The reluctant official undertook the mission; but he presently returned, with the intimation that the Prince could not give up an old-established custom. Upon which, Lord Ligonier turned on his heel, declaring that he would not visit a Prince who thus exposed an Ambassador to insult. The court officials were thrown into a state of amusing terror by this declaration; they maintained, that if the Ambassador retired, it would be a flagrant insult on the Prince. Ultimately, and after many messages and countermessages had passed between the Prince in his room, and the English Envoy in the antechamber, announcement was made that the Prince of the Asturias would not attempt to clap the fool’s-cap on the head of Lord Ligonier. His lordship consequently entered the apartment, but not without being more than usually vigilant against surprise. He found the sage Prince with his back to the hearth, and with his hands behind him. The Prince remained in that position, and invited the Ambassador to approach. The English lord obeyed; but as he advanced, he perceived that the Prince held a paper object, and the Ambassador stopped short to converse with his Royal Highness at a very respectful distance. At the conclusion of the interview, he had to bow low; but, as a sailor might say, his weather eye was open, and he watched the Prince narrowly. The latter was resolved upon effecting his object, and as narrowly watched the Ambassador. The bow was almost at its lowest, when the Prince, seizing the most favourable opportunity, suddenly brought the fool’s cap from behind him, and endeavoured to fix it on the head of Lord Ligonier; but the old soldier who, by one glorious action at Laffeldt, had disconcerted all the projects of Marshal Saxe, was not to be foiled by a foolish prince. As soon as his eye caught sight of the cap, his hand was upon it, and almost as soon it lay crumpled up beneath his feet. His sudden action nearly threw the Prince out of his equilibrium; and leaving that illustrious fool’s-cap maker to recover himself as he best might, the old warrior quitted the apartment with a smile of scorn upon his lip.
Turning now from the Envoy from, to the King of, England, I may observe that the greatest opportunity for court fools to exhibit their wit or slyness, occurred when great political events were passing before them. They were then the merry scholiasts of living history. At no period in England, since the foundation of the monarchy, could a professional fool have found more incentives to fun or satire, than during the eventful reign of George III. And of all that reign, the time of “the Coalition,” in 1783, was that on which a witty court fool, in the secret of what was passing and what was about to pass, would have had most to say, hint, or laugh at. The Shelburne Administration had gone to pieces, and that fatal “Coalition” had been forced on George III., who indignantly saw himself compelled to accept a union of men who had for years been denouncing each other as void of principle, and worthy of the hangman. Lord North and Charles Fox, antipodes in everything but wit and good temper, came together, with other bitter foes, who had salved over their old sores, but wounded their reputation, for ever. When the new ministers first appeared at court before that good and obstinate old sovereign whom they and other ministers helped or harassed into madness, George III. had made up his mind to rid himself of them at the very earliest opportunity. Had there been a court fool present who knew the royal intention, he would have revelled in jokes, gibes, and inuendoes. As it was, the King was his own fool, and could not avoid showing a sign of his resolve. How he did it, is whimsically and authentically told in the second volume, page 28, of Russell’s Memoirs of Fox. Lord Holland is speaking, and in these words:—“I cannot help relating a saying of that lively and humorous old man” (the Marquis of Townshend) “on this occasion. He said he had always foreseen the Coalition Ministry could not last, for he was at court when Mr. Fox kissed hands; and he observed George III. turn back his ears and eyes just like the horse at Astley’s, when the tailor he had determined to throw was getting on him.” This was the very action of a court fool, and not one of the fraternity could have performed it more felicitously than the King, who, on this occasion, was his own.
The eldest son of George III. had his comic aspect too, and was an excellent mimic. If we may believe the very respectable authority of Mr. Raikes, whose journals show him to have been a visitor at the Pavilion, and the intimate friend of many who visited there more frequently than himself, George IV., in playing the fool, was not at all scrupulous as to sacrificing his own ministers, for the sake of effect. Indeed, they were very good objects for the ridicule of a monarch who was his own jester. The “best wigged Prince in Christendom” had in perfection one of the chief qualities of the professional fool,—the power of imitation. Mr. Raikes affords an illustration of this in a story told him by the Duke of Wellington. “When the King sent for me,” said the Duke, “to form a new administration, in 1828, he was then seriously ill, though he would never allow it. I found him in bed, dressed in a dirty silk jacket and a turban night-cap, one as greasy as the other; for, notwithstanding his coquetry about dress in public, he was extremely slovenly and dirty in private. The first words he said to me were, ‘Arthur, the Cabinet is defunct;’ and then he began to describe the manner in which the late ministers had taken leave of him, in giving in their resignations. This was accompanied by the most ludicrous mimicry of the voice and manner of each individual, so strikingly like, that it was quite impossible to refrain from fits of laughter.”
