THE ROYAL HUNT
It is said that before Alfred the Great was twelve years of age, “he was
a most expert and active hunter, and excelled in all the branches of
that most noble art, to which he applied with incessant labour and
amazing success;” and Harold is represented in the famous Bayeux
tapestry with his hounds by his side when brought before William, Duke
of Normandy. Early accounts tell us how the privileges of hunting in the
royal forests were confined to the King and his favourites, and history
records how the New Forest in Hampshire was made by William, and how the
park at Woodstock, seven miles in circumference, was walled round by
Henry, his son.
But, apart from having been one of the most popular of our royal sports,
hunting has not only been associated with many an important crisis in
our history, but has had a romantic past. Thus it was when Henry was in
the hunting-field, and the glancing aside of Wat Tyrrel’s arrow made him
King of England, that an old woman in weird language addressed him
thus:--
“Hasty news to thee I bring,
Henry, thou art now a king;
Mark the words and heed them well,
Which to thee in sooth I tell,
And recall them in the hour,
Of thy regal state and power.”
King John was much attached to the chase, and in Cranbourne Chase, in
the parish of Tollard Royal, is an ancient farmhouse known as King
John’s Hunting-seat, with which a legendary story is told. One day, it
is said, King John, being equipped for hunting, issued forth with the
gay pageantry and state of his day. As he rode along he heard a gallant
youth address a lady nearly in these words:--
“We will, fair queen, up to the mountain’s top,
And mark the musical confusion,
Of hounds and echo in conjunction.”
The happy couple left Tollard Royal on horseback, and as they took leave
of the King the moon was sinking below the horizon. They were missing
for several days, until the King, while hunting with his courtiers,
found their lifeless remains. It appeared that when the moon set they
must have mistaken their road, and have fallen “into a hideous pit,
where both were killed.”
Marguerite, second wife of Edward I., was so keen a huntress that she
was eagerly following the chase, when symptoms occurred which forced her
to seek in haste the first roof she could reach. It was in a house at
Brotherton, a village in Yorkshire, traditionally pointed out for
centuries, that her firstborn son, Thomas, afterwards Duke of Norfolk
and Grand Marshal of England, first saw the light.
Edward III., at the time he was engaged at war with France, and resident
in that country, had with him in his army sixty couples of stag-hounds,
and
[Illustration: EDWARD III.]
as many hare-hounds, rarely allowing a day to pass without gratifying
his favourite taste for hunting.
Tradition, too, long identified “the Queen’s oak” at Grafton as where
Elizabeth Woodville waylaid Edward IV. in the forest of Whittlebury,
with a fatherless boy in either hand. She threw herself at his feet, and
pleaded for the restoration of Bradgate, the inheritance of her
children. Her downcast looks and mournful beauty not only gained her
suit, but reached the heart of Edward, who on making certain proposals
received the memorable answer, “I know I am not good enough to be your
queen, but I am too good to become your mistress.”
But what shall be said of Henry VIII., who on that eventful morning--the
19th of May 1536--attired for the chase, with his huntsmen and hounds
around him, stood under the spreading oak in Richmond Park, breathlessly
awaiting the signal-gun from the Tower which was to announce the
execution of his once “entirely beloved Anne Boleyn.” At last, when the
sullen sound of the death-gun was heard, he joyously cried, “Ha, ha! the
deed is done, uncouple the hounds and away!”
How different were Henry’s feelings on this day to what they had been in
1532, when Cardinal du Bellai, ambassador from Francis I., gave this
pleasant picture of another hunting scene in which the ill-fated Anne
Boleyn took part: “I am alone every day with the King when we are
hunting; he chats familiarly with me, and sometimes Madame Anne joins
our party. Each of them is equipped with bow and arrows, which is, as
you know, their mode of following the chase. Sometimes he places us in
a station to see him shoot the deer; and whenever he arrives near any
house belonging to his courtiers, he alights to tell them of the feats
he has accomplished. Madame Anne has presented me a complete set of
hunting-gear, consisting of a cap, a bow and arrows, and a greyhound. I
do not tell you this as a boast of the lady’s favour, but to show how
much King Henry prizes me as the representative of our monarch, for
whatever that lady does is directed by him.”
