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.