CHAPTER XXII

“On my devoted headHer bitterest showers,All from a wintry cloud,Stern Fortune pours.View but her favourite,Sage and discerning,Graced with fair comeliness,Famed for his learning;Should she withdraw her smiles,Each grace she banishes,Wisdom and wit are flown,And beauty vanishes.”

It was, however, a different motive that prompted a royal Plantagenet poet, Edward, Duke of York, cousin-german to King Henry IV., to write the following amatory stanzas in praise of the attractive Joanna of Navarre:—

“Excellent sovereign! seemly to see,Proved prudence, peerless of price;Bright blossom of benignity,Of figure fairest, and freshest of days!Your womanly beauty deliciousHath me all bent unto its chain;But grant to me your love gracious,My heart will melt as snow in rain.If ye but wist my life, and knewOf all the pains that I y-feel,I wis ye would upon me rue,Although your heart were made of steel.And though ye be of high renown,Let mercy rule your heart so free;From you, lady, this is my boon,To grant me grace in some degree.”

“Excellent sovereign! seemly to see,Proved prudence, peerless of price;Bright blossom of benignity,Of figure fairest, and freshest of days!

Your womanly beauty deliciousHath me all bent unto its chain;But grant to me your love gracious,My heart will melt as snow in rain.

If ye but wist my life, and knewOf all the pains that I y-feel,I wis ye would upon me rue,Although your heart were made of steel.

And though ye be of high renown,Let mercy rule your heart so free;From you, lady, this is my boon,To grant me grace in some degree.”

But this act of indiscretion seems to have aroused the personal jealousy of King Henry, for, on a very frivolous pretence, the Duke of York was imprisoned in Pevensey Castle for three months, in the course of which interval his Majesty’s displeasure had time to abate.

The following touching verses, which have been attributed to Henry VI., were probably written during his long imprisonment in the Tower:—

“Kingdoms are but cares;State is devoid of stay;Riches are ready snares,And hasten to decay.Who meaneth to remove the rockOut of the slimy mud,Shall mire himself and hardly ’ scapeThe swelling of the flood.”

“Kingdoms are but cares;State is devoid of stay;Riches are ready snares,And hasten to decay.

Who meaneth to remove the rockOut of the slimy mud,Shall mire himself and hardly ’ scapeThe swelling of the flood.”

And there are preserved two sentences said to have been written and given by his Majesty to a knight who had the care of him. “Patience is the armour and conquest of the godly; this meriteth mercy, when causeless is suffered sorrow.” “Nought else is war but fury and madness, wherein is not advice, but rashness; not right, but rage, ruleth and reigneth.”

Henry VIII. prided himself on his literary attainments, a boast which was by no means unfounded. In 1536, offended at the manifesto of the pilgrims, he compounded a reply in which he expressed his astonishment that “ignorant people should go about to instruct him in matters of theology, who somewhat had been noted to be learned in what thefaith should be,” indirectly referring to his own book against Luther, which had procured for him from the Pope the title of “Defender of the Faith.” Indeed, his Majesty is said not only to have been a great reader, but to have been conversant with several languages; and, whatever his other defects, he was an accomplished student—his work “The Glass of Truth” alone being another proof of his theological attainments. He was among the best physicians of his time, and he acted as “his own engineer, inventing improvements in artillery, and new constructions in shipbuilding.”

Anne Boleyn is said to have composed her own dirge after her condemnation:—

“Oh, death! rock me asleep,Bring on my quiet rest,Let pass my very guiltless ghostOut of my careful breast.Ring out the doleful knell;Let its sound my death tell—For I must die,There is no remedy,For now I die.My pains who can express?Alas! they are so strong,My dolour will not suffer strengthMy life for to prolong!Alone in prison strange,I wail my destiny;Woe worth this cruel hap, that IShould taste this misery!Farewell my pleasures past,Welcome my present pain,I feel my torments so increaseThat life cannot remain.Sound now the passing bell;Rung is my doleful knell,For its sound my death doth tell:Death doth draw nigh,Sound the knell dolefully,For now I die.”

My pains who can express?Alas! they are so strong,My dolour will not suffer strengthMy life for to prolong!Alone in prison strange,I wail my destiny;Woe worth this cruel hap, that IShould taste this misery!

Farewell my pleasures past,Welcome my present pain,I feel my torments so increaseThat life cannot remain.

Sound now the passing bell;Rung is my doleful knell,For its sound my death doth tell:Death doth draw nigh,Sound the knell dolefully,For now I die.”

But passing from this queen’s tragic death to Henry VIII.’s last wife, Catherine Parr, it may be remembered that the celebrated devotional work, “The Lamentation of a Sinner,” obtained great popularity, and has been adjudged to be one of the finest specimens of English composition of that era. Within the limits of about 120 miniature pages, it comprises an elegant treatise “On the imperfection of human nature in its unassisted state, and the utter vanity of all earthly grandeur and distinction,” at the same time an uncompromising attitude being taken up against papal supremacy; for, as her Majesty tells us in the volume, she deplored her former attachment to the ceremonials of the Church of Rome. Hence the royal writer does not forget to compliment Henry on having emancipated the kingdom from this domination; and adds, “Our Moses, and most godly wise governor and king hath delivered us out of the captivity and spiritual bondage of Pharaoh: I mean by this Moses, King Henry VIII., my most sovereign favourable lord and husband.” Catherine Parr was no doubt gifted by nature with fine talents, for she both read and wrote Latin with facility, and possessed some knowledge of Greek.

