SUPERSTITIONS OF ROYALTY
The spirit of the age in which they lived must, in most cases, account
for the superstitious turn of mind of many sovereigns in the past. The
fact that we are now acquainted with the laws which determine the
movements of comets, so that we are able to predict their appearance,
has caused us to cease to pray that we may be preserved from their
malevolent influence; and no longer now, as happened in the tenth
century, would an European army flee in terror before one of them.[170]
But from their movements not being understood, and hence regarded of
supernatural character, they were a source of fear. They were dreaded as
the precursors of calamity, because it was shown that comets had
preceded the death of such rulers as Cæsar, or Constantine the Great, or
Charles V. It was demonstrated that comets had been seen before the
invasion of Greece by Xerxes, before the Peloponnesian War, before the
Civil Wars of Cæsar and Pompey, before the fall of Jerusalem, before the
invasion of Attila, and before the greatest number of famines and
pestilences that have afflicted mankind. Hence it is not surprising
that Louis the Debonnaire was frightened by the comet which appeared
during Holy Week of 837. The first morning after it had been seen he
sent for his astrologer. “Go,” said he, “on to the terrace of the
palace, and come back again immediately and tell me what you have
noticed, for I have not observed that star before, and you have not
shown it to me; but I know that this sign is a comet: it announces a
change of reign and the death of a prince.” Nor was this all, for the
son of Charlemagne was convinced that the comet was sent for him, and
accordingly “he passed his nights in prayer, gave large donations to the
monasteries, and finally had a number of masses performed out of fear
for himself and forethought for the Church committed to his care.”[171]
But, whilst this comet was a source of fear in France, the Chinese were
observing it astronomically. It was no other than Halley’s comet, which
appeared again in 1066, and was regarded as a presage of the conquest
under William of Normandy, a representation of which occurs in Matilda’s
Bayeux tapestry. And it has been traditionally said that one of the
jewels of the British crown was taken from the tail of this comet. But
William neither believed in omens, nor encouraged fortune-telling, and,
when he heard how a certain soothsayer--who had thought proper to join
himself to the armament--had lost his life, he shrewdly remarked,
“Little could he have known of the fate of others who could not foresee
his own.”
The same comet made its appearance again in 1456, when Europe was filled
with dread of the Turks, who had lately become masters of
Constantinople, and a line was then added to the litanies of the Church
praying for deliverance from “the Devil, the Turk, and the Comet.” At
this time Pope Calixtus III. was engaged in a war with the Saracens, and
he declared that the comet “had the form of a cross,” and indicated some
great event; whereas Mahomet maintained that the comet, “having the form
of a yataghan,” was a blessing of the Prophet’s.
A comet which attained its greatest altitude at the hour of Edward I.’s
birth was much discussed, and Eleanor eagerly inquired of the
astrologers what it portended to her babe. They replied that the bright
flames which preceded it promised brilliant fortunes to her new-born
son; but the long train of smoke great calamity to his son and
successor. And once, it is said, when Queen Elizabeth’s attendants tried
to dissuade her from looking at a comet, which was supposed to predict
evil to her, she ordered the window of her apartment to be set open, and
pointing to the comet, she exclaimed, “_Jacta est alea_ (the die is
cast); my steadfast hope and confidence are too firmly planted in the
providence of God to be blasted or affrighted by these beams.” And yet
it was Elizabeth who preferred Dr. Dee to the chancellorship of St.
Paul’s Cathedral.
Another comet which caused some consternation at Court was seen in 1680,
and was said to be the same as that which had preceded Cæsar’s death.
Hence it is said that when the brother of Louis XIV. saw the courtiers
discussing the matter in an unconcerned manner, he sharply rebuked them:
“Ah, gentlemen, you may talk at your ease, if you please; you are not
princes.” It was this comet which gave rise to a curious story, how at
Rome a hen had laid an egg on which was depicted the comet--a fact which
was attested by his Holiness, by the Queen of Sweden, and by some of the
leading persons in Rome.
But if comets were a source of superstition, other phenomena of the
heavens were also supposed to influence the destinies of royalty; and
hence Queen Catherine de Medicis, though a woman of strong mind, was
deluded with the more ignorant by the vanity of astrological judgments.
The professors of the science were so much consulted in her Court that
the most trivial act was not done without an appeal to the stars. One of
the most noted astrologers under her patronage was Nostradamus, a
physician of Provence, who to medicine joined astrology, which soon
augmented his income. He was summoned to Paris by Catherine in 1556, and
one of his predictions--which turned out hopelessly wrong--was contained
in a small book issued in the year 1572, under this title,
“Prognostication touching the Marriage of the very honourable and
beloved Henry, by the grace of God King of Navarre, and the very
illustrious Princess Marguerite of France, calculated by Master Bernard
Abbatio, Doctor in Medicine, and Astrologer to the very Christian King
of France.” In this astrological calculation he professed to show that
the couple would “love one another intensely all their lives,” whereas
they always hated each other; and he further declared that they would
“approach a hundred years,” but Henry IV. died before he was sixty. Many
children were to be the outcome of the marriage, whereas there were
none, for the marriage was broken off, and Henry married to Marie de
Medicis.
But speaking of Catherine de Medicis, there is probably no sovereign in
history “of whose persevering addiction to the occult arts so many
singular traditions are preserved.” Anecdotes might be told of the
amulets and talismans which she wore; of the observatories and
laboratories which she fitted up in the Louvre; of the enchanted mirror
in which she beheld the fortunes of her descendants; “and, above all,
that singular and sudden change in her disposition which history
attributes to the cruel insults of her dissolute husband, but which
popular superstition ascribed to the malign influence of her
supernatural allies.”[172]
Louis XI., than whom no man had less of religion or more of
superstition, had an amusing adventure with an astrologer. Having heard
that one of these prophets had predicted the death of a woman of whom he
was very fond, he sent for him and asked him the question, “You, who
know everything, when will you die?” The astrologer, somewhat taken
aback, and fearing the monarch’s malicious nature, replied, “Sire, three
days before your Majesty.” “Fear and superstition,” it is said,
“overcame the monarch’s resentment, and he took special care of the
adroit impostor.” But this was only one instance of his contradictory
character, for, although there was no God in his heaven, strange to say,
he “believed in an invisible world of saints, having exclusive power
over the events of this life,” and he was ever seeking to propitiate
them in the most childish manner. Louis XI. further attributed great
superstitious worth to the ceremony of his coronation, and “adored the
holy oil brought down from heaven for the anointment of Clovis, showed
the greatest satisfaction at being anointed with it, and enjoyed the
sanctity more than the splendour of the ceremony.”
Marie de Medicis and Louis XIII. were both remarkable for the same sort
of credulity, and it has been commonly said that the supposed skill of
the Maréchale d’Ancre in the occult sciences was in a great measure the
source of her influence over the princess.
Anne of Austria, eager to satisfy herself in advance of the fate of the
infant to which she was about to give birth, determined, with the
superstition common to that age, to cause its horoscope to be drawn by
an able astrologer at the moment it was born. Having expressed her wish
to Louis XIII., he confided the care of discovering the required
astrologer to Cardinal Richelieu, who, having some previous knowledge
of a certain seer named Campanella, he immediately despatched a
messenger to command his presence. He was traced to the dungeons of
Milan, where he was awaiting his trial as a sorcerer, having been seized
by the Italian Inquisition, and whence he was allowed to obtain his
release. On the birth of the Dauphin, Campanella was requested to
proceed with his task without delay, and to speak the truth fearlessly.
Accordingly, he announced that his combinations had informed him that
“the infant would be as luxurious as Henry IV., and of conspicuous
haughtiness; that his reign would be long and laborious, although not
without a certain happiness; but that his end would be miserable, and
entail both religious and political confusion upon the kingdom”--which
proved a very fair forecast.[173]
The conquest of Spain by the Moors carried the science of astrology into
that country, and, before their expulsion, it was more or less
naturalised among the Christian savans. No individual contributed more
to the advancement of the study of the stars than Alfonso of Castile,
whom his friends called “the Wise,” whereas by his foes he was known as
“Alfonso the Astrologer.” It appears that he summoned a council of the
wisest mathematicians and doctors of the astral science who were
convened in the towers of the fabled Alcazar of Galiana, when five years
were spent in discussion. Alfonso usually presided in the assembly, and
after the tables which pass under his name were completed, many noble
privileges were granted to the sages and their issue, and they returned
richly rewarded each to his home. But unfortunately Alfonso endangered
his orthodoxy by his opinions; for astrology--when employed as a means
of forecasting events--was anathematised by the Church as “a vain,
lying, and presumptuous art.” But, despite such denunciations, Alfonso
was anxious to protect the dignity of his favourite pursuit by giving it
such a legal sanction as would distinguish it from deceit and fraud, and
he affirmed that the judgments and predictions which are given by this
art are discerned in the natural course of the planets, and “are taken
from the books of Ptolemy, and the other wise masters, who have laboured
therein.” And then he adds, “The other manner of divining is by
soothsayers, sorcerers, and wizards; some take their tokens from birds
or from the fate-word; others cast lots; others see visions in water, or
in crystal, or in a mirror, or the bright sword-blade; others frame
amulets; others prognosticate by the hand of a child, or of a maiden.
These ribalds, and such as are like them, are wicked men and lewd
impostors, and manifold evils arise from their deeds; therefore we will
not allow any of them to dwell in our dominions.”
Eric XIV. of Sweden chafed under annoyance of any kind; and, as he had
been told that all his difficulties would be owing to the treachery of a
man with fair hair, he lost no time in casting his brother John into
prison, who happened to be fair-haired, on which account Eric bitterly
hated him. Indeed, the King would probably have assassinated his brother
in prison, but for the intervention of Charles de Mornay, a French
gentleman, whose good counsel prevailed over the fiendish advice of
Goran Persson.
Matthias Corvin, King of Hungary, rarely undertook anything without
first consulting the astrologers, and the Duke of Milan and Pope Paul
were also very largely governed by their advice. Lord Malmesbury in his
“Memoirs” speaks of Frederick II.’s superstition and belief in
astrology, and on this point we may quote a communication which the King
made to his friend Baron von de Horst: “Being convinced that truth is
often arrived at by most irrational ways, and that the most specious
syllogisms very often lead to the falsest notions, I made inquiries in
all sorts of quarters. I caused all those to be consulted who pretended
to know anything about astrology, and even all the village prophets. The
result was that I never found anything but old women’s tales and
absurdity.” But so firmly did the Turkish divan believe in astrology,
that they attributed Frederick’s tide of success to the help of that
science. Accordingly, the Sultan Mustapha sent Resmi to Berlin with
instructions to induce the King to cede three of his most skilful
astrologers to the Sultan. But at an audience Frederick led the Turk to
a window and pointed out his troops to the ambassador, remarking that
“his three advisers in war and peace were experience, discipline, and
economy; these and these only,” he concluded, “are my chief three
astrologers.”
Even nowadays the royal astrologer is one of the most important officers
at the Court of the Shah, and no Persian minister would venture to
conclude a political transaction, or even to arrange a State ceremonial,
without obtaining the sanction of the stars.
Among the illustrious believers in astrology who flourished in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries must be added the name of Albert von
Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, who was an enthusiast in the cause.
