ROYALTY AT PLAY

The great Mogul Emperor was a chess player, and was generous enough to rejoice when he was beaten by one of his courtiers, which was the exact reverse of Philip II. of Spain, who, when a Spanish grandee had won every game in which he had played against the King, could not conceal his vexation. Whereupon the skilful but injudicious player, returning home, said to his family: “My children, we have nothing more to do at Court. There we must henceforth expect no favour; the King is offended because I have won of him every game of chess.” Napoleon did not like defeat even at chess, for, if he perceived his antagonist gaining upon him, he would with one hasty movement sweep board and pieces off the table on to the ground.

In some cases, however, if we are to believe the traditions of history, chess has been responsible for some serious fracas. Thus a story is told of William the Conqueror, how when a young man he was invited to the Court of the French king, and during his stay there was one day engaged at chess with the King’s eldest son, when a dispute arose concerning a certain move. William, annoyed at a certain remark made by his antagonist, struck him with the chess-board, which “obliged him to make a precipitate retreat from France to avoid the consequences of so rash an act.”

A similar anecdote is told of John, the youngest son of Henry II., who quarrelled over the chess-board with one Fulco Guarine, a Shropshire nobleman, receiving such a blow as almost to kill him. John did not easily forget the affront, and long after his accession to the throne showed his resentment by keeping him from the possession of Whittington Castle, to which he was the rightful heir. It is also said that Henry was engaged at chess when the deputies from Rouen informed him that the city was besieged by Philip, King of France; but he would not listen to their news until he had finished his game. A curious accident happened to Edward I. when he was playing at chess at Windsor, for, on suddenly rising from the game, the next moment the centre stone of the groined ceiling fell on the very spot where he had been sitting, an escape which he attributed to the special protection of Providence. It is further recorded that Edward I. received from one of the dignitaries of the Temple, in France, a chess-board and chess-men made of jasper and crystal, which present he transferred to his queen; hence it has been concluded that she, too, was skilled in the noble game.

But his son, Edward II., got into disrepute by playing at chuck-farthing, or cross and pile, which was held to be a very unkingly diversion, “and sufficient to disgust the warlike peers who had been accustomed to rally round the victorious banner of his father.” In one of his wardrobe accounts these entries occur: “Item—paid to Henry, the King’s barber, for money which he lent to the King to play at cross and pile, five shillings. Item—paid to Pires Barnard, usher of the King’s chamber, money which he lent the King, and which he lost at cross and pile to Monsieur Robert Wattewille, eight-pence.”[1]

De Foix, on hearing that the Queen of Scots had resolved on the marriage with her cousin Darnley, went to Elizabeth that he might discuss the matter. He found her at chess, and, profiting by the opportunity of discussing the matter, he said: “This game is an image of the words and deeds of men. If, for example, we lose a pawn, it seems but a small matter; nevertheless, the loss often draws after it that of the whole game.”

The Queen replied, “I understand you. Darnley is but a pawn, but may well checkmate me if he be promoted.”

Charles I. was occupied, it is said, at chess when he was informed of the final resolution of the Scots to sell him to the Parliament; but he was so little discomposed by this intelligence that he continued the game in no way disconcerted. A similar anecdote is told of John Frederick, Elector of Saxony, who, having been taken prisoner by Charles V., was condemned to death—a decree which was intimated to him while at chess with Ernest of Brunswick, his fellow-prisoner. But after a short pause he challenged his antagonist to finish the game, played with his usual attention, and expressed his satisfaction at winning. And coming down to the reign of her late Majesty, Queen Victoria, it is said she was fond of most games, enjoying chess or draughts, which in her later days she exchanged for patience. When more actively inclined she would play at ball or battledore and shuttle-cock with the ladies of the Court, a practice which she continued till middle life.

As a warning against the perilous habit of playing chess with a wife, it is related of Ferrand, Count of Flanders, that, having constantly defeated the Countess, she conceived a hatred against him, which reached such a height that when the unfortunate Count was taken prisoner at the battle of Bouvines, she suffered him to remain a long time in prison, although, according to common report, she might easily have procured his release.

It was while playing at chess with a knight, nicknamed the “King of Love,” that James I. of Scotland referred to a prophecy that a king should die that year, and remarked to his playmate, “There are no kings in Scotland but you and I. I shall take good care of myself, and I counsel you to do the same.”

Don John of Austria had a room in his palace in which there was a chequered pavement of black and white marble, upon which living men attired in varied costumes moved under his direction according to the laws of chess. It is also related of a Duke of Weimar that he had squares of black and white marble, on which he played at chess with red soldiers.

Although Louis XIII. firmly prohibited all games of chance at Court, he had so strong an affection for chess that he rarely lost an opportunity of playing a game in his coach whenever he went abroad. In this respect he was very different to Louis IX., who forbade any of his officers to play at dice or at chess; and report goes that his anger on one occasion, at finding the Duke of Anjou engaged in a move of chess, knew no bounds.

