CHAPTER XII

ROYALTY ON THE TURF

Thathorse-racing was in vogue, and practised to some extent by the Saxons, may be deduced from the fact of King Athelstan having received as a present from Hugh the Great—father of Hugh Capet of France—several German running-horses, which, it may be presumed, was considered the most worthy present that could be offered, as it was accompanied by a proposal for the hand of Athelstan’s sister in marriage. This monarch’s estimation of the horse was evidently widely known, and it is recorded how sundry princes sought his alliance and friendship, sending him “rich presents, precious stones, perfumes, and the finest horses, with golden furniture.”[90]

A more distinct indication of horse-racing occurs in Fitz-Stephen’s description of London, where we learn how, in Henry II.’s reign, horses were exposed for sale in Smithfield, when, to prove their excellence, they were usually matched against each other. In the reign of Richard I. horse-racing would seem to have been a common diversion during the Easter and Whitsuntide holidays, as in the old metrical romance of Sir Bevis of Southampton, it is thus alluded to:—

“In somer time, at Whitsontyde,When knights most on horsebacke ryde;A cours let they make on a daye,Steedes and palfraye, for to assaye;Which horse that best may ren,Three myles the cours was then,Who that might ryde him shoulde,Have forty pounds of redy gold.”

In the register of the royal expenditure of King John running-horses are frequently mentioned—this monarch having been a renowned sportsman, although there is no evidence to show that he used his running-horses otherwise than in the sports of the field. Edward II. was a breeder of horses, and the word “courser,” which is made use of in the Issue Roll of 37 Edward III., would seem to indicate the race-horse: “To William de Manton, keeper of the King’s wardrobe, by the hands of Thomas Spigurnell, keeper of the King’s great horses, in discharge of £119, 6s. 8d., paid to the same Thomas for the purchase of divers horses from the executors of the will of John, late Bishop of Lincoln, viz., one free sorrel courser, price 20 marks; one courser spotted with white, price 20 marks; one courser of a roan colour, from Pappenworth, price 20 marks; one roan-coloured courser, from Tolney, price 20 marks; one brown bay courser, price 25 marks; one roan courser, from Cranbourn, price £10, 13s. 4d.; one brown bay courser, price £11.”[91]

Henry VIII. was a lover of horses, and it would seem that he obliged men of position to keep a certain number of them. Thus “archbishops, and every duke were enjoined in this reign to keep seven trotting stone horses of fourteen hands in height for the saddle. Clergymen, also, who possessed a benefice of £100 per annum, or laymen whose wives wore French hoods, or a bonnet of velvet, were ordered to keep one trotting stone horse under a penalty of twenty pounds.”[92]And Henry VIII. no doubt did his best to improve the breed of horses, for he imported some from Turkey, Naples, Spain, and Flanders. During Queen Elizabeth’s reign horse-racing was in considerable vogue, although it was not much patronised by her Majesty, otherwise races would undoubtedly have formed a part of the pastimes at Kenilworth.

But it is to James I. that horse-racing is principally indebted, for he not only patronised it, but made it a general and national amusement. To him is due the credit for attempting the improvement of the English racer by the crossing of foreign blood, which, although considered at the time a failure, has proved a success. For this purpose he purchased for £500—an enormous price in those days—an Arabian, which, according to the Duke of Newcastle, was of little value, having been easily beaten by our native horses.[93]It was in this reign that private matches between gentlemen—thentheir own jockeys—became very common in England; and the first public race-meetings appear at Garterley, in Yorkshire; Croydon, in Surrey; and Theobald’s, on Enfield Chace; the prize being a golden bell.[94]Although he did not originate the races at Newmarket, yet the patronage he accorded them led to their being established permanently there. On the 26th February 1605, James visited Newmarket, where on that and the following day he knighted several gentlemen;[95]and the popularity of Newmarket was further enhanced by his building a house there which was long known as the “King’s House.”

In Nichol’s “Progresses of James I.” will be found some interesting particulars respecting this monarch’s interest in the turf; from which it appears that on Thursday, April 3, 1617, he was at Lincoln, where “was a great horse-race on the Heath for a cupp, where his Majesty was present, and stood on a scaffold the citie had caused to be set up, and withall caused the race a quarter of a mile long to be raled and corded with ropes and hoopes on both sides, whereby the people were kept out, and the horses that ronned were seen faire.” A few days later the King was at Durham, and from the same source we learn[96]how “he travelled from the Castle to Woodham Moor to a horse-race, which was run by the horses of William Salvin and Master Maddocks, for a goldpurse, which was intended to have been on the 8th of April, but on account of the King’s coming was put off till the 21st, which match the King saw.” And again, about two years after this, we are informed how on the 19th March 1619, “there was a horse-race at Newmarket, at which the King tarrying too long, in his return from Newmarket was forced to put in at an inn at Whichfordbridge by reason of his being indisposed, and came very late in the night to Royston.” Prince Henry had a strong attachment to racing as well as hunting, but he was cut off at an early age.

Charles I. was well inclined towards sports of this kind, but, owing to the unsettled nature of his reign, horse-racing seems to have fallen somewhat into abeyance. In the early part of Charles’s reign, however, horse-races were held in several parts of the country, at some of which he was present; and that they were no uncommon occurrence at Epsom may be gathered from Clarendon’s “History of the Rebellion”: “Soon after the meeting which was held at Guildford, May 18, 1648, to address the two Houses of Parliament ... a meeting of the Royalists was held on Banstead Downs, under the pretence of a horse-race, and six hundred horses were collected and marched off to Reigate.” But we find Sir Edward Harwood lamenting the scarcity of able horses in the kingdom, “not more than two thousand being to be found equal to the like number of French horses,” for which he blames principally racing.

After the Restoration horse-racing was revivedand much encouraged by Charles II., who frequently honoured this pastime with his presence.[97]Thus, when at Windsor, he appointed races to be run in Datchet Mead, as also at Newmarket, where his horses were entered in his own name, and where he rebuilt the decayed palace of his grandfather, James I. Another popular locality was Burford Downs—since known as Bibury race-course, so often frequented by George IV. when regent, and to which old Baskerville alludes in the subjoined doggerel—

“Next for the glory of the place,Here has been rode many a race;King Charles the Second I saw here,But I’ve forgotten in what year;The Duke of Monmouth here also,Made his horse to sweat and blow;Lovelace, Pembroke, and other gallantsHave been venturing here their talents;And Nicholas Bainton, or black sloven,Got silver plate by labour and drudging.”

But Newmarket was Charles II.’s favourite racing centre, and at one time there might be seen on Newmarket Heath what was known as the “King’s Chair,” from which the King was wont to enjoy a view of the horses as they took their exercise. Charles often took members of the Court there with him, including many of the ladies belonging to it, conspicuous amongst whom was Nell Gwynn; and under October 21, 1671, Evelyn makes this entry: “I lodged this night at Newmarket, where I found the jolly blades racing, dancing, feasting, and revelling, more resembling a luxurious and abandoned rout than a Christian court.”

A journey to Newmarket, however, was not the short run of the present day, and Pepys, under March 8, 1669, tells us how the King set out for the races at a somewhat early hour: “To Whitehall, from whence the King and the Duke of York went by three in the morning, and had the misfortune to be overset with the Duke of York, the Duke of Monmouth, and the Prince Rupert, at the King’s Gate, in Holborne; and the King all dirty, but no hurt. How it came to pass I know not, but only it was dark, and the torches did not, they say, light the coach as they should do.” A few weeks after this mishap, Pepys informs us that on the 26th April, “the King and Court went out of town to Newmarket this morning betimes, for a week.” And Evelyn, under the 9th and 10th October, 1671, makes this entry in his “Diary”: “I went after evening service to London, in order to take a journey of refreshment with Mr. Treasurer, to Newmarket, where the King then was, in his coach with six brave horses, which we changed thrice, first at Bishop Stortford, and last at Chesterford; so, by night, we got to Newmarket, where Mr. Henry Jermain—nephew to the Earl of St. Alban’s—lodged me very civilly. We proceeded immediately to Court, the King and all the English gallants being there at their annual sports. Supped at the Lord Chamberlain’s; and the next day, after dinner, I was on the heath, where I saw the great match run between Woodcock and Flatfoot, belonging to the

CHARLES II.

King, and to Mr. Elliot of the Bedchamber, many thousands being spectators; a more signal race had not been run for many years.”

On Thursday, March 22, 1683, Charles II. was burnt out when at Newmarket. It appears that about nine o’clock in the evening “a great fire broke out where the King, the Queen, and the Duke of York were residing in the King’s house, situate on the Cambridgeshire side of the town. The fire originated on the Suffolk side, but the other one being in danger, it was resolved that the King and his Court should that night come to Cambridge, and accordingly word came to the Vice-Chancellor about one of the clock on the Friday morning, who immediately gave orders for great St. Mary’s Bells to jangle, to give notice to the Towne, and candles, &c., to be in all places alight, and accordingly the bells did jangle, and candles in abundance in all parts of the public streets on both sides in their windows lighted, and the King and Court accordingly expected. But between two and three that morning, there came the Lord Grandison to the Dolphin and acquainted Mr. Mayor that his Majesty would go, or was gone, to Cheavely, and not come to Cambridge; but his Majesty did not stir from Newmarket, but continued there all night, and went away from thence not till Monday following, being the 26th March 1683.”[98]This fire which destroyed property to the value of £20,000, is said to have defeated the Rye House Plot, which is generally supposed to have meditated the death of Charles II. and his brother the Duke of York, at aspot called Rye House, on the road to London from Newmarket, and which was to have been carried out eight days after the royal party thus unexpectedly left Newmarket for London. Evelyn has not omitted to mention this occurrence in his “Diary,” and under September 23, 1683, he writes: “There was this day a collection for rebuilding Newmarket, consumed by an accidental fire, which removing his Majesty thence sooner than was intended, put by the assassins, who were disappointed of their rendezvous and expectation by a wonderful Providence. This made the King more earnest to render Winchester the seat of his autumnal field diversions for the future, designing a palace there where the ancient palace stood; infinitely, indeed, preferable to Newmarket for prospects, air, pleasure, and provisions. The surveyor has already begun the foundation for a palace, estimated to cost £35,000, and his Majesty is purchasing ground about it to make a park.” But Charles II. died in February 1685. It should be added that Charles II. was a breeder of race-horses, having imported mares from Barbary and other parts, selected by his Master of the Horse sent abroad for that purpose, and called Royal Mares, appearing as such in the Stud-book to this day. One of these mares was the dam of Dodsworth, bred by the King, and said to be the earliest race-horse we have on record, whose pedigree can be properly authenticated.[99]

James II. was a horseman, but he did not reignlong enough over his people to enable them to judge of his inclinations respecting the pleasures of the turf. When he retired to France, however, he devoted himself to hunting, and had several first-rate English horses always in his stud. William III. and his Queen were patrons of racing, not only continuing the bounty of their predecessors, but adding several plates to the former donations. In Queen Anne the turf found a warm supporter, her consort, Prince George of Denmark, keeping a fine stud, the Curwen Bay Barb and the celebrated Darley Arabian appearing in this reign. It was Queen Anne who first started the Gold Cups in the north, and entered and ran her own horses for them. Thus, at York, in the year 1712, her Majesty’s grey gelding, Pepper, ran for the Royal Cup of £100; and in the following year another of her horses named Mustard, ran for the Royal Cup again, but neither was good enough to win his royal mistress a Gold Cup. She was destined, however, at last, to win a triumph at York, though it was one of which she never was conscious, for on the very morning of which her brown horse, Star, won for her Majesty her first great victory on the turf, July 30, 1714, the Queen was seized with apoplexy, and remained in a state of insensibility until Sunday, August 1, when she died.

George I. was no racer, but he discontinued silver plates as prizes, and instituted the King’s Plates, as they have been since termed, being one hundred guineas paid in cash, an alteration which “probably the turf owes more to judicious advisers than tohis Majesty’s individual inclination.”[100]George II. neither understood nor appreciated the attractions of horse-racing; but, to encourage the breed of horses, as well as to suppress low gambling, he made some good regulations for the suppression of pony races, and running for any sum under fifty pounds.[101]And among the curiosities of Ascot records is the fact that on one occasion Frederick, Prince of Wales, son of George II., threw a bottle at a winner as it was coming in.

Although George III. was fond of hunting, and kept two packs of hounds, he was no great lover of the turf; his annual visit with his family to Ascot Heath being all the encouragement he gave the sport, if we except a plate of a hundred guineas to be run for by horses that had been regularly hunted with the royal hounds during the preceding winter.

But his son George IV. atoned for all the shortcomings of his predecessors in his love of racing, and in the interest he displayed in everything connected with it. It was in the year 1784 that as Prince of Wales he made his first appearance on the course as the owner of race-horses. For seven seasons he was an enthusiastic patron of the turf, amongst other successes winning the Derby in the year 1788 with Sir Thomas, until the year 1791 when the notorious Escape scandal caused him abruptly to sever his connection with racing—an unfortunate occurrence which was keenly regretted by every lover of sport throughout the kingdom.It appears that on the 20th October 1791 a horse named Escape, the property of the Prince, ran in a race at Newmarket for which it was first favourite, but finished last. On the following day, with six to one betted against him, Escape won easily a race in which two of the horses which had distanced him on the previous day also ran. In both cases Sam Chifney had ridden Escape, and a rumour at once spread that with or without the connivance of his master he had “pulled” the horse for the first race, and had thereby netted several hundreds of pounds. The Jockey Club took the matter up, Sir Charles Bunbury and Messrs. Ralph Dutton and Thomas Panton being the stewards appointed to investigate the affair. The result of their inquiries was an acquittal of the Prince, but they were not satisfied with Chifney’s explanation, and Sir Charles Bunbury went so far as to say that, if Chifney were allowed to ride the Prince’s horses, no gentleman would start against him. But, to the honour of the Prince be it said, rather than sacrifice his servant he gave up his favourite amusement. At the same time, his Royal Highness told Chifney that he should not be likely to keep horses again, but he added, “If ever I do you shall train and manage them. You shall have your two hundred guineas a year just the same. I cannot give it you for your life; I can only give it for my own. You have been an honest and good servant to me.”

Early in the year 1792 the Prince’s stud was brought to the hammer; but, although he ceased to run horses of his own, he did not by any meanslose his zest for the sport, and continued largely to patronise and support country races. Thus, the well-known Tom Raikes in his diary has left us a graphic picture of Brighton on a race morning, when the Prince was in one of his best moods, and the ground was covered with “tandems, beautiful women, and light hussars.” “In those days,” writes the diarist, “the Prince made Brighton and Lewes Races the gayest scene of the year in England. The Pavilion was full of guests, and the Steyne was crowded with all the rank and fashion from London. The ‘legs’ and bettors who had arrived in shoals used to assemble on the Steyne at an early hour to commence their operations on the first day, and the buzz was tremendous, till Lord Foley and Mellish, the two great confederates of that day, would approach the ring, and then a sudden silence ensued to await the opening of their books.... About half-an-hour before the departure for the hill, the Prince himself would make his appearance in the crowd. I think I see him now in a green jacket, a white hat, and light nankeen pantaloons and shoes, distinguished by his high-bred manner and handsome person. He was generally accompanied by the Duke of Bedford, Lord Jersey, Charles Wyndham, Shelley, Brummell, M. Day, Churchill, and the little old Jew Travis.... At dinner-time the Pavilion was resplendent with lights, and a sumptuous banquet was furnished to a large party; while those who were not included in that invitation found a dinner with every luxury at the club-house on the Steyne, kept by Raggett during the season for the differentmembers of White’s and Brooke’s who chose to frequent it, and where the cards and dice from St. James’ were not forgotten.”

After a time the Jockey Club seems to have regretted their line of action; and at a meeting, held at Brighton in the year 1805, they addressed the following letter to the Prince:—

“May it please your Royal Highness, the members of the Jockey Club, deeply regretting your absence from Newmarket, earnestly entreat the affair may be buried in oblivion, and sincerely hope that the different meetings may again be honoured by your Highness’s condescending attendance.”

The Prince, it is said, consented to overlook the past, but his horses were never sent to Newmarket after the year 1808, and then only to complete engagements. In addition to Brighton and Lewes, Bibury was his favourite race-ground, where he “appeared as a private gentleman for several years in succession, an inmate of Lord Sherborne’s family, and with the Duke of Dorset, then Lord Sackville, for his jockey. During the last ten years of his Majesty’s life racing interested him more than it had ever done before, and by the encouragement he then gave to Ascot and Goodwood, he contributed towards making them the most fashionable meetings in the world; and perhaps the day on which his three favourite horses—Fleur-de-lis, Zinganee, and the Colonel—came in first, second, and third for the cup at the latter place was one of the proudest of his life.”[102]Thelove of the turf was with him to the very last, and when the Ascot Cup was run for in the year 1830 under the royal colours he was on his death-bed; and “so strong was the ‘ruling passion’ in this awful hour—and his Majesty was well aware his hour was come—that an express was sent to him after every race.”[103]

His brother, the Duke of York, was almost as keen a lover of the turf as his Majesty himself, “jolly, cursing, courageous Frederick,” as Thackeray calls him. In the year 1816 he was the winner of the Derby with Prince Leopold, and in 1822 with Moses. But the “Duke of York was on the turf what he was everywhere—good-humoured, unsuspecting, and confiding; qualifications, however creditable to human nature, ill-fitted for a race-course.” Hence His Royal Highness was no winner by his horses, and his heavy speculations were the cause of his pecuniary embarrassments. On February 5, 1827, just one month from the date of his death, the Duke’s stud of thirty-two animals, including seven hacks and ten grey ponies, was brought to the hammer. The Duke of Richmond gave 1100 guineas for Moses, while Mr. Payne bought Figaro, that had run Moses in the Derby, at 200 guineas more. The King also gave 560 guineas for Rachel; but, writes “The Druid,” “racers, hacks, carriages, and dogs only produced 8804 guineas—a mere mole-hill compared with the Skiddaw-like pile of debts which he left behind him. Rundell and Bridge, his jewellers,had such an account that Cape Breton was ceded to them in lieu of it by the Government of the day, and his taste in their line may be judged of by the fact that his rifle, which brought 50 guineas, had a gold pan and touch-hole.”

Brought up to the sea, it was not to be expected that William IV. should have any strong predilection for horse-racing. But he so far interested himself in the sport as to take up his brother’s stud and run out his engagements; in connection with which some amusing anecdotes are told illustrative of his simplicity in sporting matters. It seems that previously to the appearance of the royal stud in his Majesty’s name, the trainer sought an audience, and requested to know what horses it was the Royal pleasure to have sent down. “Send down the whole squad,” said the King; “some of them, I suppose, will win!”

And yet his Majesty was fully sensible of the importance of the race-horse as a means of keeping up the English breed of horses, for when at Egham Races, in August 1836, an address was presented to him for giving a Royal Purse of 100 guineas to be annually run for there, he said that he regarded horse-racing as a national sport—“the manly and noble sport of a free people; and that he deeply felt the pride of being able to encourage those pastimes so intimately connected with the habits and feelings of this free country.” And to this end he maintained a stud of about twenty-five blood-mares for the purpose of breeding from the best sires, and sold the produce annually as yearlings—a plan he carried out to the last. But shortly after his death the entire stud was broken up and disposed of, despite the remonstrances of certain members of the Legislature, and the subjoined memorial from the Jockey Club, signed by twenty-three of its leading members:—

“We, the undersigned, have heard with great concern of the probability of a dissolution of the Royal Stud at Hampton Court. We think that the great and permanent attraction of the annual stud sale, by producing competition, enhances the value of thorough-bred horses, and thus promotes the improvement of the breed throughout the kingdom. We trust, therefore, that her Majesty’s Government may be induced to advise the Queen to retain the establishment; and we have the less scruple in expressing this hope, because we are persuaded that under judicious management the proceeds of the sale would be found upon an average to cover all the expenses of maintaining the stud.”

This remonstrance, however, was ineffectual, and the stud was sold by Messrs. Tattersall at Hampton Court on 25th October 1837, the sale realising a total of 15,692 guineas.

And, like many of her royal predecessors, her late Majesty, Queen Victoria, occasionally favoured in the early part of her reign the race-course with her presence, particularly Royal Ascot. And, on one occasion, it is said, she was so pleased with the performance of a very tiny jockey that she sent for him, and presented him with a ten-pound note,at the same time asking him his weight. To the great amusement of the royal circle, he replied, “Please, ma’am, master says as how I must never tell my weight.”

Although horse-racing has been much patronised by foreign sovereigns, as a sport it has never acquired abroad the immense popularity it has so long secured with us as a great national institution. Perhaps one of the most curious incidents associated with royalty was that recorded in the history of Poland. On the death of one of their sovereigns, who ruled under the name of Lesko I., the Poles were so perplexed upon the selection of a successor, that they at last agreed to settle the difficulty by allowing it to be determined by a horse-race.