Kepler was employed by him in making astrological calculations, and was
rewarded by his influence with the Court of Vienna, which procured the
settlement of a large demand. Then there was the astrologer John
Gadbury, who in the nativity cast for the illustrious Prince of Denmark,
informs us that “it is an aphorism nearly as old as astrology itself,
that if the lord of the ascendant of a revolution be essentially well
placed, it declares the native to be pleasant, healthful, and of a sound
constitution of body, and rich in quiet of mind all that year, and that
he shall be free from cares, perturbations, and troubles.”
Indeed, the drawers of horoscopes in bygone years had a busy and
lucrative time; and one Thurneysser, a famous astrologer, who lived at
the electoral Court of Berlin, was at the same time “physician, chemist,
drawer of horoscopes, almanack-maker, printer, and librarian.” His
reputation was so widespread that scarcely a birth took place in
families of any rank in Germany, Poland, Hungary, or England, without
his being announced of the precise moment of birth. And it may be
remembered how astrologers were consulted on behalf of Elizabeth of
York, wife of Henry VII., who had predicted that great good fortune
would befall her in 1503; a circumstance to which Sir Thomas More, in an
elegy he wrote for the Queen, alludes, at the same time noticing the
folly and vanity of such divinations:--
“Yet was I lately promised otherwise
This year to live in weal and in delight;
Lo! to what cometh all thy blandishing promise,
O false astrology and divinitrice,
Of God’s secrets vaunting thyself so wise!
How true for this year is thy prophecy?
The year yet lasteth, and lo! here I lie”--
the Queen dying on her birthday, February 11, 1502-3, the very day when
she completed her thirty-seventh year.
Another delusion which excited an extensive and long-continued interest
was alchemy, and in the splendid Courts of Almansor and
Haroun-al-Raschid the professors of the mystic art found “patronage,
disciples, and emolument.” Frederick II., in a letter to his friend
Baron von de Horst, thus writes concerning the rage of making gold which
has deceived so many: “Fredersdorf firmly believed in it, and was soon
connected with all the adepts in Potsdam. Speedily the report spread
through the whole garrison, so that there was not an ensign who did not
hope to pay his debts by means of the philosopher’s stone. Swindling
adepts crowded from all quarters, and under all sorts of characters, to
Potsdam. From Saxony came a certain Madame von Pfuel with two very
handsome daughters, who did the thing in quite a professional style, so
that they were considered great prophetesses. I wished to put it down by
authority, but I did not succeed. An offer was made to give in my
presence every imaginable proof, so that I might convince myself with my
own eyes. Considering this the best means to expose the folly, I made
this lady alchemist perform her operations under my strict surveillance.
To throw gold in the crucibles, or the like clumsy tricks, would not
have done; yet Madame von Pfuel gave the affair such a specious
appearance that I could not prove any of the experiments to have
failed.” Indeed, the most eminent of the alchemic philosophers were not
only the companions of princes, but many of them were even kings
themselves, who “chose this royal road to wealth and magnificence.”
But in England the dreams of the alchemists never met with much favour,
although there seems reason to believe that Raymond Lully--one of the
most illustrious of the alchemists--visited this country about the year
1312, on the invitation of Edward II., and was employed here in refining
gold and coining rose nobles. In 1455 Henry VI., by the advice of his
council and parliament, issued four patents in succession to “certain
knights, London citizens, chemists, monks, mass-priests, and others,
with leave and licence to attempt the discovery of the philosopher’s
stone, to the great benefit of the realm, and the enabling of the King
to pay all the debts of the crown in real gold and silver.” Prynne
afterwards satirically remarked upon the issue of this patent to
ecclesiastics as well as laymen, that the King included them because
they were “such good artists in transubstantiating bread and wine in the
Eucharist, and therefore the more likely to be able to effect the
transmutation of baser metals into better.”
Elizabeth amused herself with the chimeras of alchemy. Cecil, in his
diary, has noted that in January 1567, “Cornelius Lannoy, a Dutchman,
was committed to the Tower for abusing the Queen’s Majesty in promising
to make the elixir.” This impostor had been permitted to have his
laboratory at Somerset House, where he had deceived many by promising to
convert any metal into gold. To the Queen a more flattering delusion had
been held forth, even the draught of perpetual life and youth, and her
strong intellect had been duped into the persuasion that it was in the
power of a foreign empiric to confer the boon of immortality upon her.
That Elizabeth was a believer in the occult sciences, and an encourager
of those who practised the arts of divination and transmutation, is
evident from the diary of her conjurer, Dr. Dee. On one occasion she
condescended with her whole Court and Privy Council to visit him at
Mortlake; but, as his wife had only been buried four hours, she
contented herself with a peep into his magic mirror. Dr. Dee flattered
Elizabeth with promises of perennial youth and beauty from his
anticipated discovery of the elixir of life, and the prospect of
unbounded wealth as soon as he had matured his secret of transmuting the
baser metals into gold. But the encouragement given by Elizabeth to
conjurers and star-gazers was inconsistent with her disbelief in the
prevailing superstitions of the age.
Turning to sorcery and magic, Charlemagne, it is said, had a talisman,
to which frequent allusion is made in traditional history, and which the
late Emperor Napoleon III., when Prince Louis Napoleon, was stated to
have in his possession. This curiosity, which was described in the
Parisian journals as “_la plus belle relique de l’Europe_,” has long
excited much interest in the archæological circles on the Continent. It
is of fine gold, of a round form, set with gems, and in the centre are
two sapphires, and a portion of the Holy Cross. This talisman was found
on the neck of Charlemagne when his tomb was opened, and was presented
to Bonaparte, and by him to Hortense, the former Queen of Holland, at
whose death it descended to her son Prince Louis, late Emperor of the
French.
Similarly, Henry VIII. had so great a superstitious veneration for the
traditional virtues of a jewel which had for ages decked the shrine of
Thomas à Becket at Canterbury, that he had it set in a ring, which he
constantly wore on his thumb. The jewel was known as the “royal of
France,” having been presented to the shrine of the murdered archbishop
by Louis VII. in the year 1179. Indeed, amulets in one form or another
have from early times been used by royalty; and we read in the old
French chronicles how Gondebaud, King of Burgundy, in the fifth century
sought as a talisman the aid of St. Sergius’s thumb--which, fastened to
the right arm of a certain Eastern king, had always made him
victorious--and how, when his request was not granted, he took by force
a piece of the saint’s finger. And, likewise, on the death of Tippoo
Saib, in the assault on his capital by the English troops, an English
officer who was present at the discovery of his body among the slain, by
permission of General Baird, took from the Sultan’s right arm the
talisman which contained--sewed upon pieces of fine flowered silk--an
amulet of a brittle, metallic substance of the colour of silver, and
some magic words in Arabic and Persian characters. And, as a further
instance of the superstitious tendency of Queen Elizabeth, Lady
Southwell relates, “that the Queen, not being in very good health one
day, Sir John Stanhope, Vice-Chamberlain, came and presented her Majesty
with a piece of gold of the bigness of an angel, full of characters,
which he said an old woman in Wales had bequeathed to her--the Queen--on
her deathbed; and thereupon he discoursed how the said testatrix, by
virtue of that piece of gold, had lived to the age of 120 years, and at
that age, having all her body withered and consumed, she died,
commanding the said piece of gold to be sent to her Majesty, alleging,
further, that so long as she wore it on her body she could not die. The
Queen, in confidence, took the gold and hung it round her neck.”
And it may be remembered how, after the battle of Culloden, the baggage
of Prince Charles Edward fell into the hands of the Duke of Cumberland’s
army, when many private and curious articles came into the possession of
General Bedford--amongst others a stone set in silver attached to a ring
which, it has been suggested, “the superstitious prince may have
obtained on the Continent as a charm, and carried as a protection in the
hazardous enterprise in which he was engaged.” It was a ruby bloodstone,
having on one face the figure of Mars, and on the other face was a
female naked figure, probably Isis.[174]
And speaking of ring superstitions in connection with royalty, there
were the famous “cramp rings” which, when blessed by the sovereign, were
regarded as preservatives against the cramp or against epilepsy--the
earliest mention of which usage occurs in the reign of Edward II., the
ceremonial having been discontinued by Edward VI. These rings were of
various kinds--sometimes they were made of silver and of gold; and a MS.
copy of the Orders of the King of England’s Household--13th Henry VIII.,
1521-1522--preserved in the National Library at Paris, contains “the
Order of the Kinges of England, touching his coming to service,
hallowing of cramp rings, and offering and creeping to the Cross.”[175]
On April 4, 1529, Anne Boleyn sent to Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of
Winchester, who had been despatched to Rome to plead for the divorce of
Catherine of Aragon, a present of cramp rings; and the late Cardinal
Wiseman had in his possession a manuscript containing both the ceremony
for the blessing of the cramp rings, and that for the touching for the
king’s evil. At the commencement of the MS. are emblazoned the arms of
Philip and Mary, and there is an illumination representing the Queen
kneeling, with a dish containing the rings to be blessed on each side of
her. It appears that Queen Mary intended to revive the practice, and
from this manuscript she probably did so.
Closely allied with the “royal cramp rings” was the practice of
“touching for the evil,” which is said to have commenced with Edward the
Confessor, and was more or less continued to the reign of Queen Anne,
for in Lent 1712 we find Dr. Johnson among the persons actually touched.
The custom seems to have been at its height in the reign of Charles II.,
as in the four first years of his restoration he “touched” nearly 24,000
persons. Pepys, in his “Diary,” under June 23, 1666, records how he
waited at Whitehall, “to see the King touch people for the king’s evil.”
He did not come, but kept the poor persons waiting all the morning in
the rain in the garden; but afterwards he touched them in the
banqueting-house. And Evelyn records the fact that in the reign of
Charles II. several persons were pressed to death in the crowd that
surrounded the doors of the Court surgeon, where individuals applied for
tickets in order to present their children for cure to the King. William
III., says Macaulay, “had too much sense to be duped, and too much
honesty to bear a part in what he knew to be an imposture.” “It is a
silly superstition,” he exclaimed, when he heard that at the close of
Lent his palace was besieged by a crowd of the sick; “give the poor
creatures some money and send them away.” On one occasion he was
importuned into laying his hand on a patient. “God give you better
health,” he said, “and more sense.” But Queen Anne revived the
superstition, and performed the healing-office during her progresses
whenever she rested at any provincial city.
At a late period the use of certain coins, known as “royal
touch-pieces,” was in common vogue, which, being touched by the King,
were supposed to ward off evil or scrofula, several of which are
preserved in the British Museum; and Mrs. Bray speaks of a “Queen Anne’s
farthing” being a charm for curing the king’s evil in Devonshire.
The belief prevailed in France so lately as the coronation of Louis
XVI., who is reported to have touched 2000 persons afflicted with
scrofula. Indeed, this gift of healing was dispensed by the early French
kings, and Laurentius, first physician to Henry IV. of France, asserts
the power to have commenced with Clovis I. Bishop Elphinston, the
founder of King’s College, Aberdeen, before his elevation to the
episcopal dignity, while on an embassy from James III., King of Scots,
to Louis XI., in a complimentary speech to the French monarch,
congratulated him as the only prince to whom God had granted the
peculiar gift of healing by the touch.