Henry III. of France was passionately fond of the childish game bilboquet or “cup and ball,” which, it is said, he used to play even when walking in the street; and piquet is commonly reported to have derived its name from that of its inventor, who contrived it to amuse Charles VI. of France.

The poor imbecile Charles II. of Spain did his best to amuse his young wife Marie Louise of Orleans, but not with much effect. He would play with her at “jouchets,” which appears to have been an amusement of the nature of that known as “spills,” for three or four hours a day—“a game,” writes Madame de Villars, “at which one might lose a pistole during all that time par malheur extraordinaire.”

Indeed, sovereigns, like other mortals, have sought recreation and a rest from the anxieties of life in sometimes what may seem the most childish amusements. One of Napoleon’s favourite games, for instance, was blind-man’s-buff, a pastime which, it may be remembered, Canning and Sir William Scott played with the Princess Caroline whilst at Montagu House. Napoleon, too, was very fond of children, and would carry the infant King of Rome in his arms, and standing in front of a mirror, make all kinds of grimaces in the glass. At breakfast he would take the child upon his knee, “dip his fingers in the sauce, and daub his face with it; the child’s governess scolded, the Emperor laughed, and the child, always pleased, seemed to take delight in the rough caresses of his father.”[2]

Henry IV. of France also delighted in a romp with his children. The story goes that one day, when trotting round the room on his hands and knees, with the Dauphin on his back, and the other children urging him on to gallop in imitation of a horse, an ambassador suddenly entered and surprised the royal family in the midst of their play. Henry, rising, inquired, “Have you children, M. l’Ambassadeur.” “Yes, sire.” “In that case I proceed with the sport.” An anecdote which reminds us of one told by Ælian of Agesilaus, who, on being found by a friend riding on a stick for the amusement of his son, he bade his visitor not speak of it to any one until he was a father himself.

George III. was on one occasion discovered on all-fours, with one of his children riding astride his back; and most readers are acquainted with the well-known painting of “George III. playing at Ball with the Princess Amelia.” His Majesty also took pleasure in a game of backgammon, a source of recreation of which Louis XIV. was fond. One day when playing at this game, a dispute arose about a doubtful throw, the surrounding courtiers remaining silent. The Count de Grammont happening to come in, the King asked him to decide the matter. He instantly answered, “Your Majesty is in the wrong.” “How,” said Louis, “can you decide before you know the question?”

“Because,” replied the Count, “had there been any fault, all these gentlemen would have given it in favour of your Majesty.”

The King submitted to his decision.

Queen Victoria, too, was fond of children, with whom she enjoyed a romp; and Catherine II. of Russia would spend her leisure time in affording infinite delight to the young folk, for whose amusement she would invent all kinds of impromptu games.

Billiards became very popular during the reign of Louis XIV., to whom it was recommended by his physicians as an exercise after meals. It is said that Chamillard, who played with the King, entirely owed his political fortune to the amount of skill which he displayed in this game. In the MÉmoires Complets et Authentiques du Duc de Saint Simon, par M. Chernel (1872, vol. ii. p. 29), we read that Louis XIV. during the winter evenings played billiards with M. le VendÔme or M. le Grand, occasionally with Le MarÉchal de Villeroy, and sometimes with the Duc de Grammont.

Cards have always been popular playthings with royalty—incidents connected with which will be found in our chapter on gambling. Primero was the fashionable game at the English Court during the Tudor dynasty, and Shakespeare represents Henry VIII. playing at it with the Duke of Suffolk. It was succeeded by a game called “maw,” which appears to have been the favourite diversion of James I. Weldon, alluding to the poisoning of Sir Thomas Overbury in his “Court and Character of King James,” says: “The next that came on the stage was Sir Thomas Monson, but the night before he was come to his trial, the King, being at the game of maw, said, ‘To-morrow comes Thomas Monson to his trial.’ ‘Yes,’ said the King’s card-holder, ‘when, if he does not play his master’s prize, your Majesty shall never trust me.’” This remark, it is said, so ran in the King’s mind that at the next game he excused himself from playing as he was sleepy, remarking that he would play out that set the next night.

And occasionally, it would seem, the play-hours of monarchs have proved almost if not quite fatal. Thus it was in the winter of 1521 that the Count of St. Pol, being elected King of the Bean, Francis I. of France challenged him and his party to a combat with snowballs. Amidst them a brand was flung, which struck the King on the head, and for some days placed his life in jeopardy.

It was on Easter Eve 1498 that Charles VIII. of France proceeded to the battlements of the Castle of Amboise with his queen to watch some of the courtiers playing ball in the fosses below. But traversing a narrow passage, Charles struck his head against the archway of a low door, which, it is said, brought on a kind of fit. He was carried into a little chamber near, recovered his speech once or twice, and after nine hours of agony he died.