It was also through the influence of CatherineParr that the Princess Mary was induced to undertake the translation of the Latin paraphrase of St. John, by Erasmus. She did not append her name to the translation, but Dr. Udall in his preface thus refers to her labours: “England can never be able to render thanks sufficient; so it never will be able—as her deserts require—enough to praise the most noble, the most virtuous, and the most studious Lady Mary’s grace, for taking such pains and travail in translating this paraphrase of Erasmus on the Gospel of St. John.” And when Mary was doubtful as to whether the work should be published in her name or anonymously, Catherine Parr wrote “that in her opinion she would do a wrong to the work, if she should refuse to send it to posterity with the advantage of her name; because in her accurate translation she had gone through much pains for the public good.” Mary, however, did not append her name to the translation, but granted Dr. Udall permission to mention her labours in the preface.

Elizabeth’s knowledge and acquirements from an early age made her famous, and Hentzner, the German traveller, mentions having seen a little volume in the royal library at Whitehall, written in French by her, when a child, on vellum, and which was thus inscribed: “A tres haut, et tres puissant, et redoubté Prince Henry VIII. de ce nom, roy d’Angleterre, de France, et de Irelande, defendeur de la foy. Elizabeth, sa tres humble fille, rend salut et obedience.” When imprisoned by her sister Mary, she wrote several poems, and it is said that Mary Queen of Scots during her long incarcerationby Elizabeth produced many pleasing poetic compositions.

When Henry IV. of France abjured the Protestant faith and joined the Church of Rome, Elizabeth was greatly troubled at his apostasy, and to divert her mind she entered into a course of theological studies, and finally occupied her time by reading “Boethius on the Consolations of Philosophy,” of the first five books of which she made a very elegant English translation. Her Majesty, too, showed her sympathy for the literary characters of her day, and when the antiquary Lambarde waited upon her at Greenwich Palace to present his “Pandecta of the Tower Records,” she received him most graciously, and after looking through the volume, “she commended the work,” writes Lambarde, “not only for the pains therein taken,” but also “for that she had not received, since her first coming to the crown, any one thing that brought therewith so great a delectation to her”; and Walpole[151]has chronicled her various other contributions to literature.

James I. was fond of literature, and was an industrious reader, but as an author “he was only possessed of that mediocrity of talent which in a private person had never raised him to notice.” In 1599 was published his “Basilicon Doron,” containing advice to his son respecting his moral and political conduct; and in his work on “Dæmonologie” we find his Majesty inveighing against the “damnable opinions of one Scott, an Englishman, who is not ashamed to deny in public print thatthere be such a thing as witchcraft, and so maintains the old error of the Sadducees in denying of Spirits;”[152]and one of his first acts on ascending the English throne was to order all copies of Scott’s “Discoverie of Witchcraft” to be burnt. His translation of the Psalms was never finished, and as a poet it is generally agreed he was a failure. His collected works were published in 1616 by Bishop Montagu, together with earlier speeches and State Papers. Walpole, speaking of his literary abilities, says, “It is well for the arts that King James had no disposition for them: he let them take their own course. Had he felt for them any inclination, he would have probably introduced as bad taste as he did in literature.” His unpublished correspondence with Buckingham is described by Wellwood as too disgusting to be read by a modest eye. The claims of Charles, his son, have been ranked very high as an author; and if the “Eikon Basilike” had been his composition, this famous production—which is full of piety and wisdom, and in style pure and graceful—would give him a prominent place in the catalogue of royal authors. But, as it has been observed, “the silence of Clarendon upon the subject in his History, and the explicit denial by both Charles II. and James II., as vouched by two unconnected witnesses, Bishop Burnet and Lord Anglesey, would be decisive of the question, even if we could overlook the evidence of Bishop Patrick and Dr. Walker.” During his imprisonment at CarisbrookeCharles expressed his feelings in poetry; the subjoined stanzas amongst many others having been attributed to him at this period, although they have been suspected to be a pious fraud:—

“Tyranny bears the title of taxation,Revenge and robbery are reformation,Oppression gains the name of sequestration.My loyal subjects, who in this bad season,Attend (by the law of God and reason),They dare impeach and punish for high treason.Next at the clergy do their furies frown,Pious Episcopacy must go down,They will destroy the crosier and the crown.Churchmen are chained, and schismatics are freed,Mechanics preach, and holy fathers bleed,The crown is crucified with the Creed.The Church of England doth all faction foster,The pulpit is usurped by each impostor;Ex temporeexcludes thepater noster.”

“Tyranny bears the title of taxation,Revenge and robbery are reformation,Oppression gains the name of sequestration.

My loyal subjects, who in this bad season,Attend (by the law of God and reason),They dare impeach and punish for high treason.

Next at the clergy do their furies frown,Pious Episcopacy must go down,They will destroy the crosier and the crown.

Churchmen are chained, and schismatics are freed,Mechanics preach, and holy fathers bleed,The crown is crucified with the Creed.

The Church of England doth all faction foster,The pulpit is usurped by each impostor;Ex temporeexcludes thepater noster.”

Charles II. is said to have had some poetical talent, and, as Sir John Hawkins affirms, and as Horace Walpole thinks probable, the following lines were his composition:—

“I pass all my hours in a shady old grove,But I live not the day when I see not my love;I survey every walk now my Phyllis is gone,And sigh when I think we were there all alone;O then ’t is I think there’s no hellLike loving too well.But each shade and each conscious bower when I find,Where I once have been happy, and she has been kind;When I see the print left of her shape on the green,And imagine the pleasure may yet come again,O then ’t is I think that no joys are aboveThe pleasures of love.While alone to myself I repeat all her charms,She I love may be locked in another man’s arms;She may laugh at my cares, and so false she may be,To say all the kind things she before said to me;O then ’t is oh then, that I think there’s no hellLike loving too well.But when I consider the truth of her heart,Such an innocent passion, so kind without art;I fear I have wrong’d her, and hope she may beSo full of true love to be jealous of me;And then, ’t is I think that no joys are aboveThe pleasures of love.”

But each shade and each conscious bower when I find,Where I once have been happy, and she has been kind;When I see the print left of her shape on the green,And imagine the pleasure may yet come again,O then ’t is I think that no joys are aboveThe pleasures of love.

While alone to myself I repeat all her charms,She I love may be locked in another man’s arms;She may laugh at my cares, and so false she may be,To say all the kind things she before said to me;O then ’t is oh then, that I think there’s no hellLike loving too well.

But when I consider the truth of her heart,Such an innocent passion, so kind without art;I fear I have wrong’d her, and hope she may beSo full of true love to be jealous of me;And then, ’t is I think that no joys are aboveThe pleasures of love.”

In the year 1766 Lord Hailes edited a curious account of the adventures of Charles II. after the battle of Worcester, “unquestionably written by himself, and republished some letters to his friends, chiefly to Arlington, there called Henry Bennet, together with a few made publick for the first time,”[153]one of the most amusing passages in the narrative being the subjoined:—

“As I was holding my horse’s foot, I asked the smith what news? He told me that there was no news that he knew of, since the good news of the beating of the rogues the Scots. I asked him whether there was none of the English taken that joined the Scots? He answered that he did not hear that that rogue Charles Stuart was taken, but some of the others, he said, were taken, but not Charles Stuart. I told him that if that rogue were taken, he deserved to be hanged more than all the rest for bringing in the Scots, upon which he said that I spoke like an honest man, and so we parted.”

There is little to note respecting the literary tastes of succeeding English sovereigns, with the exception of Queen Caroline, who was a great reader, and “frequently perplexed the divines of that period by her paradoxes on the subjects of fatality and free-will,” maintaining a correspondence with Leibnitz on the most abstruse subjects.

The plaintive lines below, described as “more touching than better poetry,” have generally been attributed to the Princess Amelia, daughter of George III., who will long be remembered “for the extreme passionate tenderness with which her father loved her,” and for her early death:—

“Unthinking, idle, wild, and young,I laughed, and danced, and talked, and sung;And, proud of health, of freedom vain,Dreamed not of sorrow, care, or pain;Concluding, in those hours of glee,That all the world was made for me.But when the hour of trial came,When sickness shook this trembling frame,When folly’s gay pursuits were o’er,And I could sing and dance no more,It then occurred how sad ’t would beWere this world only made for me.”

But when the hour of trial came,When sickness shook this trembling frame,When folly’s gay pursuits were o’er,And I could sing and dance no more,It then occurred how sad ’t would beWere this world only made for me.”

“The poor soul quitted it,” and, as Thackeray writes, “Ere yet she was dead the agonised father was in such a state that the officers about him were obliged to set watchers over him, and from November 1810 George III. ceased to reign.”

The following verses, entitled “The Charms of Silvia,” were addressed by Frederick, Prince ofWales, who cultivated a taste for literature, to his consort:—

“’Tis not the liquid brightness of those eyes,That swim with pleasure and delight;Nor those heavenly arches, which ariseO’er each of them to shade their light.’T is not that hair, which plays with every wind,And loves to wanton round thy face;Nor straying round the forehead, now behindRetiring with insidious grace.’T is not that lovely range of teeth, so white,As new shorn sheep, equal and fair;Nor e’en that gentle smile, the heart’s delight,With which no smile could e’er compare.’T is not that chin so round, that neck so fine,Those breasts that swell to meet my love,That easy sloping waist, that form divine,Nor aught below, nor aught above.’T is not the living colours over each,By nature’s finest pencil wrought,To shame the full-blown rose, and blooming peach,And mock the happy painter’s thought.No—’tis that gentleness of mind, that loveSo kindly answering my desire;That grace with which you look, and speak, and move,That thus has set my soul on fire.”

“’Tis not the liquid brightness of those eyes,That swim with pleasure and delight;Nor those heavenly arches, which ariseO’er each of them to shade their light.

’T is not that hair, which plays with every wind,And loves to wanton round thy face;Nor straying round the forehead, now behindRetiring with insidious grace.

’T is not that lovely range of teeth, so white,As new shorn sheep, equal and fair;Nor e’en that gentle smile, the heart’s delight,With which no smile could e’er compare.

’T is not that chin so round, that neck so fine,Those breasts that swell to meet my love,That easy sloping waist, that form divine,Nor aught below, nor aught above.

’T is not the living colours over each,By nature’s finest pencil wrought,To shame the full-blown rose, and blooming peach,And mock the happy painter’s thought.