If George IV. was strong in the fool’s quality of mimicry, Louis Philippe was not less so in coarser mockery; but then the latter King was too grave an actor to allow of his playing the fool in presence even of a friend or minister. He, however, could indulge in a brief private performance of the character, and he was once unwittingly caught in the fact by one of his private secretaries, who had concealed himself behind a door, in order to escape the observation of the King. His Majesty was approaching in deep conversation with the old republican, Dupont de l’Eure. The monarch at the head of “the best of republics,” treated the aged confederate, of whom he wished to be well rid, with an excess of warmth and courtesy. Louis Philippe professed ideas liberal enough to gratify a republican so advanced as M. Dupont, of whom he finally took leave in the most condescending and friendly manner. “No sooner, however,” says Mr. Raikes, who was the confidant of the secretary, “had the other turned his back to go out, and before he quitted the room, than Louis Philippe began to hold up his finger at him, with a face of mockery, and made a movement with his foot, as if he could hardly prevent himself from kicking him.” This bit of pantomimic incivility was often the manner of the most comic of court fools, and probably Triboulet himself could not have enacted it in superior style.
But I must draw my instances to a close, and perhaps I cannot do so more appropriately than by showing the merits, as a jester, of a sovereign whose country has since been the scene where martyrs have died, and heroes have avenged them. I refer to Oude, and I will add, that perhaps few monarchs ever so perfectly played the fool for his own satisfaction and that of his court, as Nassir-u-Deen, the late King of that country. His great delight was in puppet-shows, and it was on the occasion of one being exhibited before him that the following occurrence took place, as recorded in the ‘Private Life of an Eastern King.’
“His Majesty laughed heartily at the performances of the little burlesques of men and women.... At length he gave a whispered order to his barber,” (who, it may be mentioned, began life as a hair-dresser in London, and rose to the combined offices of barber and prime-minister to a King,) “who went out, brought something in his hand, and gave it to the King. The royal chair was pushed back, and his Majesty condescended to advance to the front of the puppet-show, going round the table, as if to inspect it more closely. The owners exerted themselves to give still more satisfaction, regarding their fortunes as made. The King watched for a little; his hand was advanced suddenly, and as suddenly drawn back, and one of the innocent marionettes fell motionless upon the stage. It was very plain that his Majesty had a pair of scissors in his hand, and had cut the string. The performers must have been as well aware of this as we were, but they gazed in affected, wonder at the catastrophe.... The King turned round, his face beaming with fun, and looked at us knowingly, as much as to say, ‘Did I not do that well?’ The barber laughed loudly in reply, and other courtiers joined in the chorus. But this was not the whole of the royal wit. The hand was pushed forward and drawn back again and again, and again and again did one after another of the puppets fall dead and immovable upon the stage, every successive fall eliciting a shout of laughter from the table and a blank look of astonishment from the general manager of the show, who was visible directing and superintending. When nearly all had fallen, the royal wit was satisfied, returned to his chair, ordered a handsome present to be given to the owner of the show, and it was withdrawn.”
With this court jest, I too will withdraw, leaving my puppets to be dealt with according as my readers may have found them more or less awkwardly handled by their showman. If the latter has amused or instructed the public audience, whose generous indulgence he has so often had to gratefully acknowledge, his aim has been accomplished. He has not pretended to instruct, but has simply brought together materials for instructors, and for constructors of future histories of a class which, in some shape or other, has existed from the legendary days of Momus down to those of contemporary Christian patriarchs in Asia, of whose households the buffoon is still sometimes a member. To effect this, demanded only a little industry;—small merit in a country where industry is the recognized duty of every citizen, and the only merit claimed by the author of these essays towards the History of Court and Household Fools.
THE END.
JOHN EDWARD TAYLOR, PRINTER,
LITTLE QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS.