ROYAL REVELRY
Perhaps no chapter in the social history of royalty has given us a more
vivid insight into the merry doings of the sovereigns of the past, in
our own and other countries, than that which deals with their drinking
and revelry. Indeed, moralists, at one time or another, have been more
or less severe in their strictures on what they regarded as the undue
freedom displayed at Court festivities, when not infrequently king as
well as courtiers were in a state of deplorable incapacity.
The orgies, for instance, in which Peter the Great revelled were, it is
said, as reckless and abandoned as those of his contemporary the Regent
d’Orleans; but probably no one save Peter would have employed them to
ascertain the hidden thoughts of his courtiers. According to De
Villebois,[11] he was in the habit of inviting men whom he secretly
disliked, in order that he might carefully note down the words which
escaped them when drunk, and sometimes even for the purpose of getting
rid of them by inducing them to drink themselves to death. The immediate
cause of his own death was the aggravation of a loathsome disease,
under which he had long been labouring, by a debauch at one of his
conclaves--those travesties of the election of a Pope which, “amidst the
most outrageous drunkenness and the grossest buffoonery, he held yearly,
partly in order to keep up the contempt of his subjects for the Latin
Church, and partly also to ridicule the office of Patriarch, which he
had abolished.”[12] And, similarly, Frederick William I. of Prussia, who
himself was a hard drinker, loved to make his guests drunk; his daughter
even states that he did so to her bridegroom, the hereditary Prince of
Bayreuth, on his wedding-day. Carlyle has fully described the royal
tap-rooms which were established in Berlin, at Potsdam, and during
summer at Wusterhausen, as a source of recreation at the Court of
Frederick William I. That at Berlin, furnished in the Dutch fashion, has
been kept unaltered, with the large silver beer can from which the malt
liquor was drawn by means of a tap into the jugs and tankards. The
visitor is shown, too, the strangers’ book, in which the autographs of
Frederick the Great and the Czar Peter are preserved.
But perhaps one of the most drunken and dissolute monarchs that ever
disgraced a throne was one of Peter’s predecessors, Ivan IV., of whom it
has been said that he was “ever exemplarily devout when he was most
stupidly drunk.” His habitual intemperance, however, made him cruel,
prompting him to commit all kinds of diabolical crimes--his indulgence
in strong drink eventually rendering him hopelessly insane; for what
other excuse could be made for his conduct as exemplified in his smiting
his own son dead by blows from an iron bar in a fit of fury.
The merits of French wines were long ago appreciated by royalty, and in
early times our own wine trade with France was very considerable when
English kings were proprietors of the French wine districts. But it
would seem that even royalty has cracked legions of bottles in
discussing the divers deserts of Burgundy and champagne, although it is
said imperial authority is in favour of the latter. When the Emperor
Wenceslaus visited France in the fourteenth century to negotiate with
Charles VI., it was impossible ever to get him sober to a conference.
“It was no matter,” he said; “they might decide as they liked, and he
would drink as he liked, and then both parties would be on an equality.”
In the midst of the distress with which France was harassed in the reign
of Charles VII., and while the English were in possession of Paris, his
Majesty amused himself with balls, entertainments, and revelry. The
brave La Hire, coming to the King one day for the purpose of discussing
with him some important business, found him actively occupied in
arranging one of his pleasure parties, who asked what he thought of his
preparations. “I think, sire,” he said, “that it is impossible for any
one to lose his kingdom more pleasantly than your Majesty.”
And another French king who brought into more or less contempt the
throne was Francis I., by giving himself up to his pleasures. It is said
that he framed a Court of which licentiousness was the custom, and from
which justice, temperance, and every Christian as well as chivalric
virtue was banished.[13]
The King of Hungary was in the habit of sending yearly to the abdicated
Polish king, Stanislaus Leczinski, at Nancy, a little cask of imperial
Tokay, which was received at the gates of his palace under an escort of
grenadiers. But, as it has been observed, “Little casks will soon run
dry if the spigot be often turned,” and when the Tokay was out,
Stanislaus would sigh for more. He was not able to purchase it, for the
produce was small and imperial property. He resolved to imitate it, and
after various trials he succeeded, by mixing Burgundy with ingredients
only known to himself, in composing what he thought might pass for
Tokay. He kept his secret, and when the annual imperial cask arrived--it
contained but a hundred bottles--he made presents of his own Tokay to
his courtiers, and kept the genuine wine for himself. The lords of the
Court were “delighted at the favour conferred on them, but when they
discovered that his ex-Majesty had distributed no less than six hundred
bottles, they thought of the readiness of his concocting hand, and
laughed at the trick he had played them. The Stanislaus Tokay was not
consumed so quickly as the imported wine, but it rose in value with its
years, a single bottle having fetched the exorbitant price of forty-two
francs. It was indifferent wine, but an ex-king made it, and the price
was paid not merely for the liquor, but for the name of the composer.”
But this is only one of the many amusing anecdotes related of
Stanislaus, who was famed for being the most courteous of hosts,
entertaining not only nobles but artists, and philosophers, at his
well-laden table. Indeed, after his abdication, Stanislaus kept a
princely establishment, the splendour and cost of which was not
infrequently the subject of comment. On one occasion, when he heard that
the daughters of Louis--Adelaide and Victoria--had set out from Metz to
Luneville to visit their grandfather, the ex-king ordered magnificent
preparations for their reception, which prompted his steward to remark
that so much splendour was not needed for his “petites filles”; but
Stanislaus, with a smile, replied: “Mes petites filles sont plus grandes
que moi.”
The dissolute and extravagant habits of the Court of Gustavus III. of
Sweden were most severely condemned, and rightly so, for we are told
that whilst revelry and pageantry in constantly varying shapes
distinguished his effeminate and luxurious Court, misery and famine
extended themselves rapidly amongst the labouring poor, from one
extremity of Sweden to another. The groans of the wretched who perished
of want, the curses of the degraded paupers who were reduced to seek
for such food as the King’s well-fed hounds would have turned from with
loathing, produced not the least retrenchment. Meanwhile Gustavus
continued his guilty magnificence, heedless of, and indifferent to, the
misery around him; and which, it is said, was greatly aggravated, if not
actually caused, by his wasteful magnificence and profligacy. It is not
surprising that the excessive taxation necessary to support the King’s
expenditure and extravagances found vent in dangerous disturbances.
It would have been well had he taken a lesson from the great Christina,
who, it is said, occasionally passed days without drinking, detesting
wine and beer, and having no special taste for any other liquid, with
the exception of rose-water, of which she was extremely fond. Oftentimes
when young she would repair to the Dowager’s toilet-table, and there
refresh herself with her favourite cosmetic, until she was one day
caught in the act, when “the dowager lady administered to her such a
whipping that Christina could never think of it, to her latest hour,
without a feeling of uneasiness.”
The able ruler of Denmark for sixty years, the defender of the Reformed
religion--Christian IV.--was not above enjoying a carouse, and on his
visit to this country in 1606 he was invited with his brother-in-law,
James I., to a festival at Theobalds, the seat of the Prime Minister
Cecil, Lord Salisbury, when it appears that the revels were marked by
scenes of intemperance, an amusing account of which has been left by Sir
John Harrington. He tells us that “the sports began each day in such
manner and sort as well-nigh persuaded me of Mahomet’s Paradise. We had
women, and indeed wine too, of such plenty as would have astonished each
beholder. Our feasts were magnificent, and the royal guests did most
lovingly embrace each other at table. I think the Dane had strangely
wrought on our good English nobles, for those whom I could never get to
take good liquor now follow the fashion, and wallow in beastly delights.
The ladies abandon their sobriety, and are seen to roll about in
intoxication. In good sooth, the Parliament did kindly to provide his
Majesty so seasonably with money, for there have been no lack of good
living, shows, sights, and banquetings from morn to eve.” From this and
similar accounts, the Danish and English monarchs seem to have had a
good time, and not to have spared the costly liquor put before them,
abandoning themselves to unrestrained excess. But some excuse must be
made for the royal delinquents on this occasion, when it is remembered
that it was a special gala time in honour of the Danish sovereign.
Charles V., Emperor of Germany, drank in proportion as he ate, excess in
each case having hastened the termination of his failing health. Iced
beer was one of his favourite drinks, which was often administered as
soon as he rose in the morning. When Roger Ascham saw his Majesty on one
occasion in Germany, on St. Andrew’s Day, sitting at dinner at the feast
of the Golden Fleece, he writes: “He drank the best that I ever saw. He
had his head in the glass five times as long as any of us, and never
drank less than a good quart at once of Rhenish”--a no mean performance.
But suffering, caused by chalk-stones and gout, did not induce him to
moderate his mode of living, and to be more sparing in his tankards of
ale and flasks of wine. And, unfortunately, his medical men had not the
moral courage to dissuade him from drinking what was daily aggravating
his gout, but allowed him to satisfy every appetite by providing
palliations. And so he went on in his excesses, till his frame, worn out
by disease, sank from exhaustion. It would appear that this monarch’s
drinking proclivities were at the time well known in this country, as
may be gathered from a return which was made by order on the occasion of
his visit to Henry VIII. The city authorities appear “to have been
afraid of being drunk dry by the swarming Flemings in the Emperor’s
train. To avoid such a calamity, a return was made of all the wine to be
found at the eleven wine merchants and the twenty-eight principal
taverns then in London; the sum total of which was 800 pipes.”
In alluding to Henry VIII., it may be noted that history has given many
anecdotes of the drinking habits of his predecessors on the English
throne. Thus Rapin observes that William I. balanced his faults by “a
religious outside, a great chastity, and a commendable temperance, but
that his son was neither religious, nor chaste, nor temperate; whilst
Malmesbury adds that he met with his tragical end in the New Forest
after he had soothed his cares with a more than usual quantity of
wine.”[14]
The tragedy of Henry I.’s reign was the loss of the ill-fated _White
Ship_ with Prince William, only one out of its 300 passengers surviving
to tell the tale--a poor butcher of Rouen, named Berthould, who climbed
to the top of the mast, and was rescued by some fishermen. To quote an
oft-told story, King Henry and his heir embarked at Barfleur for England
in separate vessels, when the Prince, to make the passage pleasant, not
only took with him a number of the young nobility, but ordered three
casks of wine to be given to the crew, with the result that the sailors
were for the most part intoxicated when they put to sea at nightfall,
and allowed the vessel to strike upon a rock. It is recorded that Henry
was never again seen to smile, although he survived this terrible event
fifteen years, having hastened his end by a surfeit of lampreys.
Unlike their father Henry II., Geoffrey, Richard, and John were far from
abstemious. According to Giraldus, so dissolute and hot was Geoffrey in
his youth, that “he was equally ensnared by allurements, and driven on
to action by stimulants;” whilst one of the metrical romances of the
period has left a graphic picture of the royal Yuletide revelry at this
period, which lasted for twelve days, during which time excess rather
than sobriety was the rule. D’Aubigné, quoting from Matthew Paris,
declares that John died of drunkenness and fright--a statement endorsed
by Sir Walter Scott in his “Ivanhoe,” where he writes: “It is well known
that his death was occasioned by a surfeit upon peaches and new ale.” An
amusing anecdote tells how, when King John made his last visit to
Nottingham, he called at the Mayor’s residence, and at the house of the
priest of St. Mary’s. But, finding neither ale in the cellar of the one
nor bread in the cupboard of the other, he ordered every publican in the
town to contribute sixpenny-worth of ale to the Mayor yearly, and every
baker to provide the priest with a halfpenny loaf weekly.
Edward I. found little pleasure in the pleasures of the table; but his
successor, Edward II., is said to have given way to intemperance, and it
has been suggested that “had not the banqueting-room been oftener
employed than the council-chamber, opportunities might not have occurred
for the rebellion of favourites, for which the festal board was
answerable.” The mad dissipation of Henry V. when Prince of Wales has
been immortalised by Shakespeare, but, to his credit, the responsibility
of the crown made him an altered man, and among his troops at Agincourt
drunkenness was counted a disgrace. Indeed, so impressed was Henry with
the bane of intemperance that it is said he would gladly have cut down
all the vines in France. The last years of Edward IV.’s life were spent
in luxurious and intemperate habits, which had most fatal effects on his
health; and some idea of the lavish expenditure at this period may be
gathered from the Paston Letters, where an account is given of an
[Illustration: EDWARD I.]
intended _progress_ of his Majesty, wherein Sir John Paston is urged to
warn William Gogney and his fellows “to purvey them of wine enough, for
every man beareth me in hand that the town shall be drank dry, as York
was when the King was there.”
And coming down to Henry VIII. again, it appears that he was often
intoxicated, and found pleasure in keeping the lowest company. And, as
it has been observed, “his right hand, Wolsey, was actually put in the
stocks by Sir Amias Powlett, when he was rector of Lymington, for
drunkenness at a neighbouring fair.”
The consort of Queen Mary soon found out the favourite English drink,
and for the first time he drank some ale at a public dinner, remarking
that he had come to England to live like an Englishman. Elizabeth seldom
drank anything but common beer, “fearing the use of wine, lest it should
cloud her faculties.” And Leicester writes to Burleigh that at a certain
place in her Majesty’s travels “there was not one drop of good drink for
her, ... he were fain to send forthwith to London, and to Kenilworth,
and divers other places where ale was; her own ale was so strong as
there was no man able to drink it.” But, abstemious and temperate as her
Majesty was, exception has been taken to the costly extravagance
displayed at the Kenilworth pageant, when, it is stated, no less than
365 hogsheads of beer were drunk, in addition to the daily complement of
16 hogsheads of wine.
James I. was fond of drink, and reference has already been made to the
visit of his jovial brother-in-law, which led to one more scene of
inebriety. His partiality was for “sweet rich wines,” and Coke tells us
that he indulged “not in ordinary French and Spanish wines, but in
strong Greek wines.” Even when hunting he was attended by a special
officer, who constantly supplied him with his favourite beverages. On
one such occasion Coke’s father managed to obtain a draught of the royal
wine, which, writes his son, “not only produced intoxication, and
spoiled his day’s sport, but disordered him for three days
afterwards.”[15] It is said, however, that James would next day remember
his excesses, “and repent with tears;” and as Mr. Jesse adds, “the
maudlin monarch weeping over the recollections of the last night’s
debauch must have been an edifying sight to his courtiers.”
Whatever the failings of Charles I. might be, he could not be accused of
that indulgence in strong drinks which had caused so much scandal in
previous reigns. Thus Lord Clarendon writes: “As he excelled in all
other virtues, so in temperance he was so strict, that he abhorred all
debauchery to that degree, that at a great festival solemnity where he
once was, being told by one who withdrew from thence, what vast draughts
of wine they drank, and that there was one earl who had drunk most of
the rest down and was not himself moved or altered, the King said that
he deserved to be hanged; and that earl coming shortly after into the
room where his Majesty was, in some gaiety, to show how unhurt he was
from that battle, the King sent one to bid him withdraw from his
Majesty’s presence; nor did he in some days after appear before him.”
But the same could not be said of Charles II., concerning whose revels
many curious anecdotes have been told. At a supper given by the Duke of
Buckingham he tried to make his nephew, the Prince of Orange, drunk. The
Prince was somewhat averse to wine, and at the period in question was
paying his addresses to his future consort, the Princess Mary. However,
having been induced to join in the evening’s debauch, he became the
gayest and most frolicsome of the party. On their breaking up, the
Prince even commenced smashing the windows of the maids-of-honour, and
“would have forced himself into their rooms had he not been timely
prevented.”[16]
An account of one of Charles’s debauches after a hunting party in 1667
is amusingly told by Pepys,[17] who heard it from Sir Hugh Cholmely, an
eye-witness. “They came,” he says, “to Sir G. Carteret’s house at
Cranbourne, and there were entertained, and all made drunk; and being
all drunk, Armerer did come to the King and swear to him: ‘By G--, sir,’
says he, ‘you are not so kind to the Duke of York of late as you used to
be.’ ‘Not I?’ says the King; ‘why not?’ ‘Why,’ says he, ‘if you are, let
us drink his health.’ ‘Why, let us,’ says the King. Then he (Armerer)
fell on his knees and drank it; and having done, the King began to drink
it. ‘Nay, sir,’ says Armerer, ‘by G--, you must do it on your knees.’ So
he did, and then all the company: and having done it, all fell a-crying
for joy, being all maudlin and kissing one another; the King the Duke of
York, and the Duke of York the King, and in such a maudlin pickle as
never people were.”
On another occasion Charles was dining with Sir Robert Viner, during his
mayoralty, when he rose to depart. The good Mayor, however, had indulged
rather too freely in his own wines, and taking hold of the King, he
swore that he should remain and have another bottle. Charles, it is
said, “looked kindly at him over the shoulder, and repeating with a
smile a line of the old song--
‘He that’s drunk is as great as a king’--
remained as long as he wished.”[18]
And it is worthy of record that when Ford erected waterworks on the
Thames in front of Somerset House, the queen of Charles II.--after the
manner of the Princess Borghese, who pulled down a church next to her
palace because the incense made her feel sick and the organ produced
headache--ordered the works to be demolished since they obstructed a
clear view on the river. It may be mentioned, too, that at this period
tea as a beverage was in favour at the Court of Charles II. owing to
Queen Catherine, who had been used to drink it in Portugal.
James II., on the other hand, was most averse to hard drinking, and a
contemporary writes how “the King, going to mass, told his attendants he
had been informed that since his declaring against the disorder of the
household, some had the impudence to appear drunk in the Queen’s
presence; ... but he advised them at their peril to observe his order,
which he would see obeyed.”
The drinking habits of William III. are well known, and the
banqueting-house at Hampton Court, which was used by him as a smoking
and drinking room, has been described as a royal gin-temple. Among his
drinking companions were Lord Wharton and the Earl of Pembroke. In one
of his moments of hilarity he said to the former: “I know, Tom, what you
wish for: you wish for a republic. I shall bring over King James’s son.”
To which Lord Wharton replied, “That is as your Majesty pleases.”
William, having been warned that the Earl of Pembroke was quarrelsome
over his cups, said, “I will defy any one to quarrel with me, as long as
I can make the bottle go round.” But the King was mistaken, for that
night Pembroke used language personally offensive to him, and was
carried drunk from the apartment to bed. The next morning, alarmed at
his conduct, he hastened to the palace to ask forgiveness.
“Make no apologies,” replied the King. “I was told you had no fault in
the world but one, and I am glad to find it is true, for I dislike
people who have no faults.”[19]
The scandal of the time, too, accused the Queen of fondness for drink,
but it is certain that her physicians warned her against a strong
spiritual cordial which, when ill, she was in the habit of taking in
large quantities.
One of the failings laid to the charge of Queen Anne was a love of
strong drink; but, as it has been remarked, “the supposition that she
was in the habit of having secret recourse to the bottle, as affording
the means of adventitious excitement, seems to rest on the widespread
scandal of the period and a few contemporary lampoons.” In some verses,
“On Queen Anne’s Statue in St. Paul’s Churchyard,” this allusion is
made:--
“Here mighty Anna’s statue placed we find,
Betwixt the darling passions of her mind;
A brandy-shop before, a church behind.
But why the back turned to that sacred place,
As thy unhappy father’s was--to Grace?
Why here, like Tantalus, in torments placed,
To view those waters which thou canst not taste;
Though, by thy proffered Globe, we may perceive,
That for a dram thou the whole world wouldst give.”[20]
And again:--
“When brandy Nan became our queen,
’Twas all a drunken story;
From noon to night I drank and smoked,
And so was thought a Tory.
Brimful of wine, all sober folk
We damned, and moderation;
And for right Nantes we pawned to France
Our goods and reputation.”[21]
But the Duchess of Marlborough, despite her hostility to the Queen’s
memory, defends her character from this aspersion: “I know,” says she,
“that in some libels she has been reproached as one who indulged herself
in drinking strong liquors, but I believe this was utterly groundless,
and that she never went beyond such a quantity of strong wines as her
physicians judged to be necessary for her.”
Coming to the Hanoverian period, if George II. reflected little dignity
on the throne, he is said to have been over his punch a cheerful and
sometimes an amusing companion. Despite his inordinate love of women, he
was always temperate, whereby, says Lord Waldegrave, he was preserved
from many of the infirmities of old age. George III., too, was most
abstemious, and a story is told that, on his visit to Worcester in 1788,
the Mayor, knowing that his Majesty never took drink before dinner,
asked him if he would be pleased to take a jelly; whereupon the King
replied, “I do not recollect drinking a glass of wine before dinner in
my life, yet upon this pleasing occasion I will venture.” A glass of
rich old _Mountain_ was served, when his Majesty immediately drank
“Prosperity to the Corporation and Citizens of Worcester.” That the King
continued to adhere to his rigid habit may be illustrated by an
incident which happened twelve years afterwards. One morning, when
visiting his stables, he heard this conversation between the grooms: “I
don’t care what you say, Robert, but every one agrees that the man at
the Three Tuns makes the best purl in Windsor.”
“Purl, purl!” said the King promptly. “Robert, what’s purl?” Which on
his Majesty being informed was warm beer with a glass of gin, caused him
to add, “I daresay, very good drink, but too strong for the morning;
never drink in the morning.”
But George IV. was the opposite of his predecessor, for intemperance, as
it has been said, was a feature of his moral career, a proclivity which
Huish informs us very nearly cost him dear while yet a youth.[22] At a
dinner-party at Lord Chesterfield’s house at Blackheath, the guests
drank to excess and engaged in riotous frolic. One of the company “let
loose a big fierce dog, which at once flew at a footman, tore one of his
arms terribly, and nearly strangled a horse. The whole party now formed
themselves into a compact body and assailed Towzer, who had just caught
hold of the skirts of the coat of his Royal Highness, when one of the
guests felled the dog to the ground. In the confusion the Earl of
Chesterfield tumbled down the steps leading to his house, and severely
injured the back of his head. The Prince, who scarcely knew whether he
had been fighting a dog or a man, jumped into his phaeton and there fell
asleep, leaving the reins to his uncle, the Duke of Cumberland, who
drove him safely to town.”
One of the strangest acts of his life was his conduct upon the arrival
of his bride-elect, Caroline of Brunswick, which Lord Malmesbury thus
tells: “I introduced the Princess Caroline to him. She very properly
attempted to kneel to him. He raised her (gracefully enough) and
embraced her, said barely one word, turned round, retired to a distant
part of the apartment, and calling me to him, said, ‘Harris, I am not
well; pray get me a glass of brandy.’ I said, ‘Sir, had you not better
have a glass of water?’ Upon which he, much out of humour, said with an
oath: ‘No; I will go directly to the Queen.’” No wonder the Princess
remarked to Malmesbury, “Mon Dieu, est-ce que le Prince est toujours
comme cela?” According to Lord Holland, on his wedding-day the Prince
had drunk so much brandy that he could scarcely be kept upright between
two dukes.
Another bacchanalian story is associated with the Pavilion at Brighton.
It seems that the Duke of Norfolk--now a very old man, and celebrated
for his table exploits--had been invited by the Prince to dine at the
Pavilion, who had concocted with his royal brothers a scheme for making
the old man drunk. Every person at table was enjoined to drink wine with
the Duke--a challenge which the old toper did not refuse. But “he soon
began to see that there was a conspiracy against him; he drank glass for
glass; he overthrew many of the brave. At last the first gentleman of
the empire proposed bumpers in brandy. One of the royal brothers filled
a glass for the Duke. He stood up and tossed off the drink. ‘Now,’ said
he, ‘I will have my carriage and go home.’ The Prince urged him to
remain, but he said ‘No,’ for he had had enough of such hospitality.”
The carriage was called, and he staggered in as best as he could, and
bade the postillions drive to Arundel. They drove him for half-an-hour
round and round the Pavilion lawn; the poor old man fancied he was going
home: the liquor had proved too potent for him. And when he awoke that
morning he was in bed at the Pavilion.[23]
The King’s successor, William IV., was a strong advocate for temperance,
although he enjoyed his wine and entered heartily into the merriment of
the social board. It is related how, on the death of the keeper of
Bushey Park, William, then Duke of Clarence, appointed the keeper’s son
to succeed him. This young man broke his leg, a circumstance which
elicited the practical sympathy of the Duke. But on his recovery the
young man took to drinking, to check which propensity the Duke required
his attendance every night at eight, when, if he appeared the worse for
drink, he reprimanded him the following morning. The Prince’s efforts
were fruitless, for the keeper died of intemperance soon afterwards.