Charles IV. of Spain had all the spirit and wit of his father. On requiring the presence of Losada at his toilet, and when told that Spanish etiquette forbade the presence of any one lower in quality than a Spanish grandee, he exclaimed, “Very well, I now make him one, so let him come in and help me on with my shirt.” When Charles ascended the throne Louis XVI. was about to sign a letter of congratulation to him, but he remarked, “It is hardly worth signing, for this king is no king, but a poor cipher, completely governed and henpecked by his wife.” Charles never forgave the jest, and when news of the execution of Louis reached him, he remarked that “the gentleman who was so ready to find fault with others, did not seem to have managed his own affairs very cleverly.”
ROYALTY AND FASHION
Sometwo hundred and fifty years ago, a fashionable colour was a peculiar shade of brown known as the “couleur Isabelle,” and this was its origin: Soon after the siege of Ostend commenced at the beginning of the seventeenth century, Isabella Eugenia, Gouvernante of the Netherlands, is said to have made a vow that she would not change her chemise till the town surrendered. Despite the fact that the siege lasted over three years, the ladies and gentlemen of the Court, in no way dismayed, resolved to keep their mistress in countenance, and hit upon the expedient of wearing garments of the presumed colour finally attained by that which clung to the imperial Archduchess by force of religious obstinacy.
This is only one of many instances in which royalty has been responsible for inaugurating silly and eccentric fashions from some circumstance of an untoward nature. Thus when Francis I., owing to a wound he received in his head, was obliged to wear his hair short, this became a Court fashion. Charles V. suffered so intensely from headache that he had his hair cut close, and thence arose the mode of wearing it short. Charles VII. of Franceintroduced long coats to hide his ill-made legs, and full-bottomed wigs were invented by a French barber, named Duviller, to conceal an elevation in the shoulder of the Dauphin. Tradition, too, tells how Queen Blanche provided her consort, Louis IX., with a wig to hide his baldness, for, said she, “our bald kings have never been lucky, and it ill befits a sovereign that he should not be better provided with flowing locks than a mendicant at the gates of Notre Dame. It shall never be said that Louis, our well-beloved consort, went about with as little hair on his crown as a monarch retired from his vocation, and shut up in a cloister.” By this incident the perruque was popularised in France, and Louis became the patron of “artists in hair.”
When Louis XIII. succeeded Henry IV. at the age of nine years, the courtiers, because “the new king could have no beard, resolved that they would have none themselves; and every wrinkled face appeared at Court as beardless as possible,” with the exception of the honest Sully, who, although jeered at for his old-fashioned appearance, made no change.
Shoes with very long points were invented by Henry Plantagenet, Duke of Anjou, to conceal a large excrescence on one of his feet, whereas the charming Isabella of Bavaria introduced the fashion of leaving the shoulders and part of the neck uncovered to show off her beautiful skin. The reign of Charles II., it has been remarked, “was the dominion of French fashions,” and the customof baring the bosom was made the subject of frequent comment by the moralists of the day. Catherine of Braganza, it is said, “exposed her breast and shoulders without even the gloss of the lightest gauze,” and in one of her portraits “the tucker instead of standing up on her bosom, is with licentious boldness turned down, and lies upon her stays.”[117]Anne Boleyn is said to have had on her throat a large mole, which she carefully concealed with an ornamental collar-band, a fashion which was imitated by the ladies of the Court, who had never thought of wearing anything of the kind before. Nor was this her Majesty’s only defect, for it appears she had a malformation of the little finger of her left hand, on which there was a double nail, with something like an indication of a sixth finger. “But that,” says Wyatt, “which in others might be regarded as a defect, was to her an occasion of additional grace, by the skilful manner in which she concealed it from observation.” On account of this peculiarity she wore the hanging sleeves mentioned as her peculiar fashion when in France, a practice which was quickly followed by the ladies of the Court in this country. It may be mentioned, too, that Anne Boleyn had great taste and skill in dress, and we are told that “she was unrivalled in the gracefulness of her attire and the fertility of her invention in devising new patterns, which were imitated by all the Court belles, by whom she was regarded as the glass of fashion.”
Some sovereigns attended to the dress of their subjects, as the Emperor Paul of Russia, whose instructions were regulated by the police. It was ordered that ordinary dress should consist of a cocked hat, or for want of one a round hat pinned up with three corners, a single-breasted coat and waistcoat, knee-buckles instead of strings, and buckles in the shoes. A lady at Court, it is said, wearing her hair rather lower in her neck than was consistent with the decree, was ordered into close confinement, to be fed on bread and water.
Similarly, it seems that James regulated the dress of his subjects in Scotland, for in 1621 he enacted that the fashion of clothes in use be not changed by man or woman “under the pain of forfeiture of the cloths, and an hundred pounds to be paid by the wearer, and as much by the maker of the said cloths.” According to the fashion in use, no person could wear lawns or cambrics, or cloth trimmed with gold, or feathers on their heads, or pearls and precious stones, &c. But, to make this law more arbitrary and invidious, it exempted from its operation “noblemen, prelates, lords of session, barons of quality, their wives, sons, and daughters, as also heralds, trumpeters, and minstrels.” And, it may be remembered, short and tight breeches were so much the rage in France that Charles V. was compelled to banish this fashion by edict.