Evil omens with regard to rings have been occasionally the source of
alarm to royalty. Thus Atkinson, in his “Memoirs of the Queen of
Prussia,” writes: “The betrothal of the young couple--Frederick and
Sophia Charlotte, King and Queen of Prussia--speedily followed. I
believe it was during the festivities attendant upon this occasion that
a ring worn by Frederick, in memory of his deceased wife, with the
device of clasped hands, and the motto ‘_à jamais_,’ suddenly broke,
which was looked upon as an omen that this union was to be of short
duration.” And Queen Elizabeth’s coronation ring, which she had worn
constantly since her inauguration, having grown into her finger,
necessitated the ring being filed off, an incident which was regarded as
an unfavourable omen by many. Few, too, were more credulous in such
matters than Elizabeth herself, who appears to have been a firm believer
in the popular superstition of “good luck.”
It has oftentimes been a matter of surprise that a person of so strong a
mind as Charles V. of Spain should have yielded to the popular
superstition of his day as to put faith in amulets and talismans. But
that he did so is evident, writes Prescott,[176] “from the care with
which he preserved certain amulets, and from his sending one of them--a
bezoar stone--to his Chamberlain, Van Male, when supposed to be ill of
the plague.” In his jewelled coffers were stones set in gold, sure
styptics for stopping blood; nine English rings, a specific against
cramp; a blue stone richly chased, for expelling the gout; four bezoar
stones in gold settings, of singular efficacy in curing the plague; and
other charms of the same kind. He also collected certain relics, among
which was a bit of the true Cross, which was afterwards passed as a
precious legacy to Philip, as also did the contents of a casket, and a
crucifix which his mother, the Empress Isabella, had in her hands at the
hour of death, and which was afterwards to solace the last moments of
her husband and her son.
In days gone by the unicorn’s horn was considered an amulet of singular
virtue, although it is now known that the object shown as such in
various museums is the horn of the rhinoceros. Such an amulet was sold
at six thousand ducats, and was thought to be an infallible test of
poison, like Venetian glass and certain sorts of jewels. The Dukes of
Burgundy kept pieces of them in their wine jugs, and used others to
touch the meat they tasted. And Holinshed tells us how King John,
observing a moisture on some precious stones he wore, thought that to
be an indication “of some pears he was about to eat containing poison.”
Again, in the dark ages, when magic was publicly professed in the
universities, we read of a sovereign who entered boldly into the cheat.
Eric XIV. of Sweden, surnamed “Windy Cap,” had his enchanted cap, and
pretended by the additional assistance of some magical jargon to be able
to command spirits to trouble the air, and to turn the winds themselves;
so that, when a great storm arose, his ignorant subjects believed that
the King had got his conjuring cap on; and from this fact, it is said,
originated the custom of mountebanks and conjurers playing their tricks
in a conjuring cap. But it would seem that this strange and eccentric
monarch, who looked upon every man with suspicion, and “interpreted the
most natural and insignificant of gestures as some dreadful telegraphing
of hideous treason,” rarely appeared in public, and never without a
superstitious dread of impending calamity.
The Emperor Basil, who was originally a Macedonian groom, and whose
fortune had been assured by the prophecy of crafty and acute monks,
anticipated one of the foolish superstitions of later times by applying
to the spirit of a deceased son to know how it went with him after
death.
Indeed, under a variety of forms, the history of most countries affords
many a curious instance of monarchs seeking, or deriving, information by
supernatural agency. Thus Louis, eldest son of King Philip III. of
France by his first wife, Isabel of Aragon, having died somewhat
suddenly, his death was attributed to poison. Peter de la Brosse, whom
the King had made a confidant, advancing him to high dignities, did not
shrink from insinuating that the Queen--Maria of Brabant--was guilty of
this act, and that she was capable of inflicting the same fate upon all
the King’s children by Isabel. Accordingly, the King resolved to consult
a soothsayer, and of the two or three persons who were mentioned to him
as possessing the gift of what nowadays is popularly designated
clairvoyance, a kind of beguine, or begging nun, from Flanders was
selected as having most reputation. Philip sent the Abbot of St. Denis
to question her, but her answers he considered too serious to repeat,
excusing himself that what he had heard was under the secret of the
confessional. The King, in a fit of anger, sent further messengers, who
informed the beguine that they came from the King of France, and they
received from her the best possible character of the Queen. The King was
satisfied, and lost much of his trust and friendship for Peter de la
Brosse. Some time was allowed to elapse, when the grandees, who were
bent on his ruin, discovered, or pretended to discover, a treasonable
correspondence of his which caused him to be hanged.[177]
The astonishing success of Baptiste Bernadotte, Prince of Ponte Corvo,
who was selected as heir-presumptive to the crown of Sweden, which he
wore--not without dignity--as Charles XIV., is said to have been
foretold to him by the same celebrated fortune-teller who predicted that
of Bonaparte, and who so fully possessed the superstitious confidence
of the Empress Josephine. In a biography of his life, published at Pau,
we are told that Bernadotte believed in his special and independent
destiny, and in a kind of tutelar divinity, who vouchsafed to him a
special protection. An ancient traditionary chronicle is reported to
have contained the prediction of a certain fairy, who had married one of
his ancestors, that an illustrious king should spring from her race.
Bernadotte never forgot this legend, which had charmed his early days,
and possibly it was not without its influence on his future destiny. And
how greatly the supernatural guided him is illustrated by the following
event. Wishing to overcome the difficulties he encountered in Norway by
means of the sword, he proposed to despatch his son Oscar at the head of
an army, for the purpose of reducing the rebels, a proceeding which was
strongly opposed by the Council of State. One day, after an animated
discussion on the subject, he mounted his horse and galloped some
distance from the capital, when suddenly he beheld an old woman,
strangely clad. “What do you want?” asked the King. To which the
apparition replied, “If Oscar goes to the war you meditate, he will not
give but receive the first blow.” The next day, bearing in his
countenance the traces of a sleepless night, he presented himself at the
Council, and said, “I have changed my mind; we will negotiate for peace,
but I must have honourable terms.”
Amongst some of the cases recorded in this country of royalty
consulting supposed prophets, or being brought into their contact, may
be mentioned that of Matilda of Flanders, who, hearing that a German
hermit was possessed of the gift of prophecy, requested his prayers for
the reconciliation of her jarring son and husband, and his opinion as to
what would be the result of their feud. But William was just as
sceptical in such matters, and, when he accidentally put on his hauberk
the hind part before, he quickly changed it, and said to those who stood
by, “I never believed in omens, nor have I ever put my faith in
fortune-tellers, or divinations of any kind, for my trust is in God.”
And he added, “Let not this mischance discourage you,” knowing full well
how easily frightened even the bravest of his followers were by
ill-omens.
Richard I. was hunting in one of his Norman forests when he was met by a
hermit, who prophesied that, unless he repented, his end was close at
hand. The King made light of the warning and went his way, but ere long
he was seized with an illness which threatened to prove fatal, when,
remembering the words of the hermit-prophet, he made public confession
of his sins, and vowed to be reconciled to his queen Berengaria.
Edward IV. had a passion for astrology, divination, and every kind of
fortune-telling, in which he imitated the pursuits of Henry V.; and
Elizabeth of York relates how “her father, being one day studying a book
of magic in the palace of Westminster, was extremely agitated, even to
tears, and, though earls and lords were present, none durst speak to
him but herself. She came and knelt before him for his blessing, upon
which he threw his arms around her, and lifted her into a high window;
and when he had set her there, he gave her the _reason_ or horoscope he
had drawn, and bade her show it to no one but Lord Stanley, for he had
plainly calculated that no son of his should wear the crown after him.
He predicted that she should be queen, and the crown would rest with her
descendants.”
In Wyatt’s “Memorials of Anne Boleyn” the following incident is related
as having happened previous to her marriage with Henry: A book, assuming
to be of a prophetic character, and of a similar class with the oracular
hieroglyphic almanacs of succeeding centuries, was mysteriously placed
in her chamber one day, on seeing which she called her principal
attendant, Anne Saville.
“Come hither, Nan,” said she. “See, here is a book of prophecies; this
is the King, this is the Queen, and this is myself, with my head cut
off.”
Anne Saville answered, “If I thought it true, I would not myself have
him were he an emperor.”
“Tut! Nan,” replied Anne Boleyn, “I think the book a bauble, and I am
resolved to have him, that my issue may be royal, whatever may become of
me.”
But such a forecast of the future was at this period of common
occurrence, and was no doubt occasionally adopted as a device for
deterring the sovereign from some design which his opponents desired to
frustrate.
Another anecdote is told of Catherine Parr, illustrative of her power of
retort when quite young. It seems that some one skilled in
prognostications, casting her nativity, said that “she was born to sit
in the highest seat of imperial majesty, having all the eminent stars
and planets in her house.” This forecast of her life she did not forget,
and, when her mother used at times to call her to work, she would reply,
“My hands are ordained to touch crowns and sceptres, and not spindles
and needles.”
But fortune-tellers have sometimes told uncomfortable things to royalty.
There is a singular anecdote of Charles I. traditional at Hampton Court
Palace. The story runs that one day he was standing at a window of the
palace, when a gipsy came up and asked for charity. Her appearance and
attitude excited ridicule, which so infuriated and enraged the gipsy,
that she took out of her basket a looking-glass and presented it to the
King, who saw therein his own head decollated.
Another tradition of a similar nature--of which there is more than one
version--is connected with the mode of divination known as the _Sortes
Virgilianæ_. According to one account, King Charles when at Oxford was
shown a magnificent Virgil, and when induced by Lord Falkland to make a
trial of his fortune by the _Sortes Virgilianæ_, he opened the volume at
the Fourth Book of the Æneid (615 _et seq._), which contained the
following passage:--
“By a bold people’s stubborn arms opprest,
Forced to forsake the land he once possess’d,
Torn from his dearest son, let him in vain
Seek help, and see his friends unjustly slain.
Let him to base unequal terms submit,
In hope to save his crown, yet lose both it
And life at once, untimely let him die,
And on an open stage unburied lie.”
Wellwood adds, “It is said that King Charles seemed concerned at the
accident, and that the Lord Falkland, observing it, would also try his
own fortune in the same way, hoping that he might fall on some passage
that could have no relation to his case, and thereby divert the King’s
thoughts from any impression that the other had made on him; but the
place that Lord Falkland stumbled upon was yet more suited to his
destiny than the other had been to the King’s, being the expression of
Evander upon the untimely death of his son Pallas, as thus translated by
Dryden:--
“O Pallas! thou hast fail’d thy plighted word,
To fight with caution, nor to tempt the sword.
I warned thee but in vain; for well I knew
What perils youthful ardour will pursue;
That boiling blood would carry thee too far,
Young as thou wert in dangers, raw to war!
O curst essay of arms, disastrous doom,
Preludes of bloody fields, and fights to come!”
It is generally admitted, however, that Charles was very superstitious;
and we are told by Lilly, the astrologer, that the King on more than one
occasion sent to consult him during his misfortunes. It may be
remembered, too, that Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I., consulted a
prophetess--Lady Eleanor, daughter of the Earl of Castlehaven, and
married to Sir John Davys, the King’s Attorney-General. The idea that
she was a prophetess arose from the discovery that the letters of her
name, twisted into an anagram, might thus be read: “Reveal, O Daniel.”
But her prophetic pride had on one occasion a rebuff; for one of the
King’s Privy Council attacked her with her own weapons, maintaining that
the real anagram should be read thus: “Dame Eleanor Davys--Never so mad
a lady.”
But the strange conversation that passed between her Majesty Henrietta
Maria and the prophetess is thus given in the latter’s own words: “About
two years after the marriage of King Charles I., I was waiting on the
Queen as she came from mass or evening service, to know what service she
was pleased to require from me. Her first question was ‘Whether she
should ever have a son?’ I answered, ‘In a short time.’ The Queen was
next desirous to know what would be the destiny of the Duke of
Buckingham and the English fleet, which had sailed to attack her
brother’s realm, and relieve the siege of Rochelle.
“I answered that the Duke of Buckingham would bring home little honour,
but his person would return safely, and that speedily. The Queen then
returned to her hopes of a son, and I showed that she would have one,
and that for a long time she should be happy.
“‘But for how long?’ asked the Queen. ‘For sixteen years,’ was my reply.
King Charles coming in at that moment, our discourse was interrupted by
him. ‘How now, Lady Eleanor,’ said the King, ‘are not you the person who
foretold your husband’s death three days before it happened?’ to which
his Majesty thought fit to add, ‘that it was the next to breaking his
heart.’”
Mary II., having heard that a Mrs. Wise, a noted fortune-teller, had
prophesied that James II. would be restored, and that the Duke of
Norfolk would lose his head, went in person to her to hear what she had
to say regarding her own future destiny. But this witch-woman was a
perverse Jacobite, and positively refused to read futurity for her
Majesty.
George I. had been warned by a French prophetess to take care of his
wife, as it was fated that he would not survive her more than a year.
Such an effect, it is said, had the prediction on his mind, that shortly
after his wife’s death, on taking leave of his son and the Princess of
Wales, when on the eve of his departure for Hanover, he told them that
he should never see them again. “At the same time,” adds Mr. Jesse,[178]
“with a contempt of all laws, human and divine, he gave directions that
his wife’s will should be burnt, and this for the mere purpose, it
seems, of depriving his own son of some valuable legacies bequeathed to
him by his unfortunate mother”--his wife and his only son having, it
would appear, been the two persons whom he most disliked.
Divination by cards was in the seventeenth century a fashionable
amusement at the Court of France. A well-known anecdote tells of the
ominous gloom which was on one occasion cast over the circle of Anne of
Austria by the obstinacy with which the knave of spades--the sure emblem
of a speedy death--persisted in falling to the lot of the young and
brilliant Duc de Candale: a prediction which was shortly afterwards
verified.
The superstitious fancy of the “divinity that hedges in a king,” and
made Cæsar encourage his alarmed boatman, “Fear nothing, you carry Cæsar
and the fortune of Cæsar in your boat,” is told of Rufus, who, when the
sailors pointed out the danger of putting to sea, exclaimed: “I have
never heard of a king who was shipwrecked; weigh anchor, and you will
see that the winds will be with us.”
The immunity of an anointed king had its influence on the strong-minded
German Emperor, William I. A young married couple visited the island of
Meinau, where the Emperor was residing with his son-in-law, the Grand
Duke of Baden. On their departure, so violent a storm came on that their
boatman found it impossible to proceed, and they were forced to return
to the island. The Emperor, seeing their plight, met them on the beach,
and ordering steam to be got up in a small iron steam launch, placed it
at their service. But the lady, alarmed at her first encounter with the
waves, demurred somewhat to trusting herself again to their mercies. “Do
not be alarmed,” said the Emperor, “the steamer bears my name, and that
ought to reassure you.”
But Henry I. does not seem to have been of this opinion, for when in
June 1131 he had embarked from Normandy for England, he was so dismayed
by the bursting of a water-spout over the vessel and the fury of the
wind and waves, that, believing his last hour was at hand, he made a
penitent acknowledgment of his sins, promising to lead a new life if God
should preserve him from the peril of death.
Dreams have occasionally exerted a disquieting influence on royalty, two
or three instances of which may be quoted. Thus Bossuet, in his funeral
oration on the Princess Palatine, Anne of Gonzaga, attributes her
conversion to a mysterious dream. “This,” says he, “was a marvellous
dream; one of those which God himself produces through the ministry of
his angels; one in which the images are clearly and orderly arranged,
and we are permitted to obtain a glimpse of celestial things. The
princess fancied she was walking alone in a forest, when she found a
blind man in a small cottage. She approached him, and inquired if he had
been blind from his birth, or whether it was the result of an accident.
He told her that he was born blind. ‘You are ignorant then,’ she said,
‘of the effect of light, how beautiful and pleasant it is; nor can you
conceive the glory and beauty of the sun.’ ‘I have never,’ he replied,
‘enjoyed the sight of that beautiful object, nor can I form any idea of
it, nevertheless I believe it to be surpassing glorious.’ The blind man
then seemed to change his voice and manner, and assuming a tone of
authority, ‘My example,’ he continued, ‘should teach you there are
excellent things which escape your notice, and which are not less true
or less desirable, although you can neither comprehend nor imagine
them.’”
Again, a few nights before the fatal day on which Henry IV. of France
was assassinated by Ravaillac--Friday, May 14, 1610--the Queen dreamed
that all the jewels in her crown were changed into pearls, and that she
was told pearls were significant of tears. Another night she started and
cried out in her sleep, and waked the King, who, asking her what was the
matter, she answered, “I have had a frightful dream, but I know that
dreams are mere illusions.”
“I was always of the same opinion,” said Henry; “however, tell me what
your dream was.”
“I dreamed,” continued the Queen, “that you were stabbed with a knife
under the short ribs.”
“Thank God,” added the King, “it was but a dream.”
On the morning of the fatal day the King more than once said to those
about him, “Something or other hangs very heavy on my heart.” Before he
entered his carriage he took leave of the Queen no fewer than three
times, and had not driven long ere Ravaillac gave him the deadly thrust
which deprived France of one of the most humane sovereigns she ever had.
A strange illustration of ignorance and superstition was that afforded
by the Emperor Romanus, who on the night of the death of his son
Constantine had a dream, in which he beheld him falling into hell. In a
state of alarm he despatched messengers to Jerusalem and Rome to solicit
the prayers of the faithful, and he summoned the monks of all the
adjacent monasteries to assemble around him, three hundred of whom
obeyed the invitation. The day was Holy Thursday, and, “at the moment of
the elevation of the Host, he divested himself of his upper garments and
stood in the midst of the assembly with nothing on but his shirt. With a
loud voice he read his general confession,” at the conclusion of which
he knelt before each monk in turn and received absolution. His
humiliation followed, for the whole assembly then retired to partake of
the ordinary repast, during which Romanus, still in his shirt, stood in
a corner apart, and a little hired boy was occupied in whipping his
naked legs, exclaiming, “Get to table, you wicked old fellow! get to
table!” That the whole ceremony had divine sanction is proved by the
numerous miracles which are said to have taken place, but “of which no
ocular witness ever made deposition.”
It was a dream--so asserted the Sultan Bajazet II.--that directed this
ruler when, on the 25th of April 1512, his son Selim appeared in front
of the palace at the head of an irresistible force, exclaiming, “If you
will not yield, we will not touch your life, but we will drag you by
your robes on the points of our javelins from the throne.” On the
following morning he acceded to their demands, acknowledging that a
dream of the night had taught him the course he was to take. “This was
my dream,” said the monarch, who was extricating himself from disgrace,
to follow the instructions imparted in a dream--“I saw my crown placed
by my soldiers on my son Selim’s head. It would be injurious to resist
such a sign.”
Numerous further illustrations might be added to show how great an
influence dreams, at different times, have exerted over the minds of
sovereigns, causing them occasionally to forego undertaking certain
acts, as being divine interpositions for their special guidance.
At the age of the Reformation, Scotland was sunk into barbarism and
ignorance, and on this account never did the witch-mania enter a country
better suited for its reception. James VI. of Scotland, before he became
the First of England, had taken an active part in several witch-trials,
but especially in the inquisition directed to discover the guilt of Dr.
Fian and others, to whom he had ascribed his stormy passage with his
Norwegian consort from Denmark. It is unnecessary to enter on a recital
of the horrible tortures inflicted upon the accused, for all the
torments known to the Scottish law were successively applied. But it is
evident that a monarch who had participated in such horrors, and had
further committed himself by the publication of his notable work, the
“Dæmonology,” must have come to the English throne decidedly predisposed
to foster the popular delusions respecting witchcraft. Indeed, as Mr.
Lecky observes, James “was continually haunted by the subject,” and
“boasted that the devil regarded him as the most formidable of
opponents.” The earliest statute against witchcraft appears to have been
enacted in the reign of Henry VI., and additional penal laws were passed
by Henry VIII. and Elizabeth. But there can be no doubt that in many
cases witchcraft was a convenient excuse for carrying out a wicked
policy. To this cause, as Sir Walter Scott says, we may impute the trial
of the Duchess of Gloucester, wife of the good Duke Humphrey, accused of
consulting witches concerning the mode of compassing the death of her
husband’s nephew, Henry VI. The Duchess was condemned to do penance, and
then banished to the Isle of Man. But the alleged witchcraft “was the
only ostensible cause of a procedure which had its real source in the
deep hatred between the Duke of Gloucester and Cardinal Beaufort, his
half-brother.” The same pretext was used by Richard III. when he brought
the charge of sorcery against the Queen-Dowager, Jane Shore, and the
Queen’s kinsmen. The accusation in each case “was only chosen as a
charge easily made and difficult to be eluded or repelled.”
In the same way Charles, Count of Valois, uncle of Louis X., had much
influence over him. Charles believed, or pretended to believe, in
sorcery. By making a waxen image of a foe, which was pricked and
tortured, the person represented was supposed to pine away and die. It
was a belief of the age, and a fearful belief, for who could be secure
against an act of malice that might be perpetrated in the most profound
secrecy?[179]
And on the Continent we find royalty tacitly in times past pandering to
the superstitious spirit of their age, by sanctioning and upholding the
cruelties to which supposed witches were subjected. And the most
terrible scenes occurred in France, till happily the edict of Louis XIV.
discharged all future persecutions for witchcraft, after which the crime
was heard of no more.
The quarrel of Sancho I. of Portugal with the Bishop of Coimbra is, too,
another evidence of the superstitious disposition of even a crusading
monarch in those times, for it arose about a so-called witch, whom the
King insisted on keeping in his palace.
And, turning to another phase of superstition of a less gloomy nature,
may be briefly noticed the strong predilection displayed by some
monarchs for a particular number or day of the year or week. Thus
Dubois, in his _Mémoire Fidèle_, relates how Louis XIII. a few hours
before his death--Thursday, May 14, 1643--summoned his physicians, and
asked them if they thought he would live until the following day, saying
that Friday had always been for him a fortunate day; that all the
undertakings he had begun on that day had proved successful; that in all
the battles fought on that day he had been victorious; that it was his
fortunate day, and on that day he would wish to die.
Napoleon’s favourite and lucky day, like that of his nephew, Napoleon
III., was the 2nd of the month. He was made consul for life on August 2,
1802; was crowned December 2, 1804; won his greatest battle, that of
Austerlitz, for which he obtained the title of “Great,” December 2,
1805; and he married the Archduchess of Austria, April 2, 1810.
And going back to earlier days, according to Brantôme, Charles V. was
partial to St. Matthias’s Day--February 24--because on that day he was
elected emperor, on that day crowned, and on that day Francis I. was
taken prisoner at the battle of Pavia. Henry IV. of France, again,
considered Friday his lucky day, and began his undertakings by
preference on that day.
The Prince of Orange--heir-apparent of the King of Holland--who died
somewhat suddenly at Paris, June 11, 1879, was, it is said, very
superstitious with regard to the numbers 6 and 11. As a sporting man, he
always withdrew his horses when they were classed under the one or the
other; and, by a curious coincidence, the Prince died on the eleventh
day of the sixth month of the year, and at 11 o’clock. But, according to
Fuller, Edward VI. was the exact opposite in point of superstition, for
when it was remarked to him that Christ College, Cambridge, was a
superstitious foundation, consisting of a master and twelve fellows, in
imitation of Christ and His twelve apostles, he was advised by a
covetous courtier to take away one or two fellowships so as to break
that mystic number. “Oh no,” replied the King, “I have a far better way
than that to mar their conceit; I will add a thirteenth fellowship to
them”--which he accordingly did, to the disgust of the credulous and the
approval of the wise.
INDEX
Agesilaus, anecdote of, 6
Albert of Austria, anecdote of his fool, 317
Alexander III., his physical strength, 124;
a boxer, 235;
attached to animals, 261
Alexis, Czar, prohibited smoking, 132
Alfonso of Castile, belief in astrology, 401-2
Alfonso IV. of Portugal, devoted to hunting, 149
Alfonso V., a writer, 371
Alfonso VI., his excesses, 25, 109-10;
horsemanship, 150;
affection for dogs, 258
Alfred the Great, practised falconry, 236-7;
a harper, 376
Amelia Sophia, Princess, a card player, 201-2;
lines attributed to, 368;
death, _ib._
Anjou, Duke of, rivalry of Henry III., 20
Anne, Queen, dressed during prayers, 36;
reputed love of strong drink, 52;
gastronomic tastes, 80;
fond of hunting, 143;
a card player, 199;
patron of the turf, 213;
escape at the Revolution, 234;
encouraged archery, 236;
particular in dress, 299-300;
patronage of D’Urfey, 333;
touched for “king’s evil,” 411
Anne of Austria, belief in astrologers, 400-1
Anne Boleyn, an epicure, 76;
danced with the French king, 101-2;
her physical defects: 290;
dirge written by, 361;
musical, 378;
prophetic incident, 419
Anne, Queen of Denmark, painting of, 139-40
Anne of Gonzaga, Princess Palatine, her dream, 425
Anne, Queen of James I., fashions of her reign, 297
Anne, Empress of Russia, fond of dancing, 107
Anne of Warwick, disguise of, 180-1
Armstrong, Archie, fool of James I., 332
Athelstan, King, horse-racing in time of, 204
Augustus, peculiarity of, 14;
afraid of lightning, 85;
fond of gaming, 184;
kept dwarfs, 239
Augustus, King of Poland, his love of dress, 297
Augustus the Strong, of Saxony, his feats, 124-5;
a china fancier, 132;
General Kyan and, 280
Bajazet II., Sultan, his dream, 427-8
Bébé, favourite dwarf of Stanislaus, 73, 240
Bernadotte, Baptiste (afterwards Charles XIV. of Sweden),
his superstition, 416-7
Bertin, Mademoiselle, Marie Antoinette’s milliner, 304
Bertoldo, Italian fool, 325
Bianca of Milan, died of indigestion, 74
Boleslaus II., King of Poland, worked as a porter, 173
Borra, fool of Martin of Aragon, 324
Borso, Duke of Ferrara, his jester, 325
Boruwlaski, Joseph, dwarf, story of, 239-40
Böttiger, originator of Dresden china, 132-3
Brusquet, famous Court jester, 315, 321-2
Buckingham, Duke of, and Queen Catherine, 161
Cambacérès, a noted epicure, 64
Cambridge, late Duke of, his homely tastes, 84
Campanella, the astrologer, 401
Carème, celebrated _chef_, 83
Carl August, Duke of Weimar, and Goethe, 263
Carlos, Don, son of Philip II., his violence, 31
Caroline, Princess, played at blind-man’s-buff, 6
Caroline, Queen, dressed during prayers, 36;
Sir Paul Methuen and, 272;
favoured a playwright, 344
Caroline Matilda, wife of Christian VII., her riding habit, 301
Casimir II. of Poland, story of, 188
Casimir IV., his death, 151
Catherine, queen of Henry VIII., pageants before, 153-4
Catherine of Aragon, proficiency in dancing, 100;
pageant at her marriage, 154;
disliked show, 295
Catherine of Braganza, queen of Charles II., 50-1;
fond of dancing, 104-5;
love of sport, 140;
masquerading adventures, 161;
frolic at Saffron Walden, 182;
fond of cards, 196;
played on Sunday, 197;
wore low-necked dresses, 290;
wore short skirts, 298;
patroness of Italian opera, 380
Catherine II., a plain liver, 72;
fond of the ballet, 108;
anecdote of, _ib._;
ruse practised on Joseph II., 175;
enjoyed whist, 193;
fond of animals, 261;
caged her perruquier, 302-3;
literary powers, 372
Catherine de Medicis, belief in astrologers, 398-9
Catherine Parr. _See_ Katherine
Charlemagne, an epicure, 57-8;
his strength, 124;
his water clock, 128;
devoted to the chase, 144;
privilege granted to hounds, 248;
taste for music, 385;
his talisman, 408
Charles I., a chess-player, 3;
secret obligations of, 13;
his abstemiousness, 48;
encouragement of the masque, 160;
journey to Spain incognito, 181-2;
horse-racing in his reign, 208;
played at golf, 228,
and bowls, 229-30;
athletic feats of, 232;
his Court dwarf, 244;
opinion on dogs, 252;
his whipping-boy, 307;
patron of the drama, 340;
his literary ability, 365-6;
predictions of his death, 420-1;
consulted astrologers, 421
Charles II., his debauches, 49-50;
tea introduced by his queen, 50;
his gastronomic tastes, 78;
knighting of a sirloin, 78;
his table pillaged, 79;
fond of dancing, 103-4,
and of masquerading, 161;
gambling in his reign, 196;
encouraged horse-racing, 209-12;
fire at Newmarket, 211;
Rye House Plot, 211-2;
bred race-horses, 212;
a tennis player, 226;
his walking powers, 232;
fond of dogs, 252-3;
the pickpocket and, 268;
rejoinder to Dr. Stillingfleet, 269;
victim of a joke, _ib._;
low-necked dresses in his reign, 289-90;
his jester, 333;
fond of theatricals, 340;
anecdote of, 341;
poetical talent, 366-7;
account of battle of Worcester, 367;
his taste for music, 381;
touched for “king’s evil,” 411
Charles of Austria, died of eating mushrooms, 74
Charles the Bold, his Court fool, 320
Charles Edward, Prince, capture of his baggage, 410
Charles the Fat, his excuse, 10
Charles V. of France, tennis in his reign, 227
Charles VI. of France, fond of disguises, 169-70;
narrow escape, 170;
a gambler, 184;
his cards, 185
Charles VII. of France, fond of pleasure, 39;
his Scots archers, 236;
introduced long coats, 288-9
Charles VIII. of France, death of, 8
Charles IX. of France, his excesses, 21;
disguise, 171;
partiality for dwarfs, 239
Charles X. of France, flight of, 147-8;
a whist player, 192;
joke of, 278
Charles III. of Mantua, his disguises, 179
Charles II. of Spain, played at “jouchets,” 5;
opened coffins, 27;
his wild fancies, 90
Charles III. of Spain, devoted to hunting, 150-1
Charles IV. of Spain, fond of hunting, 151;
his wit and spirit, 287
Charles V., Emperor, celebrates his funeral, 27-8;
a hard drinker, 43-4;
an epicure, 69;
manner of eating, 69-70;
suffered from indigestion, 70;
his mechanical taste, 126-7;
journeys incognito, 176;
adventure with a cobbler, 177-8;
partial to dwarfs, 242;
anecdote of, 279;
settled a dispute, _ib._;
disregard of dress, 292-3;
his Court fools, 315;
taste for music, 387-8;
faith in amulets, 413-4;
his lucky day, 431
Charles XII. of Sweden, a plain liver, 74;
his endurance, 98;
bitten by a dog, 258;
reply of, 286
Charlotte, Queen, her dress, 301-2
Chesterfield, Earl of, and George IV., 54
Chicot, fool of Henry III., 322
Childeric III., the “Phantom King,” 96
China, Emperor of, use of dancing, 112-3;
whipping-boy to, 310
Christian I. of Denmark, despised Court fools, 313
Christian II, and his dwarf, 240-1
Christian IV., enjoyed a carouse, 42
Christina, Queen of Sweden, her masculine habits, 16;
personal
habits, 17;
her death predicted, 18;
fond of rose-water, 42;
change of religion, 167;
travelled in disguise, 171-2;
her wit, 286;
dress, 294;
influence on Roman society, 354
Clod, jester to Queen Elizabeth, 331
Coetier, Jacques, physician to Louis IX., 113-4
Condé, Prince Henry of, as an epicure, 66
Consort, Prince, love of music, 383
Cumberland, Duke of, his corpulence, 82
Cymburga of Poland, her strength, 125
D’Artois, Comte, his follies, 22
Dee, Dr., and Queen Elizabeth, 407-8
D’Enghien, Duc, anecdote of, 117
Denmark, Queen of, her disguise, 172
D’Epernay, Duke, dread of a leveret, 86
De Rohan, Chevalier, story of, 190
