did not fail to note James’s obvious reluctance to commit himself to the undertaking, was more astute. “The hope of making his daughter a Queen, and of giving his son-in-law two votes in the election of the n
ext Emperor, the obligation under which he acknowledges himself to be from nearness of blood, and as the head of the Princes of the Union, incite him to a generous resolution,” the envoy observed to the doge. “On the other hand, the desire of living without trouble, his disinclination to incur expense for the sake of others, and especially devotion to the friendship of Spain, are enough to keep him amused,” the Venetian predicted.
But the newly elected king and queen of Bohemia, unaware of the character of the man in whom they and all of Protestant Germany had placed their trust, and perhaps not giving proper consideration to the obstacles that might be involved in governing a realm that resolved its differences by throwing the opposition out the window, forged ahead. On the very day that the diplomats from Spain and Venice informed their governments of developments in England, Frederick, along with a heavily pregnant Elizabeth, left their two youngest children, Karl Ludwig and Elizabeth, in Heidelberg with his mother (who had counseled strongly against the move), packed up their eldest son, Frederick Henry, and 135 cartloads of luggage, and set off for Prague.
4
Queen of Bohemia
ELIZABETH AND FREDERICK LEFT HEIDELBERG in the company of an extensive entourage designed to signal the seriousness of their commitment to Bohemia politically, ceremonially, and, most important, militarily. “The Prince and Princess Palatine are going with as much speed as such a train can admit,” reported an ambassador from England, who had been sent specifically by James to appraise the situation. “For they have a fair representation of court, and a fair representation of an army together (her guard being of 800 horse)… I daresay he goes… truly with such a zeal in weighing the cause, such a magnanimity in pursuing it, and such a providence for the safety of the country which he leaves, as may well become a person of that rank to which God had brought him,” the envoy observed with frank admiration. Along the way, the couple picked up a further escort of some three thousand foot soldiers and an additional thousand horsemen levied from Frederick’s possessions in the Upper Palatinate, another show of strength designed to impress not only their new subjects in Bohemia but their imperial opponents as well. Both Frederick and Elizabeth were well aware that their every move was under scrutiny by Ferdinand and the other European powers and that it was necessary to behave in a way that instilled confidence in their allies and uncertainty in their enemies, although with so much at stake, it was unfortunately sometimes very difficult to tell who was who.
By the middle of October, they had arrived at the outskirts of Bohemia, where an official delegation, representing all of the most distinguished noblemen of the realm, waited to greet them. A short ceremony ensued in which the Bohemians formally offered Frederick the crown, and he accepted, and pledged to abide by the all-important Letter of Majesty. Then, one by one, his new subjects went down on one knee and paid homage first to their new king, and then to his queen.
Elizabeth was aware that her presence by Frederick’s side was of enormous assistance to her husband, and this was one of the reasons she had insisted on accompanying him. Afraid for her safety and that of the child she was carrying, he had at first suggested she stay home, but she had rejected the idea absolutely, and he now reaped the benefits of her decision. The Bohemian delegation, as well as the crowds of ordinary citizens who thronged the streets of Prague eager for a view of their new sovereigns, adored Elizabeth. Young, beautiful, and glamorous, she provided exactly the diversion the kingdom needed from its troubles. “The queen’s free and gracious demeanor doth win as much love as was lost by the Austrian [Ferdinand],” declared an eyewitness to these events. Even better, the fact that she was seven months pregnant and had elected to have her baby in her new realm bespoke a tremendous trust in her husband and his allies, particularly England. For what father would allow so ethereal a creature, his only daughter, in her vulnerable state, to enter into so dangerous an environment if he were not determined to protect her?
Frederick V in his coronation robe
The procession made its way to the great castle of Prague, long the majestic residence of the Habsburgs, now home to the newly elected king and queen. A tour of the château’s numerous apartments was conducted with pride by a local nobleman the very next day. Rudolf’s extensive collection of art and curiosities, untouched since his death, was a natural focus of interest. “Their Majesties are very cheerful,” this courtier reported in a letter to the English ambassador stationed in Holland. “I showed them the day before yesterday the chamber of rarities of the emperor. The queen was much pleased with them, and said to me smiling, ‘Really, Ferdinand has left us a great number of fine things.’” To which her tour guide, charmed to be treated as a familiar by royalty, chivalrously assured her that “they were not his [Ferdinand’s] at all.”
The coronations—first Frederick’s on October 25th, followed by Elizabeth’s on the 28th—were conducted with solemnity and splendor. Where traditionally an archbishop would have officiated at the ceremony of a Habsburg, Frederick, a Calvinist, received his crown and scepter from the aged hand of the senior member of the Protestant ministry, a Moses-like figure whose long white beard and stern appearance were considered testament to his moral authority. The same elderly minister was employed to inaugurate the queen, whose coronation ceremony was a replica of her husband’s except that the guests and witnesses were the highborn women of the kingdom rather than the men.
For the occasion, Elizabeth wore a coronation robe and gown magnificently adorned with pearls, with matching pearl earrings and a similarly ornamented comb to pin up her hair. She sat on a throne of velvet; her crown was gold, as was her scepter; a Te Deum was chanted, the bells of the city were rung, and the cannons fired. It was all as legitimately regal as if it had been conducted at Westminster, and Elizabeth’s satisfaction was obvious. She was, after all, only twenty-three years old and may perhaps be forgiven for wearing her crown a little longer than was strictly necessary. “The queen appeared very joyous in going to the church and in the street leading from the palace, having the crown on her head, as she was also at table, and at the royal banquet in the great chamber of the palace; where, instead of the great lords, the great ladies filled the offices worthily, and in such fine order, that never before had anything more fine or magnificent been seen,” enthused a newsletter describing this event.
Even better, the diadem had no sooner settled on Elizabeth’s brow than news arrived of a promising Protestant offensive against the emperor. The kingdom of Hungary, taking its cue from Bohemia, had also deposed Ferdinand, selecting instead a Transylvanian prince by the name of Bethlen Gabor. Like Frederick, Bethlen Gabor had taken up the challenge, but this time Ferdinand, who’d had enough of his subjects giving away his thrones, sent troops to discourage his opponent from accepting the crown. Unfortunately for the emperor, he had chosen the wrong man to confront. Bethlen Gabor turned out to be a violent and experienced warrior who went to claim his realm at the head of a fearsome force of cavalry. “Bethlen Gabor hath made a great progress in Hungary, having cut in pieces 1000 foot and 500 horse which were sent by the count of Bucquoy [the general in charge of Ferdinand’s army],” reported the English ambassador at The Hague. The diplomat further noted that Bethlen Gabor had seized Pressburg, the capital, “and possessed himself of the crown of Hungary: which whether he will put upon his own head, or make other use of it… is very doubtful… some saying that he will make presentation thereof to the new King of Bohemia.”
Bethlen Gabor’s success was greeted with great excitement by Frederick’s government, particularly when the Transylvanian let it be known that he wished to form an alliance with Bohemia against the emperor. Suddenly, with the Protestants of Hungary, Silesia, Moravia, Germany, Holland, the Netherlands, and England all allied against him, it was Ferdinand, and not Frederick, who seemed vulnerable. With pride, Elizabeth could assure herself that the risks she and her husband had taken in accepting the Bohemian throne had been entirely justified. Frederick was now not only the establishe
d ruler of a kingdom but also the acknowledged leader of a united Protestant movement against the Habsburgs. She and her husband were finally of equal rank, so there were no more uncomfortable episodes regarding precedence when they went out in society. More important, their children’s standing had improved. When, on November 26, 1619, Elizabeth was delivered of a healthy son, whom the couple named Rupert, the bells in Prague rang out with joy at the birth of a royal prince.
BUT THE DANGER OF success is that it hardens opposition and provokes counterattacks. Just how close Frederick, Elizabeth, and their Protestant allies were to subverting the empire may be measured by the seriousness with which Ferdinand, and indeed the entire Habsburg dynasty, took the threat. And the resources that this family could call upon, especially when they were united, were formidable.
After the defeat of the imperial forces by Bethlen Gabor, Ferdinand took the precaution of appealing to his cousin Archduke Albert, who ruled the Spanish Netherlands (on the northern border of France). Albert in turn wrote to his brother-in-law, the king of Spain, asking for help. Philip III’s response was a model of what can be achieved by a veteran sovereign acting with decision. “By your Highness’s letter of the 28th of last month,” he wrote briskly on November 5, 1619, “I have received information of the bad state of affairs in Bohemia… and, considering how important it is that there should be no failure in the application of a remedy… I have resolved and ordered that seven thousand infantry… are to start at once for Alsace… and until the arrival of the provision of money which will be needed to support the troops which will from henceforward be maintained in Bohemia on my account… I have directed that 200,000 ducats… shall be immediately sent.” On January 2, 1620, Philip again contacted the archduke. “I have resolved and given orders that… two thousand other soldiers of the Spanish infantry who are present in Naples, and four thousand Neapolitans who are also there, may be sent to you, as well as the regiment of Lombards… all of them being veteran and serviceable troops… Arrangements have been made to provide 1,000,000 ducats… besides the 130,000 ducats of ordinary supply for that army… that there may not be a moment lost in getting together the money and men, and in setting to work in the Spring.” Then, just to make sure his brother-in-law understood that he would countenance no excuses and that no expense was to be spared, on February 3, 1620, the king of Spain again took pen to paper. “I have wished here apart to charge your Highness seriously, as I now do, to direct that there may be much haste in carrying out the invasion of the Palatinate. Everything that is possible will be done here for the provision of money for this object in time, so that there will be no failure.”
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