Elizabeth was fond of hunting, and the nobility who entertained her in
her different progresses made large hunting-parties, which she usually
joined if the weather was favourable. “Her Majesty,” says a courtier,
writing to Sir Robert Sidney,[67] “is well and excellently disposed to
hunting, for every second day she is on horseback, and continues the
sport long.” At this time her Majesty had just entered her
seventy-seventh year, and she was then at her palace at Oatlands. And
oftentimes, when she was not disposed to hunt herself, she was
entertained with the sight of the pastime. At Cowdray in Sussex--the
seat of Lord Montacute--one day after dinner, we read in Nichols’s
“Progresses,” how her Grace saw from a turret “sixteen bucks, all having
fayre lawe, pulled down with greyhounds in a laund or lawn.” And many
other accounts have been left us of the interest Elizabeth always took
in the chase.
James I. found much enjoyment in hunting, and it was a common
expression of our ancestors on taking leave of their friends, “God’s
peace be with you, as King James said to his hounds.”
Scaliger observed of him, “The King of England is merciful except in
hunting, where he appears cruel. When he finds himself unable to take
the beast, he frets and cries, ‘God is angry with me, but I will have
him for all that.’” “His favourite pastime once nearly cost him his
life, for he was thrown headlong into a pond, and very narrowly escaped
drowning. On another occasion his bad horsemanship nearly proved fatal
to him, for Mr. Joseph Meade writes to Sir Martin Stuteville, 11th
January 1622: ‘The same day his Majesty rode by coach to Theobald’s to
dinner, ... and after dinner, riding on horseback abroad, his horse
stumbled, and cast his Majesty into the New River, where the ice brake;
he fell in so that nothing but his boots were seen. Sir Richard Young
went into the water and lifted him out.’” Indeed, Sir Richard Baker
informs us the King’s riding was so remarkable that it could not with so
much propriety be said that he rode, as that his horse carried him. He
often hunted in Cranbourne Chase, and in a copy of Barker’s Bible,
printed in 1594, which formerly belonged to the family of the Cokers of
Woodcotes, in the Chase, are entries of the King’s visits: “The 24th day
of August, our King James was in Mr. Butler’s Walke, and found the
bucke, and killed him in Vernedich, in Sir Walter Vahen’s Walk.”
In the painting of Queen Anne of Denmark in her hunting costume, her
dogs are introduced by Van Somers; they wear ornamental collars, round
which are embossed in gold the letters, A. R.; they are dwarf
greyhounds. The Queen holds a crimson cord in her hand in which two of
these dogs are linked, and it is long enough to allow them to run in the
leash by her side when on horseback. A very small greyhound is begging,
by putting its paws against her green cut-velvet farthingale, as if
jealous of her attention.
Catherine of Braganza, Queen-Consort of Charles II., loved sport, and
from all accounts her hunting establishment was carried on in an
elaborate manner, for mention is made of “the master of her Majesty’s
bows,” with a salary of £61 attached to his office; “a yeoman of her
Majesty’s bows,” “a master of her Majesty’s bucks,” &c. At Oxnead a
venerable oak was long pointed out, beneath which, according to local
tradition, King Charles and his Queen stood when they shot at the butts.
In the year 1676 a silver badge for the marshal of the fraternity of
bowmen, of which she was the patroness, was made, weighing twenty-five
ounces, with the figure of an archer drawing the long English bow to his
ear, with the inscription, “Reginæ Catharinæ Sagitarii,” having also the
arms of England and Portugal, with two bowmen for supporters.
James II. oftentimes hunted two or three times a week, and a
contemporary thus writes: “His Majesty to-day, God bless him! underwent
the fatigue of a long fox-chase. I saw him and his followers return, as
like drowned rats as ever appendixes to royalty did.” In the year 1686,
when pursuing the dangerous designs which led to his expulsion, he still
indulged in the chase, and Sir John Bramston in his Autobiography tells
us how on the 3rd of May James hunted the red deer near Chelmsford with
the Duke of Albemarle, Prince George of Denmark, and some of the lords
of his Court. After a long chase, the King was in at the death between
Romford and Brentwood. The same night he supped at Newhall with his
fellow-hunters; and on the next day he hunted another stag which lay in
Newhall Park, and a famous run they had, for “the gallant creature
leaped the paling, swam the river, ran through Brampfield, Pleshie, and
the Roothings, and was at last killed at Hatfield.” On this occasion,
too, James was in at the death, although most of the lords, including
the Duke of Albemarle, were thrown out, much to his delight. But as his
horse was spent, and royalty in some need of a dinner, Lord Dartmouth
advised to make for Copthall, the seat of the Earl of Dorset, and
accordingly he sent a groom to apprise his Lordship that his Majesty
would take family fare with him that day. It happened that the Earl was
dining out at Rockholts, and the Countess about to pay some visits in
the neighbourhood, when the messenger met them, stopped the coach, and
announced the royal intent. As her cook and butler were gone to Waltham
fair, she would have excused herself on the plea that her lord and
servants were out, but a second messenger following close on the heels
of the first, she drove home, and sent her carriage to meet his Majesty.