No—’tis that gentleness of mind, that loveSo kindly answering my desire;That grace with which you look, and speak, and move,That thus has set my soul on fire.”

In 1870, Charles Dickens was summoned by Queen Victoria to Buckingham Palace in order that she might thank him for the loan of some photographs of scenes in the American Civil War, and on his departure she handed him a copy of her “Leaves from the Journal of our Life in the Highlands” with the autograph inscription, “Fromthe humblest of writers to one of the greatest.” In 1883, her Majesty prepared for publication another selection from her Journal, which she dedicated “To my loyal Highlanders, and especially to the memory of my devoted personal attendant and faithful friend, John Brown.” She took a very modest view of her literary work, for, on sending a copy to Tennyson, she described herself as “a very humble and unpretending author, the only merit of whose writing was its simplicity and truth.”

Leaving our own country, it may be noted that Portugal has some claim to be proud of her royal authors, for Diniz was a poet of exquisite taste, “and in the number, beauty, and variety of his songs he proved himself the greatest poet of his Court,” having inherited, it is said, the poetic feeling and power of expression from his father, Alfonso III., who was no mean poet. Indeed, the effects of the influence of Diniz “pervade the whole of Portuguese poetry; for not only was he in his ‘pastorellas’ the forerunner of the greatest pastoral school, but, by sanctifying to literary use the national storehouse of song, he perpetuated among his people, even to the present day, lyric forms of greatest beauty.”[154]It is also said that immense service was rendered by Diniz and his poetic courtiers in developing the Portuguese dialect into a beautiful and flexible literary language; and with the Courts of Love which he introduced intoPortugal came the substitution of the Limousin decasyllabic for the national octosyllabic metre.[155]

John I., surnamed “the Great,” encouraged literature, and the “Book of the Chase,” one of the best specimens of early Portuguese prose, was written for him under his own superintendence. Of his sons, Dom Pedro wrote poems, and Dom Edward was the author of two capital prose works entitled “Instructions in Horsemanship” and the “Faithful Councillor.”

Alfonso V., one of the exploring sovereigns, the subduer of Tangiers, wrote much and ably on various subjects, forming an extensive library at Evora; and the sagacious John II. patronised literature, and encouraged Ruy de Pina, the greatest of all the Portuguese chroniclers. And another sovereign who did all he could to promote the welfare of literature was John V., who founded the Academy of History in Lisbon, in 1720.

James I. of Aragon, who was born at Montpellier on Candlemas Day, in his “Chronicle,” written by himself—and forming one of the most remarkable literary works of an eventful age—gives a curious as well as an interesting account of his being named, and relates how his mother, Doña Maria, “made twelve candles, all of one size and weight, and had them all lighted together, and gave each the name of an apostle, and vowed to our Lord that I should be christened by the name of that which lasted longest. And so it happened that the candle which went by the name of St.James lasted a good finger’s breadth more than all the others. And owing to that circumstance, and to the grace of God, I was christened El Jerome.”

Catherine II. of Russia wrote fairy and moral tales in the style of Marmontel, at that time so popular, comedies, and a kind of adaptation of Shakespeare’s “Merry Wives of Windsor,” her friend, the Princess Dashkov, who was appointed President of the Academy of Sciences, having co-operated with her in these studies.[156]In the “Romance of an Empress”[157]many amusing anecdotes are given of this her favourite pastime, which, it is said, “was in some sort a necessity, almost a physical necessity” to her. When asked why she wrote so many comedies, she replied, “Primo, because it amuses me;secundo, because I should like to restore the national theatre, which, owing to its lack of new plays, is somewhat gone out of fashion; andtertio, because it was time to put down the visionaries, who were beginning to hold up their heads.” In his “History of German Literature,” Kurtz includes the Empress among the German writers of the eighteenth century, as author of an Eastern romance, “Obidach” (1786), and two years later we find her writing burlesque verses on the King of Sweden. It was often asked how she found time to do so much, the answer being she rose at six o’clock.

After his deposition, Gustavus IV. of Sweden, under the title of Colonel Gustafson, was occasionally heard of in various parts of Europe. At the period of the French Revolution in 1830, the pamphlet which he published on that event, and on its connection with Swedish affairs, showed, writes Dr. Doran,[158]that “the ex-king possessed neither charms of style nor power of reasoning. But his literary pursuits were now his sole pleasure, and he wrote “Reflections on the Aurora Borealis, and its Connection with Diurnal Motion,” the small effect produced by which wounded him, it is said, almost as deeply as his loss of a crown.

Another sovereign who in his retirement devoted his time to literature was the ex-king Stanislaus Leczinski of Poland, whose works were published in a collected form, a few years after his death, in four quarto volumes, under the title of the “Works of the Beneficent Philosopher.” But there was no special ability in his writings, which were “respectable but not great.” His collection of “Traits of Moral Character for Everyday Life” was perhaps his most amusing and popular work, each trait commencing with “Have the courage to ——,” and as a whole as practically useful as the Golden Rules of King Charles. Thus, as an illustration, Stanislaus writes: “Have the courage to pay your debts at once; to do without what you do not need; to know when to speak and when to be quiet; to set down every penny you spend, and to look at the sum-total weekly; topass your host’s lackey without giving him a shilling, when you cannot afford it, and more especially when he has not earned it; to face difficulties, which are often like thieves, and run away if you only look at them.” Such are a few illustrations of his Majesty’s traits of moral courage, but unfortunately some of them he neglected himself, and he suffered accordingly.

Frederick II. of Prussia was an author, but only an average one. Indeed, as it has been observed, “giving him the credit of all that passes under his name, with the single exception of the ‘Seven Years’ War,’ can it be pretended that of his numerous volumes one would ever have been known to posterity, or more than one ever have found a publisher at all, even in Germany, had they been the works of a private hand? The excepted book has considerable merit, by far its greatest value being derived from the accidental coincidence of the sword and the pen in the same hand.” Little praise can be given to his Majesty’s verses, and his letters are only interesting because of the great men with whom he corresponded, and the stirring events in the midst of which they were written.[159]

A work which naturally created considerable notice was Louis XVIII.’s narrative of his escape from France, but in the preface a most candid admission is made, that the work had disappointed all who had expected literary merit in it, that it had destroyed the reputation of the King as anadept in the niceties of the French language, the French critics asserting that it was “vulgarly ungrammatical”; and even the editor “admits that the performance does not place his most Christian Majesty very high in the list of royal authors, as the style is bad, the observations often puerile, and the sentiments far from noble.” The narrative is dedicated in affectionate terms to M. d’Avary, in token of the royal authors lasting gratitude for his services upon the occasion of his escape. But this, whatever merit may be ascribed to it, will, like other similar productions, always be perused with interest from the royal pen which wrote it.

ROYAL MUSICIANS

Froman early period there have been monarchs possessed of as much skill in music as their best bards, or minstrels. Thus, as it has been observed, if Alfred the Great could enter and explore the Danish camp disguised as a harper, “his harp playing must have been in the genuine professional manner of his time, otherwise he would have revealed to the Danish lovers of music that he was not what he pretended to be.” Indeed, the harp seems to have been a favourite instrument of our sovereigns in olden times, harpers having been famous long before the Conquest. And it may be noted that even many of those monarchs who were not musicians patronised and encouraged music, as may be gathered from items of expenditure in their household accounts, an instance of which occurs as far back as the time of William of Normandy, who is recorded in Domesday Book to have been liberal to his joculator, or bard.

Matilda of Scotland had a great talent for music, for which her love amounted almost to a passion. And when queen she was not infrequently censured for her lavish liberality in rewarding, with costly presents, the monks who sang skilfully in thechurch service. According to William of Malmesbury, “She was thoughtlessly prodigal towards clerks of melodious voice, both in gifts and promises. Her generosity becoming universally known, crowds of scholars, equally famed for poetry and music, came over, and happy did he account himself who could soothe the ear of the Queen by the novelty of his song.”

Specially skilled in music was Eleanor of Aquitaine, who composed and sang thechansonsandtensonsof Provençal poetry; and Richard I. was musically inclined, the place of his confinement in Germany, on his return from the Holy Land, having been discovered, it is commonly said, by his minstrel Blondel singing beneath the Tower Tenebreuse atensonwhich they had jointly composed, and to which the King replied. Henry III., in the twenty-sixth year of his reign, gave forty shillings and a pipe of wine to Richard, his harper, and a pipe of wine to Beatrice, the harper’s wife—in such estimation were these musicians held by him.

Edward I. and his queen Marguerite were both lovers of music, and encouraged its professors, as may be gathered from the following items of their household expenditure: “To Melioro, the harper of Sir John Mautravers, for playing on the harp while the King was bled, twenty shillings; likewise to Walter Luvel, the harper of Chichester, whom the King found playing on his harp before the tomb of St. Richard at Chichester Cathedral, six shillings and eightpence.” And prior to ascending the throne Edward took his harper with him tothe Holy Land, and, when attacked by an assassin at Ptolemais, his royal musician rushed into the royal apartment, and dashed out the brains of his antagonist after the Prince had given the final blow with a footstool, which caused him to exclaim, “What was the use of striking a dead man?”

Henry V. was himself a performer on the harp from an early age; his royal bride, Catherine of Valois, sharing his taste, as we find from an entry in the Issue Rolls, whereby we learn that his Majesty sent from France to England to obtain new harps for Catherine and himself in the October preceding his marriage: “By the hands of William Menston was paid £8, 13s. 4d. for two new harps purchased for King Henry and Queen Catherine.” And a previous document mentions another harp sent to Henry when in France, “purchased of John Bore, harp-maker, London, together with several dozen harp-chords and a harp-case.” Henry was also a composer, delighting in church harmony, which he was in the habit of practising on the organ.

Anne Boleyn, like Henry VIII., was musical, and, according to an early authority, “when she sung like a second Orpheus, she would have made bears and wolves attentive. Besides singing like a syren, accompanying herself on the lute, she harped better than King David, and handled cleverly both flute and rebec.” From all accounts, Queen Mary seems to have been highly talented in music, and at the tender age of four she is said to have played on the virginals. When grown up she cultivated her musical taste, and played with great proficiency on the lute, the virginals, or the regals. She was also fond of sacred music, and established the musicians of her Chapel Royal with more than usual care, the names of our best English composers being found amongst them.

Queen Elizabeth was very partial to music, and played on the spinet, lute, and violin, and she was especially careful to have the royal chapel furnished with the best singing boys that could be procured in the kingdom. In Sir Hans Sloane’s collection of MSS. in the British Museum, there is a royal warrant of her Majesty authorising Thomas Gytes, master of the children of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, “to take up such apt and meet children as are most fit to be instructed, and framed, in the art and science of music and singing, as may be had and found out within any place of this our realm of England and Wales, to be, by his education and bringing up, made meet and liable to serve us in that behalf when our pleasure is to call them.”

Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I., had a taste for music, and was possessed of a voice so sweet and powerful, that, it is said, she might have been, had she not been a queen,prima donnaof Europe. Occasionally, we are told, “her divine voice was heard singing to her infant as she lulled it in her arms, filling the magnificent galleries of Whitehall with its rich cadence. Queenly etiquette prevented her from enchanting listeners with its melody at other times.”[160]Charles I., too, was fond of music, and performed on the viol.

The first Italian opera ever performed in England was produced on January 5, 1674, under the auspices of Queen Catherine of Braganza, who was devoted to that style of music, although it took a long time for an English audience to relish it. And “it was not easy,” writes Agnes Strickland, “to persuade the public in those days that a combination of incomprehensible sounds, however harmonious they might be, was capable of exciting feelings of admiration and delight like those with which they listened to the national opera of Arthur, when Dryden’s numbers are wedded to Purcell’s melodies.” The King’s admiration for Mrs. Knight, whose voice was considered by Evelyn and others to excel those of the Queen’s Italian vocalists, excited Catherine’s jealousy, especially as her singing was regarded “as a greater attraction than the wonderful violin playing of Signor Nicolao at musical meetings, where, also, the lute of Dr. Wallgrave rivalled the harpsichord of Signor Francesco.” But, it may be added, Mrs. Knight was first introduced at Court to sing Waller’s complimentary verses on her Majesty’s recovery from serious sickness, in the year 1663. Pepys tells us in his Diary,[161]under September 30, 1668, that the Queen had a concert of Italian vocalists on the Thames, under her balcony at Whitehall Palace, when, “it being a most summerlike day, and a fine warm evening, the Italians came in a barge under the leads before the Queen’s drawing-room, and so the Queen andladies went out, and heard them for more than an hour, and the singing was very good together; but yet there was but one voice that did appear considerable, and that was Signor Joanni.”

According to Roger North, Charles II. loved no music but of the dancing kind, and put down all advocates for the fugal style of composition, with the question, “Have I not ears?” A band of twenty-four violins who merrily accompanied his meals, and enlivened his devotions in the Chapel Royal, suggested the comic song, “Four and twenty fiddlers all of a row,” which has lasted to the present day. Evelyn was greatly shocked when in December 1662, at the conclusion of the sermon, “instead of the ancient grave and solemn wind music accompanying the organ, was introduced a concert of twenty-four violins, between every pause, after the French fantastical light style; better suiting a tavern, or playhouse, than a church.” It would seem, too, the King’s predilection for French fiddlers formed part of his anti-national tendency, and was carried so far that John Banister, who had been leader of the twenty-four, was dismissed for saying, on his return from Paris, that the English violins were better than the French. These anti-national propensities of Charles II. brought into fashion that kind of music which had constantly been appreciated by the masses—the music of the old ballads and songs. The dislike of all compositions to which he could not beat time led him to appreciate the common English airs, to which the poets of thepeople had written their words, as well as the dance music imported from France.[162]

To church music George III. was always very attached, showing skill in it both as a critic and performer. “Many stories,” says Thackeray,[163]“mirthful and affecting, are told of his behaviour at the concerts which he ordered. When he was blind and ill he chose the music for the Ancient Concerts once, and the music and words which he selected were from ‘Samson Agonistes,’ and all had reference to his blindness, his captivity, and his affliction. He would beat time with his music-roll as they sang the anthem in the Chapel Royal. If the page below was talkative, or inattentive, down would come the music-roll on young Scapegrace’s powdered head.” It would seem that his Majesty was not content simply to be a listener, but he found additional pleasure in taking an active part in musical performances. And one day in the year when George loved to attend St. Paul’s was on “Charity Children’s Day,” to listen to “500 children sing the hymn which makes every heart thrill with praise and happiness.”

George IV. was fond of music, a taste which, we are told in the “Croker Papers,” seems not always to have been agreeable to some of the ladies who had the greatest influence over him. He would occasionally leave them tobouderin a corner, while he sang duets and glees with thetwo pretty Misses Liddell—Lord Ravensworth’s sisters—old Michael Kelly, Knyvett, and others. Thus, one evening at the Pavilion, in the year 1822, the King “never left the pianoforte; he sang in ‘Glorious Apollo,’ ‘Mighty Conqueror,’ ‘Lord Mornington’s Waterfall’ (encored), ‘Non Nobis, Domine,’ and several other glees and catches.” His voice, a bass, according to Croker, was not good, and he did not sing so much from the notes as from recollection. He was, therefore, “as a musician far from good, but he gave, I think, the force, gaiety, and spirit of the glees in a superior style to the professional men.”[164]

Music was a source of supreme delight to the Prince Consort, and in musical compositions he acquired considerable technical skill. His favourite instrument was the organ. On the 9th of October, 1840, Lady Lyttelton writes from Windsor Castle: “Yesterday evening, as I was sitting here comfortably after the drive, by candlelight, reading M. Guizot, suddenly there arose from the room beneath, oh, such sounds!... It was Prince Albert playing on the organ, modulating so learnedly, wandering through every kind of bass and chord till he wound up in the most perfect cadence, and then off again louder and louder. I ventured at dinner to ask him what I had heard. “Oh, my organ! a new possession of mine. I am so fond of the organ! It is the first of instruments, the only instrument for expressing one’s feelings.”[165]

All forms of music competently rendered, it is said, had a fascination for Queen Victoria, a taste which from childhood she encouraged, and to which she devoted much attention. John Bernard Sale, organist of St. Margaret’s, Westminster, and subsequently organist of the Chapel Royal, gave her her first lessons in singing in 1826,[166]and “she developed a sweet soprano voice, and soon both sang and played the piano with good effect.” In 1836 Lablache became her singing-master, and he gave her lessons for nearly twenty years. The harp was her instrument, and Grisi was her ideal vocalist.

