There’s much in the calendar this month that makes one think of the Kings over the Water. On January 30th, we remember the death (cough cough *martyrdom* cough cough) of Charles I. James II was made Duke of York in January. On the 7th of January, 1689, Louis XIV received James in exile at St. Germain-en-Laye. His son, the Old Pretender, died on January 1st, 1766.
The very next day is the anniversary of the death of the Young Pretender, and thus of the accession to the Pretendence by his brother, Henry Benedict Stuart, Cardinal Duke of York, Cardinal Priest of Santa Maria in Portico, Cardinal Priest of Santi XII Apostoli, Cardinal Priest of Santa Maria in Trastevere, Cardinal Bishop of Frascati, Comendatario of San Lorenzo in Damaso, Dean of the College of Cardinals, and nominally Cardinal Bishop of Ostia e Velletri.
There is a delightful passage about that event by Brian Fothergill in his book, The Cardinal King. It comes to me by way of Mr. Connor McNeill. You can find him at Mary’s Dowry.
So it was decided that the funeral should take place at Frascati, for in his own Cathedral the Cardinal might do as he pleased.
While Prince Charles lay in state dressed in royal robes with crown and sceptre, the stars of the Garter and Thistle on his breast, six altars were created in the antechamber at which more than two hundred masses were offered for the repose of his soul by the Irish Franciscans and Dominicans who attended him in the hour of death. The body was then placed in a coffin of cypress wood and taken to Frascati where the funeral took place on the 3rd of February. The little cathedral was thronged with people, among whom were to be seen many English residents and visitors from Rome, all in the deepest mourning. A guard of honour was formed from the Frascati militia and the chief magistrates if the town were all present. The whole interior of the building was hung with black and adorned with texts chosen by the Cardinal himself, the most appropriate of which was taken from Ecclesiasticus: ‘Ad insulas longe divulgatum est nomen tuum, et dilectus es in pace tua,’ – ‘Thy name went abroad to the islands far off, and thou was beloved in thy peace.’ The coffin was placed on a catafalque raised three steps from the floor of the nave and covered in a magnificent pall emblazoned with the arms of Great Britain; round about it burned many wax tapers while three gentlemen of the household clad in mourning cloaks stood on each side.
As ten o’clock struck the royal Cardinal entered the church, being carried to the door in a sedan chair heavily festooned with black crêpe. He then advanced to his throne and began to chant the office for the dead while at other altars four masses were said by the chief dignitaries of the cathedral. As the Cardinal repeated the solemn words tears were seen to run down his cheeks and more than once his voice faltered as though he were unable to proceed.
Fothergill goes on to describe the Cardinal’s performance of certain archaic royal duties.
His assumption of royal rank had brought few if any changes to his mode of life beyond those minor adjustments in arms and title to which we have already referred. He would sometimes, as successor to King Edward the Confessor, touch for the King’s Evil, using a silver-gilt touch-piece engraved with a ship in full sail on one side and an angel on the other. The mystical aspect of royalty to which phlegmatic Hanoverians have never laid claim was probably, with the single exception of Charles X of France, practiced for the last time in human history by Henry IX.
Your humble correspondent will have more to say as the Memorial of Charles approaches. In the meantime, you can celebrate this auspicious month by listening to an excellent little album of music composed for the court of the the Cardinal King. It is, I believe, the first recording of this recently discovered collection.