Many of the French kings patronised horse-racing, and found in it a pleasant and exciting diversion from the cares and anxieties of the state, although it does not always seem to have been free from censure. Thus, for instance, the levity of Marie Antoinette in disregarding conventional rules observed by those in high station, exposed her to blame; and Le Comte de Mercy speaking of her attending horse-races, says: “It is a matter for extreme regret that the Queen habituates herself entirely to forget all that relates to outward dignity.... The horse-races gave occasion to much that was unfortunate and, I will say, unbecoming, as regards the position held by the Queen.... I went to the course in full dress and in my carriage. On reaching the royal tent I found there a large table spread with an amplecollation, which was, so to speak, fought for by a crowd of young men unfittingly dressed, who made wild confusion and all kinds of unintelligible noises. In the midst of this mob were the Queen, Madame d’Artois, Madame Elizabeth, and M. le Comte d’Artois. This last personage kept running about, betting, and complaining whenever he lost, pitiably excited if he won, and rushing among the people outside to encourage his jockeys. He actually presented to the Queen a jockey who had won a race.”

ROYAL SPORTS AND PASTIMES

Inthis country sports and pastimes of most kinds have generally had the patronage of royalty, many of our sovereigns having excelled in such modes of recreation. According to a story told by the old annalists, one of the most interesting events in connection with this game happened when Henry V. was meditating war against England. “The Dauphin,” says Hall, “thinking King Henry to be given still to such play and light follies as he exercised and used before the time that he was exalted to the Crown, sent him a ton of tennis-balls to play with, as he had better skill of tennis than of war.” On this incident, Shakespeare has constructed his fine scene of the French Ambassador’s audience in “King Henry V.,” wherein the English King speaks—

“When we have matched our rackets to these balls,We will, in France, by God’s grace, play a setShall strike his father’s crown into the hazard.”

Like his father, Henry VIII. was much attached to tennis, and it is recorded that his “propensity being perceived by certayne craftie persons about him, they brought in Frenchmen and Lombardsto make wagers with him, and so he lost much money; but when he perceived their craft, he eschewed the company and let them go.” But Henry did not give up the game, for from the same source we learn that twelve years afterwards he played at tennis with the Emperor Maximilian for his partner against the Prince of Orange and the Marquis of Brandenborow; and among the additions that he made to Whitehall were “divers fair tennis-courts, bowling-allies, and a cockpit.”

When Philip, Archduke of Austria, became King of Castile, he set out from the Netherlands in 1506 to take possession of his new kingdom. Stress of weather compelled him to seek shelter in Falmouth, on hearing of which Henry sent the Earl of Arundel to bring him to Windsor, where for many days he was entertained. During the festivities the two kings looked on, while the Marquis of Dorset, Lord Howard, and two other gentlemen played tennis. Then the King of Castile played with Dorset, “but,” says the chronicler, “the Kyng of Castille played with the rackett, and gave the Lord Marques xv.”

And when Queen Elizabeth was entertained in 1591 at Elvetham in Hampshire by the Earl of Hertford, after dinner ten of his lordship’s servants “did haul up lines, squaring out the form of a tennis court.”

James I., if not himself a tennis-player, often speaks of the pastime with commendation, and recommends it to his son Prince Henry as an exercise becoming a prince, who seems to havebeen very fond of the game. But on more than one occasion he appears to have lost his temper, and to have struck his father’s infamous favourite, Carr, Earl of Somerset, with his racket.

At another time, when he and the young Earl of Essex were playing, a dispute arose, whereupon Prince Henry in his anger called Essex the “son of a traitor,” alluding to the execution of his father, Elizabeth’s favourite. The young Earl in retaliation struck the Prince so hard a blow as to draw blood, but the King, on hearing all the circumstances of the case, refused to punish the high-spirited lad. Prince Henry’s illness is supposed to have been caused by a chill caught one evening when playing tennis without his coat.

The Scottish King James I., too, is said to have forfeited his life through his love for tennis. At Yuletide 1436-37 the Court kept the festival at Perth, in the Blackfriars Monastery; and here one night, after the royal party had broken up, and, as James stood before the fire of the reception-room, chatting with the Queen and her ladies, ominous sounds were heard without. The great bolt of the door was discovered to be wanting, but a lady, a Douglas, thrust her arm through the staples, and held the door till the conspirators snapped this frail defence. By her brave and noble devotion she gave James time to tear up a plank of the flooring and to drop into a small vault beneath. “As fate would have it,” writes Dr. Hill Burton, “there had been an opening to it by which he might have escaped, but this hada few days earlier been closed by his own order, because the balls by which he played at tennis were apt to fall into it.” Then the conspirators jumped into the vault, and, as Adamson the seventeenth century historian of Perth tells us,

“King James the First, of everlasting name,Killed by that mischant traitor, Robert Grahame,Intending of his crown for to have rob’d him,With twenty-eight wounds in the breast he stob’d him.”

Both James IV. and V. of Scotland were tennis-players, and it seems that they lost considerable sums at it with their courtiers. Thus, in the accounts of the Lord High Treasurer, we find these items under June 7th, 1496: “To Wat of Lesly that he wan at the cach frae the King, £23, 8s.”; and on 23rd September 1497 the king again loses at tennis in Stirling, this time “with Peter Crechtoune and Patrick Hammiltoune, three unicorns”—that is, £2, 13s.

With the Restoration, tennis became fashionable at Court again, and Pepys, under December 1603, makes this entry:—“Walking along Whitehall, I heard the King was gone to play at tennis. So I drove down to the new tennis court, and saw him and Sir Arthur Slingsby play against my Lord of Suffolk and my Lord Chesterfield. The King beat three, and lost two sets.”