The Italian opera raised her highest enthusiasm, and, “staunch to the heroes of her youth, she always appreciated the operas of Rossini, Bellini, and Donizetti, but Handel and Mendelssohn won her early admiration.” She never understood or approved Wagner or his school.

At one time elaborate concerts, oratorios, and musical recitations were repeatedly given both at Windsor and Buckingham Palace. On the 10th of February 1846, Charles Kemble read the words of the “Antigone,” when Mendelssohn’s music was rendered, and this was followed by similar performances—Mendelssohn being many times at Court.

Many accounts have come down to us of thetalent of James I. of Scotland for music, who is said to have “excelled all mankind in the art, both vocal and instrumental.” He has been spoken of as the father of Scottish music, and we are told that “he not only composed many sacred pieces of vocal music, but also of himself invented a new kind of music, plaintive and melancholy, different from all others, which, it is said, long made his name famous.”

Turning to France, we find that many of its rulers were musically inclined. Going back to an early period, it is said that Charlemagne invited singers and musicians to come from Italy and improve the performance of divine worship, and two song schools were established, one at Gale, another at Metz. According to Charlemagne, “his Franks had not much aptitude for music, their singing was like the howling of wild beasts or the noise made by the squeaking, groaning wheels of a luggage waggon on a stony road.”

An interesting story is told of Josquin, an eminent composer, who was appointed master of the chapel of Louis XII., by whom he was promised a benefice. But the King forgot the matter, and from the shortness of his Majesty’s memory Josquin suffered great inconvenience. By a clever expedient he contrived publicly to remind Louis of his promise without giving offence. Being commanded to compose a motet for the Chapel Royal, he chose part of the 119th Psalm, beginning with the words, “Oh, think of thy servant as concerning thy word,” “which he set in so supplicating andexquisite a manner that it was universally admired, particularly by the King, who was not only charmed with the music, but felt the force of the words so effectually that he soon after granted his petition by conferring on him the promised appointment.”

Marie Antoinette had a natural taste and extreme fondness for music. She much valued Grétry’s music—a great deal of the poetry set to his music being by Marmontel. The day after the first performance of “Zemira and Azor,” Marmontel and Grétry were presented to the Queen as she was passing through the Gallery of Fontainbleau to go to mass. The Queen congratulated Grétry on the success of the new opera, and told him that she had dreamed of the enchanting effect of the trio by Zemira’s father and sisters behind the magic mirror. In a transport of joy, Grétry took Marmontel in his arms. “Ah, my friend,” cried he, “excellent music may be made of this.” “And execrable words,” coolly added Marmontel, to whom her Majesty had not addressed a single compliment.[167]

Marie Antoinette was the great patroness of the celebrated Viotti, and, when he began to perform his concerts at her private musical parties, she would go round the music saloon and say, “Ladies and gentlemen, I request you will be silent, and very attentive, and not enter into conversation while Mr. Viotti is playing, for it interrupts him in the execution of his fine performance.”

She paid for the musical education of the Frenchsinger Garat, and pensioned him for her private concerts. It was at her request, too, that the great Gluck was brought from Germany to Paris. It may be remembered that he composed his “Armida” in compliment to the personal charms of Marie Antoinette. On one occasion he told her that the air of France had invigorated his musical genius, and that, after having had the honour of seeing her Majesty, his ideas were so much inspired that his compositions resembled her, and became alike angelic and divine.

Had her musical taste been cultivated, it is said that Marie Antoinette would have made considerable progress. She sang little French airs with much feeling and taste. She improved much under the tuition of the famous Sacchini, and after his death Sapio was named as his successor, but, between the death of one master and the appointment of another, “the revolutionary horrors so increased, that her mind was no longer in a state to listen to anything but the howlings of the tempest.”

Charles V. of Spain had a fine musical ear, and thoroughly understood the principles of the science. When on the throne, the music of his chapel was unsurpassed by that of any church in Christendom. On his settling at the Jeronymite monastery of Yuste, after his abdication, the greatest pains had been taken to select for him the best voices from the different convents of the order, and no person was admitted into the choir except those who regularly belonged to it. On one occasion, a professional singer from Plasencia having joined in the chant, the unaccustomed tones soon attracted the Emperor’s attention, and the intruder was compelled to retire. Charles had a quick ear, and sometimes even a false note jarred on it, which prompted him to break into a passion, and to salute the offender with one of those scurrilous epithets which he had picked up in the wars, and which were far better suited to a military life than to a monastic.[168]One thing is certain, he never spared the unlucky offender.