Louis XI. greatly disliked finery, and on one occasion dismissed agendarmefrom his service for appearing before him in a velvet doublet; and his Majesty had an open quarrel with the Duke ofCleves by showing his disapprobation of his extravagance in dress. Similarly, Ferdinand V., the Catholic, is reported one day to have turned to a gallant of the Court noted for his finery, and, laying his hand on his own doublet, to have exclaimed, “Excellent stuff this; it has lasted me three pair of sleeves!” But this spirit of economy was carried so far as to bring on him the reproach of parsimony.[118]Henry IV. of France curtailed as much as possible his wardrobe expenses, usually wearing a plain grey habit, with a doublet of either satin or taffeta, without any ornament. Oftentimes, when he saw a courtier in his costly apparel, he would humorously remark that he “carried his castle and his wood on his shoulders.”
During the closing years of his life Charles V. was singularly indifferent to his apparel, and, according to a contemporary account, “when he rode into the towns, amidst a brilliant escort of courtiers and cavaliers, the Emperor’s person was easy to be distinguished among the crowd by the plainness of his attire.” In the latter part of his reign he dressed wholly in black. Roger Ascham, who was admitted to an audience by him some years before his abdication, says that his Majesty “had on a gown of black taffety, and looked somewhat like the parson of Epurstone.” His natural parsimony came in aid of his taste. It is told of him that once being overtaken by a storm in the neighbourhood of Naumburg, he took off his new velvetcap and remained uncovered whilst he sent into the town for an old one. “Poor Emperor,” thought one of the company, who tells the anecdote, “spending tons of gold on his wars and standing bareheaded in the rain for the sake of his velvet bonnet.” But his Majesty had not always shown this disregard of dress, having been inordinately fond of finery, especially of jewellery. At one time, writes Dr. Doran, “his toilet-table was covered with miscellaneous articles, like that of Charles of Burgundy, and there was as much variety in its drawers.”
Frederick William I. in his early life ignored fashion, and showed a great aversion to regal pomp and luxury. One day he threw a dressing-gown of gold brocade into the fire, and, it is said, he would often lie for hours in the sun with his face greased to give it a tanned, soldier-like appearance. Frederick the Great was slovenly in his person, a defect that increased as he grew older; for he so far disregarded fashion as to wear ragged linen, dirty shirts, old clothes, and cracked boots.
Similarly, James I. of England was quite indifferent to his dress, and is said to have worn his clothes as long as they would hang together. On one occasion, when a pair of shoes adorned with rosettes were brought to him, he inquired whether it was intended to make “a ruffe-footed dove” of him; and at another time when a new-fashioned Spanish hat was shown him, he pushed it contemptuously away, remarking that he neither liked the Spanish, nor their fashions. It is even said that on one occasion he went so far as to borrow a pair of scarlet stockingswith gold clocks from one of his courtiers when he was anxious to make a special impression on the French Ambassador. According to Walpole, James hunted “in the most cumbrous and inconvenient of all dresses, a ruff and trouser breeches,” which must have presented a somewhat quaint appearance.
Perhaps one of the greatest sensations made by royalty in the matter of dress was that of Christina of Sweden, who on passing through France on her visit to Louis XIV., in her strange dress and uncurled wig, looked, according to public criticism, “very like a half-tipsy gipsy.” Her coat has been described as a garment neither of man nor woman, and it fitted so ill that her higher shoulder appeared above the neck of the dress. Mesdames de Montpensier and de Motteville describe her chemise, which was made according to the fashion of a man’s shirt, as appearing and disappearing through, under, or over, other parts of the royal costume in a very puzzling way; but what most astonished and horrified the ladies of fashion, “who wore trains from the moment they rose in bed, were the short petticoats worn by Christina, which left her ankles exposed to the sight and criticism of all who chose to look at them.”[119]
But if some sovereigns have been naturally parsimonious in their dress, some were so from force of circumstances, as in the case of Isabella of Angoulême, consort of King John, for, although his Majesty neverspared his own personal expenses, he was mean to his queen. Thus we find in one of his wardrobe rolls an order for a grey cloth pelisson for Isabella, guarded with nine bars of grey fur. There is another order for cloth to make two robes for the Queen, each to consist of five ells, one of green cloth, the other of brunet; also cloth for a pair of purple sandals and four pairs of women’s boots, one pair to be embroidered round the ankles. The richness, however, of his own dress and the costly splendour of his jewellery partly occasioned the demands he made on the purses of his people.
Edward I., on the other hand, disliked show, and, according to his chronicler, “he went about in the plain garments of a citizen, excepting on days of festival.” When remonstrated with by a bishop on his unkingly attire, his Majesty answered: “What could I do more in royal robes, father, than in this plain gabardine?” And Catherine of Aragon apparently was much of the same opinion, for she was accustomed to say that she considered no part of her time so much wasted as that passed in dressing and adorning herself. Henry VIII. was fond of show in dress, and Queen Elizabeth’s excessive love of fashion and finery, like that of her namesake, queen of Philip II. of Spain, has long been proverbial. Indeed, it has been said that “her toilet was an altar of devotion, of which she was the idol, and all her ministers were her votaries: it was the reign of coquetry and the golden age of milliners.” The list of her Majesty’s wardrobe in 1600 shows us that she had at that time 99 robes,126 kirtles, 269 gowns, 136 foreparts, 125 petticoats, and 27 fans, in addition to 96 cloaks, 83 save-guards, 85 doublets, and 18 lap mantles. As Elizabeth grew older she tried more and more to hide the dilapidations of nature by the resources of art; and, if we are to believe all that has been said of her, “she was the mistress of many million hearts and full a thousand dresses.” She inaugurated a reign of extravagance; and, as Mr. Thornbury has remarked, “she seems to have lost her jewels upon public occasions almost as frequently as Prince Esterhazy, who used to shake off so many pounds’ worth of diamonds every time he went to the opera. At Westminster, on one occasion, the Queen drops a golden acorn and oak leaf; on another, two gold buttons shaped like tortoises; on another, a diamond clasp given her by the Earl of Leicester, and which fastened a gown of purple cloth of silver.” Her Majesty, it is said, was never seenen déshabilleby the male sex but on two occasions. The first time was on “a fair May morning when Gilbert Talbot, the Earl of Shrewsbury’s son, walking in the tilt-yard about eight o’clock, chanced to look up, and saw her at the window in her night-cap. ‘My eye,’ said he, ‘was full towards her, and she showed to be greatly ashamed thereof, for that she was unready and in her nightstuff. So when she saw me after dinner as she went to walk, she gave me a great fillip on the forehead, and told my lord chamberlain, who was the next to see her, how I had seen her that morning, and how much she was ashamed thereof.’”Twenty years later the luckless Essex surprised herin the hands of her tire-woman, and he paid severely for his blunder.