When Frederick, Prince of Wales, died suddenly in 1751 many causes of death were assigned, one being that it was the result of a blow of a tennis ball three years before. But Nathaniel Wraxall makesit an accident at cricket, and says: “Frederick, Prince of Wales, son of George II., expired suddenly in 1751 at Leicester House, in the arms of Desnoyers, the celebrated dancing-master. His end was caused by an internal abscess, in consequence of a blow which he received in the side from a cricket ball while he was engaged in playing at that game on the lawn at Cliefden House, Buckinghamshire, where he then principally resided. It was of this prince that it was written, by way of epitaph:—

“‘He was alive and is dead,And, as it is only Fred,Why, there’s no more to be said.’”

Tennis was also played at foreign courts. Thus during the reign of Charles V. of France hand-tennis was very fashionable,[104]being played by the nobility for large sums of money, and, when they had lost all that they had about them, they would sometimes pledge part of their wearing apparel rather than give up the pursuit of the game. The Duke of Burgundy is said to have lost sixty francs in this manner “with the Duke of Bourbon, Messire William de Lyon, and Messire Guy de la Trimouille; and not having money enough to pay them he gave his girdle as a pledge for the remainder, and shortly afterwards he left the same girdle with the Comte d’Eu for eighty francs, which he also lost at tennis.”

It would seem that golf was a fashionable gameamong the nobility at the commencement of the seventeenth century, and, from an anecdote recorded in one of the Harleian manuscripts, it was one of the exercises with which Prince Henry, eldest son of James I., occasionally amused himself: “At another time playing at golf, a play not unlike topale maille, whilst his schoolmaster stood talking with another, and marked not his Highness warning him to stand further off, the Prince, thinking he had gone aside, lifted up his golf club to strike the ball, meantyme one standing by said to him, ‘Beware that you hit not Master Newton,’ wherewith he, drawing back his hand, said, ‘Had I done so, I had but paid my debts.’”

Tradition, for whatever it may be worth, says that Charles I. was playing on Leith Links when a courier arrived with tidings of Sir Phelim O’Neal’s rising in Ireland in 1641; and when the Duke of York resided at Holyrood in 1679 he was frequently to be seen at a golf party on the Leith Links. “I remember in my youth,” writes Mr. William Tytler, “to have conversed with an old man named Andrew Dickson, a golf club-maker, who said that when a boy he used to carry the Duke’s golf clubs, and to run before him and announce where the balls fell.”

According to a Scottish story, during the Duke’s visit, he had on one occasion a discussion with two English noblemen as to the native country of golf, his Royal Highness asserting that it was peculiar to Scotland, while “they insisted that it was an English game as well.” The two English noblesgood-humouredly proposed to prove its English character by taking up the Duke to a match, to be played on Leith Links. James accepted the challenge, and sought for the best partner he could find. It so happened the heir-presumptive of the British throne played with a poor shoemaker named John Patersone, the worthy descendant of a long line of illustrious golfers. If the “two Southerners were, as might be expected, inexperienced in the game, they had no chance against a pair, one member of which was a good player. So the Duke got the best of the practical argument, and Patersone’s merits were rewarded by a gift of the sum played for,” with which he was enabled to build a somewhat stylish house for himself in the Canongate.

But with the Stuarts went out for a time royal countenance of the game, till William IV. became patron of the Royal and Ancient Club of St. Andrews, and presented to it for annual competition that coveted golfing trophy—the gold medal, the blue ribbon of golf.

A game which has of late years been revived is bowls, a pastime which was once the favourite amusement of all classes, most pleasure gardens having in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had their bowling-greens. Of all the English kings, Charles I. was the greatest enthusiast in this game. Many anecdotes are told “of his great love for it, a love that survived through all his troubles, for we find him alike devoting himself to it while in power, and solacing himself with itwhile a captive.”[105]According to a correspondent ofNotes and Queries, in a secluded part of the Oxfordshire hills, at a place called Collins’ End, situated between Hardwicke House and Goring Heath, is a neat little rustic inn, having for its sign a portrait of Charles I. There is a tradition that this unfortunate monarch, whilst residing as a prisoner at Caversham, hearing that there was a bowling-green at this inn, rode down to it, and endeavoured to forget his sorrows in a game of bowls; an incident which is written beneath the sign-board:—

“Stop, traveller, stop! in yonder peaceful glade,His favourite game the royal martyr played;Here, stripped of honours, children, freedom, rank,Drank from the bowl, and bowl’d for what he drank;Sought in a cheerful glass his cares to drown,And changed his guinea ere he lost a crown.”

In Herbert’s “Memoirs of the Last Two Years of Charles I.” there are several allusions to his Majesty’s love of bowls. As there was no bowling green at Holmby, he constantly rode over either to Althorpe or Harrowden—the latter a house of Lord Vaux—where he might divert himself with his favourite amusement. Charles was at the Althorpe bowling-green when Cornet Joyce arrived at Holmby to take him away.

With the Restoration bowls became a fashionable Court recreation, and in the Grammont “Memoirs” we are told that when the Court was at Tonbridge Wells “the company are accommodated with lodgings in little clean and convenient habitations that lie straggling and separated from each other a mile and a half all round the Wells, where the company meet in the morning.... As soon as the evening comes every one quits his little palace to assemble on the bowling-green.”

Another game once countenanced by royalty was skittles or nine-pins, a pastime, it is said, in which Elizabeth, Queen Consort of Edward IV., and her ladies indulged in 1472. And later on we find it among the amusements of the exiled courtiers, for in the “Grammont Memoirs” the Earl of Arran writes of his sister-in-law, the Countess of Ossory, Miss Hyde, and Jermyn playing at nine-pins to pass the time. At this period, too, a popular game was pall-mall, being one of the “fair and pleasant games” that James I. recommended to Prince Henry, and which seem to have been much played at Court in the early part of the seventeenth century. On April 2, 1661, Pepys walks to “St. James’s Park, where he witnessed the Duke of York playing at pall-mall, the first time he ever saw the sport;” and Evelyn speaks of King Charles’s fondness for this game.