Among touching instances of royal personages finding relief in music may be mentioned the King of Hanover, who had the misfortune of being nearly deprived of his eyesight some time before he came to the throne. As Crown Prince he published a pamphlet, entitled “Ideas and Reflections on the Properties of Music,” in which he thus gives his experiences: “From early youth I have striven to make music my own. It has become to me a companion and comforter through life; it has become more and more valuable to me the more I learnt to comprehend and appreciate its boundless exuberance of ideas, and its inexhaustible fulness.

“By means of music, ideas, feelings, historical events, natural phenomena, pictures, and scenes of life of all sorts are as clearly and intelligibly expressed as by any language in words; and we are ourselves enabled to express ourselves in such a manner, and to make ourselves understood byothers. It is, above all, in the gloomy hours of affliction that music is a soothing comforter, and whoever has experienced this effect himself will admit that for this fairest service rendered by the art he cannot sufficiently thank and revere it.”

Frederick William I. was fond of music, and, during the winter evenings, he caused the airs and choruses of certain favourite operas to be played to him on wind instruments by the band of the Potsdam Guard regiment. During these concerts the musicians, with their desks and lights, stood at one end of the long hall, while the King, sitting quite alone at the other, would sometimes, especially after a good dinner, fall asleep.

As a composer and performer, Frederick the Great acquired considerable celebrity, and in his early years his father used contemptuously to call him the “piper,” or the “poetaster”; for, the Queen having caused him to be secretly instructed in playing the flute, the Prince attempted to arrange concerts in the woods when the King was hunting, and, whilst his father rode after the wild boar, the flutes and violins were produced out of the game-bags. One day, the King going into his apartment, the music-master had to be hidden in the chimney. His compositions are very numerous, as he wrote for his own use only as many as one hundred solos for the flute, on which he was a skilful player. When time permitted, he devoted four hours daily to the study or practice of music, a recreation which he enjoyed until within a few years of his death, when he was debarred it through the loss of severalof his front teeth. He generally contrived, after taking his coffee in the morning, to play his flute, and these were the moments, as he once confessed to D’Alembert, when his best thoughts occurred to him. Lord Malmesbury wrote from Berlin in the year 1775: “Never was the King in a worse humour: a few days ago the King broke his flute on the head of his chamber hussar, and is very liberal to his servants with cuffs and kicks.” At a concert given during the visit of the Electress-Dowager Maria Antonia of Saxony in 1770, in which this princess, a very distinguished amateur performer, played the piano and sang, the King, supported by his old master, Quantz, played the first lute, the hereditary Prince of Brunswick the first violin, and the Prince of Prussia—afterwards King Frederick William II.—the violoncello.

Many anecdotes have been recorded of his musical pursuits, his behaviour on the occasion of the performance of Graun’sTe Deum, after the termination of the Seven Years’ War, in 1763, being specially noteworthy. The orchestra and singers, who had assembled in the royal palace at Charlottenburg at the time commanded, found to their surprise that there was no audience assembling. But after having waited some time, wondering whether the performance of theTe Deumwas to take place, or whether there had been some mistake in the hour, they observed a side door being opened at the end of the hall opposite them, through which the King entered alone, and, sitting down in a corner, bade them commence.At some of the full choruses he held his hands before his eyes to conceal his tears, and, at the close of the performance, having thanked them by a slight inclination of his head, he retired through the side door by which he had entered. It is said that the Emperor was so prepossessed by the compositions of Graun, that hardly any other composer had a chance of finding favour with him.

The Emperor’s sister, the Princess Amelia, was a good musician and a sharp critic, as may be gathered from the following letter which she wrote to the Kapellmeister Schulz, in Rheinsberg, after he had sent her the manuscript of his choruses to “Athalia,” with the humble request for permission to dedicate them to her, or, as he expressed himself, “to preface the work with the adorable name of so illustrious a connoisseur”:—

“I surmise, Mr. Schulz, that by an oversight you have sent me, instead of your own work, the musical bungling of a child, since I cannot discover in it the least musical art; on the contrary, it is throughout faulty from beginning to end in the expression, sentiment, and meaning of the language, as well as in the rhythm. Themotus contrariushas been entirely neglected: there is no proper harmony, no impressive melody; the key is never clearly indicated, so that one has to guess in what key the music is meant to move. There are no canonic imitations, not the least trace of counterpoint, but plenty of consecutive fifths and octaves! And this is to be called music!May Heaven open the eyes of those who possess such a high conceit of themselves, and enlighten their understanding to make them comprehend that they are but bunglers and fumblers. I have heard it said that the work ought to praise the master; nowadays everything is reversed and confused, the masters are the only ones who praise themselves, even if their works are offensive.”

Schulz, mentioning the contents of this letter to a friend, added, “All this may be true, but why tell it me so rudely?”

A distinguished pianist was Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, who lost his life in the battle of Saalfeld, in the year 1806. He was, too, a fine composer—“perhaps the best of all the royal musicians whose works have been published, or are otherwise known, and a true patron of the art, which he showed by his cultivation of classical music, as well as by his kindness to Beethoven, Dussek, Spohr, and other eminent composers.” It was this prince of whom it is said that Beethoven, on hearing him play, exclaimed with surprise, “Your Royal Highness does not play like a prince—you play like a musician.”

As a pupil of Beethoven, Rudolph, Archduke of Austria, was not only a true patron of music, but he took an active interest in all musical matters, as is shown by the subjoined letter:—

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