James I., like his Tudor predecessors, was extremely fond of the chase. Contemporary writers give queer accounts of his awkward, headlong riding, and disgusting eagerness for the trophy. “The King of England,” says one, “is merciful except in hunting, where he appears cruel. When he finds himself unable to take the beast, he frets and storms, and cries ‘God is angry with me, but I will have him for all that!’”
Dogs were a prominent feature in the royal establishment, and one hound named Jewel, Jowel, or Jowler, is often mentioned. Almost his first appearance in history is in the character of a petitioner. Royal visits in these earlier days were luxuries expensive to the host, however welcome. Letters yet exist that prove how much they were dreaded. Elizabeth bestowed many such marks of honor on her subjects, and no matter how great the inconvenience, her involuntary entertainers dared not hint it. That a hint on the matter was once given to James, may be taken as a proof of his good nature.
He had gone with his retinue to Royston, where, erelong, the presence of so many guests made a deep hole in their host’s larder and purse. Therefore—but this part of the story is best told in a letter written at the time by Edmund Lascelles, a groom of the Privy Chamber.
He says: “One day, one of the king’s special hounds, called Jowler, was missing. The king was much displeased at his absence; he went hunting notwithstanding. The next day, when they went to the field, Jowler came in among the rest of the hounds; the king was told, and was glad of his return, but, looking on him, spied a paper about his neck. On this paper was written. ‘Good Mr. Jowler, we pray you speak to the king (for he hears you every day, and so he doth not us), that it will please His Majesty to go back to London, for else the country will be undone; all our provision is spent, and we are unable to entertain him longer.’”
This plain hint was not taken amiss—in fact, it was not taken at all; and His Majesty staid on at Royston until it quite suited him to leave, which was not until some days later.
Poor Jewel’s end was untimely. The court was at Theobalds, and Queen Anne, who liked hunting as well as James, went out to shoot deer. “She mistook her mark,” writes Sir Dudley Carleton, “and killed Jewel, the king’s most principall and special hound, at which he stormed exceedingly a while; but after he learned who did it, was soon pacified; and, with much kindness, wished her not to be troubled with it, for he should love her never the worse; and the next day he sent her a diamond worth two thousand pounds, as a legacy from his dead dog.”
How vividly the scene rises before us—the richly dressed huntress and courtiers, the too confident aim, the brief suspense then the horror-struck certainty that no deer, but a hound is the victim—even Jewel, “most speciall” to the king! And then, it may be, an embassy was sent to break the news; and we can imagine how cautiously it was done. But still, there follows a bad half-hour, for the king raves and storms, until at last the embassador ventures to say, “The queen is full of grief at her mischance.”
“The queen, ye rogues!” he shouts, “was it her mischance? Why not have said so before?”
The storm is over, and kind-hearted James hurries off to comfort his wife.