Then there was the running at the quintain, a pastime practised at most rural festive gatherings, and one of which Laneham, in his “Progresses of Queen Elizabeth,” gives an amusing account in his description of “a country bridal,” at which Queen Elizabeth was present at Kenilworth in 1575; and two years previously, in 1573, on her visit to Sandwich, it is recorded that “certainwallounds that could well swim,” entertained her with a water tilting, in which one of the combatants “did overthrow another, at which the Queen had good sport.” Randolph, in a letter to Sir William Cecil, December 7, 1561, describes this pastime as celebrated at the Scottish Court of Queen Mary, and narrating part of a conversation he had with De Foix, the French Ambassador, he writes: “From this purpose we fell in talk of the pastimes that were the Sunday before, when the Lord Robert, the Lord John, and others ran at the ring—six against six—disguised and apparelled, the one half like women, the other half like strangers, in strange masking garments.... The Queen herself beheld it, and as many others as listed.” When King James’s brother-in-law, Christian of Denmark, visited England in 1606, we read how he excelled before all others in running at the ring in the tilt-yard at Greenwich.

Charles I. is said to have been “perfect in vaulting, riding the great horse, running at the ring, shooting in cross-bows, muskets, and sometimes great pieces of ordnance.” And Howell, writing from Madrid, says that the Prince was fortunate enough to be successful at the ring before the eyes of his mistress the Infanta.

Charles II. was an indefatigable walker, and nothing pleased him more than to divest himself of the trappings of state and indulge in this pastime. Burnet mentions his walking powers, and says that his Majesty walked so fast that it was a trouble to keep up with him. One day,when Prince George of Denmark, who had married his niece—afterwards Queen Anne—complained that he was growing fat, “walk with me,” said Charles, “hunt with my brother, and do justice to my niece, and you will not long be distressed by growing fat.”[106]And during his walks his Majesty would converse freely with those who attended him, oftentimes arresting “some familiar countenance that encountered him in his walk.”

Among the additions made by Henry VIII. to Whitehall was a cock-pit, the first of which, according to a correspondent ofNotes and Queries, there is any record. And so partial was James I. to this diversion of cock-fighting that he amused himself by seeing it twice a week. It appears, too, that on his progress in 1617, James I. being at Lincoln, “did come in his carriage to the Sign of the George to see a cocking there, where he appointed four cocks to be put in the pit together, which made his Majestie very merrie.” Exclusive of the royal cock-pit there were others in St. James’s Park, Drury Lane, Shoe Lane, and Jermyn Street. By an Act of Cromwell, in 1654, cock-fighting was prohibited, but with the Restoration it again flourished. And from this time until the close of the last century the diversion was practised more or less throughout the country. William III. patronised this sport, and Count Tallard, the French Ambassador, writes: “On leaving the palace King William went to the cock-fight, whither I accompanied him.”

The site of the cock-pit at Whitehall is now occupied by the Privy Council Office, and a notable occupant of the cock-pit apartments in the time of Charles II. was the Princess Anne—afterwards Queen Anne—who was living there at the period of the Revolution. It was from here that, on the approach of the Prince of Orange, November 26, 1688, “she flew down the back-stairs at midnight, in nightgown and slippers, with Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, as her companion, and drove away in a coach, on either side of which Lord Dorset and Bishop Compton rode as escort.”[107]

George IV. in his early life was a great patron of the ring, as his grand-uncle, Culloden Cumberland, had been before him; but being present at a fight at Brighton, where one of the combatants was killed, the Prince pensioned the boxer’s widow, and declared he never would attend another battle. But, nevertheless, it is said, “he thought it a manly and decided English feature, which ought not to be destroyed.” His Majesty had a drawing of the sporting characters in the Fives’ Court placed in his boudoir, to remind him of his former attachment and support of true courage; and, when any fight of note occurred after he was King, accounts of it were read to him by his desire.

At this period there was a famous boxer, John Jackson, known as gentleman Jackson, the son of a London builder. He appeared only three times in the prize-ring. His first public fight tookplace June 9, 1788, near Croydon, when he defeated a noted Birmingham boxer, in a contest lasting one hour seven minutes, in the presence of the Prince of Wales.

At the coronation of George IV. he was employed with eighteen other prize-fighters, dressed as pages, to guard the entrance to Westminster Abbey and Hall. But it is in Continental courts that boxing has been most favoured. The elder brother of the late Czar of Russia died on the eve of the day appointed for his marriage from the effects of a blow received in a boxing encounter with Alexander; and on one occasion, when a bout took place between the Prince Waldemar and the late Czar, between the acts in the private tea-room at the Court Theatre at Copenhagen, Alexander was thoroughly knocked out.