D’Escars, Duc, _maître d’hôtel_ to Louis XVIII., death of, 62-3
De Soubise, Prince, an epicure, 57
De Teil, Comte, and Queen Marie Casimire, 10
Dickens, Charles, and Queen Victoria, 369-70
Diniz, of Portugal, a poet, 370
Dunand, _maître d’hôtel_ to Napoleon, 65
D’Urfey, song-writer, patronised by Queen Anne, 333
Edward I., as chess player, 2;
his pranks, 31-2;
intemperance, 46;
activity, 124;
disliked show, 295;
lover of music, 377;
comet appeared at his birth, 397
Edward II., a player of cross and pile, 2;
his freaks, 32;
amused by dancing, 99;
his female jester, 329;
lines written by him, 358-9;
visit of Raymond Lully, 406
Edward III., his taste for hunting, 136;
race-horses in time of, 205
Edward IV., his intemperance, 46;
his extravagant dinners, 75;
meeting with Elizabeth Woodville, 137;
anecdote of his jester, 329-30
Edward VI., his whipping-boy, 306, 309;
superstition, 431-2
Eleanor, Queen of Henry II., story of, 302;
dramatic patroness, 334;
a troubadour poet, 357-8
Eleanora of Castile, fond of literature, 358
Elizabeth, Queen, a chess player, 3;
her indecision, 34;
drank common beer, 47;
her bill of fare, 77;
detested dwarfs and monsters, 86;
aversion to smells, 87;
patroness of dancing, 102;
fond of hunting, 138;
pageants and masques at Kenilworth, 156-7;
her support of the masque, 158;
horse-racing in reign of, 206;
tennis in her reign, 224;
sports of her reign, 231-2;
fond of animals, 251;
rejoinders made to her, 265-6;
fond of jests, 266;
love of finery, 295-6;
her jesters, 331;
patroness of the drama, 336-8;
literary compositions, 363-4;
musical, 379;
and the comet, 397;
belief in occult sciences, 407-8;
talisman presented to, 409;
credulity, 413
Elizabeth, queen of Edward IV., fond of nine-pins, 231
Eric XIV. of Sweden, violence of, 15;
his fate, 15;
superstitions, 402, 415
Essex, Earl of, his masque before Elizabeth, 156-7
Feodor, son of Ivan IV., his bell-ringing hobby, 124
Ferdinand I. of Austria, his weak mind, 96
Ferdinand II., story of his jester, 316
Ferdinand I. of Naples, taste for fruit, 73
Ferdinand II., Grand Duke of Tuscany, “the fool of his health,” 89
Ferdinand V., the Catholic, a hunter, 148;
disliked finery, 292
Ferrand, Count of Flanders, a chess player, 4
Francis I. of France, injured at snowballs, 8;
his licentiousness, 40;
fond of hunting, 145;
introduced short hair, 288;
his Court fools, 320-1
Frederic, Elector, collector of relics, 131;
advice of his fool, 318
Frederic of Baden, Princess, wife of Gustavus IV., 19
Frederick, Austrian prince, died of eating melons, 58
Frederick the Great, an epicure, 66;
cost of his dinner, 67;
his bill of fare, 68;
activity, 97;
collector of snuff-boxes, 132;
denounced hunting, 148;
his masked ball in 1745, 165-6;
his dogs, 259;
and horses, 260;
anecdote of, 264;
retort to, 282-3;
Carlyle’s story of, 283;
General Ziethen’s reply to, 283-4;
slovenly habits, 293;
fond of theatricals, 352-3;
a musician, 389-91
Frederick II., anecdote of, 319;
a writer, 374;
belief in astrology, 403;
alchemy in the reign of, 405-6
Frederick III., his indolence, 96
Frederick, Prince of Wales, his sudden death, 226-7;
fond of private theatricals, 344;
lines written by, 368-9
Frederick William I., a hard drinker, 38;
his bill of fare, 68;
passion for recruiting giants, 93-4;
eccentricities, 95;
fond of hunting, 148;
his coarse jokes, 281-2;
ignored fashion, 293;
fools at his Court, 319;
fond of music, 389
Frederick William III., averse to hunting, 148
Gadbury, John, astrologer, 404
Gascoigne, Judge, committed the Prince of Wales, 33
Geoffrey, son of Henry II., dissolute habits, 45
George I., fond of good living, 81;
horse-racing in his reign, 213;
partial to dwarfs, 244;
his humour, 270-1;
indifferent to fashion, 300;
fond of the play _Henry VIII._, 342;
death predicted, 423
George II., apparition seen by, 30;
his temperate habits, 53;
anecdote of, 81;
his exactness, 88-9;
his anger, 89;
fond of hunting, 143-4;
at Heidegger’s masquerade, 164-5;
gaming in his reign, 200;
Lady Deloraine and, 200-1;
horse-racing in reign of, 214;
his humour, 271-2;
instituted naval uniform, 301;
encouraged immoral dramas, 343
George III., fond of children, 6;
played at backgammon, 7;
his abstemiousness, 53-4, 82;
no lover of the turf, 214;
love of humour, 273-4;
his sons whipped, 310;
Quin the actor and, 344;
patron of the drama, 345;
attacks on, 346-7;
Mrs. Bellamy and, 346;
death of Princess Amelia, 368;
attached to church music, 382
George IV., his intemperance, 54-5;
adventure with a dog, 54;
reception of his bride-elect, 55;
his favourite dishes, 83-4;
a gambler, 202;
patron of the turf, 214-7;
at Brighton races, 216;
interest in Ascot and Goodwood, 217-8;
patron of the prize-ring, 234-5;
connection with Mary Robinson, 347;
fond of music, 382-3
George Castriot, Prince of Albania, his strength, 125-6
Gonella, jester of Duke of Ferrara, 325
Grammont, Count de, and Louis XIV., 7
Gustavus III., his extravagance, 41-2;
death, 166;
incognito travels, 179
Gustavus IV., his eccentricities, 19;
deposition, 20;
a writer, 373
Hanover, King of, his musical taste, 388
Hardicanute, a gourmand, 57
Heidegger, practical joke on, 164-5
Henrietta Maria, queen of Charles I., her fancy for dwarfs, 243-4;
story of, 298;
taste for music, 379;
consulted a prophetess, 421-2
Henry I., loss of his son, 45;
a hunter, 135;
menagerie formed by him, 249-50;
treatment of a lampooner, 264;
dismayed by a storm, 425
Henry II., a chess player, 2;
drunkenness of his sons, 45;
horse-racing in time of, 204
Henry III., first poet-laureate in his reign, 358;
esteemed musicians, 377
Henry V., his mad pranks, 33-4;
reformed habits, 46;
dined off porpoise, 75;
a harpist, 378
Henry VI., lines written by, 360;
belief in alchemy, 406-7;
trial of Duchess of Gloucester, 429
Henry VII., dramatic performances in his reign, 334-5;
astrologers consulted for his wife, 405
Henry VIII., a card player, 8;
his intemperance, 47;
an epicure, 75;
partial to dancing, 99-100;
stripped by the onlookers, 100;
performed a ballet, 101;
execution of Anne Boleyn, 137;
hunted with Anne, 137-8;
his masques, 152-4;
a gambler, 194-5;
lover of horses, 206;
a tennis player, 223-4;
established a cock-pit, 233;
an archer, 235;
a falconer, 237;
Sir Thomas More’s reply to, 265;
his Court jesters, 330;
patron of the drama, 335-6;
literary attainments, 360-1;
his amulet, 408;
cramp rings in his reign, 410-1
Henry III., Emperor, despised Court fools, 313
Henry V., Emperor, story of, 168-9
Henry II. of France, first wore silk stockings, 303;
killed at a tournament, 311-2;
his Court fools, 321
Henry III. of France, played at “cup and ball,” 5;
his follies, 20;
afraid of cats, 86;
fond of other animals, 262;
his jester Chicot, 322
Henry IV. of France, fond of children, 6;
an epicure, 58;
fond of the ballet, 114;
a gambler, 186;
fond of dogs, 262;
disliked finery, 292;
his whipping-boys, 307;
marriage, 310;
his female fool, 323;
assassination predicted in a dream, 426;
his lucky day, 431
Henry V. of France, story of, 223
Henry, Duke of York, a dancer, 101
Henry Plantagenet, Duke of Anjou, introduced pointed shoes, 289
Henry, Prince, son of James I., a tennis player, 224-5 ;
played at golf, 228
Heraclius, Emperor, dread of the sea, 85
Heywood, John, Court jester, 330-1
Isabella, mother of Philip II., anecdote of, 91
Isabella Eugenia, Archduchess, story of, 288
Ivan IV., savage freaks of, 11;
a drunkard, 38;
his Court fools, 327;
story of his cruelty, _ib._
James I. of Aragon, a writer 371
James I. of Scotland, a chess player, 4;
murder of, 225;
musical talent, 385
James IV. of Scotland, celebration of his marriage, 163;
adventures in disguise, 178;
a tennis player, 226
James I., a card player, 8;
at church, 35;
enjoyed a carouse, 42, 47-8;
his household expenditure, 77;
detested pork, 77-8;
knighted a sirloin, 78-9;
shuddered at sight of a sword, 87;
enjoyed hunting, 138-9;
his mishaps, 139;
masques and pageants, 158-9;
patron of horse-racing, 206;
first public races, 207;
fond of cock-fighting, 233;
played quoits, 237;
fond of animals, 251-2,
and of buffoonery, 266-7;
Buckingham’s trick, 268;
regulated dress, 291;
indifferent to dress, 293;
his whipping-boy, 308;
Court fools, 331-2;
patron of the drama, 337, 338-40;
fond of literature, 364-5;
belief in witchcraft, 428-9
James II., averse to hard drinking, 51;
in exile, 106-7;
fond of hunting, 140-1;
entertained at Copthall, 141-2;
masques at St. Germains, 162;
state of his disbanded soldiers, 163;
a horseman, 212-3;
Milton’s rejoinder to, 270;
the stage in his reign, 341.
