Ludwig II. of Bavaria was a most inveterate builder, and in the course of a few years he built the castle of Neuschwanstein, and the palaces of Linderhof and Herrenchiemsee, the last intended by him to be a monument to Louis Quatorze, “who was the supreme God of his mad Olympus.” True to his love of nocturnal expeditions, Ludwig arrived at Chiemsee at midnight, but in spite of all its splendour he failed to find much comfort there, set down as this gorgeous castle was in a wilderness far away from everywhere, and at last he only spent nine days in every year here.

Another sovereign who became a great builder was Stanislaus Leczinski, who, to gratify his hobby, demolished churches, chapels, ducal palaces, castles, towers, and town-houses. According to some, his greatest glory is the Church of Notre Dame de Bon Secours, in which he and his consort, Caroline Opzinska, were entombed. But, writes Dr. Doran, “antiquaries see in this building the ex-king’s greatest crime; for in order to construct it, he demolished the famous old church of the same name, erected by René II., Duke of Lorraine, in gratitude for his victory over Charles, Duke of Burgundy, in 1477, won on the very spot.” The story goes that an honest plasterer, who lived in sight of the old church, was so indignant at the profanation that he walled up his windows that his eyes might not be offended by the continual sight of what was going on. Then there was Henry IV. of France, whose taste for building conduced much to the improvement of his capital.

CHAPTER VIII

THE ROYAL HUNT

It is said that before Alfred the Great was twelve years of age, “he was a most expert and active hunter, and excelled in all the branches of that most noble art, to which he applied with incessant labour and amazing success;” and Harold is represented in the famous Bayeux tapestry with his hounds by his side when brought before William, Duke of Normandy. Early accounts tell us how the privileges of hunting in the royal forests were confined to the King and his favourites, and history records how the New Forest in Hampshire was made by William, and how the park at Woodstock, seven miles in circumference, was walled round by Henry, his son.

But, apart from having been one of the most popular of our royal sports, hunting has not only been associated with many an important crisis in our history, but has had a romantic past. Thus it was when Henry was in the hunting-field, and the glancing aside of Wat Tyrrel’s arrow made him King of England, that an old woman in weird language addressed him thus:—

“Hasty news to thee I bring,
Henry, thou art now a king;
Mark the words and heed them well,
Which to thee in sooth I tell,
And recall them in the hour,
Of thy regal state and power.”

King John was much attached to the chase, and in Cranbourne Chase, in the parish of Tollard Royal, is an ancient farmhouse known as King John’s Hunting-seat, with which a legendary story is told. One day, it is said, King John, being equipped for hunting, issued forth with the gay pageantry and state of his day. As he rode along he heard a gallant youth address a lady nearly in these words:—

“We will, fair queen, up to the mountain’s top,
And mark the musical confusion,
Of hounds and echo in conjunction.”

The happy couple left Tollard Royal on horseback, and as they took leave of the King the moon was sinking below the horizon. They were missing for several days, until the King, while hunting with his courtiers, found their lifeless remains. It appeared that when the moon set they must have mistaken their road, and have fallen “into a hideous pit, where both were killed.”