With the wardrobe of Elizabeth may be compared in size that of Augustus III., second Saxon King of Poland, which filled two halls of the palace, there having been for each dress a special watch, snuff-box, sword, and cane. Every dress was painted in miniature in a book, which every morning was presented to “his most serene Excellency,” as he caused himself to be called. He had as many as 1500 wigs, so that when his palace was occupied by Frederick the Great during the Seven Years’ War, he exclaimed contemptuously, “So many perrukes for a man who has no head.”
The portraits of Anne of Denmark, queen of James I., indicate, it is said, a masculine character, and “display a tawdry and tasteless style of dress.” And it was at this period that the enormous fardingale was worn at Court, concerning which “unnatural disguisement” Lord Lytton, in his pedigree of the English gallant, tells the following amusing story: “When Sir Peter Wych was sent ambassador to the Grand Seignor from James I., his lady accompanied him to Constantinople, and the Sultaness, having heard much of her, desired to see her; whereupon Lady Wych, attended by her waiting-women, all of them dressed in their great fardingales, which was the Court dress of the English ladies at that time, waited upon her Highness. The Sultaness received her visitors with great respect, but, struck with the extraordinary extension of the hips of the whole party, seriouslyinquired if that shape was peculiar to the natural formation of English women, and Lady Wych was obliged to explain the whole mystery of the dress in order to convince her that she and her companions were not really so deformed as they appeared to be.”
A pleasant little anecdote would lead us to imply that Henrietta Maria, consort of Charles I., relied on her own natural charms; for on her arrival in this country, when Charles seemed surprised to find her taller than he had expected, and cast his eyes upon her feet, as it suspecting that she had made use of artificial means to improve her stature, she immediately raised one of her feet, and pointed to the shoe. “Sir,” she said, “I stand upon my own feet. I have no helps of art. Thus high I am, and I am neither higher nor lower.”[120]
This incident reminds us of Catherine of Braganza, who tried to introduce short skirts, being desirous, as Lady Carteret told Pepys, “to have the feet seen,” probably, it is said, owing to her having, like most of her countrywomen, small, well-turned feet; but, despite her exhibiting herself in this new fashion, she found few imitators, the ladies of the Court adhering to their long-flowing draperies.
Another queen who had a strong aversion to artificial adjuncts was Mary Beatrice of Modena, wife of James II. It was the fashion for the ladies of the Court to paint, and, when the King told her that he wished her to do the same, she refused not only as a matter of taste, but from a religious scruple.But at last she consented and put on rouge, which, when Father Seraphin, a Capuchin friar of great sanctity, to his grief and surprise saw, he exclaimed, “Madame, I would rather see your Majesty yellow, or even green, than rouged”—a remark which much amused the Queen.
William III. one day asked Peter the Great what he thought of London, to which he replied “that he had been particularly pleased to see a simplicity, meekness, and modesty of dress in the richest nation of Europe.” The Czar was always very plain in his own dress, and a diplomatic agent who resided many years at his Court says: “I saw him in 1721 give a public audience to the ambassadors of Persia, when he entered the hall of audience in nothing more that a surtout of coarse brown cloth. When he was seated on the throne, the attendants brought him a coat of bluegros de Naples, embroidered with silver, which he discarded as soon as the ambassadors were gone. Catherine, who was present, was much amused at seeing the Czar in his spangled silk vest. He introduced the dress of Western Europe among his courtiers, but his subjects generally, it is said, were not so easily reconciled to the new fashion, which necessitated his laying tax on long coats, as he had already done on long beards.
Queen Anne was extremely particular in all matters of dress; and, it may be remembered, the wig costume of the Court was a source of much discomfort to Eugene of Savoy, in 1712. When Lord Bolingbroke once appeared before her in a simple tie-wig instead of a full-bottomed one—having been summoned in the utmost haste—she exclaimed, “I suppose that the next time his lordship appears at Court he will come in his night-cap.” Addison speaks in high praise of the coiffure then in fashion, which, as may be seen by the later portraits of Queen Anne, was elegant, the hair clustering in graceful curls down the back of the neck, “and though hair-powder was worn by some, her Majesty’s chestnut ringlets are unsullied by that composition.”[121]
An amusing anecdote is told of George I., who was somewhat indifferent to the fashions of dress. During the war of 1743, a victory gained over the French was celebrated by an ode written and set to music for the occasion, and performed several nights before his Majesty in the great council chamber. On these occasions George appeared in a hat, coat, sword, and scarf which he had worn at the battle of Oudenarde, and as after forty years fashion had much changed, it can be easily understood that the company assembled could with difficulty restrain from laughing on seeing their King attired in these “antiquated habiliments. And when the following couplet proclaimed that—
“‘Sure such a day was never known,Such a king, and such a throne!’