_See also_ York, Duke of
Joachim, Frederick, Elector of Brandenburg, dwarfs collected by his wife, 242
Joan, Queen of Naples, romantic tale of, 111
Joanna of Navarre, married by proxy, 310;
lines by Edward, Duke of York, on, 359
John, King of England, as chess player, 2;
his drunkenness, 45;
visit to Nottingham, 46;
fond of venison, 75;
a hunter, 136;
a sportsman, 205;
his dress and that of his queen, 294-5
John of Austria, Don, his living chess-board, 4
John I. of Portugal, encouraged literature, 371
John II., patronised literature, 371
John V., lover of music, 110,
and literature, 371
John Frederick, Elector of Saxony, a chess player, 3
Joseph II., Emperor, his plain fare, 74;
visit to Catherine II., 175;
averse to ceremony, _ib._;
fond of the theatre, 352
Josquin, composer, and Louis XII., 385
Katherine Parr, her “Lamentation of a Sinner,” 362;
fortune predicted, 420
Killian, fool of Albert of Austria, 317-8
Killigrew, Tom, jester to Charles II., 333
Klaus, jester of Elector Frederick, 318
Konrad, jester of Maximilian I., 314-5
Kotzebue, anecdote of the Emperor Paul, 12
“Le Glorieux,” fool to Charles the Bold, 320
Leopold, “the Angel,” his self-denial, 93
Leopold I. of Austria, fond of music and the drama, 351-2
Loaysa, Cardinal, confessor to Charles V., 70
Lola Montes, mistress of Ludwig of Bavaria, 22
Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, Prince, a pianist, 392
Louis the Debonnaire and the comet, 396
Louis IX., forbade chess, 5;
controlled by his physician, 113-4;
introduced wigs, 289
Louis XI., anecdote of, 97;
fond of the chase, 145;
journeys in disguise, 171;
anecdotes of, 275-6;
disliked finery, 291;
the astrologer and, 399-400;
healed by touch, 413
Louis XII., story of, 188;
anecdote of Josquin and, 385
Louis XIII., a chess player, 5;
taste for fruit, 58;
a dancer, 114;
fond of the chase, 145;
averse to gambling, 188;
Sully’s rebuke of his favourites, 276;
Bassompierre’s rejoinders to, 277;
his courtiers beardless, 289;
his Court fool, 323;
credulity, 400;
lucky day, 430-1
Louis XIV., fond of backgammon, 7;
and billiards, _ib._;
an epicure, 58-9;
suicide of his _chef_, 60-1;
consideration for ex-King James, 106-7;
fond of dancing, 114-5;
his favourite dances, 115;
anecdote of him, 116;
mechanical coach constructed for him, 129;
passion for jewels, 130;
the crown of Agrippina, 130-1;
fond of hunting, 146,
and of gambling, 188-90;
the Capuchin and, 278;
his wig, 302;
remark of, 307;
his Court jesters, 323-4;
patron of the drama, 347-8;
remark on the comet, 398;
stopped persecutions for witchcraft, 430
Louis XV., his profligacy and devotion, 30;
an epicure, 61-2;
speculated in corn, 97;
story of, 191;
his wanton character, 262;
retort to Lauragais, 277;
indifference to drama and music, 348
Louis XVI., his mechanical taste, 127-8;
passion for hunting, 146;
gambling in his reign, 191;
remark about Charles IV., 287;
dress in his reign, 303;
touched for “king’s evil,” 412
Louis XVII., played quoits, 237
Louis XVIII., an epicure, 62;
invented a dish, 63;
his narrative of his escape, 374-5
Louis Philippe, anecdote of, 278-9
Ludwig of Bavaria, his follies, 22
Ludwig II., his eccentricities, 23-4;
deposition, 25;
taste for building, 133-4;
acquaintance with Wagner, 393-4
Marguerite, second wife of Edward I., story of, 136
Maria Theresa, Empress, her mourning, 28;
dwarf presented to her, 239;
supported the drama, 350
Marie Antoinette, fond of dancing, 117-8;
anecdote of her, 147;
a gambler, 191-2;
her conduct at the races, 221;
dress, 304-5;
interest in theatricals, 349-50;
affection of audience for her, 350;
taste for music, 386-7
Marie Casimire of Poland, curious amusement of, 10
Marie Louise, her marriage, 312
Mary, Queen, a dancer, 102, 155;
fond of wagers, 195-6;
lover of animals, 251;
the drama in her reign, 336;
her literary work, 363;
talented in music, 378-9
Mary II., a dancer, 105;
averse to gaieties, 106;
fond of cards, 198;
witty remark, 270;
patron of the drama, 341;
at the theatre, 342;
goes to see a fortune-teller, 423
Mary, Queen of Scots, masques in her reign, 163;
sports of her reign, 232;
fond of archery, 235;
her favourite lap-dog, 251
Mary Beatrice, queen of James II., receptions at St. Germains, 162;
disliked cards, 197;
her pet dogs, 254;
aversion to paint, 298-9
Matilda, Empress, her escape from Stephen, 169
Matilda of Scotland, talent for music, 376-7
Matthias II., story of his jester, 315-6
Maximilian, Archduke, married by proxy, 311
Maximilian I., his Court fools, 313-4
Maximilian II., fond of hunting, 148-9
Mazarin, Cardinal, reply to Louis XIV., 190
Mendoza, fool of Henry II., 321
Menicucci, jester of Grand Duke Ferdinand I., 326
Montespan, Marchioness de, and the crown of Agrippina, 130-1
Napoleon I., as chess player, 1;
played at blind-man’s-buff, 6;
fondness for children, _ib._;
“the little red man,” 30;
epicures of his reign, 64;
a fast eater, 65;
suffered from indigestion, _ib._;
in a temper, 66;
a favourite dance, 115;
story of, 193;
averse to gambling, _ib._;
his fortune predicted, 416-7;
his lucky day, 431
Nelle, Matthias II.’s fool, 315-6
Nicholas, Czar, his gaze, 14
Orleans, Regent Duke of, an epicure, 63
Patch, fool to Henry VIII., 330
Paul, Emperor of Russia, Kotzebue’s story of, 12;
regulated dress, 291;
his jesters, 328-9
Pedro, Charles V.’s jester, 315
Pedro I. of Portugal, a dancer, 109
Peter the Great, violence of, 14;
his orgies, 37-8;
his bills of fare, 71;
aversion to being looked at, 93;
boat-building hobby, 121-2;
visit to Holland, 122;
and to England, 123;
learned smithing, 124;
attended a masked ball, 176;
story of, _ib._;
partial to dwarfs, 241;
his monkey, 260-1;
remark about lawyers, 284-5;
plain dress, 299;
his Court fools, 327-8
Peter III., military mania, 12
Philibert de Chalon, Prince of Orange, gambled his soldiers’ pay, 185
Philip of France, anecdote of his fool, 320
Philip III. of France, his belief in soothsayers, 415-6
Philip, Landgrave of Baden, advice of his fool, 318
Philip II. of Spain, as chess player, 1;
story of his wife’s parrots, 256-7;
married by proxy, 311;
his Court fool, 322
Philip III., died through excess of etiquette, 92;
fond of dancing, 110
Philip IV., story of his wife’s stockings, 303-4
Richard Cœur de Lion, fond of venison, 75;
horse-racing in reign of, 204;
discovered by Blondel, 329;
prediction to, 418
Richard II., an epicure, 75;
story of his greyhound, 249-50
Richard III., entertained players, 334;
charge of sorcery, 429
Robinson, Mary, actress, and George IV., 347
Roderick, last king of the Visigoths, and his dog, 250
Romanus, Emperor, his dream, 427
Rudolph, Archduke of Austria, patron of music, 392-3
Scogan, jester to Edward IV., 329
Sebastian, Don, freak of, 26;
decreed plain living, 74;
his restlessness, 98;
physical strength, 125;
fond of hunting, 149
Sophie, Queen of Denmark, story of, 111-2
Stanislaus, ex-King of Poland, his wine, 40;
extravagant habits, 41;
an epicure, 72;
his pie, 73;
taste for building, 134;
fond of hunting, 151;
a card player, 203;
his dwarfs, 240;
his wit, 285;
reply to Voltaire, _ib._;
the young actor and, 354-6;
his writings, 373-4
Stich, jester of Duke Ludwig of Bavaria, 317
Tarleton, fool of Queen Elizabeth, 331
Tennyson, Lord, and Queen Victoria, 29, 370
Thurneysser, famous astrologer, 404-5
Tippoo Saib, talisman of, 409
Triboulet, fool of Francis I., 320-1
Ulrica, sister of Frederick the Great, her stratagem, 174-5
Ulysses and his hound, 247
Vatel, _chef_ to Louis XIV., his tragic death, 60-1
Victoria, Queen, fond of games, 4;
romped with children, 7;
morbid tendency, 28;
belief in spirits, 29;
plain liver, 84;
attended races, 220;
dwarfs at her Court, 245;
love for animals, 255;
appreciated wit, 275;
patron of the drama, 347;
her literary work, 369-70;
love of music, 384
Vladislaus, King of Poland, had fits at sight of apples, 86
Wenceslaus, the Emperor, a hard drinker, 39;
roasted his cook, 59
William the Conqueror, as chess player, 1;
his temperance, 44;
physical strength, 124;
dwarfs in his retinue, 243;
saved by his jester, 329;
his bard, 376;
disbelief in omens, 396
William Rufus, anecdote of, 424
William III., wore his hat in church, 35;
drank ale, 47;
joined in debauches, 49, 51;
his vulgar behaviour, 79-80;
hatred of mourning, 88;
fond of coursing, 142;
at the cock-fight, 143;
a gambler, 198-9;
patron of racing, 213;
Sir E. Seymour’s retort to, 280;
refused to touch for “king’s evil,” 412
William IV., advocate for temperance, 56;
his favourite dish, 84;
horse-racing in his reign, 219;
sale of his stud, 220;
patron of golf, 229;
appreciated jokes, 274
William I. of Germany, anecdote of, 424
William, Prince, lost in the _White Ship_, 45
William the Silent, story of his spaniel, 257
York, Duke of, afterwards James II.,
story of, 49;
entertainments at Edinburgh, 164;
played golf, 228,
and pall-mall, 231
York, Frederick, Duke of, a lover of the turf, 218
THE END
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
Edinburgh & London
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See Strutt’s “Sports and Pastimes.”
[2] See Smiles’ “Life and Labour,” p. 338.
[3] W. R. Morfill, “Russia,” pp. 253-254.
[4] Dr. Doran’s “Monarchs Retired from Business,” vol. ii. p. 249.
[5] Doran’s “Monarchs Retired from Business.”
[6] “History of France,” vol. iii. pp. 191-192.
[7] See the “Romance of Ludwig II. of Bavaria,” by Frances Gerard.
[8] _Edinburgh Review_, 1869, vol. cxxix. p. 31.
[9] See _Edinburgh Review_, 1867, vol. cxxv. p. 513.
[10] See Jesse’s “England under the Stuarts,” 1846, vol. i. pp. 18-19.
[11] _Mémoires secrèts pour servir a l’histoire de la cour de Russie
sous les règnes de Pierre-le-Grand et de Catherine I._
[12] _Edinburgh Review_, vol. ci. pp. 520-521.
[13] But later on we read that some dozen or two asses were kept to
maintain his decaying strength. See Crowe’s “History of France,” vol.
ii. p. 507.
[14] See Dr. Valpy French, “Nineteen Centuries of Drink,” p. 61.
[15] Jesse’s “Memoirs of the Court of England during the Reign of the
Stuarts,” 1846, vol. i. pp. 60-61.
[16] Reresby’s Memoirs, p. 173.
[17] See his Diary under 1667.
[18] See _Spectator_, 462. Jesse’s “England under the Stuarts,” 1846,
vol. iii. p. 338.
[19] Dalrymple’s Memoirs, vol. i. p. 132.
[20] Cole’s MSS., British Museum (vol. xxxi. p. 145), quoted in Jesse’s
“Court of England” (1686-1760), vol. i. pp. 288-289.
[21] Parody on the “Vicar of Bray,” by Thomas Dampier, Fellow of King’s
College, Cambridge; Cole’s MSS., vol. i. p. 145.
[22] “Memoirs of George IV.”
[23] Thackeray’s “Four Georges,” p. 367.
[24] “Monarchs Retired from Business,” vol. i. p. 307.
[25] “Vanderdoort, who had the charge of Charles I.’s collection,
hung himself because a miniature by Gibson was missing at the
moment.”--Walpole.
[26] Dr. Doran’s “Table Traits,” p. 86.
[27] See Vehse’s “Court of Prussia,” p. 226.
[28] Prescott and Robertson, “History of the Reign of Charles V.,” vol.
ii. pp. 526-529; Vehse’s “Memoirs of the Court of Prussia,” p. 83.
[29] Dr. Doran’s “Monarchs Retired from Business,” 1857, vol. i. p. 316.
[30] “Romance of the Empress,” vol. ii. p. 181.
[31] See Dr. Doran’s “Table Traits.”
[32] See Wood’s “Letters of Royal Ladies,” vol. ii. p. 311.
[33] See Eccleston’s “Introduction to English Antiquities,” pp. 310-311.
[34] Lord Orford’s Works, vol. i. p. 149.
[35] Walpole’s Letters, vol. iii. p. 217.
[36] Wraxall’s “Hist. Memoirs,” vol. ii. pp. 5-9.
[37] “Diary and Letters of Madame d’Arblay,” vol. ii. p. 373.
[38] See Agnes Strickland’s “Lives of Queens of England,” vol. vi. p.
175.
[39] “Court of England” (1688-1760).
[40] _Edinburgh Review_, 1869, vol. cxxix. p. 30.
[41] “Curiosities of Literature: Spanish Etiquette,” 1858, vol. i. p.
195.
[42] “Curiosities of Literature: Spanish Etiquette,” 1858, vol. i. p.
195.
[43] Vehse’s “History of the German Courts”; _Edinburgh Review_, vol.
civ. p. 409.
[44] See Vehse’s “History of the German Courts,” also _Edinburgh
Review_, vol. civ. p. 410.
[45] See _Edinburgh Review_, April 1867, p. 512.
