Soon the lighter side of kingship was not disdained. One authority wrote in 1515: “He is a youngling, cares for nothing but girls and hunting.” He was an inveterate gambler, and turned the sport of hunting into a martyrdom, rising at four or five in the morning, and hunting till nine or ten at night. Another contemporary writes: “He devotes himself to accomplishments and amusements day and night, is intent on nothing else, and leaves business to Wolsey, who rules everything.”
As a sportsman, Henry was the “beau idéal” of his people. In the lists he especially distinguished himself, “in supernatural feats, changing his horses, and making them fly or rather leap, to the delight and ecstasy of everybody.”
He also gave himself to masquerades and charades. We are told: “It was at the Christmas festivals at Richmond, that Henry VIII. stole from the side of the Queen during the jousts, and returned in the disguise of a strange Knight, astonishing all the company with the grace and vigour of his tilting. At first the King appeared ashamed of taking part in these gladiatorial exercises, but the applause he received on all sides soon inclined him openly to appear on every occasion in the tilt-yard. Katharine humoured the childish taste of her husband for disguisings and masquings, by pretending great surprise when he presented himself before her in some assumed character.”
He was gifted with enormous energy; he could ride all day, changing his horses nine or ten times a day; then he would dance all night; even then his energies were not exhausted; then he would write what the courtiers described as poetry, or he would compose music, or he would dash off an attack on Luther, and so earn from the Pope the much-coveted title of “Fidei Defensor.”
In shooting at the butt, it is said, Henry excelled, drawing the best bow in England. At tennis, too, he excelled beyond all others. He was addicted to games of chance, and his courtiers permitted him to lose as much as £3,500 in the course of one year—scarcely a tactful proceeding. He played with taste and execution on the organ, harpsichord and lute. He had a powerful voice, and sang with great accomplishment.
One of Henry’s anthems, “O Lord, the Maker of all thyng,” is said to be of the highest merit, and is still sung in our Cathedrals. In his songs,[2] he particularly liked to dwell on his constancy as a lover:
“As the holly groweth green and never changeth hue,
So I am—ever have been—unto my lady true.”
and again:
“For whoso loveth, should love but one.”
An admirable maxim.