“‘Sure such a day was never known,Such a king, and such a throne!’
“‘Sure such a day was never known,Such a king, and such a throne!’
there was a general titter, which soon exceeded all the bounds of Court decorum,” at which one of the lords of the bedchamber clapped his hands.The company took the hint and joined in a general plaudit, at which the old king was highly pleased, without knowing the real cause of the compliment.
“Our tars,” writes Mr. Planché, “are too gallant to feel annoyed by the fact that their uniform was first worn by a lady. In 1748 George II. accidentally met the Duchess of Bedford on horseback in a riding-habit of blue faced with white, and was so pleased with the effect of it, that a question having been raised as to the propriety of deciding upon some general dress for the royal navy, he immediately commanded the adoption of those colours.”[122]
Caroline Matilda, the posthumous child of Frederick, Prince of Wales—who at the age of fifteen became the wife of Christian VII., King of Denmark—gave great offence to the graver Danish matrons by riding in that costume astride like a man. “An abominable riding-habit,” writes Sir Robert Keith, “with a black slouched hat has been almost universally introduced here, which gives every woman the air of an awkwardpostillion. In all the time I have been in Denmark I have never seen the Queen out in any other garb.”[123]Her horsemanship, however, was the admiration of the ladies of Denmark.
When Queen Charlotte arrived in England, outof respect for the women of her adopted country, she appeared in the dress which was then most in vogue among the English ladies. She was attired in a gold brocade with a white ground, “had a stomacher ornamented with diamonds, and a fly cap with richly laced lappets”—a mode of dress which was much appreciated.
As D’Israeli has remarked in his “Anecdotes of Fashion,” “the Court in all ages and in every country are the modellers of fashions;” but occasionally, it must be acknowledged, they have incurred their own ridicule, or discomfort. When Louis VII., for instance—to obey his bishops—cropped his hair and shaved his beard, his consort, Eleanor, revenged herself as she thought proper, disgusted at his unusual and ridiculous appearance. His Majesty obtained a divorce, after which Eleanor married the Count of Anjou, afterwards our Henry II.
The chief majesty of Louis XIV. lay in his wig, a fact which he recognised. Every night he allowed his valets to undress his body, but not his head, and when the disrobing was completed—save the head—he retired behind the curtains, which were carefully closed. With his own royal hand he then removed his wig, and thrusting it between the curtains gave it to a valet. Before the curtains were opened in the morning the wig was passed back to the monarch, who was never seen without his wig.
Similarly, Catherine II. of Russia kept her perruquier for more than three years in an ironcage in her bedchamber, to prevent his telling people that she wore a wig.[124]
In the reign of Louis XVI. dress was carried to an height, and the story goes that when M. Roland, on his appointment as Minister for the Home Department, was presented to his Majesty, the simplicity of his apparel excited the ridicule of the Court satellites, who derived from etiquette their sole importance. “Oh dear, sir,” said the master of the ceremonies, whispering to Dumourier and glancing at Roland, “he has no buckles in his shoes.” “Oh, shocking,” re-echoed Dumourier, “we shall be ruined and undone.”
The mention of shoes reminds us that, according to one authority, silk stockings were first worn by Henry II. of France at the marriage of his sister in 1559, but before that time Edward VI. had secured a pair from Sir Thomas Gresham, who imported them from Spain, where they were first manufactured. The story goes that a loyal-minded grandee thought he could not do better than present a pair of silk stockings to his queen, and to that end placed them in the hands of the first minister of the Crown, who astonished him by returning them, bidding him remember that the “Queen of Spain had no legs.” Another version tells us how when Maria Anne, mother of Charles II., was on her way across Spain as the bride of Philip IV., she stopped at a town famous for the manufacture of stockings, some of which the Alcáide of the place offered her, when he was thrust out by theMayordom with the words, “You must know the Queen of Spain has no legs.” Upon hearing which the young Queen began to cry, saying, “I must go back to Vienna; if I had known before I set out that they would have cut my legs off, I would have died rather than come here.” This remark made even Philip smile, although he is said to have laughed only three times in his life.
Before Mademoiselle Bertin became so celebrated as Marie Antoinette’s milliner, she was not only very plain in her attire, but very economical, a circumstance which she was wont to say gave great umbrage to the other princesses of the Court of Versailles, who never showed themselves from the moment they rose till they returned to bed, except in full dress, while she herself made all her morning visits in a simple white cambric gown and straw hat.
Many amusing anecdotes have been recorded in connection with her Majesty’s toilette. It appears that Mademoiselle Bertin had invented a new head ornament of gauze, ribbons, flowers, beads, and feathers for her Majesty; but when the royal hairdresser, according to custom, attended on her, he had with him some steps of which she did not perceive the use. “What are these steps for?” exclaimed she to the tire-woman. The knight of the comb advanced, and making a most profound bow, humbly represented to her Majesty that Mademoiselle Bertin, having so enormously increased the height of the head ornaments, it would be impossible for him to establish themupon a firm foundation unless he could have a complete command of the head they were to be fixed upon; and being but of the middle size and her Majesty very tall, he could not achieve the duty of his office without mounting three or four steps, which he did to the great amusement of the Queen and the party present.[125]
According to another anecdote, on the day of the great fête of theCordon Bleu, when it was the etiquette to wear diamonds and pearls, her Majesty had omitted putting them on. As there had been a greater affluence of visitors than usual that morning, writes Princess Lamballe, and her Majesty’s toilette du chambre was overthronged by princes and princesses, “I fancied that the omission proceeded from forgetfulness. Consequently, I sent the tire-woman in the Queen’s hearing to order the jewels to be brought in. Smilingly her Majesty replied, ‘No, no! I have not forgotten these gaudy things, but I do not intend that the lustre of my eyes should be out-done by the one, or the whiteness of my teeth by the other; however, as you wish art to eclipse nature, I’ll wear them to satisfy you,ma belle dame!’”
