But, much as Frederick liked theatrical amusements and dancing, he was an inveterate opponent of aerial feats and rope-dancing shows as highly dangerous, and forbade them throughout his dominions by a special cabinet order, which ran thus: “If such people have a wish to break their necks we cannot prevent their doing so in foreign countries, but in our own provinces our humanity, and fatherly care for our subjects, forbid us to allow them an opportunity.”
Never, it is said, were stage representations of such gorgeousness exhibited in Rome until the period of the sojourn of Christina, ex-Queen of Sweden, in Italy in 1668, when her influence seems to have had an extraordinary effect on all classes of society. Thus we are told how the entire Sacred College were now for ever going to the play, “and the balcony of her box was every night crowded by cardinals, who looked with edification on the ballerinas, and listened with delight to the exquisitely dressed singing-girls, who resorted to Rome at the invitation of Christina. The etiquette, when she was present, was of the very strictest, the noblest in Rome being compelled to remain uncovered as long as she was in the house. The gay cardinals, who lolled over the balcony in front of her box, alone wore their caps, in allusion to which privilege a paper was one night fixed beneath the balcony, on which was inscribed, “Plenary indulgence for the gentlemen in purple.”[149]
In the spring of 1757 a strange event occurred in the little Court of Stanislaus Leczinski, ex-King of Poland, and who at that time kept his Court at Nancy. The theatrical company in the service of his Majesty announced the performance of “Le Glorieux,” for the début of an actor, a young boy, recently arrived at Nancy. On the appointed evening the Court, together with every person of distinction in the town, flocked to the little theatre to witness the appearance of the young actor, who was to personate the humble character of the poorly dressed lacquey in the play of Destouches. King Stanislaus was in his box, accompanied by the Marchioness de Boufflers, anxious to see the boy whose past was so romantic, and which, briefly told, was as follows: “During the wanderings of a party of strolling-players, the wife of one of them augmented the company by giving birth to a boy. The child was placed under the care of a nurse, with a liberal allowance for its maintenance; but she lodged it in the hospital of the Enfans Trouvés; but after a lapse of seven years the treachery of the nurse was discovered, and the child was restored to its parents.” This child was the new débutant, whose natural air and correct accentuation of the little part allotted to him charmed every one, and when, in accordance with his part, he took with a cool gesture a pinch of snuff, which was followed by a fit of sneezing he could not repress, the King smilingly exclaimed, “God bless you,” words which instantly resounded through the pit.
At the conclusion of the play the child was brought to the King’s box, and his Majesty drawing him towards him, and wiping away the powder from his forehead, conferred upon him a royal kiss. The boy was sensible of the honour, and shyly turning his eyes towards where the Marchioness was seated, said—
“Ah, all the pretty ladies behind the scenes kissed me and embraced me.”
“And I suppose,” said the King, “you think all the pretty ladies in the boxes ought to do the same.” And without waiting for the ceremony of presentation, the boy ran to Madame de Boufflers and kissed her on each cheek.
Such was the début of Joseph Alvaham Bernard, commonly called Henry, on making his first appearance at the Court Theatre of Nancy in 1750. [150]
CHAPTER XXI
ROYAL AUTHORS
It has been remarked that nothing can explain the almost universal mediocrity of royal compositions, despite the great and manifest advantages enjoyed by their authors. The superior value set upon martial qualities in days gone by prevented, it is said, the rulers and leading men of the State from cultivating letters, although, it would seem, the reverse was the case in the old days of the Roman Empire, when, of the first twenty emperors, above one-half were authors.