She exerted her energies to excellent purpose, and on his Majesty’s
arrival a handsome collation was prepared for him. Well pleased, the
King set forth for London, and on the road met the Earl of Dorset
returning from Rockholts, who, alighting from his coach, offered his
regrets that he had not been at home to entertain his Majesty.
“Make no excuse, my lord,” replied the King, “all was exceedingly well
done, and very handsome.”
King William’s favourite diversion was hunting, or rather coursing. In a
letter to Lord Portland, dated from Windsor, 1701, his Majesty displays
the keen relish he took in this sport: “I am hunting the hare every day
in the park with your dogs and mine. The rabbits are almost all killed,
and their burrows will soon be stopped up. The day before yesterday I
took a stag in the forest with the Prince of Denmark’s hounds, and had a
pretty good run as far as this villainous country permits.” It may be
remarked that King William’s uncomplimentary epithets touching England
and the English have been made the subject of strong comment; but, as it
has been observed, the abhorrence of the land he ruled “was not founded
on moral detestation of its vilest diversions, in the worst of which he
partook.” As shown elsewhere, he was a desperate gambler, and Count
Tallard, the French ambassador, mentioning some of his doings, thus
writes: “On leaving the palace King William went to the cock-fight,
whither I accompanied him. He made me sit beside him.”
Queen Anne’s principal amusement was hunting. On the 31st of July 1711
Swift writes to Stella from Windsor: “The Queen was abroad to-day in
order to hunt, but finding it disposed to rain, she kept in her coach.
She hunts in a chaise with one horse, which she drives herself, and
drives furiously, like Jehu, and is a mighty hunter, like Nimrod.”
On the 7th of the following month Swift writes to Stella: “I dined
to-day with the gentlemen Ushers, among scurvy company; but the Queen
was hunting the stag till four this afternoon, and she drove in her
chaise above forty miles, and it was five before we went to dinner.”
Her Majesty must have had some skill in driving, or she would probably
have met with a series of disasters similar to one which befell her
friend the Duchess of Somerset, who was overturned.
Prior to ascending the throne she purchased a cottage lodge in the
neighbourhood of Windsor, and every summer she hunted the stag in
Windsor Forest. A noble oak with a glass plate affixed to it, intimating
that it was called “Queen Anne’s oak,” as beneath its branches she was
accustomed to mount her horse for the chase, was long a place of
interest.
George II. was often to be found in the hunting-field, and was on such
an occasion usually attended by the Queen, one or more of the
princesses, the maids of honour, and a number of the courtiers of both
sexes. The sport was not unfrequently attended by accident, and one day
the Princess Amelia had a narrow escape with her life. This princess was
devoted to the pleasures of the field, and in the pursuit of her
favourite amusement adopted a costume which more nearly resembled that
of the male than the female sex. In the gallery at Hardwicke there is a
curious portrait of her--in a round hunting cap and laced coat--which,
says Mr. Jesse, “those who are unacquainted with her peculiarities would
hardly persuade themselves could be intended for a woman.”
It is recorded of Charlemagne that he was passionately devoted to the
chase, and arranged his hunting appointments with every show of luxury,
it having been his special delight to show the splendour of his hunting
establishment to foreign princes. When hunting, it is said, the
organisation was like that “of a military expedition, and resembled the
immense battues which the sovereigns of Germany delighted in during the
last century. Armies of men beat the woods, and many packs of dogs drove
all the animals of a large district into enclosures of nets and snares,
when the hunters of the highest rank attacked them on horseback with the
lance and the javelin.”
