Some of the habits and predilections of Louis XI. were not only distasteful to his nobles, but even incomprehensible to his people. Occasionally he would set forth with half-a-dozen companions, clad like himself in coarse grey cloth, with wooden paternosters about their necks, under the pretext of forming some pilgrimage—his real aim being to visit the marches and confines of his kingdom, and to become acquainted with all things, and all men, through the evidence of his own eyes. In similar guise Louis journeyed along the sea-coast to Bordeaux, being nearly captured by an English boat which fired upon him. The King’s staff lay concealed in some high reeds till there was an opportunity of escaping.
We hear, too, of Charles IX. figuring at a tournament, with a party of gay and festive followers, all of whom, King and courtiers, fought in the lists attired as women.
Christina of Sweden, after she had resigned the throne, travelled in the guise of a foreign knight, habited as a cavalier, with a red scarf, according to the Spanish fashion. In this attire she rode into Hamburg, where the inhabitants had prepared a residence for her, but she preferred lodging with a Jewish physician named Texeira. “That action,” says a contemporary writer, “much amazed both the Senate, whose honourable entertainment and reception she refused, and the priests of the town, who, inflamed with the zeal of God’s house, could not forbear to speak in public against her for her ridiculous and scandalous choice of the house of a man who is professedly a sworn enemy of Jesus Christ.” In answer to such objections, Christina urged that Jesus Christ had all His life conversed with the Jews, that He was one of their seed, and that He had preferred their company to that of all other nations.
When travelling in male attire, and under the name of “the son of the Count of Dohna,” Madame du Noyer, in her Lettres Galantes, tells how Christina, when staying at an inn, was visited by the Queen of Denmark, who disguised herself as a servant, and in that character waited on the ex-queen. So cleverly did she act her part that Christina had not the slightest suspicion, and, putting no restraint upon her tongue, she occasionally spoke with entire unreserve of the King of Denmark in terms of a not very complimentary kind. But, on her leaving the inn, the Queen of Denmark commanded a page to inform his errant mistress that she had done great injustice to the King. The page hastened to deliver the message, at hearing which Christina laughed aloud, and exclaimed, “What! that servant-girl who was standing there all dinner-time was the Queen of Denmark! Well, there has happened to her what often happens to curious people—they make discovery of more things than are agreeable to them. It is her own fault, for as I have not the gift of divination, I did not look for her under such a dress as that.”
The vacillating fortunes of the Polish monarchy seem to have convinced more than one king that a crown is not always the most enviable of possessions. Thus it is recorded that one sovereign—probably Boleslaus II.—having quitted his companions in the hunting-field, was discovered some days afterwards in the market-place of the capital disguised as a porter, and lending out the use of his shoulders for a few pence. At first there was some doubt as to whether the porter could be his Majesty; but when this was removed, there was some indignation that so great and exalted a personage should debase himself by so vile an employment. He was then entreated to return to his vacant throne, but his Majesty replied, “Upon my honour, gentlemen, the load which I quitted is by far heavier than the one you see me carry here: the weightiest is but a straw when compared to that world under which I laboured. I have slept more in four nights than I have during all my reign. I begin to live, and to be a king of myself. Elect whom you choose. For me, who am so well, it were madness to return to Court.” The story goes that when search was made for this philosophic ex-monarch he was found only with extreme difficulty. He was elected against his will, and when the sceptre was placed in his hand as he was seated on the throne, he exclaimed, with some emotion, “I had rather tug at the oar than occupy such a place.” But, as it has been justly remarked, “few are the kings of the Poles who might not have given utterance to the same sentiment, whether they were of the country, or as was often the case after Casimir, obtained from foreign countries,” it having been the boast of the Polish nobility that they held their kings, and were not holden by them.[79]
The marriage of Ulrica, sister of Frederick the Great, with Adolphus Frederick of Sweden was the fruit of a stratagem rather unfairly played off on her sister. The Court and Senate of Sweden sent an ambassador incognito to Berlin to watch and report upon the characters and dispositions of Frederick’s two unmarried sisters, Ulrica and Amelia, the former of whom had the reputation of being very haughty, crafty, satirical, and capricious; and the Swedish Court had already determined in favour of Amelia, who was remarkable for her personal beauty, and sweetness of character. It so happened that Amelia was much disquieted in her mind on account of her insuperable objection to renounce the tenets of Calvin for those of Luther. In her perplexity she sought the assistance of her sister’s counsels to prevent a union so repugnant to her happiness. The wary Ulrica—only too anxious to hold her place—advised her to assume by way of disguise the most insolent and repulsive deportment to every one in the presence of the Swedish ambassador—whose arrival had soon been buzzed abroad—which advice she followed; whilst her sister adopted all those attractive and amiable qualities which Amelia had for the time being laid aside. Every one, ignorant of the cause, was astonished at the unaccountable change in the conduct of the two sisters; and the ambassador on his return to Berlin informed his Court that fame had completely reversed their reciprocal good and bad qualities. The result of this stratagem was that Ulrica was preferred, and mounted the throne of Sweden.
And with this ruse we may compare one practised by Catherine II. of Russia on Joseph II., Emperor of Germany. At the village of Zarsko-Zelo, at which is situated the magnificent imperial country palace, there were no inns, an inconvenience which the hospitality of Mr. Bush, the English gardener, prevented being felt by visitors properly introduced to him. Accordingly, when Joseph II., to whom every appearance of show was highly distasteful, expressed his intention of visiting Catherine, she offered him apartments in her palace, which he declined. Her Majesty, fully aware of his dislike to parade, had Mr. Bush’s house fitted up as an inn, with the sign of a Catherine wheel, below which appeared in German characters, “The Falkenstein Arms”—Falkenstein being the name which the Emperor assumed. His Majesty knew nothing of the ingenious and attentive deception till after he had quitted Russia.
On one occasion, when the Emperor visited Moscow, he is said to have preceded the royal carriage as an avant-coureur, in order to avoid what he felt to be the obnoxious pomp and ceremony which an acknowledgment of his rank would have awakened. And when at Paris he amused himself by frequenting the cafés incognito, one day being asked to play a game of chess. He lost the game and wished to play another, but his opponent excused himself, as he was anxious to visit the opera to see the Emperor. “What do you expect to see in the Emperor?” he inquired, “for he is just like any other man.” “No matter,” said the stranger, “he is a very great man, and I will not be disappointed.” Whereupon the Emperor rejoined, “If that is your only motive for going to the opera, we may as well play another game, for you see him before you.”
When in London Peter the Great attended a masked ball at the Temple in the costume of a butcher; and Dr. Doran quotes an amusing incident in connection with a Christmas custom in his own country. Formerly, it appears, there was a masquerading ceremony in Russia consisting of a sledge procession, which took place between Christmas and the New Year, in which the clergy, gorgeously attired, stopped at certain houses, sang a carol, and “received in return donations from those who wished to be considered peculiarly orthodox Christians. Peter once witnessed this procession, and was so edified by the amount of the contributions, that he placed himself, suitably attired, at the head of the sledges and the Church, sang his own carols, and pocketed the contributions of the loyal and faithful” with the most marked satisfaction.
An amusing and familiar story is told of Charles V., who, being curious to know the sentiments of his meanest subjects concerning himself, would often go incognito and mix in such companies as he felt inclined. One night, at Brussels, his boot requiring immediate attention, he was directed to a cobbler. It happened to be St. Crispin’s day, and the cobbler was in the height of his jollity among his acquaintances. The Emperor acquainted him with what he wanted, and offered him a handsome gratuity.