Alas! as it has been often remarked, who would have dared on such an occasion, and among those smiles, to have prognosticated the cruel fate of the head which then attracted such general admiration.
ROYALTY WHIPT AND MARRIED BY PROXY
Fewof the old Court customs practised in past years were more curious than that of “whipping by proxy.” It appears that the office of whipping-boy doomed its unfortunate occupant to undergo all the corporal punishment which the heir-apparent to the throne—whose proper person was, as the Lord’s anointed, considered sacred—might chance to incur “in the course of travelling through his grammar and prosody.”
One of the most celebrated instances of the observance of this custom was the appointment of Barnaby Fitzpatrick as King Edward VI.’s whipping-boy, to which we find numerous allusions. Thus, Burnet[126]says, “This Fitzpatrick did afterwards fully answer the opinion this young king had of him. He was bred up with him in learning; and, as it is said, had been his whipping-boy who, according to the rule of educating our princes, was always to be whipped for the King’s faults. He was afterwards made by Queen Elizabeth, Baron of Upper Ossory in Ireland, which was his native country.”
Strype[127]makes several allusions to Barnaby Fitzpatrick, and relates how he was “much favoured by King Edward VI., having been bred up with him from a child. Him the King sent into the French king’s Court, furnished him with instructions under his own hand for his behaviour there, appointed him four servants, gave him three hundred French crowns in his purse, and a letter to the French king in his favour, declaring that the King had sent him thither to remain in his Court to learn fashions, for the better serving him at his return.”
Burnet,[128]further speaking of Elizabeth Dysart, who afterwards became Duchess of Lauderdale, tells us that her father, William Murray, had been page and whipping-boy to Charles I. But, as it has been pointed out, we hear nothing of such an office being held by any one in the household of Prince Henry, the elder brother of Charles I.
It appears, too, that it was customary to have such a substitute in France, for Fuller says that D’Ossat and Du Perron, afterwards cardinals, were whipped by Clement VIII. for Henry IV. of France. Louis XIV., however, on one occasion when he was conscious of his want of education, exclaimed, “Est ce qu’il n’y avait point de verges dans mon royaume, pour me forcer à étudier?”—a remark which seems to show that such a practice was not always observed in France.
It may be remembered how Sir Walter Scott,[129]on introducing Sir Mungo Malagrowther, of Girnigo Castle, to his readers, gives a graphic account ofthis custom. After narrating how he had been early attached to Court in the capacity of whipping-boy to King James VI., and trained to polite learning with his Majesty, by his celebrated preceptor, George Buchanan, he adds: “Under his stern rule—for he did not approve of the vicarious mode of punishment—James bore the penance of his own faults, and Mungo Malagrowther enjoyed a sinecure. But James’s other pedagogue, Master Patrick Young, went more ceremoniously to work, and appalled the very soul of the youthful king by the floggings which he bestowed on the whipping-boy when the royal task was not suitably performed. And be it told to Sir Mungo’s praise that there were points about him in the highest respect suited to his official situation. He had, even in youth, a naturally irregular and grotesque set of features which, when distorted by fear, pain, and anger, looked like one of the whimsical faces which present themselves in Gothic architecture. His voice was also high-pitched and querulous, so that when smarting under Master Peter Young’s unsparing inflictions, the expression of his grotesque physiognomy, and the superhuman yells which he uttered, were well suited to produce all the effects on the monarch who deserved the lash, that could possibly be produced by seeing another and an innocent individual suffering for his derelict.”
We can easily understand that such a custom would afford our old dramatists abundant opportunity for enlivening their audience by the witty introduction of it, as they generally contrived togain popularity for their performances by upholding or ridiculing any foolish usage of the time. In an old play, entitled “When You See Me, You Know Me,” the custom is thus noticed:—
“Prince(Edward VI.). Why, how now, Browne! What’s the matter?
“Browne.Your grace loiters, and will not ply your book, and your tutors have whipped me for it.
“Prince.Alas, poor Ned! I am sorry for it; I’ll take the more pains, and entreat my tutors for thee. Yet, in troth, the lectures they read me last night out of Virgil and Ovid I am perfect in, only I confess I am behind in my Greek authors.
“Will(Summers). And for that speech they have declined it upon his breech.”
The custom was perhaps practised in Spain for the improvement of Philip III. Le Sage has introduced such a mode of correction in hisGil Blas, with the following amusing anecdote. He tells us how Don Raphael was, when twelve years of age, selected by the Marquis de Leganez to be the companion of his son of the same age, who hardly knew a letter of his alphabet. In spite of the patient endeavour of his masters to induce him to apply himself to his studies, he persisted in frittering away his time, till at last the head-master resolved to givele fouetto young Raphael whenever the little Leganez deserved it. This, however, he did so unsparingly that the boy Raphael made up his mind to run away from the roof of the Marquis de Leganez; and to revenge for all the cruel and unjust treatmentwhich he had received, he took with him 150 ducats of the master.
Once more, in thePekin Gazettefor 1876, we find the appointment of, among other instructors to the young Emperor, ahahachutcz, or “whipping-boy,” who by reason of his office suffers in his person for all the sins and shortcomings of his imperial fellow-student.
There were exceptions, however, to this rule, for when Dr. Markham inquired of George III. “how his Majesty would wish to have the princes treated,” he replied, “Like the sons of any private English gentleman. If they deserve it,let thembe flogged. Do as you used to do at Westminster.”
Among instances of marriage by proxy may be mentioned that of Joanna of Navarre with Henry IV., April 3, 1402, Antoine Riczi acting as proxy of the bride. The act was performed with great solemnity in the presence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the King’s half-brothers, the Beaufort princes, the Earl of Worcester, Lord Chamberlain of England, and other officers of State, and pronounced in these words:—“I, Antoine Riczi, in the name of my worshipful lady, Joanna, the daughter of Charles, lately King of Navarre, Duchess of Bretagne, and Countess of Richmond, take you, Henry of Lancaster, King of England, and Lord of Ireland, to be my husband, and thereto I, Antoine, in the spirit of my said lady, plight you my troth.”
Suffolk espoused the Lady Margaret of Anjou as the proxy of Henry VI.; and King James I. and thePrincess Anne were married by proxy at Cronenburg. In 1673 the marriage of Mary Beatrice of Modena with the Duke of York was solemnised by proxy. In 1791 Lord Malmesbury married a princess of Prussia as proxy for the Duke of York.
And the same practice prevailed from an early period on the Continent. Thus when Clovis was married to the Princess Clotilde, he offered by his proxy a sou and a denier, which became by law the usual marriage offering in France.
The Archduke Maximilian married Anne, Duchess of Bretagne, by proxy; and he consummated the union by his ambassador attending with a train of lords and ladies, baring his leg to the knee, and putting it into the bed of the Duchess, thereby taking possession of her bed and body. The marriage, however, was annulled, and she afterwards in 1491 became the wife of Charles VIII. of France. It may be added that Henry II. of France was killed in a tournament in 1559, in honour of the nuptials of Philip II. to the Princess Elizabeth of France. It appears that the Duke of Alva, as proxy for Philip, had espoused Elizabeth on the 20th of June. The nuptials of the Duke of Savoy with Margaret were to follow. On the 27th, 28th, and 29th the lists were opened in the Rue St. Antoine. The King, the Dukes of Guise and Nemours, were the holders, and had shown their usual prowess and address. The tournament, writes Crowe,[130]was at an end, when Henry declared he must break another lance, and ordered Montgomery,one of the captains of the guard, to tilt with him. The latter declined, but the King forced him. Both lances were duly broken in the shock, but, as the horses and riders passed on in their headlong career, the King was struck by the broken end of the lance which Montgomery, against rules, retained in his hand. On reaching the end of the course the monarch fell; a splinter had penetrated his eye, and the King, on being conveyed to the palace, only lingered for eleven days, expiring on the 10th of July 1559.
Marie Louise in her engagement to Charles II. of Spain looked upon herself as a victim of State policy, and appealed in vain to Louis XIV. She had seen the portrait of her future husband, whose character and imbecility were as well known at Fontainebleau as at Madrid. But her protestations were in vain. After a marriage by proxy at Fontainebleau, the Comte d’Harcourt was commissioned to conduct her to the frontier, where in the famous Isle of Pheasants, on the Bidassoa, the sad-hearted bride was delivered over to the tender mercies of the Duchess of di Terra Nueva and the Marquis de Astorgas.
COURT JESTERS AND FOOLS
Thefashion of keeping Court and household fools, writes Voltaire in hisAge de Louis XIV., was for a time thegrande modeof all the Courts of Europe. Some sovereigns, however, discarded the practice, and when Charles Louis, Electoral Prince of the Rhine, was asked why he did not keep a Court fool, he replied: “Well, it is easily accounted for. When I am inclined to laugh, I send for a couple of professors from college, set them an argument, and laugh at their folly.”
The Emperor Henry III., surnamed the Black, despised the Court fool—“a licensed scoundrel,” he said, “who obtained for his nonsense rewards that had never properly been showered on the benefactors of mankind.” And Christian I. of Denmark once remarked, that if he were in want of Court fools he had only to give license to his courtiers, who were capable of exhibiting themselves as the greatest fools in Europe. Frederick Barbarossa hated Court fools; and in France, Philip Augustus and Charles VII. had no sympathy for mirth-makers of this description.
On the other hand, few sovereigns extended greater favour to their fools than Maximilian I.;and yet, as it has been remarked, “he found as much peril as profit in his intercourse with them.” On one occasion, when he was loading a fowling-piece, his house fool coming into his presence with a lighted candle was about to place it on an open cask of powder; and at another time his Majesty was playing at snowballs with his fool, when the latter threw one so violently at his right eye, that the imperial sight was damaged for a month. His principal fool or jester was Konrad, popularly styled “The Soldier and Wit of Maximilian,” for, on more than one occasion, he proved himself wiser in his generation than some of the political advisers who counselled their imperial master. Sometimes, however, Konrad’s jokes were of so astounding a nature that he would scarcely have dared to make them on his own responsibility. Such an instance occurred at a banquet given in honour of the Venetian ambassadors, and their Government, who had presented to the Emperor a costly goblet of the purest crystal; when Konrad, in the midst of the revelry and mirth, contrived to hook his spur in the tablecloth, and dancing off to pull with him everything on the table, the crystal goblet lying in fragments on the ground.