Many of the French monarchs made hunting their favourite pastime. The
coronation of Philip Augustus was postponed by the illness of the young
prince. He was benighted whilst hunting in the forest of Compiègne,
brought home by a peasant, but was so terrified that a very long illness
was the result. The chase was the only sport that Louis XI. cared for,
and it is commonly said that he was as selfish and cruel in protecting
his preserves as William Rufus himself. It is related that Louis at a
later period cut off a Norman gentleman’s ear for shooting a hare on his
own grounds. Basin goes so far as to say that Montauban--one of the
favourites of Louis XI.--being appointed Chief of Forests and
Rivers--showed himself so severe and rapacious in the granting of
licences and the punishment of offences connected with the chase, that
the entire gentry of the country were filled with rage![68]
The Bois de Boulogne was formed by Francis I., that he might hunt close
to his capital, and the Château de Madrid was built in it for his
night’s rest. Fontainebleau, with its forty acres of forest, often
resounded with the fanfares of the huntsmen, as the King’s gay train
galloped through the wooded glades. More than once his life was in
danger whilst fighting hand to hand with the wild boars caught in the
nets; and one day he was dragged from his saddle by a stag which threw
him to the ground. Chambord, once the Versailles of the south, owes its
castle to him, which he built, after his imprisonment in Spain, for a
hunting lodge.
Louis XIII. was fond of the chase, and Versailles owed its grandeur to
his love for hunting. Tired of sleeping in a windmill, or a cabaret,
when wearied with his long rides through the forest of St. Leger, he
built a small pavilion, which was replaced in 1627 by an elegant
château, which under Louis XIV. assumed its later proportions. The
latter monarch made his début in boar-hunting at the age of four, and
his daily journal betrays the large portion of time given up to it in
the midst of events which precipitated the French monarchy to ruin.
The only passion, it is said, ever shown by Louis XVI. was for hunting.
On one occasion, writes Soulavie,[69] “he was so much occupied by it
that when I went up into his private closets at Versailles, I saw upon
the staircase six frames, in which were seen statements of all his hunts
when dauphin and when king. In them was detailed the number, kind, and
quality of the game he had killed at each hunting-party during every
month, every season, and every year of his reign.”
The story goes that when Gustavus reached Paris on June 7, 1784, he went
on the same evening to Versailles. But Louis had been hunting, and was
at supper at Rambouillet when a courier from Vergennes brought him the
news. The King at once retired to Versailles, but not being expected,
could find neither _valets-de-chambre_ nor keys. Accordingly, he was
compelled to dress as best he could, and finally made his appearance
before his royal guest in two odd shoes--one with a red, the other with
a black heel--with odd buckles--one gold, one silver--and the rest of
his dress in similar confusion.
The indifference paid by Marie Antoinette to conventional rules
observed by those in high station exposed her to censure; but even her
opponents have been forced to admit that one of her charms was the
genuine kindness she often displayed to persons in a humble sphere of
life. Thus, on one occasion, a strange accident happened. The stag,
being closely pursued by the hounds during the royal hunt, leaped into
an enclosure in which the owner was at work. The animal not seeing any
means of escape became furious, ran at the peasant, and struck him two
blows with its antlers, inflicting a dangerous wound. His wife, in a
state of despair, rushed towards a group of sportsmen she saw at a
distance--it was the King and his suite. She cried out for help, telling
what had happened to her husband, and then fell down in a swoon. The
King gave orders that she should be attended to, and after speaking
kindly and compassionately rode away; but the Dauphiness, who had come
up, stepped out of her carriage, ran to the woman, made her smell
essenced water, which gave her relief, and presented her with all the
money she had on her person.
On July 25, 1830, Charles X. of France signed the decrees which
abolished the liberty of the press, and on the following day--although
it was summertime--he went with the Dauphin to hunt the stag in the
forest of Rambouillet. It proved to be an historic hunt, for “it seemed
as if he had come to gaze at the scene whence his royalty was to be
carried out to be buried.” By half-past nine the following night eight
royal carriages and some hired coaches deposited at the gates of
Rambouillet the fugitive King and a part of his terrified family; and
thus came to pass the deposition of the last of the Bourbon kings who
had reigned in France.
Frederick William I. of Prussia was an enthusiastic huntsman, and
attached to the royal household were twelve huntsmen, who, besides their
services in the chase, likewise waited at table. During several of his
illnesses they had to sit up with him, and to amuse him during his
sleepless nights with hunters’ stories. On the other hand, Frederick the
Great denounced hunting as cruel, and he used frequently to say, “The
butcher does not kill animals for his pleasure, but merely because human
society requires them for food; whereas the hunter kills them only for
his pleasure, which is detestable. The hunter, therefore, should be
placed in the scale of society below the butcher.” Frederick William
III., too, never had any taste for hunting, which he called “a cruel
miserable pleasure”; and he even gave it as his opinion that his
ancestor, Frederick William I., of whom he loved to speak, had been made
so harsh and cruel by it.