Archery appears to have been a fashionable sport during the reign of Henry VIII., who, according to Holinshed, shot as well as any of his guard. Edward VI. and Charles I. are known to have been fond of this exercise, which retained its attractions during the succeeding reigns, and was occasionally sustained by the presence and practice of the sovereign. Mary Queen of Scots was as fond of archery as was her cousin, Elizabeth of England. One story of Queen Mary’s shooting has often been cited against her, since the time Sir William Drury wrote to Mr. Secretary Cecil from Berwick, telling how Mary, a fortnight after Darnley’s murder, had been shooting with Bothwell at the butts of Tranent against Huntleyand Seton for a dinner, which the latter pair had to pay—a story proved to be untrue.[108]

In a letter from the Queen of Bohemia, sister of Charles I., written from Rhenen, her Majesty’s summer residence on the Rhine, in 1649 to Montrose—who had long been reputed to be a good archer—she says: “We have nothing to do but to walk and shoot. I am grown a good archer to shoot with my Lord Kinnoul. If your office will help it, I hope you will come and help us to shoot.” In 1703 Queen Anne granted a Charter to the Royal Company of Archers, prohibiting any one “to cause any obstacle or impediment to the said Royal Company in the lawful exercise of the Ancient Arms of Bows and Arrows”—a privilege for which they were to pay to the Sovereign “one pair of barbed arrows, if asked only.” These, it seems, have twice been delivered to the Sovereign, first to George IV., during his visit to Edinburgh in 1822, and when Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort went to Scotland in 1842. And it was in the reign of the first James of Scotland that Charles VII. formed from the survivors of Lord Buchan’s Scots the famous Archer-guard of France, familiar to every reader of “Quentin Durward,” who, “foreigners though they were, ever proved themselves the most faithful troops in the service of the French Crown.”

Hawking, again, was practised with much vigour by many of our sovereigns, and Alfred the Great, who is commended for his proficiency in this, as inall other fashionable amusements, is said to have written a treatise on the subject, which has not come down to us. In the fields and open country, hawking was followed on horseback; and on foot, when in the woods and coverts. In the latter case, it was usual for the sportsman to have a stout pole to assist him in leaping over rivulets and ditches. It was, according to Hall, when pursuing his hawk on foot, at Hitchin, in Hertfordshire, that Henry VIII. was plunged into a deep slough by the breaking of his pole, and would have been stifled but for the prompt assistance of one of his attendants. But when the fowling-piece presented a more ready and certain method of procuring game, while it afforded an equal degree of air and exercise, it is not surprising that the fall of falconry should have been sudden and complete.

A favourite game of James I. was quoits, and one day when he was so engaged with the young Earl of Mar, he cried out, “Jonnie Mar has slaited me!”—the word “slaiting” in the north meaning to take an undue advantage in a game of this kind. From this incident the young King always nicknamed Mar “Jonnie Slaites.” It may be compared with a story told of Louis XVII. when Dauphin, who being beaten in a game of quoits by an officer of the National Guard, the latter exultingly exclaimed, “Ah, I have conquered the Dauphin!” Piqued at the expression, the Dauphin used some uncomplimentary remark, which was reported to the Queen, who reprimanded him for having so far forgotten himself.

“I feel,” replied the Dauphin, “that I have done wrong. But why did he not satisfy himself with saying that he had won the match? It was the word ‘conquered’ which put me beyond myself.”

And, when the exiled Court of England returned at the Restoration, Charles II. is commonly said to have brought back that popular pastime skating. For Evelyn, under December 1, 1662, speaks of divers gentlemen skating in the canal in St. James’s Park “after the manner of the Hollanders,” and Pepys tells us that he went to see the Duke of York “slide upon his skates,” which he did very well.

COURT DWARFS

Thecustom of keeping dwarfs as retainers to ornament the homes of princes, and to provide amusement—which was much in fashion in the old days of the Roman Empire—has survived at most Courts until a comparatively recent period. According to Suetonius, Augustus, in order to forget the cares of State, would play with his dwarfs for nuts, and laugh at their childish prattle, whilst for his special amusement Domitian kept a band of dwarf gladiators.

Charles IX. of France and his mother had a strong partiality for dwarfs, and in 1573 three were sent to him by the Emperor of Germany; and the same year a large sum was paid for bringing some dwarfs from Poland for the King: one of these, Majoski, being given to the Queen-mother, and an entry in her accounts tells how thirty livres were paid for “little disbursements for the said Majoski, as well as clothes, books, pens, paper, and ink.” It may be remembered how the famous dwarf, Joseph Boruwlaski—who at fifteen years of age was only twenty-five inches high—was presented to the Empress Maria Theresa by the Countess Humiecka, who took him on her lap and kissed him.She then asked him what struck him as most curious at Vienna, to which he replied, “that which he then beheld.” “And what is that?” inquired her Majesty.

“To see so little a man on the lap of so great a woman,” answered Boruwlaski. He then besought the permission of the Empress to kiss her hand, whereupon she took from the finger of Marie Antoinette, then a child, a ring, and put it on his finger.

Afterwards Boruwlaski visited Luneville, where he was introduced to Stanislaus Leczinski, the dethroned King of Poland, who kept a dwarf, nicknamed Bébé, a native of France, his real name being Nicholas Feny, or Ferry. Bébé quickly became jealous of Boruwlaski, and on the first opportunity tried to push him into the fire. But the noise occasioned by the scuffle brought the King on the scene, who ordered Bébé to have corporal punishment, and never to appear in his presence again. Boruwlaski won the favour of Stanislaus II., who for a time took him under his protection, and eventually visited this country, when he was introduced to the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV.; and on May 23, 1782, he was presented by the Countess of Egremont to the King and Queen and the junior members of the royal family.

When King Christian II. of Denmark fell into the hands of his enemy Frederick I., he was imprisoned with his dwarf in the castle of Söndeborg in Holstein. Having entered his gloomy cell with

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