[46] See Hall’s “Chronicles”; Agnes Strickland’s “Queens of England.”
[47] See “Russia,” by W. R. Morfill, 1891, p. 192.
[48] “The Story of a Throne: Catherine II. of Russia,” vol. ii. p. 217.
[49] Mrs. Lilly Grove, “Dancing,” p. 310.
[50] See Dr. Doran’s “Monarchs Retired from Business,” vol. ii. pp.
354-366.
[51] See “History of Dancing,” by Mrs. Lilly Grove, 1895 (Badminton
Library), p. 243.
[52] In 1662 a royal academy of dancing was founded in Paris, and
two years afterwards Beauchamps received the title of “Directeur de
l’Académie de l’Art de la Danse.”
[53] Miss Pardoes, “Louis XIV. and the Court of France,” 1847, vol. ii.
p. 112.
[54] _Histoire des Princes de Condé._
[55] Marie Antoinette. _Correspondance secrète entre Marie Thérèse,
et le Comte de Merçy Argenteon, avec les lettres de Marie Thérèse et
de Marie Antoinette._ Paris, 1874. See _Edinburgh Review_, 1876, vol.
cxliv.
[56] “Peter the Great,” 1884, vol. i. pp. 135-137, 271.
[57] “Don Sebastian,” by Martha Walker Freer, 1864, p. 300.
[58] Prescott and Robertson, “History of the Reign of Charles V.,” vol.
ii. pp. 526, 551-552.
[59] Dr. Doran’s “Monarchs Retired from Business,” 1857, vol. i. p. 321.
[60] See Soulavie’s “Historical and Political Memoirs of the Reign of
Louis XVI.”
[61] Ibid.
[62] Sir David Brewster’s “Lectures on Natural Magic.”
[63] Miss Pardoe, “Louis XIV. and the Court of France,” vol. iii. pp.
4-5.
[64] D’Israeli’s “Curiosities of Literature,” vol. i. p. 242.
[65] “Court of Prussia,” p. 246.
[66] See Vehse’s “History of the German Courts”; _Edinburgh Review_,
1856, vol. civ. pp. 405-406.
[67] Rowland Whyte to Sir Robert Sidney.
[68] See Crowe’s “History of France,” vol. ii. p. 254.
[69] “Historical and Political Memoirs of the Reign of Louis XVI.”
[70] Warton’s “History of English Poetry.”
[71] Eccleston’s “Introduction to English Antiquities,” p. 308.
[72] See Payne Collier’s “Annals of the Stage,” vol. i. p. 303.
[73] On her progress through England in 1603 there was an elegant
reception at Althorpe, when the “Masque of the Fairies,” by Ben Jonson,
was represented. See Nichol’s “Progresses.”
[74] See Eccleston’s “English Antiquities,” pp. 427-429.
[75] See Dr. Doran’s “Monarchs Retired from Business,” vol. i. pp.
128-129.
[76] Mrs. Lilly Grove, “Dancing,” p. 181.
[77] See Crowe’s “History of France,” vol. ii. pp. 44-45.
[78] Ibid. vol. ii. p. 41.
[79] Dr. Doran’s “Monarchs Retired from Business,” vol. i. p. 372.
[80] Dr. Doran’s “Court Fools,” p. 381.
[81] “Gustavus III. and the French Court.” By A. Geffroy. See
_Edinburgh Review_, vol. cliv. pp. 90-91.
[82] Steinmetz, “The Gaming Table,” vol. i. p. 70.
[83] _Quarterly Review_, 148, pp. 536-537.
[84] Steinmetz, “The Gaming Table,” vol. i. pp. 105-107.
[85] Agnes Strickland’s “Lives of the Queens of England,” vol. ii. p.
521.
[86] Ibid., vol. iv. p. 485.
[87] See Jesse’s “Court of England” (1688-1760), vol. iii. pp. 57-58.
[88] Jesse’s “Court of England,” vol. iii. pp. 213-214.
[89] “Four Georges.”
[90] See “History of Horse Racing,” 1863, pp. 20-21; Anderson’s “Origin
of Commerce.”
[91] Devon’s “Issues of the Exchequer,” p. 180.
[92] “History of Horse Racing,” 1863, pp. 28-29.
[93] “A General System of Horsemanship.” By William Cavendish, Duke of
Newcastle.
[94] See “The Turf,” by Nimrod, 1851, pp. 7-8.
[95] See Nichol’s “Progresses of James I.,” vol. ii. p. 265.
[96] Ibid., vol. iii. p. 279.
[97] “The Turf,” by Nimrod, p. 9.
[98] Cooper’s “Annals of Cambridge,” vol. iii. p. 598.
[99] “The Turf,” by Nimrod, pp. 9-10.
[100] “The History of Horse Racing,” p. 72.
[101] “The Turf,” by Nimrod, p. 10.
[102] “The Turf,” by Nimrod, pp. 71-72.
[103] “The Turf,” by Nimrod, p. 73.
[104] See Strutt’s “Sports and Pastimes,” 1876, p. 160.
[105] “Pastimes and Players,” by Robert Macgregor, p. 109.
[106] Jesse, “England under the Stuarts,” vol. iii. pp. 309-310.
[107] See Sheppard’s “The Old Royal Palace of Whitehall,” 1902, pp.
69-71.
[108] “Pastimes and Players,” pp. 162-172.
[109] See E. J. Wood, “Giants and Dwarfs,” pp. 314-315.
[110] See E. J. Wood, “Giants and Dwarfs,” p. 257.
[111] _Quarterly Review_, vol. cix. p. 203.
[112] “Memoirs of Charles I.,” _Quarterly Review_, vol. cix. pp.
202-203.
[113] _The Spectator_, February 9, 1901.
[114] See Burnet’s “History of his Own Time,” vol. iv. p. 406, note.
[115] “Dictionary of National Biography.”
[116] See Dr. Doran’s “Monarchs Retired from Business,” vol. i. p. 233.
[117] See D’Israeli’s “Curiosities of Literature,” vol. i. pp. 228-29.
[118] Prescott’s “History of Ferdinand and Isabella,” 1851, vol. ii. p.
521.
[119] Dr. Doran’s “Monarchs Retired from Business,” vol. ii. p. 288.
[120] Jesse, “Under the Stuarts,” vol. ii. p. 211.
[121] Planché, “British Costume,” 1859, p. 319.
[122] “British Costume,” p. 330; Paper on Naval Uniforms, by Mr. Ellis,
read at the Society of Antiquaries, March 18, 1830.
[123] See “Life of Caroline Matilda, Queen of Denmark,” by Sir C. F.
Lascelles Wraxall.
[124] Mons. de Masson, _Mémoires Sècrets sur la Russie_.
[125] “The Private Life of Marie Antoinette,” by Jeanne Louise
Henriette Caupan, 1884.
[126] “History of the Reformation,” 1865, vol. ii. p. 373.
[127] “Ecclesiastical Memorials,” 1822, vol. ii. p. 507.
[128] “History of his Own Time.”
[129] “Fortunes of Nigel,” chap. vi.
[130] “History of France,” vol. ii. pp. 647-648.
[131] See “History of Court Fools,” to which we are indebted for many
facts in this chapter.
[132] “Monarchs Retired from Business,” vol. ii. pp. 170-171.
[133] Strutt’s “Sports and Pastimes,” 1876, p. 233.
[134] See Collier’s “Annals of the Stage,” 1879, vol. i. pp. 83-85.
[135] Ibid., p. 89.
[136] See Collier’s “Annals of the Stage,” 1879, vol. i. p. 97.
[137] See Collier’s “Annals of the Stage,” vol. i. p. 187, and Harleian
MS., No. 146.
[138] “Annals of the Stage,” vol. i. p. 366.
[139] Dr. Doran’s “Their Majesties’ Servants,” vol. ii. p. 136.
[140] Dr. Doran’s “Their Majesties’ Servants,” vol. ii. p. 141.
[141] Jesse’s “Memoirs of the Life and Reign of George III.,” vol. ii.
p. 60.
[142] “Four Georges,” p. 343.
[143] Dr. Doran’s “Their Majesties’ Servants,” 1888, vol. iii. p. 36.
[144] “The French Stage in the Eighteenth Century.” Frederick Hawkin’s
Introduction, pp. xii.-xiii.
[145] Ibid., vol. i. pp. 113-14.
[146] “History of Marie Antoinette.”
[147] Madame Campan, “Private Life of M. Antoinette.”
[148] “Court of Austria,” vol. ii. pp. 8, 9.
[149] See Doran’s “Monarchs Retired from Business,” vol. ii. pp.
297-298.
[150] “The French Stage,” Theodore Hook, 1841.
[151] “Royal and Noble Authors.”
[152] See D’Israeli’s “Curiosities of Literature” (James I.).
[153] _Edinburgh Review_, 1823, vol. xxxix., p. 87.
[154] _Ency. Brit._, 9th edition (Article “Portugal”).
[155] Stephens’ “History of Portugal,” 1891, pp. 89, 90-91.
[156] W. R. Morfill, “Russia,” pp. 245-246.
[157] “Catherine II. of Russia,” from the French of R. Waliszewski,
1894, vol. ii.
[158] “Monarchs Retired from Business,” vol. ii. pp. 321-322.
[159] See _Edinburgh Review_, vol. xxxix. pp. 85-86.
[160] Agnes Strickland, “Lives of Queens of England,” vol. iv. p. 191.
[161] “Lives of Queens of England,” vol. iv. pp. 453-454.
[162] See _Quarterly Review_, vol. cvi. p. 103; “Chappell’s Popular
Music of the Olden Times.”
[163] “Four Georges,” 1878, p. 343.
[164] “The Croker Papers: The Correspondence and Diaries of the late
Right Honourable John Wilson Croker, LL.D., F.R.S., Secretary to the
Admiralty from 1809 to 1830.” Edited by Louis J. Jennings, 1884.
[165] Theodore Martin’s “Life of Prince Consort,” vol. i. pp. 85-86.
[166] “Dictionary of National Biography.”
[167] See the “Private Life of Mary Antoinette,” by Jeanne Louise
Henriette Campan, 1884, vol. i. pp. 184-185.
[168] Prescott and Robertson, “History of the Reign of Charles V.,”
vol. ii. p. 553.
[169] Frances Gerard, “The Romance of Ludwig II. of Bavaria,” _The
Standard_, September 18, 1899.
[170] See Buckle’s “History of Civilisation,” 1867, vol. i. pp.
376-377; and Lecky’s “History of Rationalism in Europe,” 1871, vol. i.
p. 283.
[171] Flammarion’s “Astronomical Myths,” p. 345.
[172] _Edinburgh Review_, vol. lxxx. p. 210.
[173] Crowe’s “History of France,” vol. ii. pp. 251-252.
[174] See “Finger Ring Lore,” William Jones, p. 166.
[175] See paper on “Royal Cramp Rings” in _Archæological Journal_, vol.
xxi. pp. 103-113.
[176] “History of the Reign of Charles V.,” 1857, vol. ii. p. 540.
[177] See Crowe’s “History of France,” vol. i. pp. 297-298.
[178] “Memoirs of the Court of England” (1688-1760), vol. ii. pp.
313-314.
[179] See Crowe’s “History of France,” vol. i. p. 363.
End of Project Gutenberg's Royalty in All Ages, by T. F. Thiselton-Dyer