The ambassadors demanded the immediate punishment of Konrad, but Maximilian refused to gratify them, for he remarked, “the thing was only of glass, and that glass is very fragile. Had it been of gold, it would not have broken; and, even if it had, its fragments at least would have been valuable.” A somewhat similar story is told of theFrench wit Brusquet, at a banquet given in the house of the Duke of Alva, when the Cardinal of Lorraine had negotiated the peace of Cateau-Cambresis with Philip II. of Spain. Brusquet at the close of the dessert jumped on the table, and, laying himself flat, rolled himself up in the cloth with plates, spoons, &c., and fell off at the other end of the table. Philip II. took the matter in good part, and laughed immoderately, ordering that Brusquet should be allowed to leave the room with what he had carried off under the cloth. Although oftentimes Konrad was open to reproach for his extraordinary conduct, there can be no doubt he loved his imperial master, and in emergency Maximilian had no truer friend.
One of the many fools of his successor, Charles V., was a Pole, Corneille de Lithuanie, who distinguished himself at a tournament held in Brussels in 1545, by carrying off the second prize for general gallantry. Another of his Court fools was Pedro de San Erbas; and it is related that, after Charles had abdicated, he held a Court at Valladolid to receive the farewell compliments of the nobles and ladies of the vicinity. At the conclusion of the ceremony, Pedro drew near to take leave of his old patron, whereupon Charles raised his hat, at which Pedro asked if the act was one of courtesy, or as an indication that he was no longer Emperor.
“Neither, Pedro,” answered Charles; “I do it to signify that all I can give you now is this simple token of civility.”
An amusing story is told of Nelle, the foolattached to the Court of Matthias, who not only attended the celebrated meeting of the States, held at Ratisbon, but he had the effrontery to present to the Emperor an exquisitely bound volume, containing, as he said, a record of all that had been accomplished by the statesmen. On opening the book Matthias found it all blank paper, and exclaimed, “Why, there is nothing hidden here.”
“Exactly,” replied Nelle, “because there was nothing done there, and so my record is truthful.”
Another humorous anecdote relates how one day, at the Court of Ferdinand II., a silly courtier fancied he could amuse those present by his frivolities, which prompted Jonas, Ferdinand’s favourite fool, to answer him according to his folly. But this so enraged the courtier that he shouted, “Fellow, be silent; I never stoop to talk with a fool.”
“Well, I do,” retorted Jonas, “and therefore be good enough to listen to me in your turn.”
Maximilian, son of Frederick III., was taken prisoner when a revolt broke out at Bruges. His jester formed a scheme for his liberation; he provided horses for flight, and a rope-ladder by which he might descend from the window of his prison. Then the jester plunged into the canal which encircled the castle to swim across. But the town kept swans in the moat, and when these swans saw the man swimming, they rushed at him with their great flapping wings and beaks, and so beat, pinched, and frightened the poor fellow, that he made the best of his retreat.
The smaller German Courts, says Dr. Doran,[131]followed the fashion set by the emperors, and Lips was so great a favourite that he actually sat in the council-chamber when the Margrave Philip was presiding. As may be gathered, however, from the following incident, the position of a fool was not always an enviable one. Thus when the Duke Ludwig of Bavaria was murdered on the bridge over the Danube at Kehlheim in 1231, the perpetrators of the crime laid it on the Duke’s fool, Stich, who was charged with having stabbed his patron with a bread-knife, because he had exasperated him by his bad jokes. “Ah,” said the unfortunate man, as he stood at the gallows, “that some one ought to be hanged for murdering the Duke I can very well comprehend, but that that some one should be me I do not comprehend at all.”
It would seem that as late as the sixteenth century the fool could be bought and sold, for when Louis II. of Hungary visited Erlau in 1520, he found that the governor possessed one of the best-trained hawks and one of the merriest fools that he had ever seen, both of which he obtained for between three and four thousand pounds. Another famous fool was Jenni von Stocken, who was attached to the household of Leopold the Pious. And of Killian, the fool of Albert of Austria, it is said that, when he was asked why, being so wise, he should play the fool, he replied, “The more thoroughly I play the fool, the wiser do menaccount me, and there is my son, who thinks himself wise, and whom everybody knows to be a fool.”
But, as it has been often remarked, although the fool was mostly in request for his tricks and his waggery, he was frequently employed as a political adviser; and when the Elector Frederick was threatened with invasion, he consulted his fool Klaus as to whether he should treat with the enemy, who said to him, “Give me your best mantle, and I will tell you.” Whereupon Klaus tore the mantle in two, and presented himself before his master with one half hanging from his shoulders. The Elector inquiring what he meant by so strange an act, Klaus replied, “If you treat with the foe, you will soon look as ridiculous with half your dominions as I do with half a cloak.”
The unbridled language of the Court fool was oftentimes as amazing as it was insulting; for when one morning Philip, Landgrave of Baden, complained of a headache to his fool Peter after a drinking bout, and asked him his remedy, the latter replied, “Drink again to-day.” “Then I shall only suffer more to-morrow,” added the Prince. “Then,” rejoined Peter, “you must drink still more.” “But how would such a remedy end?” asked the Landgrave. “Why,” said Peter, “in your being a bigger fool than I am.”
And, as Dr. Doran tells us, the qualifications for a Court fool were extraordinary, as may be gathered from the following incident. A cowherd, Conrad Pocher, was once sent afield with a sickly boy toattend him, when, out of compassion, he hung him to the branch of a tree. He was tried for murder, but defended himself with such humour—arguing that he had greatly helped the little cow-boy—that Philip the Upright, Elector Palatine, made him official jester. Another cowherd who gained a similar distinction was Clause Hintze, Court fool to Duke John Frederick of Stettin, who so gained his patron’s favour as to be made by him lord of the village of Butterdorf. One of his successors was Hans Miesko, a wretched imbecile, but who was specially honoured at his death by a funeral sermon being preached over him.