Ferdinand V., the Catholic, who united the kingdoms of Castile and
Aragon by his marriage with Isabella, cared for no other amusement save
that of hunting, especially falconry; and Charles V. was fond of the
chase. Maximilian II. found his chief pleasure in hunting, and he
acquired the celebrated Prater--the Hyde Park of Vienna--which was
originally a forest park with preserved game. In one of his letters to
his brother-in-law, Albert of Bavaria, dated September 28, 1568, he
writes: “I have several times wished from all my heart that you were
with us in the Prater, where lots of fine stags have shown themselves,
and particularly on Tuesday last, when I had a boar-hunt there, at which
I bagged thirty head of game.”
Hunting the boar in the forests which surrounded the royal residence of
Cintra was the great delight of Don Sebastian. We are told that he
always dismounted to give the _coup de grâce_ to the boar. Sometimes the
wounded beast turned upon his assailant, but none of the cavaliers
presumed, however desperate the struggle, to interfere between the King
and his savage foe.
A Portuguese monarch who devoted much time to hunting was Alfonso IV., a
pursuit he indulged in to the detriment of the State. But his presence
one day being essential at Lisbon, he entered the council-chamber full
of the adventures of the chase, with which he entertained the nobles
present. After concluding his narrative, a nobleman of the first rank
thus addressed him:--
“Courts and camps are allowed for kings, not woods and deserts. Even the
affairs of private men suffer when recreation is preferred to business;
but when the phantasies of pleasure engross the thoughts of a king, a
whole nation is consigned to ruin. If your Majesty will attend to the
wants and remove the grievances of your people, you will find them
obedient subjects; if not, they will look out for another and a better
king.”
Alfonso, in the transport of passion, retired, but soon returned, and
said: “I perceive the truth of your remarks. He who will not execute the
duties of a king cannot long have good subjects. Remember, from this day
forward I am no longer Alfonso the Sportsman, but Alfonso, King of
Portugal”--a resolve which he kept with the most rigid determination,
becoming one of the greatest of the Portuguese monarchs.
The only accomplishment, it is said, in which Alfonso VI. was a
proficient was horsemanship. He once rode full-tilt at a savage bull in
a meadow, but the brute so galled his royal assailant with his horns,
that “he was unhorsed and nearly lost his life.” Amongst the wild acts
of this wretched monarch, we are told how one night, returning from the
chase, he charged two inoffensive citizens, sword in hand, and after
riding over them would have despatched them, had not the grand huntsman
interfered.
Charles III. of Spain was more attached to the sports of the field than
the splendour of the monarchy; and it is said that no weather, however
bad, could keep him at home. In addition to a most numerous retinue of
persons belonging to his hunting establishment, several times a year all
the idle fellows in the neighbourhood of Madrid were hired to scour the
country, far and wide, and drive the wild boars, hares, and deer into a
ring, where they passed before the royal family. Charles also kept in a
diary a regular account of the victims to his skill. A short time before
his death he boasted to a foreign ambassador that he had killed with his
own hand 539 wolves and 5323 foxes. “So that, you see,” he said, with a
smile, “my diversion has not been useless to my country.” And it is
further said that so devoted was his Majesty to hunting that there were
only three days in the year when he did not attend the chase.
Charles IV. was equally fond of hunting, and the first feeling he had of
his uncrowned condition was on hearing that the new king had ordered all
the wolves and foxes to be destroyed. It was not his son’s policy which
disconcerted him, but the suppression of his hunting establishment,
which had been his only pleasure for many years.
Amongst the fatalities on the hunting-field may be mentioned the death
of Casimir IV., King of Poland, who was thrown from his horse near
Cracow, November 3, 1370. During the years that Stanislaus Leczinski
reigned, he paid every regard to his preserves, chases, and forests. He
took great pride in his deer, which were often so numerous that the
harvests were occasionally ruined by them--so destructive were they to
the crops. But this monarch, says Dr. Doran, is praised “for having
reduced his hunting establishment, and opened his preserves for
cultivation.” He certainly did this, but it was not till he was too old
to mount a horse, or hold a gun. Before that, if a hungry man snared a
hare he was sent to the gallows. But whatever his inconsistencies may
have been, Stanislaus continued to win popular affection, than which,
says Grimm, he could not have had a more touching funeral oration at the
time of his death.