Lucy Hughes-Hallett, The Scapegoat

It was a later Duke of Buckingham that the palace was named after but not one that exceeded George Villiers in eminence, influence and, for James I if not in the end the English people, adorability. One of the great attractions of biography is the view they give us of the worlds their protagonists lived in and the 634-page glimpse that The Scapegoat gives us of the workings, ostentation and strangeness of the court of King James I is a prime example.

George Villiers rose from relatively low birth, effectively groomed by his mother to do whatever it took to achieve success. While Lucy Hughes-Hallett raises an eyebrow more than once on our behalf regarding what sort of things that entailed, the absolute power of a self-indulgent monarch like James made it less outrageous in the Stuart court.

James had had a traumatic childhood with the assassination of his mother only the headline in a litany of horrors that made him understandably nervous about his own safety and an emotional neediness that took all the vast largesse at his disposal to procure remedies for. Young George Villiers was the best-looking boy he had ever seen, an outstanding prancer on his shapely legs and soon eclipsed all others in the succession of favourites that he chose as his most intimate companions.

While the riches that James lavished on George, resulting in his title, had to be reciprocated with an equal if opposite love in such an unbalanced relationship, Buckingham had charm to match his looks and gift and was exceptionally good at it. He rose to be the most powerful person in England with a talent that was far beyond that of Piers Gaveston under Edward II and much more durable than that of Dominic Cummings under the much more flawed, precarious and rapidly disintegrating position of Boris Johnson.

It's easy during his rise to power to like Buckingham and be impressed and James is cultured, a bit of a scholar and peace-loving and so more attractive to read about than he must have been to be with, his profligacy notwithstanding. But Buckingham outgrows his subservient role with his extensive portfolio of high office appointments and the balance of power shifts with James preferring to go hunting to running the country. And, being able to take James for granted, he can cultivate his relationship with the future Charles I to secure his longer-term future.

The perennial problem with History as a subject is that we don't know the answers to the most crucial questions. While such as those relating to Richard III and the princes in the tower are subject to more speculation than evidence, there is some suspicion that James was deliberately bumped off by Buckingham. It fits that he might have been, given Buckingham's apparently vaulting ambition but it also fits with the role of scapegoat that, as someone who became so unpopular, any and every possible misdemeanour would be loaded onto his charge sheet.

He was certainly more disastrous than Boris in international relations if only on such a larger scale as failing to make the marriage alliance with Spain and, if succeeding in such with France, becoming intent on war with both of them and ending in fiascos each time he tried. Mainly, there was no money which is the sub-text to most political problems.

But once the tide of public opinion has turned, it's all but impossible to turn it back. Buckingham, whether he was or not, was understood to be a Catholic sympathizer devoted to debauchery, luxury and the devil and not only Parliament but hordes of unpaid soldiers and sailors blamed him for everything.

The concept of the scapegoat first appears in Leviticus, in which a goat is designated to be cast into the desert to carry away the sins of the community. It's possible that more was loaded onto Buckingham than were his just desserts but he had been cast as a monster and the chance fell to John Felton to stab him in Portsmouth. Felton could have got away but thought that cries of 'a Frenchman' were saying his name so he gave himself up, which is a hapless way to go even if he did so with great conviction. 

Lucy Hughes-Hallett's book is a riveting read, superbly organized and as vivid and astonishing in whichever way one chooses to interpret it, whether as a morality tale, a study in the ongoing saga of political hubris and failure or, as I generally prefer to, as an insight into human nature. It has a support cast including Francis Bacon, foreign royalty and their emissaries, art by Velasquez and Rubens. It is a sumptuous feast of a colourful blockbuster film except in my preferred medium of hardback book. 

I remain grateful to the Portsmouth Library service for providing such top-class entertainment for the asking.