And among those who were fools in a non-professional capacity may be mentioned the celebrated Baron von Gundling at the Court of Frederick William I., and also David Fassman, who, for losing a key entrusted to him by Frederick, was condemned to carry a heavy wooden one an ell long round his neck for several days. Incidents of this kind, as Dr. Doran observes, makes it difficult to decide which was the greater fool, it being “inconceivable that reasonable creatures should be guilty of the absurd follies attributed to them.” One day Frederick II. commissioned Baron von Poelnitz to procure a pair of turkeys. These he sent with the message, “Here are the turkeys, sire.” Annoyed at the style of note, Frederick ordered the leanest ox that could be found to be decked ridiculously with flowers, and the horns to be gilded, after which the animal was tied up in front of the Baron’s house, with this inscription: “Here is the ox, Poelnitz.”
Many of the French kings had their fools, and in the Court accounts for 1404 we find an entry of forty-seven pairs of shoes for Hancelin Coc, fool of Charles VI. And when the fleet of Philip was destroyed by that of Edward III., no one except a Court fool had the courage to tell the King. Going into the royal chamber, he kept muttering “Those cowardly Englishmen! The chicken-hearted Britons!”
“How so, cousin?” asked Philip, “how so?”
“Why, because they have not courage enough to jump into the sea like your French sailors, who went headlong over from their ships, leaving those to the enemy, who did not care to follow them!”—by which artful means the King learnt his defeat.
Louis XI. took into his service the fool of his deceased brother Charles, Duke de Guyenne; and amongst the many amusing anecdotes told of the famous “Le Glorieux,” fool to Charles the Bold, who used to compare himself with Hannibal, it is related how, after the overthrow at Granson, as the two were riding in search of safety, Le Glorieux exclaimed to Charles, “This is the prettiest way of being like Hannibal that I ever saw.”
With Francis I. are associated two of the most famous fools—Caillette and Triboulet—to whom all kinds of good stories have been attributed. Thus one day, when the latter complained to Francis that a nobleman had threatened his life for some impertinent lie, the King exclaimed, “If he does I will hang him a quarter of an hour afterwards.”
“Ah, sire!” replied Triboulet, “couldn’t you contrive to hang him a quarter of an hour previously?”
On the death of the Duke of Orleans, Henry II. raised his fool Thony to the rank of patented buffoon; and a personage who, without being a professional fool, was the source of much merriment at Henry’s Court, was Mendoza. It appears that Henry celebrated the obsequies of his predecessor in a grand manner, and, when the priest in his funeral oration asserted that the soul of King Francis had gone to Paradise without passing through Purgatory, he was accused of heresy. But Mendoza, then a chief officer of the Court, by a witty speech turned into a humorous ending what might have been just the reverse, remarking, “Gentlemen, if you had known the good King Francis as well as I did, you would better have understood the words of the preacher. Francis was not a man to tarry long anywhere; and if he did take a turn in Purgatory, believe me, the devil himself could not persuade him to make anything like a sojourn”—words which were greeted with general laughter.
A jester to three kings—Henry II., Francis II., and Charles IX.—was Brusquet, originally, as some say, a hard-up lawyer, and, according to others, a quack doctor. By his wit he managed to gain Court favour, being made by Henry Posting-Master-General of Paris. When on a visit to Flanders at the peace of Cateau-Cambresis, Brusquet met the ex-Emperor Charles V., who, recognising him, said,“Brusquet, do you remember the day when the Constable de Montmorency wanted to have you hanged?” “Right well do I remember it,” he replied. “It was the day on which your Majesty purchased those splendid rubies and carbuncles which now adorn your imperial hand”—alluding to the inflamed gouty swellings which disfigured the Emperor’s fingers. Philip II. of Spain was so delighted with Brusquet that he sent his own fool to France to learn wit from associating with him; and during this visit Brusquet seems to have used every opportunity for imposing on and cheating him. But Brusquet in turn met his match in Strozzi, the son of a Princess de Medicis, his great antagonist, to whom he probably owed his fall in 1562, when he was obliged to fly, accused of being a Huguenot, and of suppressing despatches which contained news unfavourable to the Huguenot cause.
A noted fool of Henri III. was Chicot, who, indeed, was not only his jester but his friend, and, according to Dumas, his protector. In the same capacity he entered the service of Henri IV.; and it was his bravery at the siege of Rouen that cost him his life. It appears that he made Henri of Lorraine, Count of Chaligny, prisoner, and leading him to the King, said, “Here I make you a present of the Count, keep what I took and now give you!” So enraged was the Count at being captured by a Court fool that he gave Chicot a violent blow on the head with the hilt of his sword, from the effects of which he died.
Jeanne, Queen of Charles I. of France, maintained a female fool named Artaude du Puy.
At the Court of Henri IV. there was a Mathurine who held the office of female fool for the amusement of the Court, and who is said to have employed her wit in laughing people out of the Huguenot faith into Roman Catholicism. But this sort of foolery almost cost her her life. It seems she was present in 1594 when Jean Chastel wounded the King, and almost shared the fate of the would-be assassin. Henri, well aware of her zeal for the Roman Catholic Church, and that she only regarded him as half a Romanist, ordered her arrest as an accomplice, but she proved her innocence, and was set free.
Much merriment was caused at the Court of Louis XIII. by Maret, who imitated the Gascon twang of Gascon nobles; and with Louis XIV. we come to the last of the official jesters, L’Angeli, originally a stable-boy, and whose memory has been thus immortalised by Boileau:—